Time Crossed: A Time Thief Novella (A Penguin Special from Signet) by MacAlister Katie Page A

she wanted to show you. Mags, do you have it?”
    There was a click as my mother undid her seat belt in order to lean forward and wave a piece of paper in front of my nose.
    Suddenly blinded, I swore and jerked the car to the side of the road. Luckily, it was empty of parked cars. “Mom!”
    “See? Mrs. Vanilla drew a map showing the entrance of Anwyn.” Mom sat back and, with a smug look, snapped her seat belt into place.
    I stared down at the crumpled piece of paper, willing my heart rate to slow down as I smoothed out the wrinkles. “Okay, this is a mistake.”
    “I doubt if it is, dear.”
    “No, see, this can’t be right. The old biddy—sorry, Mrs. Vanilla, no offense intended—the old lady is a shrimp or two short of a cocktail. She has to be.”
    Mom Two frowned. “Why would you put a shrimp in a cocktail?”
    “That was a reference to a shrimp cocktail. I was trying to be witty. It relieves the feeling that I’ve gone insane.”
    “Mags,” Mom Two said, her gaze never wavering from my face. “I have changed my mind. A second visit to Dr. Gently may well help our girl.”
    I shook the paper at her. “I am not the one who needs to see a mental health counselor! I didn’t the first time you guys dragged me in to see her, and I sure as shootin’ don’t now, although all the little gods and goddesses know that I’m sure as shootin’ entitled to be, given what you’re putting me through.”
    “Gwenhwyfar Byron Owens!”
    I looked upward, knowing full well what was coming next.
    “You are very well aware how offensive we find it when you say things like that. We raised you to be a proper Wiccan, one who worships the Deity, not a mingle-mangle of assorted gods and demigods.” Mom had her sternest face on, the one I had run into quite a bit in my teenage years when I rebelled against their Wiccan beliefs.
    I was older and wiser now, however. “I don’t think ‘mingle-mangle’ is technically a word, and don’t try to change the subject. We need to be focusing on how to find the entrance to Anwyn, and no” I—held up my hand with the paper in it— “this isn’t it. The entrance to heaven isn’t in a Krispy Kreme shop.”
    “Have you ever had their cocoa?” Mom Two asked. “It’s pretty close to heaven.” With a hurried look over her shoulder at my mother, she added, “If I believed in such a thing, which of course, I don’t.”
    “Anwyn is not in a Krispy Kreme,” I said firmly.
    “How do you know? Have you been there?” my mother asked.
    “No, but—”
    “Then I don’t think you have the right to say harsh things to Mrs. Vanilla about her lovely map.”
    “Mom, it just doesn’t make sense. She’s either kidding, or . . .” I made a circular motion with my finger next to my ear.
    “I don’t think she is either of those things. She seems to know where the entrance is. Perhaps she’s been there herself.”
    Mrs. Vanilla made her peculiar squeaking noises and fretted at the seat belt.
    I looked up and over to Mom Two, shaking my head as I said, “This is crazy.”
    Mom Two smiled and patted my hand. “I’ve always said that crazy is in the mind of the beholder.”
    “Yes, but we can’t indulge in that when so much is at stake.”
    “Drive,” my mother ordered, and tapped me on the back of my shoulder. “We’ll see when we get there.”
    “Oh, for the love of all that’s shiny and sparkly!” I took a deep breath and pulled out onto the road, mentally plotting the fastest route to Mrs. Vanilla’s nursing home. “Fine, we’ll go to Krispy Kreme, although the mall is sure to be closed at this time of night. First, however, we’re going to take Mrs. Vanilla back where she belongs.”
    Both mothers opened up their respective mouths to protest, but as I stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn onto the road that led to the nursing home, two police cars suddenly zipped across our line of vision . . . toward the nursing home.
    I swore under my breath and