Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance

His voice echoes in my ears as I dash across the road, getting inside the house and closing the door, making sure all the locks are latched in place.

My breathing is erratic as I run up the stairs to the bedroom, closing that door and locking it, too. And still, I don’t feel safe.

My entire body is primed for fight, almost as if it knows my life is in danger before my mind can rationalize it. Yet I can’t ignore the conflicting feelings taking shape inside of me—horror, fear…longing?

I gulp down, discomfort settling deep in my stomach.

And before I can help myself, my feet take me to the big window facing the Old Church.

Pulling the curtain aside, I peek outside.

My mouth forms an o as I come face to face with him.

Caleb Hale.

He’s in the middle of the road, his face tipped upwards, his eyes on my window—on me.

My eyes flutter in shock, and though the moonbeams are the only source of light, I can almost swear I note another smirk on his face.

He’s just standing there. Watching me. Knowing I am watching.

Slowly, he brings his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. All the while, the same smile remains in place—one that is both chilling and alluring. Then, just like that, he turns and leaves, walking up the road towards the manor house.

My heart is in my throat as I finally duck—a few moments too late. Yet as I’d met his gaze, it had been almost as if I were caught in a spell. One that kept me rooted to the spot and unable to do anything but focus my attention on him.

And that is the crux of the matter. There is something oddly appealing about him. Something magnetic, raw, and unrestrained. Enough so that even when my doubts were overflowing my mind, he held a certain power over me, befuddling me with his slow, deliberate movements and secretive smiles.

Now, as moments pass, my mind, too, becomes clearer.

Clear enough that a myriad of questions assails me.

What the hell happened at the Old Church? Had it been Caleb who’d been playing the organ? There had been someone else in the church with me, of that I am sure. And with Caleb’s appearance there not a moment later, it stands to reason that it could have been him.

Maybe it was a prank after all.

Perhaps there is a secret door out of the church and he’d used it to spook me.

Well…spook me he did. I’m still shivering from the encounter.

Not only had his appearance been fortuitous, but there had been something about his manner—beyond his, admittedly, good looks.

Alas, I don’t want to dwell on that anymore. Not when it might become the source of my nightmares later tonight.

Making sure the window is latched too, I pull the curtains to ensure no one can peek inside before I change once more into the nightgown. This time, as I lay in bed, I will myself to think only of the good times ahead.

April 1789

Haversham House, Kent

Mama and papa are arguing again.

Usually, they are rarely in the same place to be able to get on each other’s nerves. But since we’ve arrived at Haversham, they haven’t stopped arguing. It’s to the extent that their voices echo in the entire house when it happens.

‘My Lady, you should have been abed by now,’ Mary, my lady’s maid chides when she sees me at the top of the stairs.

‘How can I?’ I whisper. ‘No one will be able to sleep until they resolve their issue.’

Mary purses her lips.

‘I’m afraid it shan’t be too soon,’ she says, the corners of her mouth tipping up.

I let out a giggle.

The servants, too, know how difficult my parents can get, and they do everything in their power to avoid getting on their bad side.

Their marriage had not been one of choice, but rather one of obligation. From what I’d gathered from gossip, papa had gotten mama pregnant and he’d been forced to wed her. Back then, he’d only been a third son, unlikely to ever inherit, and he’d been adamant that he would never marry. Nevertheless, my grandfather had made sure he got to the altar and said his vows. That he’d never respected them…well, that is another matter altogether.

Most people think that because I am young, I do not understand what’s happening around me. But it’s because they never mind me much that they don’t realize I notice more than most.

A few years after my birth, papa had become the first in line for the succession of the marquisate, and with his father’s poor health, it hadn’t been long before he’d become the Marquis of Haversham.

I can’t say for sure if the infidelities began around that time, or maybe not one moment after he’d married my mother. At this point, it’s common knowledge that the Marquis has his pick of mistresses, sometimes not even bothering to hide the fact by inviting them to events and flaunting them in front of my mother.

That has been one of their main conflicts over the years.

My mother may have been in love with him at some point, but she’d been quickly cured of the notion when she’d seen his true nature. Every time he took a new lover, he not only embarrassed her publicly, but he also made her the talk of town.

Mary tries to persuade me to return to my chamber when I suddenly hear my name.

‘Leave Elizabeth out of this,’ mama yells.

Shaking my head at Mary, I tiptoe my way down the stairs and towards papa’s study. Not wanting to leave me alone in case I got caught, Mary trails quietly behind me.

The door to the study is slightly ajar, the light inside the room shining bright despite the late hour of the night. My mother is the only one visible from the angle of the door, and I cannot help but notice her tense countenance, and the lines that mar her face.

‘She’s going to be presented at court in less than a month. If you do that… You’re ruining her future,’ Fiona, the Marchioness of Haversham says through gritted teeth.

‘Ruining her future?’ My father, William, repeats angrily. ‘I’m ensuring her future! Do you think anyone else is going to marry her? She’s bloody daft, Fiona!’

I barely stifle a gasp at his words. It’s not the first time I’ve been referred to as such, but I’d never heard the word come out of papa’s mouth. And despite our strained relationship, it hurts.

‘She’s not daft and you know it,’ Fiona points her finger at him. ‘She’s just…different.’

‘If it weren’t for the extra wages we pay our staff, everyone would have already known how different she is—that she spends her time talking to animals like a bloody bedlamite.’

‘And that’s why you’ve decided Clifford will do? He’s forty to her seventeen. For goodness sake, he’s a swine!’

‘But he’s a rich swine, Fiona,’ William sighed impatiently. ‘He’s already seen her and he is willing to accept her. He only wants an heir and a spare and he won’t bother her again.’

‘You mean he’ll lock her somewhere in the country like you planned to do with me.’

‘Don’t bring your own frustrations into this. Elizabeth would have had to marry at some point. I’ve merely secured her a match sooner,’ he states matter-of-factly.

I’m frozen by the door, the topic of the conversation slowly sinking in.

My father wants to marry me off. To Lord Clifford.

‘So God help me, William, if you go through with this… If you dare give my precious daughter to that pox-ridden bastard, I’ll gut you. I’ll bloody gut you myself, even if they hang me.’

My father’s nostrils flare in anger, and as he takes a step towards mother I fear he’s going to strike her. Instead of cowering, she regards him squarely in the eye, daring him to do it.

I blink in shock at the scene in front of me.

Just as he raises his hand against her, he suddenly strikes the shelf next to her.

‘She’s marrying Clifford and it’s final. He’s coming at the end of the weekend for the ball. There will be a two week courtship after which the bans will be read. This is final, Fiona. Don’t you think to disobey me on this or you’ll regret this.’

‘How can I regret anything more than having married you?’

William lets out a dry laugh.

‘Let’s see if you’re still as determined when Richard comes home from Eton.’

He’s in my direct field of view, and there’s no mistaking the pure evil radiating from him as he smiles down at my mother.

Despite her stubbornness and determination, if he’s threatening her with Richard… I don’t know if she’ll be so eager to rally for me anymore.

Having heard everything I needed to, I silently trudge my way back to my bedroom.

I’d always known my father would have the last say in my marriage. But I’d never thought things would progress so quickly—and so unpleasantly.

He won’t let me make my debut at court because he thinks I will embarrass him. Instead, he’ll just wash his hands off me at the first opportunity.

That night, I wish I could cry. But the tears won’t come.

The first day of the house party is in full swing after everyone had arrived earlier in the afternoon. Though I am not allowed at the nightly festivities since I have not made my official debut yet, my father had instructed me that I am to allow Lord Clifford to spend time with me during the day.

I hadn’t argued with him, simply because I know no good could come out of a conflict. Especially since I’ve seen the toll the entire situation has taken on my mother.

She may not know I listened in to the conversation, but I can note the weariness on her face, as well as the fact that Dorothy, her lady’s maid, had sent for laudanum and a combination of herbs best used for sleep remedies.

Mama hasn’t been sleeping, and I am certain it’s because of the entire Lord Clifford debacle.

‘Please reconsider, My Lady,’ Mary tries to reason with me as I dress in the darkest clothes I own so I can be as inconspicuous as possible.

‘I need to see with my own two eyes, Mary. I want to see this Lord Clifford and why my mother is so anxious at the thought of me marrying him.’

I don’t tell her that I’m equally as terrified. Mama wouldn’t be so vehemently against the marriage if she didn’t know there was something wrong with him. From what I recall, Lord Clifford had visited Haversham a few times to meet with my father, but I’d only seen him from afar and I’d never taken notice of it—I’d never had reason too.

And quite frankly… I don’t want to marry anyone.

I’m content by myself, and with my animals. So what if everyone thinks I’m daft. If I had only one cottage by the woods, I would lead a peaceful existence, grateful to be left alone by everyone.

‘But if you’re caught…’

‘I won’t be,’ I assure her. ‘Please don’t worry. If anyone checks on me, please tell them I’m asleep,’ I instruct her, motioning to the pillows I’d piled under the sheet to make it look like a human form.

When Mary at last agrees to help me, I use the servants’ door to sneak out of my room, going out the stairs and then exiting the house and heading to the main lawn.

The ball is in two days, but every night there is a soiree for the guests.

Mary, who’d been watching for the guests, had already spotted Lord Clifford and had described him to me as well as what he is wearing for this evening—a deep plum-colored vest that should help me identify him easier.

As I’d told her, I only want to see with my own eyes the man I’m supposed to marry. Maybe it’s my innate curiosity, or maybe there’s something more to it—the last push I need to think about before doing something drastic. So drastic, in fact, that I would be ruined in the eyes of society.

A garden stretches in front of the double doors that lead to the drawing room where most people are already gathered. Luckily, my father pays his gardener a pretty sum to keep the trees in perfect condition—and oddly looking shapes. As I move, they give me cover, helping me go undetected.

There is little light, though.

The garden path is set ablaze by a multitude of candles, as is the inside of the house. The rest, though, is bathed in darkness.

Reaching my desired spot, I have an unobstructed view of the drawing room. My eyes search for the plum-colored vest, and though at first I cannot spot him, a few minutes later Lord Clifford appears within my field of view.

He’s…just as Mary had described. Greasy graying hair, and a visage that has multiple skin lesions. Although I cannot make out everything in great detail since I’m at least a dozen paces away from the glass doors, the redness is evident against the white of his skin.

I gulp down, pain erupting in my throat as if I’d swallowed pieces of glass.

My mother’s words echo in my ears.

Pox-ridden.

I may be innocent, but with father’s blatant affairs and his sometimes penchant for light-skirts, I’d heard the term pox more than enough to know it’s something you get from dallying with doxies.

Bile rises up my throat, and I barely stop myself from casting my accounts at that very moment.

That is supposed to be my husband? The husband who will have full rights over my person, over my body?  Who will…touch me?

Shaking my head vehemently, I step back.

My curiosity has been well assuaged, and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad one. All I know is that I’d rather be dead than allow that man to lay one single finger on me.

I’m close to the servants’ entrance when I hear a soft meow.

Turning, I spot a little ball of fur nestling next to one of father’s odious trees.

‘What do we have here?’ I murmur, my escape briefly forgotten.

Dropping to my knees, I pat my hands on my thighs as I beckon the little cat to me. At first, he releases another meow, his eyes flashing red. But eventually he decides to trust me, taking a few steps until he reaches my side.

I don’t make to touch him yet, giving him time to smell me and get used to my presence.

He’s all black with a small tuft of white hair on the top of his head—the only recognizable thing about him in the darkness of the night.

My lips tip up in a smile when he brushes his head against my knee.

Another meow and I know it’s his way of letting me know I can touch him.

Bringing my hand to his small head, I pat him slowly.

‘You’re such a pretty little thing,’ I whisper, already thinking how I could keep him.

My father hates animals, and he’s prohibited me time and time again from spending time with them. He’s afraid someone is going to see me interact with them and come to the same conclusion he had—that I’m daft because I speak to the animals as if I’m waiting for them to answer back.

‘But you understand what I’m saying, don’t you? You may not answer me, but if you could, you would tell me that you like my touch, isn’t that right?’ I coo in a soft voice, getting a meow as a reply.

‘He’s wondering if you have any food.’ A manly voice startles me. My eyes go wide as I lose my balance and fall on my bottom.

‘Who is there? Show yourself!’ I demand immediately just as fear blooms in my chest at the thought that news of this escapade will reach my father’s ears.

A figure draped in shadows appears from behind one of the trees. At first, I can’t make out who it is, or what he looks like. But as he takes another step, my mouth parts in awe.

‘My apologies, My Lady,’ he gives me a formal bow, yet I can’t seem to react.

Not when my eyes are affixed to his form and the oddest visage I’ve ever seen. Yet it’s not odd in a bad way, merely in an unusual, unique and fascinating way.

He’s dressed all in black, eschewing any color that others would have been eager for. But it all contrasts with his hair—the whitest shade of blonde I’ve ever seen and longer than the current fashion allows. I can’t quite make out the shade of his eyes from this distance, but they look to be a light blue.

The more I regard him, the more handsome he becomes right under my gaze.

‘Who are you?’ I ask on a whisper, barely able to get my bearings together.

Though I’m not wearing a corset, my breathing feels as constricted as if I wore the tightest contraption. My pulse is racing and I can feel the heat climb up my cheeks, undoubtedly painting them the deepest red. And for that, I am thankful for the cover of the night—otherwise this stranger would see just how flustered I am in his presence.

‘I should go,’ I suddenly murmur. ‘It’s not proper to be alone with a gentleman,’ I make the excuse as I get to my feet. Yet I can’t find it in me to leave Mr. Meow behind, so I tuck him in the crook of my elbow, turning to leave.

‘How do you know?’ he suddenly asks, stepping closer.

I stop in my tracks.

‘That I’m a gentleman,’ he continues, a hint of a smile in his voice.

I half-turn, the corner of my mouth tugging up.

‘Then all the more reason why it wouldn’t be proper to be alone with you.’

‘Hmm… And are you proper all the time?’

I blink, confused by his question.

At the same time, Mr. Meow starts struggling in my arms, lodging his claws in my arm.

Giving a small yelp, I release him, watching as he races away into the dark of the night.

‘It’s all your fault,’ I level him with a harsh stare, taking one step towards him. ‘You scared Mr. Meow,’ I accuse.

Though if I’m perfectly honest, this is merely the best excuse I could come up with to get closer—see him from up close. And just as I’d imagined, his features are…otherworldly.

Chiseled cheekbones, straight patrician nose, and those light blue eyes that regard me as if he could see right into my soul.

‘Mr. Meow?’ He raises a brow, a lock of white hair falling on his forehead. It’s then that I realize several things. His hair isn’t powdered, nor is he wearing a wig. No, his hair is white, despite the fact that he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

When I don’t reply, he chuckles.

‘I think that’s my cue that you’re not all proper, are you? No one cavorting with stray cats in the middle of the night can be very proper,’ he murmurs with amusement, his eyes never leaving mine.

‘What is it to you if I am proper or not? You still have not answered my question. Who are you?’

‘Who do you want me to be, chérie? Tell me and maybe I’ll make that true,’ he drawls, his hand coming up to my face but hovering over my skin instead of touching me.

‘You’re being rather presumptuous, mon cher,’ I fire back, narrowing my eyes at him.

He could very well be a rogue out for a tryst in the gardens, and instead of his intended he came across me.

‘You’re wrong,’ he suddenly says, just as one cold finger touches my chin, tipping it up so I look him in the eye. ‘I’m not here for anyone else,’ he smiles, showing white, even—predatory—teeth.

‘How… How did you know?’

‘You called for me,’ he leans forward, whispering in my ear. ‘Your soul called for me. So make your wish. What is it you want, Lizzie mine?’

My lips part in shock. Though he’d called me chérie before, this term of endearment seems so much more intimate. So much more…alluring.

‘What are you talking about?’ I clear my throat, trying my best not to succumb to the spellbinding effect his deep, rusty voice has on my senses.

‘You call and I come,’ he continues, his breath caressing my ear, its warmth seeping in my skin. Yet he doesn’t touch me further. His body doesn’t meet mine, though this madness inside of me wishes it would do so.

‘You’re mad,’ I accuse lightly, though I seem to be the one suffering from the malady.

‘Are we not all a little mad, Lizzie mine?’ He draws back, a gentle smile on his face—one that’s shadowed by great sadness. ‘But what if my madness recognizes yours?’ he asks, stunning me into silence.

For what feels like an eternity, my eyes are lost in his, my breath coming out in short spurts and meeting his in the middle. There’s an intense feeling of déjà-vu that washes over me, almost as if this meeting had taken place a thousand times before—always at a standstill; always an eternity apart.

Yet the spell is soon broken as a loud cry erupts in the stillness of the night, followed by more noises as the guests from the party flood into the garden. Knowing it would be disastrous were I to be found with a stranger, I step back, giving him a small head shake.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

One step. Two. I try to put distance between us yet I can’t seem to turn away, walking backwards because something within me cannot stand the thought of not seeing him again.

He merely smiles, watching me until I wrench the door to the servants’ quarters open and dash inside, heading straight for the stairs leading to my room.

Only when his gaze is no longer on me do I release a harsh breath, my body trembling, my heart almost bursting in my chest.

‘Who was he?’ I whisper to myself, barely paying attention to where I’m going. I’ve never in my life met someone who affected me so—who made me want to run away from him and towards him at the same time.

Yet I trust my instincts. And this duality in my heart is enough to make me keep my distance—if I ever see him again that it.

But why do I feel so sad at the thought of never seeing him again?

Shaking myself, I try to make my way up the stairs though the light is out. The servants must all be working to ensure the event goes smoothly and likely they forgot to light the candles on this staircase. One hand on the wall, I walk slowly, feeling my way in the darkness.

Just as I reach the landing of the first floor, I find myself flat on my front, a hand pulling at my ankle.

‘Let go,’ I kick with my free foot, turning in an attempt to gain more balance.

‘You fucking whore!’ The words, so full of vitriol, catch me by surprise. ‘I was promised a virgin bride, not one who spread her legs for anyone,’ he spits at me, pulling me towards him just as his hand comes down on my cheek, the slap leaving me reeling. ‘You think I didn’t see you spying outside? What, were you looking for a fucking? I’ll give you a bloody fucking.’

Despite the darkness, I realize this must be Lord Clifford, and dread fills me to the brim.

I keep pushing against him, hitting and kicking, and trying my best to escape his hold. When nothing works, I attempt to scream for help, but he doesn’t let me get more than a few sounds out before his putrid hand is on top of my mouth, muffling the sounds.

Pinning me to the ground, his other hand is roving down my body, searching for the hem of my dress and attempting to push it up.

Panic unlike any other suffuses my being, tears stabbing at my eyes. No matter how much I struggle, nothing seems to work.

Nothing at all.

And at this rate…

No.

He can’t touch me. He can’t…

Help.

One echoed word, just as one tear flows down my cheek.

One moment Lord Clifford is wrestling with my dress, the next he stills on top of me, a spurt of thick, viscous liquid coating my entire face and bodice.

Not a second later, a spark of light flares to life, illuminating the entire corridor.

Blinking, I can barely move as I come face to face with Lord Clifford’s rotten expression—now forever frozen in place. There’s a gaping wound on his neck, one that keeps spurting out blood.

It’s at that moment that I realize the liquid on my face is…blood.

And Lord Clifford is dead.

Gasping, I look up—shocked, or maybe not—to see the stranger from outside. He has a small candle in his right hand, his left one dripping with Lord Clifford’s blood—yet there’s no weapon in sight.

How had he…

I stare at him and I cannot seem to find my voice. Maybe I’d screamed too much, though none had been heard. Or maybe…maybe he did hear.

‘Can you be quiet?’ He asks in a severe tone.

I don’t know how I find the strength to nod, Perhaps I am still in shock.

Or, perhaps, this is all a nightmare and I’m yet to wake up.

‘Come,’ he says as he pulls the dead body off me, flinging it aside and giving me his hand—his ungloved hand.

‘Hurry,’ he snaps, impatiently tugging me to his arms, lifting me off the ground and holding me close to his chest. Without my saying anything, he expertly maneuvers us around the servants’ stairs until he reaches my room. How he knew which door led to my room, I do not know. Nor do I ask. I am beyond logical connections at this point, though I have no doubt that will come later—in the future when I will have time to reflect over everything more at length.

Closing the door behind us, he places me on the bed before he locks both doors.

I’m barely aware of what’s happening around, but suddenly I feel a wet cloth against my cheek, slowly wiping the blood away.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks—the man with the white hair and blue, blue eyes.

I blink, fighting back tears. Dear God, I was about to be raped.

If not for this man in front of me, I would have been raped.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper, my voice ragged from so much screaming.

I don’t know how he knew to come, and honestly, I no longer care.

I’m only happy that he did—that he saved me.

‘Thank you,’ I repeat as I cover his hand with mine, stopping his movements.

There’s worry in his eyes—so much worry for a strange girl. Yet as he looks at me like that—as if my pain was his pain—maybe I’m not a strange girl to him at all. Maybe…

‘You never have to thank me for anything, Lizzie mine,’ he shakes his head lightly. ‘I should have come earlier. I would have come earlier, but…’

‘You came at the right moment,’ I interrupt. ‘You saved me and that’s all that matters,’ I say as a sob breaks through my seemingly strong façade.

‘Shhh,’ he whispers, pulling me in his embrace and slowly rocking with me. ‘I’ll always save you, Lizzie mine,’ he speaks in my hair, holding me so tightly to his chest I fear I won’t be able to breathe again.

But I don’t protest.

Instead, I bask in that closeness and the fact that his body heat has a marvelous effect on me—lulling me into a sense of comfort and security unlike I’ve ever known.

If before I felt slightly apprehensive about him, now all I want is to melt in his embrace, merge my skin with his so I’m never without him again—never without the safety of his arms.

When I’ve calmed some more, he resumes his ministrations, cleaning the blood off my body and instructing me to get rid of the clothes.

‘We can’t leave any evidence behind,’ he says as he removes his vest.

When he sees my reluctance, he arranges a divider for me to afford me some privacy.

I do as he asks, quickly shedding the soiled garments and donning my nightgown instead. When I hand him the clothes, he stuffs them in a makeshift bag.

‘Will you at least tell me your name?’ I ask, suddenly afraid I won’t see him again.

He gives me a lopsided smile.

‘This isn’t the last you’ll see of me,’ he tells me, not for the first time seemingly reading my mind.

I nod slowly, yet I can’t seem to wrench my gaze from him.

Why did I ever think him dangerous? Staring at him like this, all I want is to go to his side, take his hand in mine and ask him to never let go.

In a flash, he’s before me.

‘That time will come,’ he murmurs, his knuckles caressing my cheek. ‘Soon, Lizzie mine. Soon, you’ll be all mine.’

Wetting my lips, I find myself lost in the depth of emotion I witness in his eyes. Once more, the question is on the tip of my tongue. Yet no sooner do I think of it than he speaks.

‘Amon. Amon d’Artan,’ he answers the unspoken question, his voice a soft caress.

A smile tugs at my lips. Yet as I blink, it’s to find him gone.

Like he was never there…

My eyes widen as I look around the room.

‘Amon?’ I call out, yet the only reply is the slight echo of the room.

The doors are still locked. The windows are untouched.

It’s like he vanished into thin air.

I don’t get to ponder it further as a loud commotion coming from outside claims my attention. Wrapping a robe around me, I open the door, noticing a flurry of servants rushing up and down the stairs. A few seconds later, I spot Mary.

‘My Lady!’ she cries out, rushing to my side.

I blink in confusion, and for a moment I’m scared they found Lord Clifford’s body and they’re coming for me—that I’ll hang for murder and…

‘He’s dead,’ she announces, and I freeze on the spot.

‘Your father’s dead,’ she bemoans, recounting how they’d found him collapsed in his study. A heart ailment, they believe.

She prattles on, and I merely nod along, only one question in my mind.

Amon… Did he…

August, 1995

Fairydale, Massachusetts

I shoot upright in bed, sweat dripping down my face as my chest constricts, my breathing harsh and out of control. Wildly looking around, it feels as if the walls of the room are closing in on me, suffocating me.

The dream… It felt so real. From the clothing, to the architecture and people’s speech—my speech.

My heart is beating wildly in my chest as I try to make sense of it.

Never in my life had I been so immersed in a dream—so fully in tune with every little detail.

Wiping the sweat off my face, I look down to my hands, almost expecting to see blood on them. Even now, I can feel the warmth of the blood on my skin, his gentle touch as he wiped it away.

Amon…

How in God’s name could I have conjured up someone like him? Someone so…odd yet familiar. Someone who inspires both fear in me, and a sense of security the likes I’ve never experienced before.

All my life I’ve relied solely on myself, knowing that although I have people who love me in my life, I can only count on myself when it matters most. I’ve always thought that by being strong, I could be impervious to loneliness. And despite having a part of me that longed for something—an ineffable something—I’d tried to push it aside, afraid of disappointment.

Yet his embrace…his arms around my body had been like an arrow to the heart, targeting my one weakness and exploiting it. Because it hadn’t been just one hug. It had been warmth, and gentleness coupled with a scorching heat that made me think of only one thing.

Home.

His embrace had felt like home.

But the issue is… I’ve never had a home before.

Closing my eyes, I try to recreate his image from before. But now that I am awake, his features are shadowy, almost blurred out. Despite that, the feeling remains—everything he arose in me with one touch, and one action.

My skin tingles with awareness and heat travels up my neck.

I dreamed of a man. Clearly, a very attractive man.

One who didn’t seem immune to me either.

My eyes squeeze shut with embarrassment just as I find the strength to get out of bed, going to the bathroom to do my morning ablutions and prepare for the day.

As I wash my face, I watch my reflection in the mirror, tracing my features and wondering what he would have seen in me.

Dark hair, pale skin and dark blue eyes.

I’m passably pretty, but not the type that inspires unquenchable lust in men.

But then, just like a bolt of lightning hitting me, I recall my encounter with Caleb Hale the night before. As if everything falls into place, I can’t help but wonder if my dream hadn’t been a reaction to that. To the fact that I’d found the man more attractive than any other man I’ve ever seen in my life. And deep down, though I’ve been reluctant to admit it to myself, the truth is that he’d made quite an impression on me.

He rattled me. And that uneasiness I felt? It was purely my physical reaction to him.

At the same time, though, the two men could not be any different. Whereas with Caleb I’d felt a predominant sense of unease, with Amon I’d found the greatest peace…

‘Get your bearings together, Darcy,’ I mumble as I slap my cheeks a couple of times.

I’m not here to engage in any affairs of the heart—or any other type. My time in Fairydale is limited, and I need to remember my purpose. I can’t let any pretty face sway me from that. Especially one that called me a troublemaker and behaved entirely too forward with me—something that makes me wonder if the entire town had found out about my arrival.

More than anything, it tells me I need to have my guard up. I’ve already witnessed the hidden animosity of the Pierces, and I imagine they won’t be the only ones to have an adverse reaction to a stranger in their town.

Finishing up my routine, I dress and prepare for the funeral. Grace had lent me a black dress as well, and that should work just fine.

I look at my wristwatch, noting there is still some time before Mr. Vaughan will come pick me up. And as my curiosity is getting the best of me, I decide to check the Old Church once more.

Getting out of the house, I lock it before I cross the road.

In daylight, the church doesn’t look as ominous as before, and I can better admire the architecture and the colored glass.

I go straight to the entrance, but as I attempt to open the door, it won’t budge.

Frowning, I try again. And again. But it’s all to no avail.

It’s locked.

‘It wasn’t locked last night,’ I blink in confusion. Looking around, I shrug my purse on my shoulder as I walk around the church, looking to see if there’s any hidden entrance Caleb might have used to play a prank on me.

Yet after two full circles around the building, there’s absolutely no other entrance.

Baffled, I can only stare at the old edifice, not for the first time feeling as if my mind is playing tricks on me.

‘Am I going crazy?’ I murmur softly to myself.

I remember clearly what happened last night. The door had been open and someone had been playing Bach on the organ. Then I’d heard some steps, after which I’d come across Caleb.

Deep in thought, I’m startled by a meowing sound coming from the back of the church. A few steps, and I’m face to face with a cat—a black cat with a tuft of white hair.

I freeze on the spot as my mind goes back to my dream and the little creature I’d seen there. It’s nearly identical.

Before I can get closer to it, however, Mr. Vaughan’s voice resounds in the air.

‘Miss Darcy! What the hell are you doing there?’ He asks as he strides towards me.

‘I heard a cat and…’

‘What cat?’ he demands when he reaches my side, but as I point to the little ball of black fur, I realize it’s already gone.

‘It must have run away,’ I whisper in dismay.

‘Let’s go, we need to get to the funeral on time.’

‘Wait! Who has the key to the church?’ I suddenly ask.

‘The key to the church?’ He frowns. ‘There’s no key to the church.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The church has been sealed shut since the plague. The only way to open it is to blow up the door,’ he explains, his tone almost put off by my question.

‘But… Are you certain? I heard the organ playing last night and when I came to check…’

He releases an exasperated sigh as he marches over to the door, his hand on the handle as he tries to wrench it open with all his strength.

Just like before, it doesn’t budge.

‘But… It can’t be,’ I mumble, staring at the sealed door in shock.

‘You must have dreamed about it, Miss Darcy,’ he says gruffly, not looking at me.

‘That’s not true!’ I protest. How dare he tell me I dreamed it when I saw it with my own eyes—when I heard the melody with my own ears.

‘Caleb Hale was there, too. He can confirm it,’ I declare proudly, pushing my chin up.

But his reaction is not what I expected.

His lips spread into an insidious grin before he laughs out loud.

‘Caleb Hale?’ his amusement doubles, especially as my brows shoot up in confusion.

‘He ain’t right in the head, Miss Darcy. He’s been that way since he came back from the war in Korea. My advice, stay the hell away from him. He’s bad news.’

But…

He turns his back to me, walking towards the car parked by the side of the road, thereby ending the discussion.

And I’m left more confused than ever.