A Season of Miracles

Oh, God.

“Jesus! Our Lord Father, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Justin intoned.

“Help her, for the love of God, help her!” Raynor demanded. “You know what you must do.”

“God help me, I cannot.”

“You must!” Raynor said.

“For the love of God!” Justin cried, tears in his eyes. “Will you look? It is too late. It has gone too far. You know what you must do!”

Tears streamed down Michael’s face. He prayed, he begged forgiveness, God’s forgiveness—and hers. Split seconds passed.

He knew what he must do.

“By God, by heaven, by hell, I swore…”

He had sworn that he would come for her.

“By the angels, by God, by Christ, I swear, the time will come—”

He broke off. Each second meant great agony.

He did indeed know what he had to do.

CHAPTER 1

Present day Manhattan

It all started with the tarot cards.

And then the dreams of burning.

And of course the cat.

But at two o’clock on that Halloween afternoon, those things were still in the future.

Jillian sat at her desk at Llewellyn Enterprises, tapping a pencil on the wood as she stared at her new design. She’d set out to create a contemporary cross, with clean, sleek lines, to be available in yellow and white gold, and platinum. Every year since she’d finished college and joined the company full-time, she’d done a special Christmas design, available in a very limited quantity. By tradition, the invitation to purchase went out November fifth, all orders had to be received by the twentieth, and the pieces were delivered by special courier one month later. She loved designing jewelry. There was something so permanent about it. Pieces could be handed down through generations. A beautiful piece could be timeless—or speak volumes about the decade of its creation.

This piece, however, wasn’t saying what she had intended at all. It wasn’t that she disliked the design—on the contrary, it was coming along beautifully. She simply hadn’t envisioned it quite this way.

“Wow, that is pretty. I guess you’re worth your paycheck.” The voice, masculine and amused and coming from over her shoulder, was so startling that she nearly bolted out of her chair. The speaker was her cousin, Griff, handsome and too charming at thirty. Tall and well built, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, he wore Armani with runway perfection.

She hadn’t seen him enter her office. She had been so intent on the drawing that she’d been oblivious to everything else.

“Thanks.”

Griff stretched out playfully on her teak desk—à la 1930s Hollywood movie. “Excellent, sweetie. Excellent. It speaks ‘new millennium’ loudly. Unfortunately, it appears that the new millennium you’re planning on promoting is man’s movement into the 1000s—Celtic-looking thing, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” she murmured.

He traced the pattern she had drawn, grinning away. “Oooh, the old boy is going to go ballistic over this one,” he said flippantly, referring to Douglas Alexander Llewellyn, her grandfather, his great-uncle, and CEO of Llewellyn Enterprises. “Could his angel have failed this time? He does think you’re an angel, you know. He’s unaware that you’re half angel, half fire-breathing dragon.”

“He realizes it completely. He’s just very fond of dragons. And, Griff, get your body off my desk. I have work to do, and I don’t need your scrawny self getting in my way.”

“How dare you?” he asked, in a tone of genuine indignation. “My body isn’t scrawny. It’s practically perfect—in every way. In fact, it’s too bad we’re cousins and that we’d have horrible, two-headed-monster offspring, or I’d let you see just how perfect.”

Jillian wrinkled her nose and sat back, looking at him. “Thank God that the possibility of two-headed children is going to spare me. I shudder to think of it. You’re just going to have to share all that perfection with someone else.”

“Actually, we’re only second cousins. Maybe the kids would only be pathetically cross-eyed. Come to think of it…” he mused, “did you know that William of Orange married his first cousin, Mary Stuart, and they ruled together as William and Mary?”

“And they left no heirs,” she reminded him pleasantly.

“Half the royalty of Europe was closely related. Everyone out there was a descendant of Queen Victoria.”

“And half the royalty of Europe was—and is—very strange,” she said. “Griff—”

“C’mon, the old boy is kind of like a king, and he’d be so happy to think he was leaving his little kingdom to those of his own blood, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think, and I’m thanking God at this moment that surely you’re not serious,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re just refusing to see the possibilities.”

“Griff, was there a point to this visit?” she asked pointedly, glancing at her watch. Griff liked to torture her—good-naturedly, of course, or so he claimed, as did the rest of her family members who were part of Llewellyn Enterprises—Daniel, Theo and Eileen. Jillian knew that she tended to be her grandfather’s fair-haired child, despite the fact that she hadn’t risen to the head of the family class on purpose, nor was she calling the shots at the company now. But she had grown up with her grandfather, she knew him best—and loved him best. Jewelry design was her favorite part of the work, while Theo was a crack marketer, and Eileen’s expertise was public relations.

Daniel was the one with his hands on the reins, though—right behind her grandfather’s. He knew the business, every aspect of it, and with the scope of their various concerns, she was glad. Perhaps her grandfather could control everything, but he was the only man who could. People tended to think of the company as one giant prize. It wasn’t. It was a giant jumble of various enterprises, and it took a variety of talents to keep it in its current excellent shape.

Griff always told her that his expertise was looking good and pretending to be busy, whether he was or wasn’t. And, of course, being charming. He had a point. She couldn’t help but like Griff herself.

Eileen was her first cousin, an only child like herself. The boys were the grandsons of her grandfather’s brother, who had perished in the ever precious “Old Country.” Douglas had outlived not only his brother, but also his two sons and his nephew, the boys’ father, Steven. Jillian often thought of how it must have pained him to lose so many people he had loved so much. But he never faltered; he went on, giving his devotion to the remaining Llewellyns. No one had been forced into the business; they had come because of the same fierce sense of family pride and loyalty.

“You know,” Griff said, wagging a finger at her, “you could do a lot worse. I am handsome, witty, urbane and charming.”

“Of course I could do worse. But you’re my cousin. So, Griff—”

“Don’t you remember playing naked together on those fur rugs when we were babies?”

“Griff, we never played naked together on any fur rugs.”

“I guess not. If we had, you would have remembered.”

She groaned and laid her head on the desk. “Griff, what’s your problem? You’re cute, you’re—”

“Cute? I want to be sexy and devastating.”

“Okay, you’re sexy and devastating.”

“That’s better.”