Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance

Sweat clings to my skin as I open my eyes, wildly looking around. The unfortunate realization that it was all a dream crashes on me, while my frustration mounts that it couldn’t last a while longer.

What was Amon talking about?

I remember most of the details of the dream before he showed me the balcony, yet I can’t recall anything of what he told me after and something tells me it was very important.

My hands go to my neck, feeling for the missing necklace. I hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but for some reason I feel its absence to my very soul.

The moment it had touched my skin, I’d felt more complete than ever before.

I sigh as I rub my eyes in an attempt to chase sleep and disappointment away. My limbs are sluggish as I get out of bed, and I’m barely able to stand on two feet. Yet as I glance at my wristwatch, I note it’s three o’clock at night.

I’m alone in my room, with Caleb nowhere to be seen. If before I would have been upset at his absence, now I don’t know anymore.

Certainly not with this last dream and what I’d learned about Amon.

He…

I swallow hard, certainty washing over me the more I think about the past.

Amon would have never hurt me.

I am absolutely sure of it. More than I’ve ever been about anything in my life. So much so that I can’t conceive of ever believing Rhiannon’s lies.

He loved me—he loves me.

And I love him.

How vile do you have to be to lie to someone about something as severe as rape? To show them what would look as their own abuse and murder? How evil do you have to be to do that just to push your own agenda?

Ironic how everyone blames Amon for being so evil but at every turn I’m getting more and more convinced everyone else but him is evil.

Amon would never do anything unprovoked, and I remain staunch in that opinion.

I may have wavered for a moment, and I deeply regret that. But at least that showed me that Rhiannon isn’t as saintly as she makes herself to be—perhaps none of the Hales are.

Crashing on the edge of the bed, I blink back tears as I recall all those perfect moments and the utmost care he had for me. He chained himself with a harmful metal to please me, even knowing he would be at my mercy while doing so.

Goodness, but he was absolutely wrecked when he saw he’d made me bleed just a little.

That Amon would never do anything to hurt me, physically or emotionally.

For God’s sake, the man plotted an entire elaborate scheme to marry me just so our relationship wouldn’t cause a bloody conflict—so he wouldn’t hurt my family. He’d built me a castle a continent away, dedicating every little architectural quirk to me.

Someone like that would never, never do anything against me.

And that complicates everything in my life. With me. With Caleb. With what Rhiannon and Mr. Nicholson mean to do to harm Amon.

Conflicting thoughts arise in my head until I can no longer make sense of my own mind. I no longer know what to do, or whom to trust.

I only know that I am in love with a demon. And I must do whatever I can to ensure that he walks free.

Swiftly getting dressed, I open the door to my bedroom, glancing around the hallway. Relieved I don’t see any sign of movement, I take a candle with me to the other wing on the first floor—the forbidden Creed matrimonial suite.

Creeping my way towards that area, I can’t help but think back to the past and how everything had originally looked like. Though the Hales have undoubtedly maintained the authentic feel of the house, there are some things that have changed. Yet as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I come to a halt just in front of the big double doors.

Katrina had told me Lydia Hale was the daughter of the original owners—the Creeds.

Dear God, but does that mean that…the Hales are my descendants?

If Lydia was my daughter in a past life, then that would make me Caleb’s great-great-grandmother.

What sick twist of fate is this?

I shake my head at the absurdity of it all. Surely there must be another explanation. Seeing how nothing is as it seems with this family, I won’t despair just yet.

Steeling myself, I muster the courage to probe the door.

To my surprise, it easily gives way.

Not so locked…

Pushing my way inside, I come to a narrow corridor. As I wave my candle around, I note the various paintings on the wall.

The first three are of people I do not recognize—one girl and two older boys. But it’s when I reach the end of the corridor that I stop in my tracks, my eyes slowly widening with disbelief.

If I would have had any doubt about the veracity of my dreams, then this would have erased all doubts.

It’s a painting of five people—a family.

Elizabeth and Amon are in the back, looking lovingly at the artist painting the portrait. His arm is across her shoulders as he holds her close to him—scandalous for the period, no doubt. Her head is on his chest, a look of pure happiness on her face.

‘God, but we’re identical,’ I can’t help but whisper as I let my eyes roam over her features. The same blue eyes, dark hair and pale complexion.

Taking a step closer, I move the candle higher to study Amon’s features, which are just as beautiful as I remembered. Strong jaw and cheekbones, a lush mouth and mesmerizing eyes. Then there’s the unmistakable strength of his body, his height and breadth of shoulders impressive and breathtaking.

‘Amon,’ I whisper, hovering my fingers over the surface of the painting in the ghost of a touch. ‘My Amon…’

Lizzie…

I startle back, my eyes wide, my breathing punctured as I look around me.

‘Amon… Are you here?’

My smile dies down when I don’t get any reply.

It must have been my erratic mind, for I wish for nothing else than to meet him again—tell him I still love him. Against all odds, he still has my heart.

Returning my attention to the painting, I see the same three people from before in front of Amon and Elizabeth.

The girl looks about eight or ten years old, while the other boys are older, in their late teens.

Who are they?

Elizabeth had wed Jeremiah Creed in seventeen ninety-one. This painting looks to have been commissioned in eighteen-five—the year of the plague.

Could they have had three children in that period? Those children?

More questions arise in my mind, but hopefully I will be able to find some answers.

Taking a few more steps, I spot another portrait of Elizabeth and Amon.

There are none with them individually. Just the two of them together, always holding each other, always gazing at one another with love.

Melancholy settles deep in my soul as I glance at them—at us. I know at once that this is what I’ve been looking for my entire life—that restlessness that’s always lurked beneath my skin, making me dissatisfied with every moment, even the joyful ones.

It was because of him.

I was missing a crucial part of myself.

Him.

Forcing myself to move on, I come to a small ambulatory before I walk into a big closet—the same one from my dreams.

My breath catches in my throat as I recognize some of the gowns—particularly the red one I’d worn that night for him. Reaching for it, I trail my hands over the worn silk, the material damaged by the passage of time.

More memories appear in my mind—the first time it has happened during daytime. Yet as I brush my fingers along the fine fabric, I can envision all the occasions I’d worn it on. And every time it had been to please Amon.

We’d made love countless times while I was wearing this gown, every time the passion between us burning brighter.

‘Amon,’ I sniffle a cry as tears stream down my cheeks. ‘I miss you. I need you,’ I whisper.

But there’s no reply.

Turning, I come face to face with the wall of jewelry, where there are even more pieces than in my dream. Picking up a small, red box, I barely open it and I’m thrust into the past.

‘You got me another pair of earrings? Amon, I already have more than enough,’ I’d admonished him softly, gazing at him with tenderness.

‘You love jewelry, Lizzie mine. And I love gifting it to you. Do you begrudge me this small pleasure?’

‘Of course not. Never. Thank you,’ I’d leaned into him, giving him a kiss and allowing him to put the earrings on.

Back to the present, I can’t help but audibly sob at the beautiful ear pieces. Without even thinking whether I should or not, I pluck them from their box, putting them on—the only way I can feel closer to Amon at a time such as this.

Yet as I search through the various boxes of jewelry, I can’t find the necklace he’d given me after our wedding anywhere.

Odd.

That is the one piece I wish I could get my hands on, not only because of its symbolism to our relationship, but also because I’d felt something when it had touched my skin. A strong current of electricity had entered my body, the necklace acting like some sort of armor around my skin.

Somehow I force myself to move forward even though my heart yearns for that one piece.

Maybe I’ll find it in another place…

As I open another set of double doors, I come to a small living area that leads into the main bedroom.

The matrimonial bedroom seems to take up the space of the entire wing. But it’s not just the sheer size of it that is striking, but also the design.

Though everything is dusty since no one has been in here in decades, if not more, everything is as we’d left it.

I don’t know how I am so sure of it, but as I take in the design, the furniture and the items lying around, I get a strong sense of déjà-vu.

Everything is a combination of red and gold. The walls, the furniture, even the bed.

Drawn to the bed, I reach down to touch the red covers, images dancing in my brain—of us together, wrapped in each other as we made love. I see flashes of our temporary happiness, when it had been just us.

Amon and Lizzie. Husband and wife. Lovers.

My throat feels ragged as I cannot stop myself from crying at what I’ve seemingly lost.

‘Who did this to us, Amon?’ I murmur between sobs. ‘Who destroyed our happiness?’

Most of all, who killed me?

If Amon didn’t do it, then who did?

Wandering around the room, I touch every little thing as I get more snippets of the past—yet it’s nothing concrete. I see bursts of happiness, but I don’t see a coherent or linear narrative. And now, that is what I need the most to make sense of things.

Next to the bed, there’s a brown, wooden chest that I slowly open, coughing when the dust flies into my face. Rubbing my eyes with the material of my blouse, I peer inside.

‘No…’ I whisper as I reach down inside. ‘It can’t be…’

Yet it is.

There are tens, if not hundreds of letters in the trunk. All in a decidedly masculine writing.

The letters I’d received from Amon.

They are all here.

Settling on the floor, I place the candle next to me in a secure location before I unfold a couple of them, reading their contents.

If before I’d been sobbing, now I can’t help but wail as I read those precious words.

Eternally Yours,

Amon

The letters are just as I’d seen them in my dreams, once more confirming the veracity of my visions. But it’s the intense feeling at seeing them up close, of having them in my own hands, that proves to be my undoing.

‘Amon, Amon,’ I chant his name between uncontrollable sobs.

The letters attest to his love, and patience. To his care for me.

Each word is like manna for a woman on the brink of hopelessness, each word bringing me closer to him and steering me towards the truth.

I don’t know how much time I spend lost through the letters. But I can’t stop myself from unfolding every one of them, poring over his beautiful script as I imagine him sitting at a desk, penning them slowly and carefully.

In my mind, I see my beautiful Amon as he brought his quill to the paper, staining the sheet with ink just like he’d stained my very essence with his presence.

He imprinted on me just as he imprinted these words on paper.

Irrevocably.

Eternally.

Light streams through the curtains, particles of dust dancing in the air. Dawn is here, and I’m nowhere near ready to leave this place. Not when it still holds a piece of him.

Yet as I look up towards the source of light, I suddenly remember the balcony.

Carefully placing the letters back in the chest and closing it, I blow the candle out and leave it on the floor. Getting up, I slowly make my way to the other end of the room, pulling on the curtains and peering outside.

A medium-sized balcony appears before me, sparsely furnished with only two chairs, a small table and many, many blue flowers that are somehow still alive.

My eyes widen at the wonder of it.

Wiping a finger down the table, I note the thick layer of dust that coats not only this surface, but every single one on this balcony. There is absolutely no trace of anyone having been here to tend to the flowers in the recent past.

Yet in spite of that, they look perfectly healthy.

My brows scrunch in curiosity as I go down to my knees to take a closer look at them.

I’ve always had a fascination with flowers and plants. Unfortunately, save for the books I’d manage to find at the orphanage or at Saint Russell, my education has been sorely lacking.

Even so, it’s impossible not to recognize this one—anyone would be able to.

Forget-me-not.

Given their pristine condition—not one flower is wilted—someone must have taken religious care of them.

And I can only think of one person.

Amon.

Somehow, he’d kept these flowers alive. Even trapped, he focused his strength into them.

‘I didn’t forget you,’ I whisper as a tear rolls down my cheek. ‘I could never forget you. Even when I couldn’t remember, I knew I was missing something—a central part of myself. How could I forget you when you’re part of me?’ I confess softly, plucking one small flower and placing it in my hair.

A little wobbly, I slowly get up and turn towards the big windows at the end of the balcony, the memory from before appearing again in my mind.

Placing my hands on the windowsill, I lean forwards to watch the breathtaking scenery, made even more so by the slow ascent of the sun into the sky, its orange-like beams bathing me in the purest light.

Closing my eyes, I inhale the clean air as I lose myself in the moment—in this place that bears the dearest memory of our wedding.

An eerie calm unlike I’ve never experienced before settles over me, reaching deep inside of me and touching my soul. Feather-like touches caress my cheeks just as the warmth of the young sunrays cascades over me.

I remain like that, hanging onto the windowsill while freeing my mind and letting it roam—all in an effort to draw more visions of the past.

I want—need—to see more of Amon. Of our past together. Of that past happiness.

So I open myself up like never before, somehow knowing I will be safe on the other side.

Tipping my head up, I lean forwards onto the railing. The sound of the ocean becomes increasingly louder, the water hitting against the rocky shore before retreating—a perpetual movement.

Seagulls squawk in the distance, the combinations of early-morning noises washing over me.

Yet just as I find myself firmly planted in the present, I’m suddenly thrust forward in another time.

The view is a similar one. A balcony on the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. But I can tell immediately that this is an entirely different place.

Turning, I note the change in furniture and the fact that this balcony is far smaller, only accommodating two people with almost no wiggle room. Taking a step forward into the adjacent room, I’m surprised to see how sparsely furnished it is.

A bed lies in the middle of the room, and a chest of drawers next to it. At the end of the room, there is one table and one chair, suggesting this is only occupied by one person.

My feet take me inside, but I don’t stop in the room. Opening the door, I follow a small corridor before I go down a spiral staircase. Everything is small and secluded, the living quarters away from everyone else.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I look right and left, realizing there are two rooms to the left and glass doors to the right.

Full of curiosity, I march to the right, opening the glass doors and stepping into pure sunlight.

I instinctively squint my eyes and I bring a shielding hand to my forehead. My eyes get teary from the direct contact with the light, but as they slowly accommodate to it, I manage to take in my surroundings.

It’s…an indoor garden.

A glorious garden.

It’s the size of an entire yard, the only difference being that it is walled on every side, the light coming through a glass ceiling at the top.

There are rows upon rows of flowers and plants, many of them medicinal.

Yet my eyes take me to the top right corner where I spot the beautiful blue hue of the flowers—forget-me-nots.

I squat down in front of them, bringing my hand and touching their silky texture.

The questions continue to assail my mind. Though I am seeing a foreign sight—one which I am sure belongs to my memories—I cannot for the life of me remember what this all meant.

Where am I? What is this place? And why is it so solitary?

Taking out a handkerchief, I pat down each flower, the action foreign.

That is when I realize that despite maintaining my own awareness, it is not I who is performing this task—who is moving about the garden. I am merely a spectator in this body, watching things that have already occurred in the past.

I carefully tend each flower, making sure they are all clean, healthy, and well-watered.

Yet as I lose myself in this menial task, a sudden creaking sound startles me.

Jumping to my feet, I bring my hand to my breast, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I cannot say for sure if I am afraid, or curious.

‘Show yourself,’ I call out, my voice booming in the enclosed space.

Yet again, I’m struck by the accent and the words, immediately aware the tongue is not English but instinctively knowing its meaning.

Slow, thudding steps resound in my ears. Turning towards the entrance I’d come from, my eyes widen as I see an imposing form walking towards me.

‘You’ve been taking care of them,’ he tips his head towards the flowers, his eyes glinting with pleasure at seeing me again.

‘A gift should always be treasured,’ I reply with a huff, though there is no mistaking the warmth that spreads to my insides at the sight of him.

‘What are you doing here, Amon?’ I ask softly, my pulse picking up speed just as he picks up his pace—until he’s standing right in front of me.

He’s dressed in formal clothes, black silk and leather mixed in a lethal combination. All tied together with bones—what little must have been left of his greatest adversaries.

He looks absolutely dashing, and I cannot seem to tear my eyes from him.

There’s a quiet pride shining in the tilt of his chin, a deadly aura surrounding him as he walks with such casual leisure, as if he could end the entire world if he wished to.

‘I’m here for you, lovely Sela,’ he murmurs softly.

Before I can reply, though, I’m wrenched back into the present, crouching in pain from the unexpected push. My breath becomes labored just as my heart slowly breaks as I reach out for Amon only to find nothing before me.

‘Amon,’ I whisper, my voice tinged with anguish as more tears leak from my eyes.

I do not know when that flash was from, just as I do not know where we were.

The only thing I do know is that my feelings for him never changed.

Then, just like now, I placed in him all my girlish dreams and childhood fantasies. I saw him for what he was—a war machine—but I also knew a side of him the world did not.

Amon d’Artan was not just a killer.

He was the most tender lover—my lover.

Feeling more alone and forlorn than ever, I drop to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest as I rock myself lightly, all the while thinking of him and of this situation that’s threatening to make me go insane.

What do I do now? How can I help him when I don’t have all the information, let alone knowledge of who I am?

As the hour grows late, I realize I need to head back to my room to avoid being discovered. The last thing I want is for Rhiannon to know I suspect her and her motives.

Yet I cannot ease the turmoil that resides within me.

If Amon cannot tell me anything, it means I need to find everything out for myself. And I fear the only way to do so is to dream more—see more of the past and understand the hidden truths.

If I am able to find out who killed me, I may be able to find a solution to this.

With my mind made-up, I climb back in bed, closing my eyes and forcing myself to sleep.

‘Do I have to carry you out of bed?’ an amused voice whispers in my ear hours later, when despite my best efforts, sleep has proven elusive.

‘What are you doing here?’

My eyes snap open as I come face to face with Caleb hovering over me.

A lopsided smile pulls at his lips as he regards me, and my heart skips a beat. Yet at the same time, a big chasm opens inside of me as I find myself caught in yet another conundrum.

I love Amon. I love him unlike I ever thought myself capable of loving someone. At the same time, I have to admit to myself that I’m in love with Caleb, too. Against all odds, he’s ingratiated himself in my heart with his unwavering support.

There is also the fact that I accepted Caleb’s proposal, not Amon’s.

Why does it feel, then, that I’m betraying Amon when I am with Caleb?

Frustration gnaws at me the more I ruminate about this. Yet one thing is absolutely certain. I cannot marry Caleb, nor can I continue a relationship with him. Not with everything I know now. I just need to find the right moment to let him know that, too.

‘Let’s go. I have a special treat for you today,’ he winks at me just as he yanks the sheets from my body.

All at once, the scene from the night before replays in my mind and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Well, at least this time I’m wearing clothes.

‘You know, women need their beauty sleep,’ I grumble as I get out of bed and put on a pair of shoes.

‘If you were more beautiful, Darcy darlin’, you’d give me a heart attack,’ he says smoothly.

‘You’re such a charmer,’ I shake my head at him, though his words make my insides melt.

He doesn’t allow me any respite as he takes my hand, leading me out of my room and towards the exit of the house.

Despite my previous decision, my body reacts to his nearness, a tingling that starts at the surface of my skin which then extends everywhere, until my mind is filled entirely with thoughts of him.

Is it possible for someone to be attracted to two people the same? Can the same be said about love? Because no matter how much I mull over this issue, or how much I compare Caleb and Amon, a side of me wants them both.

Is it possible to love them both?

The moment that thought arises, I chastise myself. How could I be so fickle?

‘Here,’ Caleb suddenly says, startling me from my thoughts.

‘What’s this?’ I blink in confusion.

‘What do you think, silly? It’s a picnic,’ he tells me just as he swoops me in his arms, laying me on the spread blanket. ‘I prepared all your favorite foods and drinks. Since I don’t have any business pending today, I wanted to spend the day with my fiancé,’ he declares as he leans in to give me a kiss on my cheek.

I’m speechless as I’m trying to catch up with everything.

Everything is laid out before me perfectly, from food, to wine, to a couple of books and board games to read and play, he’s been entirely too thoughtful.

And I, ever the ungrateful, get hung-up on one word.

Fiancé.

‘Here,’ Caleb says as he places two plates of food in front of me, both boasting a selection of cheeses, ham, and vegetables.

‘I also got your favorite bread,’ he continues as he removes a French baguette from his bag. Taking a knife, he proceeds to cut it into little pieces for me.

‘You’re too sweet,’ I smile at him.

‘Not enough,’ he answers gruffly. ‘My purpose is to make sure every moment of your day is sweet—regardless of the circumstances.’

I raise a brow at him, but I don’t get to reply as he holds a morsel of food to my lips. He’d stacked cheese and a slice of salami on a piece of bread, topping it off with some red pepper.

Opening my mouth, I let him feed it to me.

‘You need to take care of your health, darlin’. You’ve been slacking off with eating, haven’t you?’

My cheeks redden from his observation.

With so much stress, I might have forgotten to eat a time or two.

‘I eat when I’m hungry,’ I mumble.

‘Which is when you remember, and it’s not good for you. You’ve already lost weight.’

My eyes widen.

‘It’s not polite to comment on a lady’s weight,’ I reproach lightly, trying not to let his comment get to my head.

Looking down at my body, I have to wonder if what he says is true. I haven’t paid much attention to how my clothes have fit me since I’ve had other things on my head. Yet now that he mentioned it, I can’t help but wonder if he finds that unappealing.

Then I realize that from the beginning he’s been plying me with food at every turn, urging me to try this, try that. Was it all some covert mission to get me to fill up in places?

He draws back, blinking in confusion, and it dawns on him that he misspoke.

A flush mars his cheeks as he finds himself speechless for a moment.

‘It wasn’t my intention to offend you,’ he murmurs, his hand seeking mine and squeezing tight. ‘I don’t care about your weight, Darcy. I care about you. And that means watching out for you to be healthy, to eat at the right times and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. I know you have a tendency to forget about that when your mind is preoccupied with something.’

His tone is laced with so much sincerity as he urges me to meet his gaze.

In such a short time, he’s observed me quite thoroughly, hasn’t he? Always looking out for me, always there to help me if I’m in trouble. Why does that thought alone make my heart beat faster in my chest, my stomach clenching with that familiar sensation?

I shouldn’t feel like this, yet I do.

‘I apologize. I truly didn’t mean it like that, trust me,’ he reiterates.

‘Alright,’ I nod.

‘I mean it,’ he continues, seemingly making it his mission to convince me.

Sliding closer on the blanket, he tugs me to him, his hand trailing down my back as he places my head on his shoulder.

‘Do you know why I fell in love with you?’ he asks softly in my hair.

I shake my head.

‘Your heart,’ he tells me, and I can feel him smile against me. ‘You have the purest soul, darlin’. I’ve never met someone more kind hearted than you. I mean, who would save a damn cat from a fire instead of saving herself?’ he chuckles.

I freeze.

How…how does he know about that? I haven’t told him about it. In fact, he’s never even met Mr. Meow. So how would he know about that incident unless he was there?

Unless…

Goosebumps cover the entirety of my skin as an ominous feeling envelops me.

Dear God, but could he have something to do with the fire?

He continues speaking, singing me praises yet I can’t listen anymore as doubts cloud my mind.

Could he have done that to force me to move to the Hale manor?

He’d certainly been insistent about it before.

‘So trust me that it’s not your appearance that holds my heart, Darcy. Though I must say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ he chuckles, and I force a smile on my lips.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur.

I don’t get to say more as a loud crash resounds in the air.

Caleb stiffens.

‘We’re still on Hale land, we should be protected by Rhiannon’s wards,’ he frowns.

‘We should see what’s wrong,’ I offer, and before he can refuse me, I’m already out of his arms and to my feet, hurrying towards the noise—anything to avoid the deep discomfort that settled in my stomach at his words.

God, but I really hope it’s just my paranoia coming to the surface and Caleb had nothing to do with the fire.

But what if he did?

‘Darcy! Wait!’ Caleb calls after me. ‘Don’t…’

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as I stop in my tracks, shock overtaking me at the sight I’m seeing.

‘Darcy,’ he breathes hard as he catches up with me, taking my hand.

But then he looks ahead, too, and notices the same thing.

Rhiannon is at the big gate of the estate, and she’s opposite Mr. Nicholson.

Both are glaring at each other while screaming, and before I know it, a laser beam erupts from Mr. Nicholson’s cane, which is directed at Rhiannon.

‘You damn old man,’ she curses before a shield envelops her.

Like a mirror, it serves to refract the laser beam. Yet it’s unfortunate that the direction is…us

‘Down,’ Caleb yells just as he pushes me to the ground.

Even so, the trajectory of the laser is downwards, and as he emits a low, pained groan, I know he got hit.

‘Oh God, Oh God,’ I start panicking, my hands all over his body. ‘Are you alright? Are you…’

‘I…’ his features tense and strain as he squeezes his eyes shut, holding himself over me, his palms on each side of my face as he supports himself on his arms.

‘You’re hurt. God, Caleb…’

‘Don’t,’ he grits out. ‘It’s just…temporary,’ he grinds his teeth as he breathes in and out, doing his best to control himself.

Yet as he opens his eyes, I’m struck by the change of color in his irises as they swirl a deep red.

Surely not… Surely it’s just a play of shadows…

‘Darcy!’ Rhiannon calls my name, followed by Mr. Nicholson as they both reach my side.

Caleb is quick to regain control as he rights himself back up before helping me to my feet.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asks, her voice full of worry.

‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ Mr. Nicholson addresses the same question.

‘No,’ I give them a tight smile. ‘I’m fine.’

‘This is all your fault,’ she snaps at Mr. Nicholson, her hands gaining an odd yellow hue before she blasts him into a tree.

I jump a step up, my eyes wide in shock.

‘You fucking shrew!’ Mr. Nicholson yells.

Red stains his white shirt as he rights himself up, a gash forming where his forehead meets his hairline. Yet despite the visible injuries, he is fine.

He grips his cane tighter, his entire palm cupping the top of the handle as he rights himself back up. And just like they appeared, his injuries heal under my very gaze.

I shoot a concerned look at Caleb, but he slowly shakes his head at me. His lips are pursed, his entire countenance stiff.

‘You should know by now that you can’t hurt me, Rhiannon,’ he snides.

‘Oh, you might heal, but I’ll just keep blasting you. Let’s see if you can heal forever,’ she smirks at him as her palms color with magic again, energy humming all around.

‘I just came to see Darcy, not an old and bitter crone like you,’ he spits out at her, his eyes full of malice.

‘And you’ll have to get past me to see her,’ Rhiannon challenges, placing herself in front of me and channeling the same shield she’d used before.

‘Bring it on,’ he spits out in distaste, and lifting his cane to his chest, he closes his eyes.

‘Darcy, go inside the house,’ Rhiannon yells at me.

The sky blackens, bolts of lightning marring the previously clear expanse.

I’m rooted to the spot as I just stare at Mr. Nicholson and the energy that swirls around him.

His eyes snap open, his irises swirling a combination of white and blue as he blasts that lightning towards Rhiannon.

It’s at that moment that Caleb takes my hand in his, tugging me towards the house.

‘But…’

‘You don’t want to be anywhere near them now,’ he says tightly.

Reaching the house, he pulls me inside, closing the door.

Yet I can’t help my curiosity as I go back to the window, watching Rhiannon and Mr. Nicholson fighting from a distance. They seem to be equally matched, with the only difference that Mr. Nicholson can heal while Rhiannon cannot.

‘I didn’t know Mr. Nicholson had powers too,’ I mention absentmindedly as he continues to wield the lightning in his favor.

Caleb grunts, taking his position by my side as he wraps a possessive arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him.

‘But how is it possible?’ I suddenly frown. ‘If he is my grandfather and powers are passed down the female line, how is it possible he has them, too?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Then my grandmother must have had powers, too.’

Caleb smiles in my hair.

‘Or, maybe, she was the only one who did,’ he muses quietly.

My brows pinch together in concentration as I try to make sense of what he’s saying—or, rather, what he isn’t saying.

I continue to watch the ongoing fight, grimacing when Mr. Nicholson is once more thrown to the side by a powerful blast. Yet this time, the impact is so great, his cane slips from his hand, falling onto the grass a few feet over.

He struggles to his feet, teetering from side to side.

Even from a distance I can see he has a nasty wound at his temple, but unlike before, now it’s not healing immediately, bleeding profusely onto his cheek.

He moves slowly, his sights set on his cane as he tries to evade more blasts coming from Rhiannon.

But what is most striking is that not only has the sky suddenly cleared of all the clouds, but Mr. Nicholson is unable to channel any of the previous lightning bolts for his use.

‘The cane,’ I whisper, realization dawning on me. ‘The cane is the source of his power.’

Caleb nods.

‘Look now,’ he urges, just as Mr. Nicholson gets his hand on his cane.

In no time, the wounds are healing on his body, his strength seemingly reinvigorated.

‘Is the cane a magical artifact? What is it, that it can confer so much power to its master?’

‘Is it,’ Caleb hums, his eyes steely as he regards Mr. Nicholson.

Tipping my head up, I blink in surprise as I see the naked hatred and anger radiating from Caleb—all directed towards Mr. Nicholson. There’s so much negative emotion coming from him that it swirls in the air, a bitter taste erupting on my tongue.

Somehow, I know this is personal. From the beginning Caleb has been against him, though he’d never outrightly told me why. He’d given me hints he disapproves of him, but never with such an astounding vehemence.

As such, I can only infer one thing.

‘What did he do?’ I whisper in horror, seeing Caleb as I’d never seen him before. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘He bit the hand that fed him,’ he pauses, his jaw tense. ‘And stole what I held most dear in life.’

It’s late afternoon when I find myself face to face with Rhiannon in the drawing room. The conflict between her and Mr. Nicholson had ended at a standstill and the man had reluctantly left the premises when the other Hales had appeared to back Rhiannon up.

In the meanwhile, Caleb had excused himself to attend to some business and it seems I am to meet with his grandmother alone.

I swallow hard as I plaster a smile on my face.

‘I’m sorry about the incident outside,’ Rhiannon purses her lips. ‘I’d have never imagined Archibald would seek you out here. Although, given your rare appearances in town, he must have found himself at the end of his tether.’

‘Katrina told me there is a historic conflict between the Hales and the Nicholsons. But that seemed personal,’ I note.

Her features darken at my words, and she lifts a glass of water to her lips, taking a big gulp.

‘It is personal just as much as it is generational. I’m an old woman, Darcy. I’ve been around for a while. Archibald? He’s been around for even longer. Always waiting. Always looking out for a weakness.’

‘Longer?’

Although Rhiannon looks great for being in her late nineties, I got the impression Mr. Nicholson was younger than her.

‘I gather you spoke with him before?’ she probes carefully.

‘Once. He mentioned he knew my mother and I wanted to ask him some questions.’

She releases a dry laugh.

‘Did he now?’ she shakes her head. ‘He knew your mother as well as anyone in town, I assume.’

‘What do you mean?’ I frown, unable to understand what she’s hinting at.

‘Let me guess, child. He told you he was your grandfather, didn’t he? That you were blood relatives and he asked you to help based on that.’

I frown.

‘Was he lying?’

Her right cheek twitches as her mouth screws up in a sneer.

‘No,’ she chuckles. ‘He wasn’t lying alright. But I don’t think he mentioned who Lizette’s mother was, did he?’

I slowly shake my head.

Rhiannon rises from her chair, walking to a drawer and opening it. From it, she withdraws a small photo album, handing it to me.

‘These photos were taken in the twenties,’ she says, urging me to look through them.

With some apprehension, I open the album to the first picture, my eyes widening in the process.

‘This is…’

‘Lizette and Connor when they were younger.’

‘But that would mean?’

‘They’re cousins,’ she purses her lips. ‘First cousins.’

I flip the page, finding another picture with my mother and Rhiannon. Both looked far younger, and the resemblance is astounding.

‘Lizette was your daughter,’ I whisper, lifting my gaze to her in horror. ‘Which makes you my grandmother.’

And that makes me related to Caleb…

She gives a bitter nod.

‘I admit I kept some things from you. But it wasn’t for lack of want to tell you, but rather because it’s a difficult subject in the family,’ she swallows hard. ‘Like I said before, Lydia Hale foresaw your birth and the fact that you would be the one to eradicate the evil in Fairydale. But she foresaw something else, too,’ her lips tighten as she exhales deeply. ‘Your blood is like a fountain of power, Darcy. It is why that monster and the gargoyles came after you. It is why we need you for the ritual just as much as Archibald needs you for his own nefarious purposes.’

I nod along. I’d heard similar information from Fiona, but I’d never realized that my blood would be valuable for rituals, too. I’d assumed it worked for demons only.

‘Archibald knew everything about Lydia’s visions, and he knew exactly when you were going to be born and to whom. So he made sure to tie himself to you in a way that you could be useful to him.’

‘He made sure to tie himself to me? What do you mean?’

She swallows hard.

‘Lizette’s conception was not consensual,’ she admits in a low voice. ‘And I have every reason to believe neither was yours.’

My mouth opens and closes as I try to find my words. But ultimately I am speechless.

‘You mean Mr. Nicholson raped you so you could conceive my mother, and then had Mr. Pierce do the same with her?’

She nods, pain reflected in her eyes as she averts her gaze, looking out the window as her hands tremble in her lap.

From the moment I’ve met her, Rhiannon has been poised and calm, so to see her this rattled is entirely unusual. Despite my reticence against her, and the previous erroneous information she shared, I can’t help but believe she is telling the truth with this.

‘He wanted to ensure he had a link to you so he could convince you to join his cause.’

‘Then why didn’t he come to me earlier? Why wait until I arrived to Fairydale?’

Her lips flatten in a sardonic smile.

‘He cannot leave Fairydale,’ she confesses. ‘When Lizette realized she was pregnant, she knew what would happen were she to stay in Fairydale. She didn’t want you to step into this life. She didn’t want us, or Archibald, to influence you so she felt that the best way to offer you a normal life was to leave. When she did, knowing that Archibald would likely follow, I asked my coven to help me perform a spell to trap him.’

‘But he still found me. Through Mr. Vaughan.’

‘Yes. That rat,’ she sneers.

‘I assume there is no inheritance either?’ I ask drily.

Rhiannon chuckles.

‘Oh that was quite the interesting plot he devised to get you here. Including attempting to fake Leo’s death,’ she shakes her head, her eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘But to answer your question, yes. The inheritance should still stand if you abide by the conditions. It is still a legal document, and Leo wasn’t a poor man.’

My brows go up in surprise. Somehow I would have expected the entire thing to be one big farce. But if I get the money…

Get it together, Darcy! There’s still the matter of your survival and freeing Amon. Besides, with Amon’s powers, what is one million dollars? In fact, who even needs money?

‘But why would he use that to get me here?’ I ask pensively. ‘Why now?’

‘Archibald’s time is running low. He needs your help or he will continue to decline,’ Rhiannon explains.

‘What do you mean by my help?’

‘Oh, so he didn’t tell you?’ she chuckles. ‘I would have thought he must have found a way already to hint to you his plans.’

‘He only told me he does not believe in the ritual you mean to perform to kill Amon. He believes you’re risking the lives of precious witches when it is not a certain thing.’

She regards me for a moment, unblinking. Then, she throws her head back, laughing.

‘He said that? Oh, Lord, that fucker,’ she holds to her stomach as she continues to laugh.

I stare at her, not sharing the amusement since I do not understand why it is so funny in the first place.

After she seemingly calms herself, she wipes the tears at the corners of her eyes.

‘He doesn’t care about anything other than himself. Certainly, he doesn’t care about our coven or the people who stand to lose their lives.’

‘Then what is his purpose? Why is he doing all this?’

‘Because he’s dying.’

‘Dying?’ I repeat, frowning.

‘When he first appeared in Fairydale, everyone knew there was something evil about him—something dark. We realized too late that he was dabbling in dark magic—stealing people’s life essences and using them for his own.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Archibald arrived in Fairydale in the eighteen hundreds, not too long after my grandmother relocated with her husband here.’

‘But that would make him…’

‘Over a hundred years? Yes. I am not sure how old is he. Lydia knew about him, and she always told us to be careful, but she never shared more,’ she sighs. ‘From the beginning, he’d been dabbling in a forbidden magic meant to increase his lifespan and give him those abilities you saw.’

‘What about healing? How does he heal like that?’

She shakes her head.

‘I am not entirely sure, but it must be a consequence of the forbidden magic. But even that isn’t enough. I may not be very knowledgeable about it, but from what I’ve gathered, it corrodes at the soul until there’s nothing left. Turn to the end,’ she nods to the album in my hands.

I do as she says, flipping to the last page.

My brows furrow as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.

‘That picture was taken a few years before you were born, at the Fairy Festival. Most of the town was present. In the far end corner, you can see Archibald.’

‘But… He looks to be in his twenties here.’

Rhiannon nods.

‘That’s how he looked for as long as I can remember. He never aged. Not until…’ she pauses, her eyes meeting mine. ‘Not until you were born. I don’t know what happened—how it happened, but he started aging rapidly. It’s to the point that he now looks like a grandfather where just ten years ago you would have still thought him in his thirties. He’s degenerating faster and faster, and I am absolutely convinced he contrived to get you here to use you.’

‘You mean my blood,’ I whisper, realizing why I’d been attacked so many times.

She nods.

‘Unfortunately, with Archibald’s greed, it’s not just your blood he wants to maintain his strength. He wants more.’

‘More? Where…’ My eyes widen in comprehension. ‘Amon.’

‘He doesn’t want to put the demon away. He wants to take his powers. And for that, too, he needs you.‘

‘But how?’

‘The prophecy was two-fold, Darcy. It said you could eradicate the evil that resides in Fairydale. But it also said you could unleash it,’ she admits sadly. ‘We want your help to end Amon’s influence over this town. Archibald wants your help to free him into the world so he can take his powers. Yes, we might be risking our lives with a forbidden ritual, but the alternative is much, much worse.’

And with those words, Rhiannon leaves me alone to mull over the issue. Not before I’d noticed the confident gleam in her eyes. She thinks she’s won me over with her arguments and that there is absolutely no way I would help Mr. Nicholson.

Little does she know, though, that I can’t find it in me to care about their conflicts or anything other than Amon and how to free him.

But first, I think I need to have a very serious chat with Caleb.

I need to know if he was aware of any of this—of our familial connection, or the foul history between Archibald and Rhiannon.

More than anything, though, I need to ask him about his eyes.

For the first time since I’ve arrived in Fairydale, I do not think I am mad anymore, nor do I think my mind is playing tricks on me—or that it ever did.

Later that evening, I take dinner in my room as I add more details in my notebook, circling in the new connections.

If Rhiannon is my maternal grandmother, then it makes sense that my abilities had been passed down to me via the maternal line.

The only question I still have is regarding Lydia Hale and Elizabeth. How were they related? Was she truly Elizabeth’s—my—daughter?

No matter how you look at it, though, the connections are slightly baffling.

Though it does make sense that I would be born in the same family as before, there are still some details that are throwing me off.

How is it that I was reborn looking the same, having the same abilities, and clearly the same soul? This isn’t just a matter of my soul reincarnating into another body in the future. Rather, I’m back in the same body, with the same abilities, and with my memories seemingly intact but locked.

I may not be an expert in witchcraft, or genetics, or even reincarnation, but something is odd about the entire situation.

And then there’s Sela.

Who is she?

Bringing my fingers to my temples, I rub them gently as I try to clear my mind.

It certainly doesn’t help that I’ve developed a romantic connection with Caleb, who, technically, is my…second cousin?

Clearly, I’m not an expert in genealogy either.

But we are definitely too related for this to be comfortable in any way, which will need to be addressed as soon as he wraps up his work—though I have plenty of pending doubts about him.

As I type down my questions, there’s one last one that niggles at my mind.

Why had Rhiannon waited so long to tell me we are related?

Isn’t that something usually said at the first meeting? She certainly hadn’t seemed overly affectionate or maternal towards me, which, granted, could be attributed to her hate of Archibald and the fact that my mother’s conception had been via rape. At the same time, I find it entirely odd that she hadn’t reached out directly. Not when I’d first arrived in Fairydale, and barely after.

She’d slowly tried to inch her way towards me while keeping her background and our connection a secret.

Why?

Was she afraid I would find out about my connection with Elizabeth and Amon? That it might skew my perspective? It could certainly be the case since from the beginning she’d tried to paint Elizabeth as the weak-willed victim of Amon’s charms—someone he’d completely destroyed in his search for power. And considering I know she lied about everything regarding Elizabeth’s death, it makes me wonder what else she might be hiding, or what other information she might be misrepresenting for me.

The same goes for Mr. Nicholson, too. Though I have a feeling that Rhiannon might be telling some truth about him, I can’t write him off completely.

As it stands, both Rhiannon and Mr. Nicholson want to convince me to join their sides, and that brings me back to the beginning.

I end up spending more hours than I should have, poring over all the information I have in order to come to a conclusion. Yet all I manage to do is run in circles, making unreliable inferences and setting myself up for failure if I consider them the basis of my judgment.

‘Damn it,’ I grit out as I put my pen down.

I can already feel a headache mounting on top of my period cramps.

To relax, I opt for a long steamy bath. When I’m done, I change into some comfortable clothes and I look for Mr. Meow.

He’s been missing all day, and I wonder if he went in search for more rats.

‘Mr. Meow,’ I call out in a small voice, careful not to wake people up.

Holding on to my candle, I look all over the first floor for him, puzzled that he would disappear like this. Then again, he does seem to drift in and out of the house. Maybe he’s just too wild, and doesn’t like to live in enclosed spaces.

As I continue my search for him, though, I can’t help but think back to Caleb’s mention of Mr. Meow and the fire. How could he have known about that incident when I had been the only one in the house—save for Mr. Meow (but he’s a cat!).

There is also the small—or not so much—matter of his eyes.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen them change color, and though he’d managed to convince me before that it had been all in my head, I can’t help but question that.

I already know I am not mad, nor am I the type to entertain fanciful notions as I’ve been led to believe.

Which can only mean one thing.

Caleb might not be who he says he is.

And there could be just one explanation for it…

I whip my head around as a loud sound penetrates through the stillness of the night. The melody is so familiar it tugs at my heartstrings.

It’s the Old Church organ, and the sound from the music has somehow reverberated across such a great distance. Except I know that would never happen unless someone else was involved.

Amon.

Is this his way of calling me to him?

Yet even as questions pile in my head, I ignore them. My body has a mind of its own as I put on shoes, and shrug a coat over my long dress.

Without thinking twice about the distance I have to walk, or the fact that it’s close to the middle of the night and it might be dangerous to go out, I head for the exit.

There’s pure instinct at this point—the fact that I know my beloved is calling for me and I can only respond in return.

After all, wasn’t this already in my plan? Find a way inside the Old Church so I can find Amon—so I can finally see him after all this time.

If he’s calling for me, then maybe he can help me find a way in.

Out in the cold of the night, I wrap the coat better around my body, hurrying my pace as a shiver of fear goes down my back. My limbs are frozen, yet it’s not the chilly wind that caused it, but a feeling of doom that somehow makes my skin prickle with discomfort.

In spite of that, though, I don’t stop as I reach the estate gate, nor do I turn back. I simply push on, going down the hill.

The church soon appears in sight and I can all but weep of happiness.

I’m coming. Wait for me. I’m coming.

The music of the organ continues to blast through the night, the sound clear and crisp as if the instrument were next to me.

Five more minutes of walking, and I will be right there.

My walk is brisk, my mind solely on Amon. Yet I still keep my eyes on my surroundings,  that ominous sensation continuing to assail me.

Two bright lights appear at the end of the road and my eyes widen as I spot a car coming my way.

Pulling the hood from my coat over my head, I move to the side of the road, hiding by a tree and waiting for it to pass.

If it’s on this road, coming this way, then there is only one destination.

The Hale manor.

And who could be visiting at this hour?

For a moment I wonder if it’s Caleb, but that theory is immediately disproved as I note the different car brand.

There are two men in the front. The inside of the car is faintly illuminated, and as it passes by me at a moderate speed, it’s enough for me to get a clue as to the identity of the newcomers.

My eyes widen just as my jaw drops open as I realize I’d seen them before.

Both of them—though briefly.

They had been the two men visiting Fiona on behalf of the Supreme Authority. The ones that had given her the sword with which to defeat Amon.

But that…

That had been almost two hundred years ago. They should be dead and buried, regardless of their affiliation with the coven or the Supreme Authority.

Unless…

Dear God, why is this getting more and more complicated?

Because if those men are the same men who’d visited Fiona in seventeen ninety-one, then they are not regular people.

One thing is for sure: they are enemies.

When they’ve passed the Hale gates, I feel confident enough to resume my journey. The music continues to blare through the night, and somehow I am sure I am the only one able to hear it. Otherwise, the men would have stopped to check the source of the noise.

‘Amon?’ I ask on a whisper as I stop in front of the Old Church—just as imposing as I’d last seen it. If before I’d been a little frightened by its appearance, now a deep melancholy overtakes me as I take it in.

‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ I continue in a soft voice. ‘You’ve been here all along.’

The wind picks up from all directions, and before I know it, the door to the church opens before me.

Shock flares in my breast, yet I don’t question it.

I simply put one foot in front of the other, stepping inside the Old Church, ready to meet my beloved.

‘I’m here,’ I tell him, emotion bursting in my chest. ‘I’m finally here, my love.’

Then everything goes black.