‘Follow the road up the hill, take a left over the brow and look out for the old barn, then turn right down a narrow lane and you'll see the sign for Crab Tree. You can't miss it.’

When I dared to look again, the kitchen was exactly as it had been. No wind, no swirling lights, no burning photographs. Just the morning sunlight streaming through the window, illuminating motes of dust in the air.

'What will you do?' I asked. 'If Simmington's procedure works, I mean. You'll be stuck in 2025 with no official identity, no history.'

Emily smiled. 'I've lived through the Victorian era, both World Wars, and the dawn of the internet. I think I can manage the bureaucracy of the modern world.'

Joanna rose and crossed to sit beside Emily on the sofa. Hesitantly, she took the younger woman's hand—her ancestor's hand. 'I can't imagine the burden you've carried,' she said softly. 'The guilt, the grief, the loneliness of your existence. But perhaps there's a purpose to it all that we can't yet see.'

She handed the envelope to Emily, who opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a small, faded photograph of two young girls, their arms around each other, standing in front of a cottage that looked remarkably like the one in the watercolour.

A chill ran down my spine. 'What fire?'

'A terrible tragedy,' he said. 'Two cottages burned to the ground. A young girl died.'

I thought of Emily, of her desperate search for the watercolour. 'Was the girl's name Emily?' I asked.

I hesitated, my heart suddenly racing. Could it be Emily returning for her photographs? I glanced down at the portrait in my hand, those defiant dark eyes staring back at me, then placed it carefully on the side table before moving to answer the door.

The bell rang again, more insistently this time…

Somebody once said that time travel can’t be possible because, if it was possible, then someone in the future would invent it, and the world would now be inundated with time-travellers from the future. I think I may have met one once.

Set in ancient Nubia, The Blood Moon Prophecy foretells the birth of a child under a blood moon who will possess extraordinary powers and shape the destiny of the land.

The fire's dying embers cast a flickering glow across the Shaman's wizened face as he stood on the desert crag. Shadows danced in the hollows of his cheeks and eyes.