Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance
Fairydale: Part 1 – Chapter 3

The storm persists, the sound of the marauding rain hitting the car windows becoming more and more pronounced.

Mr. Vaughan doesn’t try to engage me further in conversation, and I’m grateful for the small respite. I’m still restless from his earlier hints of micro-aggression and I don’t know what to make of him, or of the situation overall. Though Mr. Vaughan had seemed cordial enough at first, I can’t help but feel there’s something lurking beneath his easy smiles.

The sheets of paper with their odd message did little to calm my increasing anxiety, and I find myself nervous of what is to come.

Luckily, we soon enter a populated area as houses appear on both sides of the road—small, nondescript buildings. And after a while, the houses become bigger and more ostentatious before we reach an area that has some of the most beautiful homes I’ve ever seen.

Oddly enough, the moment the architectural scenery shifts, the storm seems to abate. The clouds slowly dissipate, the rain becoming sparser and sparser until it stops altogether. By the time we round a corner, the sun is shining brightly in the sky, as if there had been no storm in the first place.

‘We’re here,’ he announces curtly as he stops the car in front of a four-story house. ‘This is the Pierce house,’ he tells me as he instructs me to get out of the car.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open, following Mr. Vaughan down the small alleyway to the main entrance of the house.

He knocks, and within a few seconds someone answers the door.

‘Mordechai, darling, you’re all wet,’ a woman exclaims sweetly, barely stopping herself from jumping in his arms.

‘Vicky, ‘ Mr. Vaughan greets her, a different cadence to his voice. ‘We got caught in a storm on the Fringes,’ he gives her a little summary of what happened, half-turning towards me.

It’s at that moment that Vicky—who I presume to be my late father’s wife—looks past Mr. Vaughan and notices me. Her lips pull into a thin line as her eyes move over my form, appraising me from head to toe.

‘Miss Darcy O’Sullivan, I assume,’ she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave.

I force a smile.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I take a step forward, extending my hand to her.

Her smile is equally as strained as she reluctantly takes my hand in a half-hearted shake.

‘She’s not wet,’ she whispers, her gaze finding Mr. Vaughan.

‘So she isn’t,’ he replies tersely, and I get the sensation that there’s a hidden meaning to their exchange.

I don’t get to dwell on that, though, as I’m ushered inside the house and to a large living room. Another man and a girl I assume to be around my age are already there, almost as if they’d been waiting for us.

‘Miss Darcy, this is August, and his sister Grace,’ Mr. Vaughan states in a bored tone as he motions towards the two.

‘Welcome to Fairydale,’ the young man gives me a hesitant smile. He has black hair and dark blue eyes, both features quite similar to my own, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s something we both inherited from our father.

I have yet to see a picture of Leo Pierce, but I remember my mother and we’d looked nothing alike. She’d had strawberry blonde hair that had a reddish hue in the summer, and pale, gray eyes—entirely unlike my dark hair and deep blue eyes.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I shake August’s hand before I try to do the same with Grace. She’s around my height, her hair a dark brown while her eyes are a light green.

Her upper lip twitches as she meets my gaze, and releasing a loud huff, she turns, snubbing my salute.

‘I expected something different,’ she adds dryly, barely looking at me. ‘Didn’t you say she was a city girl? Then why is she so…boring?’

I blink, taken aback by her words.

I’m not the only one struck speechless by her rude comments, as her mother gasps, while Mr. Vaughan mumbles something about minding her manners.

‘Well, I expected Fairydale to be more…happy. We don’t always get what we want,’ I reply immediately, a little more sarcastic than intended.

I’m already in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers. I can’t let them see me as weak or they will attempt to take advantage of me. Especially since a feeling of unease had settled in the pit of my stomach the moment we’d entered Fairydale.

Her eyes widen at my retort, and she looks about to give me one of her own, but whatever she sees behind me—likely in her mother’s expression—makes her stop right as she’s about to open her mouth.

I wonder if her dislike of me has anything to do with the will. No one would like it if they had to suddenly split their assets with a stranger. Based on the reception so far, no one seems too thrilled to see me, regardless of what Mr. Vaughan had told me before.

‘Grace, you should apologize to Darcy,’ Mrs. Pierce lightly admonishes her daughter.

‘It’s fine,’ I intervene. ‘I know I’m not very fashionable,’ I add with a small smile. ‘I’m a teacher, not a billboard model.’

To an extent, her comment has its merit since both my hair and clothes, unlike hers, don’t follow the latest fashion. Her hair is cut short and fashioned in a Grace Kelly style whereas mine is long and plaited in a simple braid that goes down my back. Her clothes are richly patterned, while mine are a monotonous color. But that is because I’ve never had an incentive to follow modern fashion. I don’t go out. I teach, and then I go back to my books. Why would I put in so much effort in a style that no one saw?

That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate fashion. I just don’t have the circumstances to allow myself to indulge in it.

Grace’s mutinous expression hasn’t subsided, and I have no doubt she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

‘You’re so gracious, dear,’ Mrs. Pierce comes to my side, grasping my arm. A current of electricity courses through me—an uncomfortable pricking sensation that makes me wince.

Without even thinking, I wrench my arm out of her grasp.

‘Sorry, I’m a little sweaty from the journey. If you could direct me to a shop so I can buy some clothes for my stay, that would be lovely.’

‘Miss Darcy had her luggage stolen at the train station and needs some new clothes,’ Mr. Vaughan explains.

‘Nonsense,’ Mrs. Pierce interjects, her expression animated. ‘Grace can lend you some of hers, can’t you dear? You two look to be the same size.’ Her tone is sweet, yet there’s an unmistakable command to it as she gives Grace a hard look.

The girl hesitates before she nods.

I glance between the two of them, certain there are some unspoken cues I cannot understand because Grace seems entirely put off by that yet she’s completely subservient to her mother’s wishes.

‘I’d rather buy new ones,’ I smile. Of course I am not comfortable borrowing anything from the girl shooting me daggers with her eyes.

‘Don’t worry about it, dear,’ Mrs. Pierce touches my arm again and it takes everything in me not to flinch. ‘You can buy new stuff later. For now, let Grace lend you some.’

A little more back and forth and I realize she won’t take no for an answer so I agree to borrow a few pieces until I can buy some.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs so Miss Darcy can change and then we can all have dinner together. I’m sure you’re famished after such a long journey, aren’t you dear?’

‘Indeed,’ I muster a reply. Her exceedingly jovial tone is not only grating, but comes across as entirely artificial.

Following Grace upstairs, my eyes are drawn to the beauty of their home. The wealth is evident, from the size of the house, to the materials used and the furniture.

She pushes a door open on the third floor, reluctantly inviting me inside.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, though she doesn’t reply.

Her room is enormous, and probably three times the size of the room I share with Allison at Saint Russell’s. And she has it all to herself… I blink, taking in my surroundings and noting there’s an ensuite bathroom as well as a sitting room right by the sleeping area. It’s the type of bedroom I’d only seen in magazines, and seldom in movies.

As I gawk at the beauty that is her room, Grace goes to her closet, rummaging for a short while before removing a few pieces—two dresses, a matching set of a blouse and a pair of trousers and something to sleep in.

‘That’s too much,’ I protest. I won’t take more than a day’s worth of clothes since I plan to get my own as soon as I get to a store.

‘If I don’t give you proper options my mother will have my ass,’ she says in a deadpan voice, pushing the clothes towards me.

I nod slowly.

‘You can go there to freshen up and change,’ she motions to the ensuite bathroom.

I give her my thanks and I head inside.

Taking my clothes off, I wash myself lightly before I put on one of the dresses Grace gave me—a floral white one with a cinched waist. The fit is fantastic, as is the soft material. I spend a couple of minutes simply watching myself in the wall-sized mirror and marveling at the way the dress flatters my body.

Depending on the allotment of the will, maybe I’ll be able to buy myself some similar ones in the future.

My cheeks redden at the thought. As Allison rightly said, once I have the money I’ll be able to do anything I want. The thought of that kind of financial freedom is the only thing spurring me further despite the unease I still feel at being here.

Already, I am quite disillusioned with my half-siblings as neither seems too thrilled about my presence. August had been more circumspect, but I could sense his hesitance too. Grace may have been rude, but she’d hinted at what everyone was thinking.

I’m not welcome.

Taking a deep breath,  I go back to the room to find a scowling Grace tapping her foot impatiently.

‘Took you long enough,’ she mumbles, her eyes skittering over my body before she’s out of the door.

Pursing my lips, I follow her downstairs to the dining room where everyone is already seated.

It doesn’t escape me to notice that Mr. Vaughan is sitting at the end of the table—where the head of the family should have been. And though Leo Pierce had died, shouldn’t that role befall to August?

Odd. But then so is his interaction with Vicky Pierce, their body language too familiar for a simple employer-employee relationship.

Alas, it is not my business to speculate on their personal relationship. I’m here for the reading of the will after which I will return home.

Plastering a smile on my face, I take a seat at the table, right between August and Vicky Pierce.

It doesn’t take long for two servants to bring the food, placing an appetizer in front of me.

‘Tell us more about you, Darcy,’ Mrs. Pierce speaks first.

‘There’s nothing much to tell,’ I say as I give them a short summary of what I do and what my credentials are. I don’t go into further detail than what is already on paper and they are undoubtedly familiar with.

‘I must say. It was a shock to hear that my dear Leo had another child,’ she sighs.

‘You mean that he cheated on you?’ Grace brazenly asks.

‘Grace!’ Both August and Mrs. Pierce intoned at the same time.

‘You know it wasn’t like that. We were separated at the time, and he moved to Boston while I stayed here,’ she says as she wipes the corners of her mouth in a delicate manner. ‘I can’t condemn him for finding someone else when we didn’t think we were going to get back together.’

Mrs. Pierce goes on to relate what had happened during that time, and as I glance around the table, no one seems to truly pay attention as she prattles on—almost as if this was a rehearsed speech prepared only for my sake.

‘Please don’t think I hold anything against you, Darcy. You’re a part of Leo just like my August and Grace. And we’re very happy to have you here,’ she reaches to touch my hand at the same time I pick up my glass of water.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, taking a sip and slowly leaning away from her.

I don’t know what it is about her, but I’ve never had such an adverse reaction to someone before. She seems nice—if not a little fake—but she strikes me as a regular trophy wife, not an axe murderer.

‘I have one question,’ I turn towards Mr. Vaughan. ‘What was the cause of death? Your letter didn’t mention why he died.’

Everyone is quiet, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing that echoes in the spacious room.

‘A heart attack,’ Mrs. Pierce says at the same time as Mr. Vaugh responds with, ‘Brain damage.’

More silence.

Glancing around, my eyes flutter in confusion.

From the corner of my eye, I spot August tightly holding on to the knife, almost bending the tip. Mrs. Pierce’s lips are pressed into a tight line, while Mr. Vaughan narrows his eyes at me.

‘It was both a heart attack and brain damage,’ he speaks slowly, almost as if he’s imparting the information to everyone present. ‘He had a heart attack after which we tried to resuscitate. We got a pulse but he’d been too long without oxygen to his brain so he was declared brain dead.’

Nodding slowly, I bring the glass to my lips, taking a sip of water as I covertly watch the four strangers around the table. In what I think is an unprecedented moment, their eyes are set on each other, their expressions naked, malice and greed dripping from them. As if I’d been dumped in a forest teeming with wolves fighting for dominance, for the first time I’m struck by a thought. Whatever the contents of the will, I’m not the only enemy in the house.

Almost as if recognizing the mounting tension at the table, Mrs. Pierce diffuses the situation by shifting the conversation to the late Leo Pierce and sharing some anecdotes of him.

Soon, the dinner is finished, and Mr. Vaughan lets me know that he will drive me to my house.

‘My house?’ I exclaim, taken aback.

‘The key I sent you, Miss Darcy. It belongs to a property north of here that Leo owned. Vicky and I have prepared it for you since we didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable living with strangers,’ he explains. ‘You’ll have the privacy you need since the following days could prove to be rather demanding,’ he says as he details the upcoming schedule. Tomorrow is the funeral while the reading of the will would take place the day after tomorrow.

‘Oh, thank you. That is very thoughtful of you,’ I thank both Mr. Vaughan and Mrs. Pierce. And after saying goodbye, I find myself once more in the back of the car as Mr. Vaughan drives towards the destination—12 Astor Place.

It’s soon evident that by the northern part of the town, he meant at the other end.

We drive for close to ten minutes, and for a small town, that is a long distance.

Despite the darkening sky, the more we drive, the clearer the view of the famous Fairydale hill is, as is the view of the majestic Hale manor Mr. Vaughan had mentioned.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d described the manor resembling a castle. Though built in a neoclassical style, its grandeur and sheer size make it qualify for the title.

Even from afar, its imposing built and the accompanying scenery make for a striking picture. As we approach further, sparks of excitement spread through my body, my belly tightening with anticipation.

Besides the tourist attractions in Boston, I haven’t seen many historical buildings. I certainly haven’t visited any in depth. But hopefully, before my sojourn here ends, I will be able to visit the grounds of the manor.

I’m so enraptured by the sight of the manor as night falls, that I barely register the car coming to a stop.

‘We’re here,’ Mr. Vaughan suddenly mentions.

Shaking myself back to the present, I slowly get out of the car. I take in my surroundings, goosebumps appearing all over my skin at the bleakness of the location. Hale manor might seem like the cradle of sophistication up on its lonely hill, but here it’s anything but that.

There are only two buildings as far as I can see—12 Astor Place, and another building across the street. Other than that, a field stretches on both sides of the make-shift road.

It’s not even paved.

Good Lord, but I’d been so focused on admiring the manor that I hadn’t realized we’d left the more civilized area. This is right at the outskirts of the town.

‘This is rather far from town, isn’t it?’ I ask hesitantly.

‘Not at all.’ Mr. Vaughan comes by my side, his features stern. ‘The town is fifteen minutes of walking in that direction,’ he points towards the direction we’d come from. ‘That’s the Hale manor, and there’s a cliff that leads to the ocean.’

I purse my lips in consternation.

‘And that?’

I turn to point at the building on the other side of the road. Different in architecture, its sharp angles, pointed arches and stained glass suggests a gothic style.

‘That’s the Old Church. Don’t worry about it. It’s locked. No one uses it anymore, but no one wants to repurpose it either. It dates to the seventeenth century,’ he adds and I remember him telling me about it.

I nod absentmindedly, though inside, I can’t help but be put off by the entire thing.

‘Is there no other place in town I can sleep at for a couple nights?’

Though the house in front of me is lovely, the fact that I’m so far away from town and across the street from an old church that looks more creepy than beautiful despite its assuredly fascinating history doesn’t make me look forward to my stay here. A shiver travels down my back the more I think of it.

The Hale manor doesn’t look as close either, despite the optical illusion given by its location. And that situates me…in the middle of nowhere. In a foreign town. Surrounded by strangers.

No. Not a good idea. And I tell Mr. Vaughan exactly that.

‘I can’t possibly stay here alone.’

‘This is the house your father wanted you to have, Miss Darcy. It’s not a coincidence that I gave you the key. It will be yours in a few days’ time.’

I blink, not expecting to hear that.

‘Are you sure?’

He nods.

‘I’ve been Leo’s man of affairs for decades. He wanted you to have a place to stay here in Fairydale since it’s your home, too.’

He smiles then—a rehearsed smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, his gaze is on me, waiting for me to agree with him.

‘Is there no hostel?’ I rephrase, though the chances of a town this small having a hostel are slim at best.

Why can’t he understand that the area is creepy? That I’m a single woman in the middle of a field. How could I possibly accept to stay here when I doubt there isn’t even a telephone for miles?

Given the position of the house, I’m most certain a pastor must have lived here with his family in the past—when the Old Church was still operational. And I don’t think I want to sleep in a house that…

‘What are you so scared of, Miss Darcy?’ He interrupts my thoughts, asking me in a gravelly voice—one that makes the hairs on my body stand up.

Instinctively, I take a step back as I hug my arms to my chest.

‘I’ll be alone,’ I grumble. ‘What if someone tries to break in? What if…’

He puts a hand up, interrupting me.

‘So you’re concerned about safety?’

I nod fervently.

‘Come,’ he says in a tone bordering on exasperation as he tells me to give him the key. I do so and I watch as he opens the door, the floors immediately creaking under his weight.

I visibly wince at the sound. Saint Russell’s may have been an older building, too, but at least there I’d been surrounded by people.

Flicking the light in the hallway, Mr. Vaughan beckons me inside.

The interior is more modern than the outside, but it’s clear no one’s lived in the house for years—maybe decades.

‘Look,’ he points to the door and the many locks on the wall. ‘If you secure it, no one will be able to come inside. Besides, despite those nasty rumors about crime, Fairydale is a very peaceful town. Our residents have never been accused of anything. It’s the outsiders that get in trouble with the law,’ he explains matter-of-factly, but there’s a small twitch in his cheek as he regards me.

‘I see,’ I reply softly.

What else can I say? That I will not, under any circumstance, sleep in this place? I could try, but everything about his countenance tells me he isn’t amenable to arranging anything else for me. And that means it’s either this place, or…nothing.

‘The house has a living room downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. You can choose the one you like the most. The water is clean and potable, and there is gas and some canned food in the cupboards. Vicky made sure to stock up the kitchen for you.’

My eyes widen in surprise at hearing that.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur, now feeling a little ashamed about my earlier outburst. The last thing I want them to think of me is that I’m a spoiled brat that’s only after the money—which, admittedly, the latter part is true. However, they have received me well, and have gone through a lot of trouble to ensure my stay here would be comfortable. I’m not about to turn up my nose at that.

‘The funeral starts at noon tomorrow. I will come get you at eleven thirty. Good night.’

He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he’s out the door, leaving me alone in this ancient—fine, not as ancient as the church across the road—house.

The door closes with a thud, and I hurry to latch every lock in place.

Only when I’m sure that the door is thoroughly locked do I move, going to the windows to ensure they are also closed shut.

Still, the fact that no one can come in doesn’t seem to calm my nerves. My heart is beating loudly in my chest.

‘You can do this, Darcy,’ I tell myself in an attempt to cheer myself up. ‘Think about the money. And the things you can do with it. A vacation in England, or France, or even a cruise on the Mediterranean. You’ll visit the Versailles, sunbathe in Capri and amble around the Acropolis.’

The more I imagine the future, the more determined I am.

If this is the only way I can get that money, I’ll do it.

Nodding to myself, I feel some of the earlier unease leave me as I take a few long, deep breaths. When I have myself under control with my determination soaring, I decide to check the house out. After all, according to Mr. Vaughan this is to be mine—officially mine.

I roll my eyes at that thought. It’s unlikely I’ll ever come to Fairydale after the division of assets.

The first room I enter is the kitchen. Dropping the bag with the clothes I’d borrowed from Grace on a chair, I inspect the cupboards, confirming that there is plenty of food—certainly not for one person staying for a few days. All the compartments are full, almost as if someone had planned for the apocalypse.

Chuckling to myself, I move to check the fridge and opening it, I find fresh produce, meat and vegetables.

Vicky really thought of everything, didn’t she?

A little hungry since I hadn’t eaten much at the Pierce house, I make myself a small sandwich before I set out to explore the rest of the house. Going to the staircase, I find the light switch on the wall, flicking it and the one on the hallway when I reach the second floor. With the house bathed in light, I feel more confident. There are three doors on the second floor—one that leads to a bathroom and the other two which lead to bedrooms.

I check out each bedroom in part, settling on the one closer to the bathroom since I’ll likely be scared to walk the longer distance at night.

There is a double bed in the middle of the room, a big closet and a desk by the window. The sheets on the bed are clean, an odd, floral scent clinging to the material.

Despite the not so ideal circumstances, my lips tug up in a smile, and before I can help myself, I jump on the bed, a giggle escaping me when it bounces with me.

It’s the first time I’ll have such a big bed to myself, and giddiness suffuses me at that thought. Rolling around in bed, I giggle more as I feel the soft sheets against my skin.

Yes, this is the beginning of something new. And after all the weirdness of today, I feel good about the future. I can feel it, somewhere deep within me, that this experience will change my entire life.

A little more rolling against the fresh linens before I decide I should take a shower and call it a day. After all, I’m sure tomorrow will be busy.

Getting out of bed, I take out the nightgown Grace had loaned me and I go to the bathroom.

Just like the kitchen, the bathroom has soap, shampoo, towels and toilet paper. Glad that I’ll be able to thoroughly scrub all the grease from the travel, I close the door to the bathroom, locking it just in case, before I shed all my clothes and pin my hair up.

Moving to the tub, I turn on the water, adjusting the temperature. When I’m satisfied with the warmth, I get inside, pulling the curtain and making myself comfortable.

The tub continues to fill with water as I soak in its warmth. Leaning back, I release a weary sigh as I close my eyes and let the stress melt away.

How long has it been since I’ve had a proper bath?

Though Saint Russell has good sanitary conditions, it doesn’t have a tub. We have to shower quickly as per allotted quota of hot water. I’ve never had the chance to relax like this.

The only times I’ve had a proper, relaxing bath had been when Sister Anne and Sister Mary had allowed me to use their quarters.

Thoroughly soaked in, I reach for the soap. But just as my fingers brush against it, a shadow moves in the corner of my eye, right behind the curtain. Startled, I whip my head around, instinctively backing away.

Nothing.

There’s nothing.

Just to be sure, I wrench the curtain aside, revealing the same thing.

Nothing.

Breathing hard, my pulse skyrockets the more I stare at the white curtain, certain I’d seen something move.

‘I’m going crazy,’ I mumble to myself.

It must be all those books I’ve been reading and the fact that I’m alone in a strange environment. Catherine’s silly notions come to mind, and I mentally berate myself for acting like her.

‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ I say out loud, almost as I’m willing it to be true. But ghosts do not exist. Everything is in my mind and in the fanciful notions years of gothic literature have created.

There is no crazy woman living in the attic, just as there is no Rebeca to haunt me.

Even though the rational part of my brain believes that, there’s also the other part—the superstitious one that sees everything as an omen. And since arriving in Fairydale, I’ve had plenty of them…

‘No,’ I shake my head, my lips tight in a tense line. ‘I won’t go down that road again.’

It had happened to me once before, right after my mother had died. I’d been new to the orphanage and quite honestly, petrified. I couldn’t sleep at night, and at some point I started seeing a shadowy figure watching over me while I slept.

That had lasted for almost a year. At first, I’d told the nuns, only to be assured there was no one there—that the other girls sleeping in the same room could not see anything.

After I’d been properly admonished for inventing ghost stories to scare everyone else, I’d stopped talking about it, until eventually, the shadowy figure had disappeared.

Now, it feels like a distant memory. But back then it had been terrifying. Just as much as the fact that no one had believed me, instead making fun of me and calling me crazy.

Yet the odd thing hadn’t been the fact that I’d seen such an apparition—for I am sure there had been something. It had been that though I’d been scared because it was something unnatural, the entity itself had not felt threatening. In fact, sometimes it seemed as though it had been looking over me while I slept.

To this day, I’ve had a hunch that it might have been my mother trying to help me cope with her death—in her own, ghostly way.

Maybe it’s silly. Maybe I’m too much like Catherine. But I prefer to believe that rather than think I was crazy—that I’m still crazy.

Getting out of the tub, I dry myself with a towel before I put on the nightgown. All the while, though I can see I am alone in the bathroom, I can’t shake this feeling that someone is watching me. The sensation has me turning around a couple of times, confirming that there is no one around.

Huffing out a breath, I go back to the room, getting under the clean sheets and forcing myself to go to sleep.

Yet a couple hours later and I’m still twisting and turning, sleep proving to be elusive. One glance at my watch and I note it’s close to midnight.

‘Drat it,’ I curse softly.

Lying flat on my back, I stare at the ceiling, wondering if counting sheep would help.

Ready to give up, I start.

‘One sheep, two sheep, three…’ I trail off when a cacophonous sound blasts through the air.

Sitting up straight, my eyes widen, all my fatigue gone in the blink of an eye.

The first note is a deep bass one, followed by a succession of softer notes.

Music.

It’s music.

At this hour.

In the middle of nowhere.

But as I keep on listening, I recognize the quality of the sound as belonging to an organ. And who else would have an organ but…the Old Church.

I swallow hard.

Mr. Vaughan said no one uses it, and considering the remote location, who could it be at this hour? Someone playing a prank? That’s the most likely scenario.

And as soon as that thought crosses my mind so does something else. What if…

What if this is all an elaborate scheme to get me to run off and relinquish my hold on my inheritance? What if the Pierces know this house will be passed down to me and want to prevent that?

I would have felt bad accusing them in my mind had I not seen the way they behaved at dinner, and the hidden glances they shot each other when they thought I wasn’t watching.

A quiet resolution settles over me as I jump out of bed, quickly taking off my nightgown and putting on one of the day dresses. After I put on my shoes, I leave the room, my stride determined as I go down the stairs.

If they want to play with me, it’s high time they realized I’m not a weakling, nor am I someone they can bully.

Removing all the locks on the door, I exit the house, crossing the road to the Old Church.

The music is still blasting in the air, the stillness of the night making it seem even louder. Yet as I stop in front of the church’s entrance, the music changes. This time, I recognize the melody as Bach’s Toccata, the sound hauntingly beautiful and evoking.

I freeze, my skin erupting in goosebumps as my hand hovers over the door’s rusty knob.

The sound bursts through the night, surrounding me in a protective cocoon until all I want is to preserve the melody and let it play ad infinitum.

Yet the idea that this could be a senseless prank incites my temper again.

My hands clench into fists and before I change my mind, I stride forward, wrenching the door open. To my surprise, it gives way easily.

Shouldn’t it have been locked?

That only solidifies my decision to march forward. If it’s not locked, then surely someone must have opened it.

There is a small arcade at the entrance of the church.

Everything is bathed in darkness, the only light that of the moon as it filters through the richly colored stained glass. The atmosphere is eerily intoxicating, especially with the music echoing in the background.

‘Is there someone there?’ I ask, though my voice can’t cut over the loud music.

One foot in front of the other, I move forward until I reach the nave of the church. On each side, there’s an aisle. Though the church didn’t look too big from the outside, the inside with its high vaults makes it look enormous.

For a town church, it’s certainly too big, and it makes me wonder who would have built it—a wealthy patron?

There is a small gallery on each side of the church, behind which there are sets of stained glass, all capturing the moonlight perfectly and reflecting it along the nave.

At the far end of the church is the choir, and as I take a few more steps, I spot the organ in the corner, oriented with the back towards the aisles.

The music is still playing, the same melody on repeat. But when I reach the middle of the nave, it suddenly stops.

My eyes widen, and thinking the culprit saw me inside and is ready to make his escape, I dash towards the choir.

In just a few seconds I’m right by the organ. A little out of breath, I turn the corner.

‘Got you…’ I trail off when I see there is absolutely no one.

What’s more, the fallboard is covering the keys, a thick, even layer of dust settled on top of it—a sign that no one had touched it in a long time.

‘What the…’ I whisper, unnerved.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it as something moves in my field of vision right before the sound of punctured steps echoes in the church.

‘Wait!’ I call out, convinced there was someone inside.

I chase the sound until I reach the main entrance again. The door is closed shut, and as I open it, the creaking noise makes it clear no one had gone out.

What the…

My heart is beating loudly in my chest, my thoughts racing at the speed of light.

Who was it?

Who the hell was it?

I’m past caring that I’m cursing in the House of the Lord—even if it’s not out loud. I’m past caring about anything but the fact that I’ve never felt greater fear before.

If it was indeed a prank, then well done. I am well and thoroughly terrified.

The sheer oddity of the situation coupled with my increasing anxiety propels me to leave the church.

I look around left and right as I step onto the small pathway leading back to the road. But I am so focused on avoiding any no-good-doer that I don’t realize when I walk straight into a solid wall.

‘Whaaaat,’ I yelp, jumping back a step and ready to scream so loud the entire town would hear me.

‘Easy,’ a man’s harsh voice penetrates my mental fog.

But it’s too late, as my self-preservation has kicked in, together with the moves I’d learned from Seven Samurai. My fist flies towards the man’s face before I can stop it.

On the bright side, if it makes contact, then it’s likely not a ghost.

Alas, it does not make contact with his face. But not because he’s not corporeal, but because his own hand closes over my clenched fist before it can reach its destination.

My mouth drops open in shock, and flabbergasted, I can only stare at him.

‘You’re not a ghost,’ I state, quite foolishly.

His mouth curves up in a smile that threatens to make my insides explode—from fear or fascination, I don’t know.

He’s probably a foot taller than I am, but even in the darkness of the night I can make out his features—his dark hair and eerily light eyes. So light, in fact, that they seem to glow white in the moonlight. He’s built like a tank, all muscle and hard edges—no wonder it felt like I had hit a wall.

‘Who are you?’ I whisper. My fist is still in his hand, and a shiver of awareness travels down my back as his touch registers on my body.

Before I can think it through, I pull back, keeping my eyes still on him.

‘Not a ghost?’ He tilts his head, studying me with a lopsided smile that must work wonders on the female population.

‘Well,’ I clear my throat, chasing away all remnants of fear—for now. Pushing one finger against his—very, very, hard—abdominals, I nod to myself. ‘Clearly not a ghost.’

He’s still smirking at me, his gaze indulgent, as is his half-smile.

Not wanting to look like a besotted fool—though it is my first time seeing such a fine male specimen—I push my chin up and regard him with a pointed brow.

‘Who are you and what are you doing here at night? Alone?’ I narrow my eyes at that.

Yes, he might not be a ghost, but he could still be a criminal. And I have no way of defending myself.

Alarm bells go off in my head, just as I look around for a potential weapon.

‘You can bash me over the head with that metal bar,’ he states, his voice a deep drawl that makes love to my ears—makes love to my ears? Since when did I become so poetic? I may be an English teacher, but I’ve never had a gift for words.

You didn’t find the perfect muse before.

Straightening my back, I ignore my inner voice as I grab the bar he pointed to.

‘I will if you don’t identify yourself,’ I say firmly, proud of myself for not stumbling over my words—not even once.

He chuckles at that. And before I know it, he’s in front of me. So close I can smell him—a smokey, arcane scent that I can’t pin down.

‘You’re interesting,’ he notes in the same thick voice.

I gulp down.

‘I’ll be even more interesting when I do bash your brains,’ I proclaim with all the confidence I can muster. He might be a handsome devil, but beauty is a cover for many dark things. After all, Lucifer was at one point the epitome of perfection.

The stranger smiles again, this time more pronounced.

Leaning forward until he’s on eye level with me, his breath fans across my lips, his gaze never leaving mine.

‘Hale,’ he states. ‘Caleb Hale.’

I stare at him for what feels like an eternity before I realize he just told me his name.

He’s a Hale. A Hale… That means he’s…

‘You live there?’ I ask, pointing towards the grand manor house.

‘Indeed,’ he drawls, a wolfish grin on his face. ‘And I assume you’re the new troublemaker in town.’

I frown at his choice of words.

‘Troublemaker?’

‘Troublemaker. I.e. one that stirs trouble,’ he says, reciting the definition to me.

‘I didn’t ask what it was. I asked you why,’ I grit my teeth, snapping at him for the first time just as I raise the metal bar in his direction. If there is one thing I cannot stand, it’s when men take jabs at my intelligence.

‘And the kitten has claws,’ he laughs, leaning back. ‘You’ll find out soon enough, Darcy O’Sullivan. In any event, pleased to meet you.’

Easily removing the metal bar from my hand, he thrusts it aside, grabbing my hand in his and shaking it. I cannot move as I simply stare at him and the way his proximity unnerves me unlike anything else.

‘Welcome back to Fairydale.’

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