Paranormal Romance
Date Published: May 13, 2025
Publisher: Global Entanglement
Sometimes “happily ever after” takes more than
one…err, two lifetimes…
The stunning second book in the Arcanum series, channeled through the tarot
by noted intuitive Kelly O’Hearn.
Parfumier Sarah Fuller is in Provence, France, pursuing an unexpected
obsession to an ancient flower: the rose. If she can channel all the
sensuality, longing, and past-life vibes that she’s feeling for a
near-stranger, maybe she can create her next best-selling perfume—and
get her marriage back on track.
Sarah’s NYC penthouse, Hamptons weekends, high-profile career, and
picture-perfect family seem like they belong on a magazine cover. How ironic
that a Vogue editor is about to dash her dreams! Plus, she’s
squabbling with her best friend, hypnosis therapy is making life worse, and
her psychic is baffled by her sudden nightmares. All Sarah can do is hope
that her visions of a medieval French maiden with supernatural powers will
somehow bring her back to herself.
Time travel, soul mates, good versus evil: this sexy romance novel has it
all . . . and the tale is far from over.
The Arcanum series is best enjoyed in order:
Book One: In the Temple Shadows
Book Two: Whispers in the Forest
EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
Forest of Château de Fontainebleau, France, 1532
Hooves pounded as the carriage hurtled out the chateau gate and into the dense forest. The carriage was traveling at breakneck speed, swaying precariously as it careened around sharp corners, dodging the mighty oaks and pine trees that Sari knew so well.
Despite the risk, Sari, dressed in a midnight-blue woolen dress and cloak, lifted the panel of the secret compartment in the carriage floor. She gripped the sides and gingerly raised herself into the cab, her eyes just high enough to peer out the window and see the chateau, her home of the past three years, fade away behind her into the darkness until it disappeared. She knew she was being reckless, but she couldn’t help herself. She would never see this place again. She prayed that the starless night would protect them.
Sari turned to Marc, crouched in a ball on the floor of the carriage, a rough-spun tunic stretched across his enormous frame. How could such a large man make himself so invisible? But then again, Marc had always had the gift of hiding in plain sight. It was one of the reasons she’d been drawn to him so many months ago.
Prince Marc, born to aristocracy and privilege, was as handsome as he was strong. He looked like a giant in the court because of his height and powerful build. Too bad his intelligence didn’t impress with the same strength. King François, Marc’s father, had cursed him as an idiot and cast him to the side in disgrace.
As Sari had begun to befriend the dishonored prince, she’d noticed that he might not have the intellect of a scholar or a scientist but was smarter than he let on. And as their friendship started to grow and solidify, Sari discovered that he had an extraordinary memory. It was the most remarkable thing she had ever witnessed. Marc could look at something for just a few moments and have perfect recall of it forever. That had most certainly been invaluable during the many months of planning this escape.
As Sari gazed at her friend, she reflected on how they’d bonded over a mutual desire to disappear. They both yearned for privacy and quiet and simplicity—the opposite of the constant public demands of life at court. Marc had literally saved her life; he was the only true connection she’d made since the fateful day when she first arrived to take her place as a courtesan to King François. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined that she’d be escaping three years later to brave the unknown and fight her way to freedom.
Sari was jolted from her reverie when the coach hit a deep rut, threatening to splinter it into pieces.
“My god,” Sari cried, “this is intolerable. We are never going to make it in this ridiculous excuse of a carriage. It’s older than I am.”
Marc placed a hand on her knee. “You must stay perfectly quiet,” he whispered coarsely. “You were made fully aware of the nature of our transportation. You’d better get used to it, as we’ll be cramped in here for several days.
“Besides, Pascal is supposedly one of the best smugglers in the region. He knows all the secret routes through the forest. He wouldn’t risk his personal coach, regardless of how much we paid him to get us to Le Havre.
“Now crouch down on the floor with me so this journey doesn’t end before it has even begun.”
CHAPTER ONE
Marseille, May 28
My god, this is intolerable. We are never going to make it in this ridiculous excuse for a car. It’s older than I am.
Why did Sarah accept Uncle Pierre’s offer to send his driver to the airport? Why, indeed? It was getting dark, she was arriving late, and she didn’t want to deal with having to rent a car after two flights from New York. She could have spent the night in Marseille; she loved the restaurant at the Hotel Dieu. But she just wanted to wake up in Grasse. No more cities for a minute. She wanted to feel the warm golden sunshine on her face, unimpeded by skyscrapers and accompanied by the buttery smell of fresh-baked palmiers.
As she exited the airport, she was alarmed to find that the Citroën and Louis were the same car and driver that were under employ the first time she visited Maison Garreau. Curse Uncle Pierre and his steadfast loyalty to stagecoach and reinsman! He loved anything vintage. Twenty years ago, the ride from Paris—autoroute to local thoroughfares to dirt roads for the last few miles—had been memorably treacherous and was even more so now. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut to quell the nausea. Focus your eyes on what’s left of the horizon line! she told herself. She pried them open to see one of Louis’s gnarled hands dangling his tenth cigarette out the window while the other hand (narrowly) maneuvered the rutted country roads in the twilight. Sarah noticed that a headlight was out. Merde! She shut her eyes again. If I died right here, right now in this car, what would happen? A morbid thought, perhaps, but given the events and revelations of the past six months, the thought was less concerning than one would imagine. Carl? Oh, he’ll find another wife in no time—after a polite period of grieving, of course. He’s still got it after all these years. And even though he’s been a senior associate at Morgan Stanley for far too long, he’ll have all my money from Arcanum Fragrances. The new fiancée will be sitting pretty. If I died right now, Carl wouldn’t have to go to marriage counseling—and neither would I! More time and money for the new Mrs. Carl McDonough. Oh god, that’s dark.
The kids. To be separated from them would kill me. If I weren’t already dead. But Carl is generally a good dad, and Max would be a great surrogate mom. He’s the best friend anyone could ever have, and he knows if anything ever happens to me, “Uncle Max” is fully responsible for Alex and Sam’s sex talks, advice, homework help, boy- and girlfriend interrogations, and wardrobe choices. Carl knows it deep down too. Even when our marriage was great, there were always some parts of me that were reserved for Max. That’s how it is when you’ve confided in someone since freshman year of high school.
Max and Carl both know better than to send the kids to Dr. Ken Jaffe for therapy. I suppose I’m glad that’s what my parents did for me when I was a miserable, hopeless twenty year-old, but the fact that I’m still seeing him twenty years later can’t be a good sign. I don’t know what everyone will make of all those prescriptions Ken’s given me that are stashed in a bathroom drawer. Since they’re barely touched, hopefully I won’t be remembered as a pill popper!
Okay, but the point is that if I died right now, based on the events of the past six months, I’m pretty sure that I will still be here. Well, my soul, at least. Or somewhere. Ever since meeting Harry, I know that those dreams I had of ancient Egypt, of a dark, handsome warrior lover, were not just dreams. I know that I have known him before. And I can tell that he feels the same; he’s confided as much. If I died, I’d never know what would happen between us. In this life, anyway. That supernatural recognition between Harry and me made a lot of things make sense. Like how attached I still feel to my grandmother. I can sense her in the lab and the gardens. I can hear her voice, helping me build a fragrance. Or that moment when I stepped off the train in Rome for the first time so many years ago and knew the city streets like they were my own. Sweden, Turkey, Greece. My wanderlust and my work has been fueled by chasing these insane moments of déjà vu.
Now that I’ve met Leyla, she’s opened my mind to so many possibilities. Who would have ever thought that I, the world’s greatest skeptic, would be hanging onto every word of a tarot card reading? Through our growing friendship, Leyla and her cards are introducing me to an entire universe of possibilities that, honestly, I can only absorb in small doses. The fact that I may have been a Pharaoh’s mystic and lover? Crazy, I suppose—but that night at Max’s event, when the Egyptologist revealed that ancient sculpture of two bodies intertwined, I knew I had held it before. I know it. Past lives, quantum entanglement, soul recognition . . . these are not 4 Sarah Fuller–like concepts, but I am as open as I have ever been. As confused as I have ever been. As inspired. As aroused. As certain that if I die right now, in this godforsaken rattrap, in France, just a few miles from starting the most important project of my life—and, possibly, most important period of my life—that this life will not be my last.
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