The rose, she thought. The word lingered in her mind. Was a rose, that rose, in some way the key? There had been another time when the rose had played a part in her transport, had launched her right back to the sixteenth century. That had been almost one month before. The moment came back to her. Vividly. She had stooped down to look more closely at the tiny bloodred seams in the bud. And at the same time she had heard September meow; September, who had not been around for days. The rose had appeared to unfurl that evening, but of course it hadn’t yet. It wouldn’t until dawn of this very day, and yet at the time it had seemed to engulf her. She remembered her exact words to the cat that evening. But it’s not December yet.

What was it about that cat? And what was it about the rose? The rose that her father had made for her mom with the secret pin that unlocked their own strange histories. And when she had gone back this last time, September had leapt into her arms and peered so deeply into her eyes, and she into those pools of green. Then within seconds she was back—back in her own home century. Those might be the links, the clues to her travel, but how could she gain control?

She came downstairs for lunch. Her grandmother was already at the table in the conservatory.

“Well, my dear, you might not be feeling well, but look at our damask rose. Thank you for getting up that early. I declare you must have hit the bewitching hour right on the nose!” She paused for a second. A mischievous light flickered in her eyes. “I wonder if time has a nose.” She chuckled softly.

“What exactly is the bewitching hour, Gran?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just an expression I use for when something—how should I put it—achieves its destiny in life. Yields its beauty and its scent to the world at large. Becomes one, I suppose, with the world.”

“That’s a nice way of thinking about it, Gran.”

“There are many such moments in life, I think.”

“You mean bewitching moments?”

“Yes, that’s what we’ve been talking about, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” But for some reason she didn’t believe her gran was referring to her own tumbles through time.

“I’ll tell you one such moment,” her gran said with new energy. “Reading.”

“Reading?”