Meredith leaned back against the wall. It was nearly midnight and the wind still howled outside, the rain scratching against the glass like a hag's fingernails. She didn't have the courage to venture out of the safety of the bedroom closet-not until the storm showed signs of weakening. She grabbed the lantern and held it up to survey her cramped surroundings, desperate for anything to occupy her mind. A stack of books at her elbow caught her eye and she pulled a dusty volume off the top.

The smell of mildew touched her nose as she held the book up to the lantern light. The gold inlaid letters on the cover were burnished by age, but the title was still legible.

Rogues Across Time. The author's name was worn from the spine, and a dark stain obliterated the name on the title page.

She turned back the leather-bound cover and the book fell open to an illustration, a finely rendered, black-and-white drawing-of a pirate. A shiver ran through her at the strange coincidence, another in a long line of happenstance, little bits of luck and good fortune that seemed to be tossed in her path by some greater force.

"Stop scaring yourself," she said out loud. "Everything happens for a logical reason. You don't believe in fate."

Still, she could understand why a person might. When she'd arrived at the real-estate office after disembarking the ferry, she'd been told that the old cottage she'd originally rented on the wooded path called Howard Street was not available. Instead, the real-estate agent had given her the keys to a larger cottage on the water-overlooking the exact spot where Blackbeard used to drop anchor. Twist of fate number one.

The cottage came along with twist of fate number two, the owner's pet parrot, a salty-tongued bird that would have made any sailor a fine companion. With Ben Gunn sitting on his perch spouting "nauticisms" and Meredith at her computer, the atmosphere had seemed perfect for writing the definitive biography of Blackbeard. She had never worked harder or written better in her life.