Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance
Fairydale: Part 1 – Chapter 5

‘There will be other townsfolk at the funeral, too,’ Mr. Vaughan mentions on the drive towards the cemetery. ‘I would encourage you not to be too friendly. Some don’t take well to outsiders.’

‘So I’m supposed to ignore everyone?’ I ask, confused.

‘Precisely. The less people you interact with, the easier it’s going to be for you. Especially the Hales. I’d advise you to stay far away from them.’

‘But you said only Caleb has…issues. Why the others, too?’

His mouth tightens in a flat line, and I note the severity of his expression in the rearview mirror.

‘They were business rivals of your father. The Pierces and Hales have been at each other’s throats for generations,’ he pauses, looking back at me. ‘I wouldn’t put it past them to try to use you to get back at the Pierces.’

I nod slowly, though the doubts still remain, as does a sense that nothing is what it seems—especially when it comes to the Pierces and Mr. Vaughan.

‘Anyone else I should not speak to?’ I inquire sarcastically.

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ he responds, surprising me. ‘The Baileys are friendly with the Hales,’ he gives me a list of everyone I should not interact with, topping it off with another warning about Caleb Hale.

I almost roll my eyes at him, but then he goes to add something else.

‘One more thing. Don’t go around telling people silly stories about the church. The last thing we want is for people to question your judgment,’ he grumbles away, but all I can think is that he purposefully placed me in a house in the middle of nowhere, across the street from a church where supposedly the bodies of the plague victims had been dumped.

A shiver goes down my back.

Did I really imagine everything? No. I refuse to believe that.

And regardless of Mr. Vaughan’s warnings about Caleb Hale, I will question him. At least he should be able to tell me I’m not going crazy—if he’s not as crazy as I am that is.

Mr. Vaughan continues to lecture me about the do’s and don’ts of the town, almost as if my very presence threatens Fairydale’s entire fabric of existence.

By the time we reach the cemetery, all I want is to go back and sleep the day away—maybe dream some more of Amon. If only he could save me from this dreaded day just as he saved me from that creepy man… Alas, I can almost imagine him appearing in a flash before me, as he’d done in my dream, and teleport me from the funeral.

A small chuckle escapes me at the thought, and Mr. Vaughan gives me a harsh glare.

‘You’re not to laugh at the funeral, either. That would be in poor taste, you understand,’ he tells me in a serious tone.

‘Of course,’ I clear my throat, getting out of the car and turning my attention to the matter at hand.

This is the worst of it. After the funeral is done, I’ll only have to stay for the reading of the will and then I will be able to leave.

Home…

A shiver travels down my back at the thought, because, really, where is home?

Yet I can’t ponder that as Mr. Vaughan leads me through the gates of the cemetery towards the back where a small chapel lies.

There are nondescript tombs left and right, and I try to ignore the fact that we’re among so many dead.

It’s daylight. There is no such thing as ghosts.

Don’t be Catherine, Darcy!

Yet the more time I spend in this town, the more I start behaving like her, finding something suspicious in every little action—something otherworldly suspicious.

Even after what happened in my childhood, I’ve never been a great believer in the supernatural. How could I when we live in an age of scientific advancement—when a man-made creation can wipe an entire city, if not a country, off the map?

As we reach the chapel, I note that everyone is already there.

The closed casket is in front of the chapel, the priest walking around it.

The Pierce family is by the casket. August is in the middle while his mother and sister are by his side.

On both the left and right side there are people that I haven’t seen before. But it strikes me as odd that they are separated in such a way, and I ask Mr. Vaughan about it.

He doesn’t look too happy with me at the moment, the man who’d picked me up the other day from the train station all but gone. Progressively, his countenance has become worse and worse, to the point that he doesn’t even try to smile at me. All his expressions are severe, like the one he’s sporting now.

‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? Like I said, some families have conflicts with others. Just stay by our side and everything will be fine,’ he says, his tone telling me this is the end of the discussion.

Sighing, I follow him as he all but positions me right next to the family. Grace gives me the same belligerent look. August has a tight smile on his face while Vicky barely acknowledges my presence.

She’s looking at me intently, her gaze boring a hole through me. But as I catch her staring, she surprises me with a wide, almost inviting, smile.

Glancing around, I make a quick inventory of the people present, unwilling to admit my disappointment when I don’t see Caleb anywhere.

On the left side there are about twenty people, some younger, some older. On the right side, however, there are only four people—a girl who looks to be my age accompanied by a man and a woman who I presume to be her parents, and another elderly lady.

‘If everyone is here, can we commence?’ The priest asks, looking at Mr. Vaughan for confirmation, which strikes me as odd. Why wouldn’t he inquire with the family of the deceased?

Mr. Vaughan nods, and the priest starts with his brief ceremony. For a moment, I think he’s going to open the casket for viewing, but I breathe out relieved when he doesn’t.

I didn’t know what he looked like alive, I’m not sure I want to know what he looks like in death. Certainly, I wouldn’t want that to be the defining image I have of him.

When the priest is done with his little eulogy, he asks the family members to come and say a few words in honor of the deceased.

There’s a small podium right behind the casket, and Vicky is the first one to go up and make a little speech about her history with Leo Pierce. August is next, followed by Grace, and they all detail what a loving father and extraordinary human being he was.

‘One that abandoned his child,’ I mutter under my breath, and Mr. Vaughan is quick to give me a reproachful look.

‘We also have someone else here today with us,’ Grace suddenly says before she’s about to end her speech. Her gaze lands on me and a smirk pulls at her lips. ‘My father had another daughter that he never told us about, but that he decided to include in his will. Darcy, why don’t you say a few words to the man who’s going to fund your life from now on?’

My eyes widen at the direct appellation as heat travels up my neck.

Suddenly, all eyes are on me, my name on everyone’s lips as whispers resound in the quiet cemetery.

Vicky gives Grace a harsh look while Mr. Vaughan goes to her side, undoubtedly reprimanding her for putting the spotlight on me. Another person seems to join them, a man I’d previously seen sitting on the left side. He’s older than Mr. Vaughan, his countenance polished, his looks distinguished. As he addresses Vicky and Mr. Vaughan, both of them immediately stop to listen, denoting him as someone with authority where they are concerned.

At that moment, I hope someone will say that it’s not necessary for me to speak. But between the argument the Pierces are having amongst themselves and the intense looks I’m getting from all the other attendees, the priest is forced to invite me to the podium to speak.

It’s not as if I’m a stranger to public speaking. I am a teacher, for God’s sake—I’ve given my fair share of lectures. But what can I possibly say about a man I’d never met? One I didn’t even know existed until a couple days ago when I received the letter about his demise? A man who fathered me but was never a father to me?

As my feet carry me to the podium, everyone’s eyes are riveted to me—everyone but Vicky and Mr. Vaughan whose glares are enough to send me running.

Grasping the wooden edges of the podium stand, I take a deep breath as I say a couple of platitudes—just enough to give the public what they want.

‘As Vicky and August have already said, Leo Pierce was a great man,’ I plaster a smile on myself even as I feel the lie burn on my tongue.

Forgive me, God. I’m standing next to your House and I’m spouting lies.

Clearing my throat, I take a deep breath as I continue.

‘He was such a great man he left me to grow up in an orphanage.’

My eyes widen just as I slap a hand over my mouth. Gasps erupt everywhere, with the people on the left side staring at me as if I’d killed their cat.

Yet for some reason, I can’t seem to stop myself as the words pour out of me.

‘In fact, I’ve never met the man. How can I say anything good about him? I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead and all that, but how can I sing him praises when he never once showed his face? When he never once tried to contact me,’ a dry laugh escapes me.

‘Enough, Darcy,’ Mr. Vaughan says through gritted teeth.

‘Sorry, I laughed,’ I shrug, giggling some more.

What the hell is happening to me?

‘But really, if he was such a family man, the best father you could have ever had, why was he not a father to me too?’ I ask pointedly as I look at the Pierces.

At some point, though, I must have leaned in too much. The podium wobbles, and as I try to stabilize it, I only manage to push it further until it hits the edge.

When had I leaned in so much?

Maybe my speech had been a little too passionate. There’s that moment when I know something bad will happen, the creaking already foreboding, but the clicking sound of wood snapping against wood proves to be my doom.

No sooner were the truths about my father out of my mouth than I am already falling—together with the podium stand.

And it’s not a pretty fall. Not when the stand had been placed right behind the slightly elevated closed casket.

No sound comes out of my mouth—though I could have sworn I screamed bloody murder—as the stand tilts to such an angle, it crashes straight into the casket, denting the expensive wood right in the middle.

Oh, dear God, please save me from this ignominy!

A small yelp escapes me as I hold closely on to the podium. But though I feel the impact, there’s no pain—not even one little scratch.

My eyes are closed in shame, and the gasps I’d heard during my speech have now turned into wails and curses—all probably directed at me.

I open one eye, furtively looking around. And it’s just as I’d imagined.

Mayhem.

But people aren’t looking at me. They’re looking to my right. To…

Slowly, I turn my head, my entire body freezing in place as I realize the podium hadn’t just dented the casket. It had broken the hinges of the lid, sending the small piece of wood flying and revealing the dead body.

I blink in shock.

The body that…isn’t so dead.

He’s not, right?

I stare at him just as he stares back at me, and I doubt dead people can open their eyes just as I doubt the mortician would not have closed his eyes.

He’s staring at me, and his nostrils flare.

Come on, dead people don’t breathe!

‘You’re not dead,’ I whisper, feeling myself sway lightly even though I’m glued to the flat wood.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he yells loudly.

‘Mordechai!’

Dead people definitely do not speak—or yell.

‘You’re not dead,’ I repeat like a broken record.

Mr. Vaughan is by the casket in a second, hauling me up none too gently. If the fall hadn’t hurt my limbs, his impossibly tight hold certainly does.

‘Mr. Pierce,’ he exclaims, wonder tinging his voice.

But as I raise my gaze to his face, I realize his eyes don’t share the same surprise. Almost as if…he’d known about it?

‘This is a miracle! A miracle I’m telling you,’ he calls out. At the same time, Vicky comes running to the casket, tears streaming down her face as she embraces her husband.

I retreat by the sidelines, gawking at the show before me like everyone else around.

Yet why does it feel like I’m the only one not in on the joke?

Why does it feel as if this is one elaborate prank?

I’m losing my mind.

Either that, or they are making me lose my mind.

Nonetheless, now that Mr. Pierce is clearly alive and well, and quite possibly shooting me daggers with his eyes at the moment, I can finally bid adieu to Fairydale and forget about this absolutely horrendous experience.

Mr. Vaughan is helping Mr. Pierce rise from his casket, Vicky and Grace fawning over him while August is trying to convince them to give him some space. Then there’s the older gentleman from before, and he’s watching the entire debacle with his brows pinched, his mouth set in a grim line.

‘A miracle!’ Both Vicky and Grace continue to exclaim, and looking around, everyone is playing along but the four people on the right who are regarding Mr. Pierce suspiciously.

‘I can walk by myself, woman,’ Mr. Pierce grits out, pushing Vicky off him and showing that he is, indeed, not the great man everyone was eulogizing him to be—certainly not the most polite one either.

A scowl is etched on his features, and as his gaze settles on me once more, his anger becomes more pronounced.

Taking a step towards me, he points his finger to my face.

‘You,’ he sneers. ‘You goddamn hussy,’ he spits out, the insult making me reel in shock. ‘Just like your fucking mother and your entire fucking family. I’ll fucking show you…’ he takes another step, his stride determined as he advances towards me.

What the…

Instead of thanking me for waking him from the dead—though I somehow doubt he was too dead in the first place—he’s threatening me?

My mouth hangs open in shock, and I can barely find my words to rebuke his claims.

How dare he insult me like that? A hussy?

I’ve never so much as held a man’s hand—well, fine, except Amon’s, but that was in my dream so it doesn’t count—and he dares call me a hussy? For what? For accidentally revealing his ruse to the world?

A myriad of questions are going through my mind. If he’s not dead, there’s no will, right? And if there’s no will, then why did they invite me to Fairydale?

As he comes even closer, my bravado makes its appearance—after all, I won’t just sit here and let him call me names when it’s he who is the charlatan.

‘How dare you,’ I raise my voice, my fists clenched and ready to act.

This isn’t a father who’d watched over his daughter and wanted the best for her, hoping to one day meet her. Malice drips from him, his eyes full of hate as he settles them on me.

This man doesn’t love me. He abhors me. And I have no idea why.

‘You should have stayed dead, old man,’ I tell him squarely. ‘At least then I wouldn’t know what I was missing out on,’ I huff out loud.

Everyone is gathered around us in a circle, all watching the spectacle but none daring to intervene.

He’s a couple of feet away from me, but as he takes another step, he suddenly stops.

His eyes widen as he blinks repeatedly. His lips part and a strangled noise erupts from his throat. Clutching his hands to his neck, he’s struggling to say something, almost as if he’s suffocating.

Instinctively I take a step back as he falls to his knees, the whites of his eyes turning black right before my eyes.

‘What…’ I whisper, unable to believe my eyes.

Hunched over, he starts dry heaving until something seems to be coming out of his mouth. Something…

Everyone gasps as he proceeds to vomit his organs. One by one, he spills them onto the ground, some liquified, some semi-solid.

He retches until he’s thrown up everything within him.

Until he’s dead.

Again.

Yet this time it seems it’s not enough.

One second his face is frozen in time, with all the pain, shock, and agony. The next, his entire body is enveloped by black flames that swallow him whole.

No one moves.

Everyone watches with morbid curiosity. From the beginning, no one tried to lend him a hand.

Seconds on end, the fires rage and rage, covering every inch of his skin. Then, like nothing had existed in the first place, the fire stops, his remains turning into fine dust taken by the light summer breeze.

What the hell…

Am I going crazy, or did everyone else see the same thing I saw?

As I lift my gaze towards the Pierce family, I’m surprised to see there’s no shock. Only anger. Raw, palpable anger.

And it’s all directed at me.

‘Witch,’ Vicky steps forward. ‘You’re a fucking witch. Just like your mother. Just like your entire…’

She doesn’t finish her soliloquy as Mr. Vaughan reaches for her, restraining her in his arms and whispering something in her ear.

Her mouth tightens, but she nods.

‘This isn’t the last you’ll hear of me. Witch,’ she repeats, spitting at my feet. I jump back, though I can’t possibly let this rest.

‘I’ll see you at the reading of the will,’ I chirp, waving cheerfully as Mr. Vaughan leads Vicky and Grace away from the death scene.

The rest of the people disperse too, but not before throwing the same word around.

Witch.

Great. Now not only am I the outsider in this town. But I’m also a witch?

I roll my eyes at the insanity, and though I’ve just witnessed the most grotesque show of my life, I can’t find it in me to be sorry.

Yes, I am shocked. But sorry? No.

‘I hope I’m still getting the money now,’ I mumble sarcastically.

Yet for all my outward jolly attitude, inside my mind is clouded by doubts and confusion.

Hadn’t Vicky said she didn’t know who my mother was? Then why pick on her to insult me—almost as if it was personal? And what about the family both she and Mr. Pierce were talking about?

What else do they know and I don’t?

And most importantly, why am I here?

When most of the crowd has moved on, I let out a relieved sigh. But I soon realize that Mr. Vaughan, who’d brought me to the cemetery, had left with the Pierces, thereby leaving me…stranded here.

From what I’d seen, the cemetery is located at the opposite end of town, and walking on foot to the house would probably take me an hour—at best.

My shoulders slump, and just as I try to cheer myself on, someone calls me from behind.

‘Miss O’Sullivan?’

Startled, I turn and come face to face with the people who’d been sitting on the right, a good distance away from the others.

‘Yes?’ I blink, for a moment ready to hear more accusations or insults.

‘We wanted to take a moment to introduce ourselves and maybe offer some help,’ the man says.

‘I’m Katrina Hale,’ the younger girl thrusts her hand at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘Darcy,’ I shake her hand.

‘I am Connor Hale and this is my wife, Thomasa,’ Connor introduces his wife. ‘And that over there is my aunt, Rhiannon Hale.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I greet them, my eyes going to Rhiannon, the elderly woman who is currently hunched over what little remains of Leo Pierce.

Getting to her feet, her movements are brisk for someone her age as she comes over to our side.

She doesn’t speak as she simply shakes her head at Connor.

‘This is Darcy O’Sullivan,’ he points to me, redirecting the old woman’s attention.

‘Oh, Darcy,’ her lips tug into a welcoming smile. ‘Welcome to Fairydale, my dear. I’m sorry you had to witness such a spectacle. I promise we don’t always…self-combust.’

I still for a moment as it dawns on me she’s joking. Releasing a chuckle, I nod.

‘I gathered you’re not a fan of the Pierces, are you?’

‘We can’t say we are,’ she laughs. ‘But who would miss the funeral of the thorn in their,’ she pauses, her eyes glinting playfully, ‘bottom,’ she amends, though I have no doubt she was about to use another word.

I give her a tight smile.

‘Katrina, why don’t you show Darcy around town. Get her more familiar with the surroundings,’ Rhiannon suddenly suggests, all but pushing Katrina towards me.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ I put my hands up. ‘I don’t plan on staying much longer. Tomorrow is the reading of the will and after that I’m going back home,’ I explain. ‘I would, however, appreciate it if you could give me a lift to the house I’m staying at? It’s on the way to your house.’

‘Is it?’ Rhiannon muses in a knowing tone.

‘Nonsense,’ Connor interjects. ‘Regardless of whether you leave tomorrow or not, you should still get the full Fairydale experience. Don’t let this little horrific event mar your opinion of our little town.’

‘Exactly,’ his wife joins in. ‘There are a number of things you can see and do around here.’

All of them start talking at the same time, extolling the virtues of the town and telling me I’m missing out on a lot of great experiences by limiting myself.

‘I guess I do need some new clothes if you could show me a shop?’ I suggest.

After today, I don’t think I want to wear any of the clothes Grace had loaned me. In fact, aside from the reading of the will, I don’t want to have anything else to do with them.

‘Wonderful!’ Rhiannon exclaims, and based on their dynamics, I realize she’s not only the matriarch, but the true head of the family.

We walk over to their car, Connor and Thomasa taking the front seats while I’m crammed with Katrina and Rhiannon in the back.

They continue chatting on the drive to the town’s central square, each instructing Katrina to take me to see this and that. When we finally reach the destination, Katrina and I get out of the car, but Rhiannon doesn’t miss the chance to ask me to have dinner with them tomorrow night, after the reading of the will.

She’s looking at me so expectantly that she’s making it hard to say no. So I reluctantly agree. Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to see that manor of theirs up-close?

They drive off, and only Katrina and I are left. So I turn to her and pose the question that’s been on my mind from the beginning.

‘If you’re not on good terms with the Pierces, then why are you nice to me?’

She laughs.

‘After that speech, I think it’s safe to say you’re not on very good terms with the Pierces either, are you?’

‘I don’t think I ever was,’ I murmur.

‘Vicky Pierce is notorious in our town for her attitude. She can smile sweetly at you while cursing you and all your past generations,’ she cracks a smile.

‘I kind of gathered that,’ I add dryly, thinking of my previous interactions with her.

‘Let’s go to the shops so you can pick up a few clothes, and then let’s have lunch, shall we?’ She asks enthusiastically.

‘I am quite famished,’ I admit.

I haven’t eaten anything since the night before, and truthfully, now that I know the true nature of the Pierces, I am a little hesitant to eat any of the things they’ve left for me in the house.

‘Perfect!’ She exclaims, taking my arm and leading me towards a street that has a lot of colorful shops.

‘These are the stores. There are a few more in other parts of town, but these ones have the trendiest clothes,’ she tells me as we stop in front of a store with a blue façade.

There are a couple of mannequins in the window, the style of clothing agreeable. So we go inside.

I browse their selection of dresses for a few minutes and I’m pleased with their offerings and the prices. These clothes are certainly cheaper than in Boston. I don’t go too crazy though, only buying a few day dresses, some new underthings and a nightgown. In the end, I can’t pass on buying a nice, slightly more expensive dress for the dinner at the Hale manor—of course, not in the hopes that I will see a certain someone.

Once I’ve paid for everything, Katrina is once more leading me down the street until we reach a diner.

‘This is the most popular diner in Fairydale,’ she says as we go inside.

The diner isn’t very busy, only a couple of people inside. But the moment we step inside, their attention is riveted on us, their expressions ranging from cynical to downright dislike.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Katrina shrugs. ‘It’s not about you. My family isn’t the most welcome in town.’

‘But aren’t you one of the founding families?’ I frown.

We take our seats at the end of the diner, putting as much distance between us and the other customers. Still, the nasty glances don’t stop, now coupled with rather loud gossip and bad-mouthing. And of course, it doesn’t escape me when I hear the word witch.

A waitress wearing a tight smile on her face takes our orders. I go for a roast beef while Katrina orders a chicken casserole.

When the waitress is out of hearing distance, Katrina finally turns to me.

‘We are,’ she sighs. ‘But Nicholson rules the town. Together with Pierce and Vaughan, he’s the authority around here. Compared to them, we are quite the pariahs,’ she smiles sadly. ‘Most people ignore us, but there are some that make their distaste known,’ she nods towards some men leering at us.

‘Nicholson? I don’t think I’ve met any from that family.’

‘You saw him. The old man in the gray suit from the funeral,’ her lips curl in distaste. ‘He’s the Nicholson patriarch, and the most influential person around here.’

Recalling the way Vicky and Mr. Vaughan had both reacted to him, it suddenly makes sense. They had both deferred to him as if his word was law.

‘Mr. Vaughan told me of a conflict with the Hales, and he mentioned something about Bailey?’

She nods.

‘The Baileys are the only ones who haven’t snubbed us. They don’t always acknowledge us, though. But they are at least friendlier than anyone else in town.’

‘When did this start? I don’t understand why you’d stay here if everyone is so against your family,’ I add.

I’d seen the way they were apart from everyone at the funeral, and thinking back, I could note how the others had glared at them with animosity. The reaction of the people at the diner alone is telling, but to hear that almost everyone behaves like that? I don’t know if I could live in a place where everyone hated me.

‘When did it start?’ she smiles, shaking her head. ‘It’s been like this for decades. Of course, I only know the stories from my grandmother. The Hale family settled in Fairydale immediately after the plague, soon followed by Nicholson and then Pierce and Vaughan. It’s my understanding that the first conflict was over the manor and the accompanying lands. Before the plague, they used to belong to the Creed family, but everyone perished from the illness.’

I listen attentively, surprised to hear there was another owner of the manor, and I can’t help but wonder if the Creeds were the ones who named the town Fairydale.

Katrina takes a sip of water before continuing.

‘The Hales had claim to it through Lydia Hale, the daughter of the original owners. Nicholson claimed it should have been passed down to him because he was the son of Abel Creed. But because he was illegitimate, he couldn’t prove anything. Since then, they’ve done everything in their power to discredit us in hopes we will leave Fairydale and abandon the house. And that brings me to your other question. Why stay? Because it’s our legacy and our duty to stay in Fairydale,’ she gives me a warm smile.

‘That’s quite a tumultuous history.’

‘And it’s just the tip of the iceberg,’ she groans. ‘When they couldn’t win fairly, they resorted to dirty tricks, and they’ve managed to convince almost everyone that we’re somehow cursed and bring bad luck.’ Katrina shakes her head at the absurdity of it.

‘But how could anyone believe that? We live in the twentieth century. Everyone knows there’s no such thing as curses,’ I immediately add, though the words don’t feel as secure on my lips after a couple of days in Fairdale. Particularly not after witnessing Leo Pierce’s wretched demise. Not only had he purged himself from inside out, but he’d also combusted right in front of us before turning into dust.

Though I tried not to give that incident too much thought, I can’t help but replay it in my head, marveling every time at the impossibility of the situation.

‘This isn’t Boston, Darcy. People here believe what they see. If the moon suddenly turns red, it’s a bad omen. It’s the same if the river changes color, or if animals suddenly die. Every little thing can be suspicious to someone who is looking for it. Just like everything can seem a coincidence to someone who isn’t.’

I nod slowly, a shiver going down my back at all this talk of witchcraft. Still, I try to ignore the odd little things that have been happening to me since I arrived in this town. I don’t know if I’m yet ready to attribute that to witchcraft.

‘What do you think happened to Mr. Pierce then? Wasn’t that a little…surreal?’

She purses her lips, the topic clearly not a welcome one.

‘I don’t know. They’ve been crying wolf about us for so long, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was them who engaged in God knows what. And maybe,’ she pauses, bringing her eyes to mine as she regards me intently. ‘Maybe it was well-deserved.’

I blink, surprised by the conviction in her tone.

‘I still don’t understand why call me here if he wasn’t dead. Why go through all the trouble…’

‘Perhaps they needed something from you,’ she suddenly adds. ‘Something you, and only you can provide.’

‘But what?’ I ask exasperated. I’d been trying to find an explanation for everything that’s been happening, yet I keep coming empty-handed. No matter how you look at my situation, things don’t fit. And I know they will not fit until I have all the information in my hands. Because as it stands…I’m reluctant to admit that I’m fully in the dark.

Katrina shrugs carelessly.

‘Who knows. They are a weird bunch,’ she adds, but something about the way she’s speaking suggests she knows more than she’s letting on.

The food is served and the conversation moves to a lighter subject as Katrina describes all the spots I should visit in Fairydale before I decide to leave—the waterfall and the river, the fairy hill, and of course, the Hale manor.

‘We have some amazing galleries from our ancestors, as well as sculptures and priceless artifacts from the entire world. The Creeds were collectors and everything was intact when my family moved into the manor.’

‘Like a museum,’ I add in awe.

‘Just like a museum.’

‘I would love to visit.’ I tell her sincerely. We may not have spent too much time together so far but she’s been more welcoming than anyone, and her kindness doesn’t seem dependent on anything—as it was the case with Mr. Vaughan and the Pierces.

‘There’s something else I’m curious about,’ I make the courage to say as a blush stains my cheeks. I can’t not ask her about her brother and what Mr. Vaughan had said.

Is he dangerous? Is he…trustworthy?

I know war can cause trauma, and I’ve seen plenty of people retreat within themselves after the experience—with some turning particularly violent.

Is he like that, too?

Despite telling myself that I should forget about him altogether, I haven’t been able to. He made a strong impression on me, the likes of which I’ve never experienced. Certainly more than any other man I’ve met before.

And given the fact that he’d even influenced my dreams…I think it’s fair to want to know more about the man.

But just as I’m about to ask her about him, she suddenly stands up, her eyes growing serious.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she says as she takes off her napkin and places it on the table. ‘I just need to take care of something,’ she mumbles as she all but dashes through the aisles, exiting the diner.

What…

Blinking in shock, I look at the empty seat in front of me before I bring my gaze to my food and I release a weary sigh.

Just when I think I find a normal person in Fairydale and this happens…

I take a sip of water before I signal the waitress for the check. After I pay, I finish my food and prepare to leave since I don’t think Katrina will return anytime soon.

Getting up from the table, I smooth my hands over the black dress I’m wearing and grab my shopping bags—a little too excited to wear my own clothes and not Grace’s hand-me-downs.

I blank my expression as I pass by the other tables. More people had trickled in, and judging by their sneers, they’ve heard about the disaster from the funeral.

The whispers don’t fail to register, and out of nowhere, I feel a harsh sting on my bottom, followed by whistles.

‘Nice piece of ass, witch,’ a man laughs, quickly joined by everyone else in the diner.

Even the waitress is looking at me as if I deserved that.

Gritting my teeth, I realize I can’t make a scene or they will all band on me together. Already my skin is crawling from the lascivious gazes I’m getting.

I release a loud huff, straightening my spine as I half turn and hit his hand aside with my shopping bag.

‘Ops,’ I feign a smile. ‘Careful before I put a hex on you,’ I look him dead in the eye before I invent a few words in a non-existent language while pointing my finger at him.

‘Ashlyndl Bdl Gol. Ha,’ I nod to myself, bringing my finger to my lips and blowing on it as if it were a gun.

If I had any doubts that these people actually believed in this witchcraft nonsense, I am now fully convinced as the man blanches right before my eyes, his breathing growing harsher as panic overtakes him.

I don’t stick around to see what happens, but I do hear the terror in his voice as he yells to the entire diner.

‘I’ve been cursed.’

Just one more reason to cut my Fairydale visit short. Now I probably won’t be able to show my face at the diner without getting doused in holy water and beaten with crucifixes—is that even how you harm a witch?

Chuckling at my own silliness, I barely get to exit the diner as a car skids right in front of me, the noise making me jump back.

‘Dear God,’ I mutter, my eyes going wide.

The door opens, and inside I spot none other than him.

Caleb Hale.

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