Story Insider

Roses and Azaleas

Chapter 1

England, April 1816Brandon Knight’s father once told him that there was more than one way a man could be tortured. Brandon was certain he’d endured them all.He dipped his burned, scarred hands into the water. Droplets raced down the raised skin and bumps of his hands, trickling back into the white water basin. He splashed his face and took a step away, cursing as he always did when his stiff knee hitched and caused him to stumble. He gripped the side of the table. The water from the white basin sloshed over, drizzling onto the floor. The letter glided to the ground with the plop, plop, plop of water dripping onto the inked words.“My lord?”“What is it, Kenson?” he demanded.Brandon looked in the mirror towards the door where his valet stood. Kenson’s short stature filled the doorway leading into his room at the Star Inn where he was presently staying.“The Lord Chancellor sent a messenger. He is here to speak with you.”Brandon gripped the table harder and clenched his jaw. He pushed off the table, sloshing more water over, and turned towards his waiting valet.“I’ll meet him.”His valet finished tying his cravat and helped Brandon into his waistcoat. The letter was now ruined on the floor. The ink smeared across the page, making it illegible. But he didn’t need to see the words to know what the letter said. He had read it repeatedly on his journey to Alfriston in East Sussex. He took a cloth and patted the letter until dry before tucking it away in his coat.The messenger jumped at his entrance and paled at his approach. His eyes were glued to the left side of his face. Brandon’s scowl deepened, knowing what the man was staring at—his mangled face. His hands clenched as the messenger’s eyes traced the long scar that trailed from the side of his face to his chin. The man’s eyes jumped back, no doubt taking in the evidence of multiple surgeries mapped over his skin as scars and lines extended to his neck and lower.
Brandon crossed his arms, inspecting the larger-framed man with a receding hairline who appeared to be in his late thirties. Older than Brandon, who was at the age of twenty and nine. Dark circles shadowed the man’s eyes, and his disheveled hair spoke volumes about what he went through to locate him. Brandon wondered if the man rode through the night after learning of Brandon’s departure from his London home.The messenger gulped. “My lord, I came with a message from John Scott, First Baron of Eldon, Lord High Chancellor, to the Marquess of Valier, Brandon Knight.”Brandon said, “Parliament has been in session. Why am I now just getting an answer?”The man unfolded the paper, rattling in his hands. “Lord Eldon desired your full recovery. Please, my lord, I am only a humble messenger.”That simple sentence was all Brandon needed to know.He didn’t speak. Just brushed past the man, stiff and simmering. It wasn’t surprising to receive a rejection, but it was frustrating, nonetheless. He pulled at his jacket, dismissing breakfast as he did most mornings.He deserved that rejection.Plenty of unpleasant rumors have circulated through London regarding his scars and how he got them. No doubt the possible truth of those rumors made Lord Eldon weary of him. Why should Brandon be blessed with normalcy when he was unable to save Charles? Perhaps, it was only fair that he bear that burden of shame.Kenson followed him out of the Inn into the brisk spring air. The once white clouds appeared to be mixed with ash, shielding the sun with thick, dark clouds announcing the coming storm. The wind howled its approach. It was a fitting entrance for a man society now saw as a monster.“Kenson, send a message to Lord Eldon that, come next parliament, I will join my peers as my title dictates.”Brandon would make things right. Not for himself, but for Charles. For the friend who shouldn’t have died and it would start with his sister, Abigail.“Yes, my lord. Right away.”Brandon retrieved his horse and marched upon Alfriston.The weight of the letter he carried sat like rocks in his pocket. Each word admonished the promise he made to Charles. A promise he intended to keep. But the letter also brought darkness. The memories always made the burn marks itch, and his hands grew stiff as if his body remembered the horrific days when he and his friend were held captive.The onset of the storm drove many people indoors, leaving the streets nearly empty. He ignored everyone he passed. He already knew how strangers reacted to him; it was better for both parties if he kept his eyes forward.Weathered shutters and a hand-painted sign marked the village shop he’d been searching for. He secured his horse at the hitching post and stepped closer. It was too crowded inside for Brandon’s comfort. A group of young ladies was in the back, giggling over their conversation while picking through fabric. The two older women’s heads were bent low as if discussing village gossip. Several gentlemen at the counter were in light-hearted banter about the drinks at the brewery. But the moment the older woman gasped, all eyes were turned to him, and the room fell silent, with everyone trying to avert their gazes though they couldn’t help staring. He folded his arms. If he had the room’s attention, he might as well use it.“I am looking for Joshua Thurman.”The man behind the counter spoke up, “‘Tis I, what can I do for you, sire?”“A moment of your time.” He escaped outside without saying another word.The man quickly emerged and tentatively stepped toward him. The shop owner was shorter than he was, with his blond hair pulled back. His face was ashen, tempting Brandon to roll his eyes. People place too much emphasis on a person by their appearance. The man acted as if he were going to beat him to a pulp.Brandon said, “I am Lord Valier. I received your letter and wish to be directed towards Hartley’s home.” He had a purpose and didn’t wish to waste time on nonsense conversation or the expected civility.Before he finished, the man’s eyes widened, and he urgently bowed. “Lord Valier. I did not know I was to expect Your Lordship.”“I didn’t announce it. And I wish to keep it that way.” He held his gaze even with the man, who nodded.
“Yes, my lord.”Brandon waited for him to stop nodding and to tell him where Abigail Hartley’s home was. Impatiently, he folded his arms.The silence continued until realization dawned on the man’s face. He pointed the way with his long, slim finger. “You’ll head down this road until you see a small road to your right, just before the Market Cross. At the field, you will turn right. She lives on a corner in a small brick cottage.”“Thank you for the directions as well as your response to my letter.”The man wrung his hands together. “I hope His Lordship forgives me for not writing sooner.” He fumbled for his words. “B-but, I have continued to deliver weekly baskets as before.”
Brandon gave a subtle nod.The man bowed, and Brandon paused, worried Mr. Thurman would return to his store and tell everyone who he was.“Not a word, Thurman, of who I am and my business.”Joshua Thurman’s eyes briefly flickered to the side of his face, where most of his scars were located.He whimpered, “Yes, my lord.”Brandon gave Mr. Thurman one last hard look before urging his large brown stallion forward. As he had done many times on his trip to Alfriston, he took out the ruined letter. It was now more black than tan, but the message remained the same. Charles’s parents were dead. His younger sister, Abigail, and their younger brother, not even a year old, survived the cholera outbreak. Family meant everything to Charles. It pained Brandon to know that Charles never learned he was blessed with another sibling.In the week he received the letter, he had debated how to keep his promise to Charles. And still, he had no answers on how to best care for his friend’s family. Already, he had failed his duty to Charles. Abigail was alone, and apparently, now caring for a child. He’d been recovering from his wounds and was too sick to tend to his responsibilities over the last eight months. If only he had done more to keep Charles alive, perhaps Brandon could have saved Charles’s parents.He whispered to himself. “What about the grandparents?”Abigail had grandparents in London. Viscount Hartley had disowned his son but, having no other heirs, took in their grandson, Charles. Perhaps he could convince the viscount to take in Abigail.But he remembered Charles had a complicated relationship with them, so perhaps that was not the best idea for her.Thunder rolled through the gray clouds. He watched the weather, feeling the urgency of his task.
He alighted from his horse as he neared his destination. Not quite clearing the tree line, he stopped to evaluate the cottage.The tiny dwelling appeared to have one or two bedrooms with several holes already prevalent in the brick walls. The enclosure around the house was done either hastily or by a person who had little experience dealing with wood. On the side of the house was a large garden, and on the other was a clothesline with linens flapping in the breeze and a pile of laundry in a basket on the ground. The door was open wide. He took a step forward but paused when he heard singing.A woman exited the house in cotton clothes with patches mostly around the hem of her dress and an apron tied around her narrow waist. Her soft voice carried towards him, causing him further hesitancy. She continued grabbing clothes off the line. Brandon watched her, frozen in place. She appeared too much like Charles to be anyone other than his sister. In his mind, he’d imagined Abigail younger, no doubt based on the memories Charles shared. But Abigail looked to be over twenty. The breeze tugged strands of her long blond hair from her braid as she continued her song. The words became muffled as they reached him, but he could hear her voice, soothing like the sea as it washed onto the shoreline.His attention was directed to a young child in a blue dress crawling out the door. The child stopped at the step, turned around, and carefully placed a bare foot onto the dirt before using the step to hold her balance. The child fell to the ground and progressed towards the singing. The update he received from Mr. Thurman indicated that Charles’s mother had given birth last August. The child was not yet one, though he thought it was a boy rather than a girl; perhaps, Mr. Thurman was mistaken in his letter.The child reached the basket, tugging clothes and throwing them to the ground beside her. Abigail saw the child’s assault and gasped. Desperately, Abigail gathered the clothes up and shook the dirt off. The child relentlessly resumed her attack on the clothes. Abigail laughed and knelt, scooping the girl up. She reached into the basket, pulled out a piece of white fabric, and held it over her face—only to drop it a moment later, revealing herself. The young child giggled. Abigail did it again, causing the child to scream and shake her arms as she laughed. They played this game until Abigail was laughing with the child.
Brandon stood stoically still, watching a fairytale scene come to life. The moment between them seemed serene and pure. It felt as if, for a moment, he was witnessing a time when heaven was displayed on earth.His breath hitched as if back in his cell eight months prior when he watched the moonlight penetrate the darkness, bringing light to his dismal world. He had felt heaven open its arms, and he wanted to grasp it.Watching the scene unfold felt as if hope was just in sight, but something he still couldn’t reach. The child’s giggles ascended into the breeze. The torment felt palpable. He would be an invader if he went to her now. The shadows he carried and the scars he held would crumble the purity of their world, blackening it to ashes. It would shatter the harmony she lived in, and he couldn’t do that. She had already carried too much.He backed away, gripping the reins tighter, directing his horse from serenity and away from hope.
Hope was not given to a man who wore the darkness of humanity.

Chapter 2

A tingle slid down Abigail Hartley’s arms and neck. She glanced around at the trees near her house. The wind jostled the long, outstretched branches of the oak and pine trees, bringing a spring chill. It hushed the birds and insects, or perhaps it was the man riding towards her.A sickening feeling enveloped her.
She hastily stood, taking down the rest of her laundry. Emmeline became engrossed in digging her fingers into the dirt and throwing it onto the newly washed clothes. That didn’t matter right now. She placed Emmeline in the basket and rushed towards the safety of her worn-down, two-bedroom cottage.“Miss Abigail Hartley.”She swung around in the doorway as the tall, slender man got off his horse and sauntered up to the gate in his usual brown coat, too large for his frame. With his pointer finger, he pushed the wobbling gate open.
Abigail put the child, still in the basket, inside and blocked the doorway with her body.“Mr. Terrest.” She tried to withhold the bitterness in her voice.He took his time approaching her. He gave the impression of a tree that grew at an angle rather than straight up. His empty brown eyes appeared bored and unamused.She said, “What do you want, Mr. Terrest?”“I was passing by, and I thought I should inform you of your eviction.”
Panic seized her stomach, and her body became numb. “Excuse me?” She could barely breathe.He gave her a tight smile. “Business, I am afraid. And may I remind you, I have been most generous, Miss Hartley, with your situation.”She put her hand on the doorframe, now feeling unsteady. Her mind couldn’t process what he was telling her.“Please, Mr. Terrest. I know I am behind, but I have been giving you all the money we have.” It had required her to do laundry for her neighbors. She wasn’t sure what more she could do. They were already stretched thin. “You are taking away our home.”He took in the front of the house as if the conversation was a bore to him. He adjusted one of his cuffs and then casually attended to the other. “As I have said before, it’s business. My hands are tied.”Her breath hitched. Where would they go?Mr. Terrest said, “This property would serve me better to sell it. But, for your sake, I have kept it longer than I should have.”He offered her a pained look, reminding her of the paintings she saw inside the church when a saint or an angel peered down on the suffering.Abigail brought a hand to her throat, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Her mind reeled with her options.Emmeline screeched as she tried to crawl past her to the outside world.
“Ah, if it isn’t the little demon spawn itself.”Abigail hoisted the screeching child into her arms.“Mr. Terrest, she is my sister. And you will do well not to speak to her that way.”He pointed to the red wine birthmark that went from her right jawline to her shoulder. “She has been marked.”
“Many people have birthmarks.”He withered as his fingers curled into a fist against his chest. “Then explain her foot. Only the devil himself could mutilate limbs.”Abigail pulled her dress over the child’s foot, which was twisted inwardly and out of position.
Emmeline had been born with that defect. Abigail always carefully covered her foot when in public or when she had visitors, which weren’t many.“The apothecary said it was called clubfoot. It is a birth defect.” And one that could be fixed if she could travel to a doctor and had money.He had a disgusted scowl. “The devil has chosen her in the womb, most likely because she is not who you claim her to be.” His eyebrows lifted as he gave her a pointed look.Abigail’s neck heated. Was he insinuating that the child was hers and born out of wedlock? This was not the first time she received a comment like that, but she refused to divulge Emmeline’s true parentage. It was a promise she intended to keep, even if it did create suspicious glances and gossip.Mr. Terrest said, “People have talked, Abigail, questioning why I have not thrown you out already.” He put a hand to his chest. “But alas, I am a God-fearing man, and even God cares for the lowliest of sinners. But I am still a man of the world. Be ready to leave in three weeks, Abigail.” He held up three bony fingers. “Three weeks.”He strolled back to his horse as if it were a warm sunny day and he had not just doomed a young woman of twenty and three and a small nine-month-old baby.She shut the door and pressed her back against it, closing her eyes. What was she to do? Already, she had to travel the length of her small village to find extra work to merely afford enough food for the table and her rent. That was not enough. She had not been enough. They were to be evicted, and there was no one to help her. Even Mr. Lawrence, whom she used to work for, couldn’t help her now.How she needed Charles. It had been ten months since she had last heard from her brother. Where was he? Did he even remember her? She imagined him in Rome, visiting the great temples of the gods, or Paris, looking at the grand architecture.
Perhaps he was lost, with no money and no way to return home. But the fact remained: he had forgotten about her, but she had never forgotten about him or his promise to come back for her.She sighed, reaching for Emmeline. “Come, my little azalea, let us eat.”
They ate their small meal of cheese and bread in silence with the occasional babble or whines from Emmeline, to which Abigail would deliver what she wanted, and go back to her thoughts.Her heart was heavy as she gazed around the house, imagining it come back to life with her family alive and laughing. The walls echoed the long-lost sound.Soon, the echo would die, and the house would darken, bringing her back to her reality. They had nowhere to go. Emmeline needed medical help that she could not offer, and it ate at her. She wondered what her next step could be. She was at a loss. Abigail was alone.The small box located under her bed kept beckoning to her. She resisted opening it because of the painful memories it evoked. But she also wanted to be wrapped up in love. The world around her tormented her in silence. If it weren’t for Emmeline coming into her life, she would have crumbled in grief.But despite the young girl keeping her busy, there still was a lonely hollowness inside her. Unable to resist, she dropped to her hands and knees, pulling out the small box from underneath the bed. She slid her finger down the crack, feeling the two small, uneven edges. Her skin would momentarily catch an uneven edge, halting her progress before continuing until the crack narrowed and returned to smooth wood.
Her fingers slid back up to the carved letters, A & R. She closed her eyes, trying to remember their voices, the pressure of Father’s hugs as he whispered silly things in her ear, and what it was like to hear Mother’s singing around the house and at night before bed.“Ma-ma-ma-ma… Mama.” The only word or distinguishable sound Emmeline knew.Abigail said, “Coming.”The chair in the kitchen scraped, and the wood floors creaked under Emmeline’s attempt to get down by herself. Abigail helped Emmeline out of her chair and placed small blocks on the ground for her to play with.
The fire brought little warmth or comfort to Abigail as she sat in the wooden rocking chair. The wood deteriorated and crumbled under the fire’s torment, reminding her that her world was turning to ash.She grabbed the letters from the box and the other small items that brought memories to her mind.
Memories of happy days. A knitted cap that was now frayed, which belonged to her little brother. She missed Charles so much as she recalled when the thought of having a sibling made her excited.She picked up several items from her childhood one by one: a hand puppet, several preserved flowers, and her father’s favorite history book. Each item reminded her of the loving home she once knew. The memories brought warmth to her as she reminisced about what they used to be: the laughter, the dancing, the talks of dreams. But then, a dull ache in her heart would emerge as hollow walls closed in around her. The walls that used to hold her world.Emmeline banged the blocks together, drawing Abigail’s attention from emptiness to the child’s happiness. Emmeline continued her babbling as she hit the blocks together, enjoying the noise. A small smile formed on Abigail’s lips, seeing what this child held for her.Again, she looked at the box and picked up the letters from Charles, holding what felt like promises to her.
Abigail tilted her head upwards.
“Why did Charles have to go, Pa? Why did you let him go? He should be here with me.”Her grandparents, the Viscount and Viscountess Hartley, told Charles that he would be their heir on the condition that he travel to London to live with them. At their parent’s encouragement, Charles obliged.Tears brimmed in her eyes. “He said he would come back for me. He promised to take me with him to London. Do you know where he is, Ma? Do you see him now? Has he forgotten about me? About his promises?”A tear released, and she swiped it away. Tears would do her no good right now.The worn-down letters in her hands were a testament to the months she waited for him. Waited for the day he would come back for her. But soon, the letters stopped coming, and she wondered if he had forgotten about her. He had left her alone to bear the burden of watching their parents struggle, watching them die, of burying each member down to their infant brother. Despite the love she had for her brother, she was angry with him.Emmeline tugged on her dress, and Abigail peered down at her. She breathed out, collecting her emotions, and picked up the baby, placing her on her lap. The girl laid her head on Abigail’s shoulder. She leaned back to find a more comfortable position and began rocking. Softly, Abigail sang as she continued to rock the child to sleep, as rain pelted against the house and water dripped from the roof. But her mind remained restless with the unanswered questions for the future.How would she keep them alive?

Chapter 3

Brandon hit the twisted branch
against a tree, spooking his horse.
“You coward,” he muttered.He peered towards the cottage and resumed his pacing. After a week, it had become routine for him.
Brandon would walk around the grove near the location of her house, convincing himself to talk to her. He prepared himself for the look he always received when someone saw him for the first time.And then, his steps would falter.Charles would be ashamed of him.
Did she know Charles had died? Enough months had passed for her to learn the truth. But it was doubtful. Nothing had been officially posted regarding Charles, and it was as though he had never existed.Brandon would rehearse in his mind what he would say repeatedly, but no matter what he came up with, it sounded awkward. He would continue his troubled thoughts until he heard her voice carry through the trees to him. Unable to do anything else, he would stop and listen.
Today, however, her song was different. It was slow and sorrowful. Her song wove a picture of a boy lost and unable to find his family.He roamed to the tree line, trying to stay in the shadows as much as he could. Abigail was in her garden working as she sang. Her shoulders were slumped down and forward as if she were carrying an unseeable weight.After her song, she looked down at her hands as if in reverence for her thoughts. Brandon wondered if the song she chose to sing that day reflected her state of mind. Did she feel like the lost child, unable to find her family, unable to find happiness? The thought made his heart twist. He had become accustomed to her lively tunes. Her determination to be cheerful.Carefully, he took a step forward, telling himself this would be the day, but he froze when she suddenly scanned the trees. Not wishing to frighten her by having a stranger tread out of the trees, he backed away. He made his way through the trees to the road, where he observed her entering her home. Brandon closed his eyes, frustrated that, once again, he was a coward. How many failed opportunities had he had?
He had faced men who took enjoyment in torturing him. He had faced dictators who destroyed homes and families for power, and he had faced the darkness of his world. Yet here he stood, cowering away from someone who was considered a commoner to most men of his rank. Yet to him, she seemed above his station in the way she gracefully carried herself and the silent fortitude she exhibited each day.The stick split and broke as he hit it again against a tree. In his frustrated musing, he almost missed her exiting the house with Emmeline in one arm and a pie in the other. He urged his horse forward until she approached another house, knocking.A woman in her late sixties opened the door, showed her surprise, and then was overcome with emotion at the gift Abigail had brought. The woman hugged her tightly until the child in Abigail’s arms started squealing.Brandon was touched by the scene. He was amazed at the kindness she showed despite her humble means. Slowly, he moved away, not wishing to intrude.The town was bustling with many people crowding the shops and streets. It appeared as if there was an occasion they were preparing for.
Mr. Thurman approached him. “My lord, these came for you today.” Mr. Thurman extended his hand, holding two letters.Brandon scowled, noticing one was from his steward, and stuffed it in his pocket. Mr. Thurman, in his typical manner, kept his eyes averted and his knees locked, conveying his nervousness around him. Brandon’s eye then caught the tips of Mr. Thurman’s fingers drumming on his pant leg. Now his gaze was focused on something just past Brandon’s shoulder. Usually, the man stood stoically still.“Thank you, Mr. Thurman,” he said while casually glancing behind him to see a group of young ladies strolling towards a shop. The man was anxious.“Mr. Thurman, what is it that you are anticipating?”The blond-haired man looked at him, eyebrows raised. “My lord, I am eager to serve you.”The drumming went faster, though his eyes were on him. His stance widened, taking up more space, showing confidence Brandon knew the man did not feel in his presence. He was lying.Brandon wanted to roll his eyes at his theatrics. “Perhaps, instead, you should tell me what is taking place for you to be so anxious about seeing those ladies walk by.”The man gulped and shrank his stance to his usual posture. “Tonight is our town’s social.”Now Brandon understood the man. Most likely, he had an eye on one of the ladies, hoping to dance with her that very evening. Brandon was not the only male to find himself at a loss with a female. He had yet to approach Abigail and determine how he was to fulfill his promise to Charles.Mr. Thurman silently stood still.
Brandon said, “Enjoy your evening.”“I will. Thank you, my lord. And may I say, I am deeply sorry for Miss Hartley.”Brandon stopped his turning rotation. “What news, Thurman?”He gulped. “Mr…Mr. T-Terrest is taking back the property to sell it.”“She’s being evicted?”The man cast his eyes downward. That complicated the situation.“When?”“In a fortnight, Your Lordship.”It was soon. He needed to come up with a solution quickly.Brandon opened the letter in the room he was temporarily staying in, reading its contents before tossing it on the table. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking the weight off his left leg. The contents of the letters affirmed what he already suspected. He needed to leave, especially with the information from Mr. Invent regarding Anothny Watson’s arrival in London.Watson was the only man alive who could give him answers. Brandon sighed deeply. He had one more day, and he owed it to Charles to tell Abigail what truly had happened to her brother and then see to her needs regarding her living situation. She needed the truth, if she didn’t already know, even if it would shatter the purity of her small world.At dusk, the noises on the street grew. Lamps lit up the market cross, casting faint glows and shadows that socialized on the surrounding buildings. Music played while some couples danced, and others talked. Laughter and shrieks of delight streamed from the crowd. A crowd that he was not only a stranger in, but would stick out.His physical appearance and clothing would make people act differently. He was tired of that the most. When seeing his face, individuals became intimidated and would quickly dismiss themselves. So, he remained in the shadows of the alley, observing, knowing that rumors regarding his presence had been in full speculation.His gaze brushed over the gathering. He noticed Mr. Thurman standing behind a certain young woman, trying to get her attention. Her attention, however, was completely occupied with three other ladies.
An older man looked uncomfortable but respectful in a discussion with a well-dressed man. The well-dressed gentleman likely owned property that the older man was living on.Then, his eyes landed on her without ever searching her out. Abigail entered the town social with her eyes wandering, searching for a familiar face. Her hair was tied up with flowers tucked into the curls. Her light pink dress brought out the blush on her cheeks. She crossed to a group of women who appeared to compliment her, for she brought her hand to her warmed cheek and averted her gaze.Watching her modesty only drew Brandon in more to her perfection. One of the ladies waved a young man over. After a short moment, the young man offered Abigail his arm, and together they moved towards the dancing. The tune was a lively one, and she smiled as she danced. Her face lit up, and she laughed as the young man swung her around. Brandon could only feel envy. He may be wealthy with a title and a large estate, but the man dancing had healthy legs and a face people didn’t grimace at.He scowled. “Blast it.”He pivoted away, intending to return to the inn.Aware that Abigail had arrived by herself, he paused. He couldn’t allow her to return home in the dark unattended. Charles wouldn’t want her to. His friend would want him to ensure his sister made it home safely. Further realizing that it may be his last opportunity to speak with her. The frown on his face deepened as he resumed his earlier position, subjecting himself to more torture.The evening wore on, and he remained in isolation as he observed the crowd mingle and dance. Abigail finished her latest dance, begged off to the group of women, and hustled through the streets. Brandon shrank back and went through the alleyway to the street, lengthening his stride.
He opened his mouth to call out to her when he caught movement and swiftly stepped further into the shadows as four men stepped out from behind a building.The tallest man spoke first, “Alone tonigh’ miss? Don’t seem right to me for a lady to be alone.”Abigail glanced behind her nervously. “My home is not far. I shall fare well by myself.”The same man rubbed his beard as he said, “Allow me to be your escort.”The other men snickered, and Abigail cowered away. “I have known these roads my entire life. I am not in any danger.”The men stepped closer with hungry looks. Abigail frantically searched for an escape. These men were clearly strangers in town, and even Brandon had heard the rumors of smugglers working in the area.Abigail’s voice was small when she said, “Sir, I insist that you leave me be.”She marched forward, but the man blocked her path, and the other three surrounded her.“Insist? Hear that boys? She insists we leave her be. But what kind of gent’men would we be if we left a pretty lady walking alone at night?” He grinned darkly as he said, “So I insist that I be with you.”Abigail scuttled back and desperately assessed the other men. The leader grabbed her, and Abigail’s lapped him. He gripped her arm harder, snatching her to his chest.Brandon emerged from the shadows. “I believe the lady does not wish for your company,” he said, keeping his voice low and cool.The man looked at him and scoffed, shoving Abigail away. “And who are you?”“Someone passing through.”“Then keep passing and mind your own business.”Brandon stalked forward. “Not when a young lady is left to her own devices against four men. I suggest you allow her to pass.”Abigail moved toward him, but the tall man grabbed her upper arm. She wiggled, trying to pull away, causing the man to laugh.Irritation simmered as Brandon closed the distance, keenly aware of the other men approaching behind him. The tall man holding Abigail leaned forward, smelling her neck, while Abigail strained as far away from him as possible.“Hmm, smells sweet.”Turning his body away from Abigail, Brandon said, “Perhaps you are hard of hearing. Let her pass.”The man gulped and stared at his face. He let go of Abigail.“Let her pass,” the leader said.The stout man to Brandon’s left spoke. “Ey, I was promis’ time with the lady. ‘Specially one with nice plump-”Brandon whipped around, swinging his right arm and connecting with the man’s jaw before he could finish the vulgar sentence.The man toppled over, dazed.
Brandon heard a low curse from behind and lunged just in time to dodge a knife. The man stumbled forward and swept his arm back around. Brandon quickly sidestepped behind the man, following the knife’s rotation. Using the man’s momentum, he grabbed his attacker’s arm, tugged it up behind him, and yanked the weapon free before shoving him into the stout man who was trying to stand. Both collapsed into a heap as he tossed the knife aside. Brandon heard the distinct click of a gun hammer.As he faced the shooter, he revealed his pistol and confronted his assailant, a boy no older than seventeen.“Drop it, boy. I promise my aim will be perfect. Your life is more valuable than this.”The boy dropped the gun and fled into the darkness.Keeping his pistol aimed at his attackers, Brandon said, “Remain where you are if you wish to live.”From the corner of his eye, he noticed Abigail sway, her face ashen and her arms pulled tightly against her chest.“Let us pass,” he demanded.The men backed away, and Brandon watched them leave before turning his gaze on Abigail.Staying where he was in the shadows, he asked, “Are you well?”
Abigail shook her head. “N-no.”He took a step closer while stowing his pistol, and she scooted away. He froze and softened his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. Perhaps you should sit down.”Abigail searched the road, then crossed to a low brick wall and sat, leaning forward.Tentatively, Brandon inched closer to her. “You are safe now.”With that, her body began to tremble. He knew from his past that it was the body’s response to a terrifying experience. Her breathing was shallow, and she clenched her jacket tighter around herself.“Miss? May I escort you home? You’ll be safe with me.”She lifted her gaze to him, and then her eyes rolled back as her body slumped forward. Brandon speedily caught her fainting form. He had to kneel for a better position before standing and cradling her in his arms. Aware of the irritation in his left leg, he limped down the road towards her home.Her blond hair loosened from its twists and draped softly over his arm. The faint smell of roses drifted up to him.He had to concentrate not to stumble as he passed through the gate and up the uneven path. An older woman opened the door with a smile and then gasped.“Abigail! Sir, what happened?”She held the door wider as he crossed the threshold, minding Abigail’s head.“This way.” The woman directed him to a small parlor, and Brandon laid her on the settee.“She fainted after being attacked by four men.”“Oh, sire. We are indebted-” The woman paused when she saw him.
He straightened with a scowl on his face. Even as Abigail’s rescuer, he was still judged and feared.The woman cleared her throat, appearing to collect herself. “We are indebted to you. May I know your name?”Brandon debated. “Lord Valier.”A blush rose on her face, and she hastily fell into a deep curtsey. “My lord, forgive me.”“Nothing to forgive.”“We are truly indebted to you for saving Abigail.”The weight of what he had been trying to do for Abigail swept over him in an exhausting wave. Here he was, so close to her, without her even knowing who he was or what her brother meant to him.He briefly closed his eyes, blotting out Abigail’s face and his guilt. “‘Tis I who is indebted to Miss Hartley.”
“My lord? I do not understand.”He chanced a glance at her before angling his body away. The woman followed.He paused. “Mrs…”“Mrs. Kumble.”The woman seemed to care for Abigail maternally, judging by the way she had worried over Abigail’s welfare. He hoped she could provide some insight.“Mrs. Kumble, I have neglected a promise I made to a friend, Charles Hartley, to look after his sister.”The woman put her hand to her heart. “Oh my.”“His father had shunned society, and he feared Abigail would be trapped in the village, caring for her parents as they aged, never to see the world or have the chance to be courted by a gentleman. I recently came to the knowledge of her situation. I have come to fulfill my promise to Charles.”“What do you propose, my lord?”He paced to the fire with his hands behind his back. “I came a week ago, trying to determine that very thing. I was hoping, as Miss Hartley’s friend, you could provide insight.”Mrs. Kumble sat in a wooden rocking chair. He waited while she seemed to contemplate her answer. He directed his gaze to the fire to hide his uneasiness, watching it consume the wood in a dangerous beauty.
“My lord, I have known Abigail for a very long time. After my husband died over twelve years ago and I moved here, she visited me nearly every day. She has grown to be like a daughter to me. I want Abigail’s happiness.”“As do I.” He said the words earnestly and with such conviction that he surprised himself. It was the least he could do for Charles.
Mrs. Kumble stood and assessed him. The scrutiny made him fidget, and he backed away from her towards the table.

She spoke with hope in her eyes.
“Abigail doesn’t deserve the situation she has been handed. She should have been born as the daughter of a viscount. If you have even the smallest affection for her, marry her. Take her away from this. Give her the life Charles would want for her.”Brandon stared at Mrs. Kumble in shock. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Inadvertently, he glanced at the settee. Marry Abigail?“Mrs. Kumble, I am afraid the late hour has cast a shadow on your judgment. I am a stranger to both you and Miss Hartley.”“If Charles entrusted his sister’s life to your hands, then you are a true gentleman who should care for Abigail.”He was not Abigail’s equal. She was graceful and lovely; he had a bad leg and hideous scars. The woman must truly be delusional.“There are flaws in what you are proposing. I cannot toss her into high society, untrained in its ways and mannerisms. She would be criticized and mocked. I will not allow her to go through that.”He knew too well what society could do to a person they deemed unfit. Being married to him alone would cause her to be ridiculed and ostracized. He would not put that life on someone like Abigail. They would both become trapped, exiles from society, and he feared she would grow to hate him for that.“I assure you, she was taught well by her father.”“That is not the same.”“What is worse, my lord? Allowing Abigail to live her life in this humble situation, exposing her vulnerability as a single woman living alone, or being put in a temporary, uncomfortable situation that would guarantee her protection and comfort, the way Charles would have wanted? I know her grandparents are still in London.”Brandon’s mind whirled as he worked to process all that she said. “They are.”“Convince them to allow Abigail and Emmeline to stay with them until it is the proper time. Emmeline requires medical assistance, and she cannot get it here.”Brandon had forgotten about the child, which explained Mrs. Kumble’s presence in the house while Abigail went to the town social.“What medical assistance?”“It was described as clubfoot, and it needs a doctor’s attention.”He needed time to think about the manner. “I would appreciate you do not mention me or this conversation to Miss Hartley.”The older woman worked to suppress a grin as she curtsied. “I promise, my lord, not a word.”
He nodded. “Good night, Mrs. Kumble.”Swiftly, he exited, heading straight for the inn. As he wandered home, his mind kept repeating Mrs. Kumble’s words. She wanted him to marry Abigail? In the eyes of society, he would be marrying far below his station.However, it was Abigail he worried about. If he married her, she would have to show fortitude under such criticism. But it would help her if she were put in a position that would make their situation seen as acceptable.He shook his head. Perhaps fatigue was getting to him, for even he was considering the idea. He barely knew Abigail, and she knew nothing of him. He wanted to give her an easier situation, not marriage. Abigail was vulnerable, having no relatives to watch over her. He could provide her protection.Grimacing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, telling himself to stop lying. Abigail would not want him. She would want someone who didn’t cause the public to scorn her and someone who could take her dancing.He made up his mind.He would go to Abigail tomorrow. Tell her about her brother and give her the option of either living with the viscount and viscountess, or he would send her money every month under the condition that she finds some relative or close friend to live with for protection. He nodded. This was how he could repay his debt to Charles.***Brandon left his horse at the gate and walked up to Abigail’s house carrying a single rose, knowing Charles would have chosen that particular flower. Brandon hoped the simple flower would ease some of the pain she suffered from the night before and the conversation they were about to have.He told himself not to be a coward as he trudged to the door. With his hand raised to knock, he suddenly paused. Through the window, he saw Abigail kneeling, hugging herself around the waist. He instinctively knew she was crying as she softly rocked back and forth. No one was around to comfort her as she cried.
He knew what that felt like, alone in darkness with no one for comfort but ghosts from the past. Brandon looked around at the garden needing weeding, the fence in need of mending, the house that was crumbling, the clothes on the line, the goat she needed to constantly milk for the baby, and the other countless things she had to do in a day, utterly alone.A small figure appeared in the window. The young child, Emmeline, he recalled, hoisted herself up using the window to steady her balance. Both of her tiny hands lay open against the window. Her bright eyes watched him, studying him. He brought his hand up, lightly touching the glass. The young girl moved her hand over as if trying to reach through to touch him. She averted her gaze upward again and showed off her innocent smile. His heart swelled as he wondered what the future held for this young girl. Would her smile break under the strain of this unforgiving world?He dropped the rose on the doorstep, turned around, and jumped on his horse. Mrs. Kumble and Charles were right.Abigail and Emmeline didn’t deserve that life

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The Hunteress

Chapter 1
Red

“Don’t do it,” I murmured, the tip of my nose now touching the glass window.
Male, about six feet, light-skinned—no, more like pale—with black hair, wearing jeans and a local college T-shirt, fidgeted by his car as police officers talked to him.
His eyes searched rapidly around him. He twitched, making unnaturally quick movements of his arms as he swung them.
He swayed on his toes as the two police officers, one of them being Alice, searched his car.
“Don’t do it,” I said again, placing my hand on the door handle.
My partner, Malcolm, turned on the ignition. “He’s gonna do it.”
Alice opened the back door of his car. Our suspect’s eyes shifted down the street, and he rolled onto his toes again.
Malcolm whispered, “Here we go.”
“Blast it.”
I swung the door open as our suspect bolted. Malcolm spun the car around.
I sprinted to catch up with him, my braided blond hair drumming against my back.
He caught sight of me. His body jerked and twisted as if he was going to heave. He went faster—unnaturally faster.
My side ached.
Malcolm swung the car in front of our suspect. He pointed his gun through the open window.
“Stop!” he ordered. “NPD.”
The suspect twisted low, coming onto all fours, and leapt over the top.
I jerked back, hesitating.
What am I seeing?
I slid across the back of the black vehicle, hitting my hip against the bumper.
I stumbled, then picked up the pace.
The man was headed for the woods. He was strange enough to act like a demented creature.
I made a sharp left down a lane, taking an angle toward the forest.
I rounded a corner just as the suspect came to it. I threw my body forward, clotheslining him.
His body swung back to the ground.
My shoulder slammed into the building behind me.
The suspect twisted on the ground, going from his back to his feet. He lunged at me, swinging a punch. I ducked, feeling the rush of air over my head, then countered with a swift jab to his ribs.
The man staggered but recovered, grabbing my arm, and tried to twist it. I broke free using his momentum and landed a sharp kick to his knee. He buckled and fell to one knee. I twisted my leg around him and flung my body downward, forcing his body forward and onto the ground.
I placed my knee between his shoulder blades.
Malcolm pulled up, jumped out of the car, and handcuffed the man. Malcolm’s narrow but athletic build was easily able to restrain him.
The moment the silver cuffs were around him, he seethed in pain and wiggled furiously.
“Take them off! Take them off!” he screamed.
“Not a chance,” I said. “You’re under arrest.”
The police cruiser pulled up with sirens. Alice jumped out with her gun, blowing her brown hair away from her face. But when she saw the situation, she put it away.
“Wow, impressive catch, Detective.”
“Please take them off.”
Alice and her police partner picked the man up in their arms. His eyes were bloodshot, and his body twitched again. Alice’s brown skin next to him made his appearance seem as if there was no color to his skin, no pigmentation.
He twitched.
Malcolm said, “Apparently, he got himself into some hard drugs.”
They shoved the suspect into the car.
“Take these off!” he screamed from the car.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Hey, Adira, girls’ night Friday?”
“I could use one.”
She waved her hand as she slid into the vehicle.
I rubbed my throbbing arm, leaning forward.
“That guy was solid.”
“Why do you always accept her Friday night invites and not mine?”
I smirked. “Because she is far more entertaining.”
He shook his head, causing his shaggy brown hair to bounce with the movement. “Really? Albetos is not entertaining for you? That’s by reservation only, and I can get those if you’d just go with me.”
“Maybe some time.”
He snapped his fingers. Over two years, my partner had told me his snapping meant he didn’t like or believe what I said.
I ran my hands through my blond hair that had fallen out of its braid, cringing at the knots in it.
“I think I’m ready to go home to take a shower.”
He tilted his head toward the vehicle, opening my door.
“Let’s get back.”
I walked past him to the car, our heights almost matching, with him just a few inches taller.
“Do you think that man we caught was acting… strange? Unnatural?”
I kept my eyes on the familiar city buildings sliding by, yet only seeing that man running on all fours.
“Drugs can be unnatural. Probably on some kind of cocktail.”
“Yeah.”
Drugs can cause twitches, strange movements, and bloodshot eyes. But his eyes didn’t seem natural; they appeared haunted. Or the way he ran on all fours without slowing down or missing a beat in his stride. A chill crept down my arm. Something was not normal.
We parked the car, but I made no move to leave. Malcolm opened my door.
“Hey, you’re just tired. I’ll do the report. You go home and take that shower. I’ll see you tomorrow again at five p.m. sharp.”
A glance at my watch told me I had an hour before sunrise. I rubbed my face, suddenly feeling tired.
“Thanks, but I can do it.”
“Go home.”
“I’m fine.”
“Paperwork can wait. Heaven knows it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“A shame.”
He pointed to my car. “Go home. It’s against the rules to live at the precinct.”
“But—”
“Adira.”
“I’ll go.” I lifted my hands in surrender. “I’ll go.”
Malcolm lifted a hand as he entered the precinct, leaving me to locate my car.
The road out of the city was still dark, with shadows casting onto the road that played in my headlights. The city scenery blended into forests and woods.
My tired mind would find shapes and creatures lurking among the trees. I even thought I could see the man we arrested hunched on all fours, with his cold eyes and pale face staring at me.
I yawned, momentarily closing my eyes.
Movement in the distance—in the trees.
I gripped the steering wheel. Focus.
Was it real, or a shape formed from shadows?
Arms stretched forward through the high grass onto the road.
A head appeared.
I slowed.
Its body took shape as it rose to its feet and staggered onto the road.
I couldn’t take my eyes off this black form.
Each breath came out faster than the last.
I reached for my gun.
It limped toward my car.
There had been no other cars. I was completely alone.
The figure zigzagged into my headlights—female, and she was wearing a red tattered dress.
She fell against the hood of my car.
I jumped, clutching my gun.
She didn’t move.
I rolled down my window, slowly lifting my gun. I scanned the woods for any other movements, fully on alert for a trap.
“Help…” the female whispered.
She rolled off the car to the ground. I shoved the door open and knelt beside her.
Even against the headlights and the shadows, she was dangerously pale, with bruises across her neck and arms. She wore a tattered dress meant for a lavish dinner… what was she doing miles away from the city?
My stomach tightened as I held my gun up, scanning the tree line for her attacker.
She wasn’t supposed to be alive.
I called 911.

Chapter 2
Marked

I leaned against the door, watching the girl sleep—about twenty years of age, brown hair, tall.
Malcolm’s arm brushed up against mine.
He said, “Thought you were going home.”
“I was until she came.”
Chief said, “Come here, Kilton.”
I backed away to join the Chief and the doctor.
“Where did she come from?”
“Came staggering out of the woods about two miles north of Darton on Road 77. She wore a red, tattered dress. Appeared injured and disoriented.”
Chief rubbed his face. He looked at the doctor.
“Same marks?”
The doctor said, “Yes, puncture marks on the wrists and neck—just like the others.”
Others? There were more like her?
He continued, “No memories of where she was, how she got here, or what happened to her. Like Kilton said, very disoriented.”
“Name?”
I said, “Brittney McKarmen. Was reported missing by her college roommate three weeks ago. Last seen was Albetos. I have someone bringing in the college roommate. Maybe help spark some memories and give me a moment to ask her questions.”
Chief rubbed his neck. “Good. Good.”
He turned away. I followed him.
“Sir, you said there are others. How many?”
“Four others. All the same. Low on fluids, disoriented, and all wearing a red dress with the same puncture marks. More girls keep going missing.”
“Is it the perpetrator’s calling card?”
“Must be.”
“But why let the victims go? It was clear she shouldn’t have lived.”
Chief stopped at the elevator. “Figure it out and let me know. I’m assigning you and Malcolm to Brittney. I’m setting up a task force that you and Malcolm will be a part of. Try to get something useful from her.”
The elevator door opened and he stepped in.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” The door closed.
Malcolm came running up.
“Adira, she’s awake.”
Brittney’s eyes were open and she appeared confused. The nurse was speaking calmly to her.
I entered.
“Hey, Brittney, I’m Adira. I was the one that found you.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, but she said nothing.
I sat at the edge of her bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired and thirsty.”
The nurse retrieved water. She said, “You’re going to feel groggy for the next twenty-four hours until we can get your fluids up. But you are in safe hands.”
I pressed, “Brittney, I’m a detective, and I’d like to help you.” I lifted the red dress from the bag.
Her eyes widened.
“Can you tell me where you got this dress?”
“Can you tell me where you got this dress?”
Brittney lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. Her hand trembled against me. Her face paled.
“They’re real! It’s not stories anymore. They’re real!”
Her body convulsed. The nurse pushed the alert button.
More nurses entered. One pushed a fluid through her IV.
Brittney relaxed, and her eyes drooped. Soon, she fell asleep.
Malcolm entered the room as nurses busied themselves. He took her wrist. There were two puncture marks underneath.
“Animal bite marks?” I asked.
“Possibly. It looks like a spider bite.”
“It does, except these are bigger and wider apart. Too big for a spider.”
Malcolm moved her hair. “Same thing.” A teasing smile grew on his lips. “Lack of fluids, fang marks.” He snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
“What?”
“Vampires.”
I punched him hard in the gut. He doubled over.
I said, “Don’t be stupid. This is serious.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take some pictures and take them down to our friends to see if they know any creatures who could bite like this.”
As Malcolm snapped his pictures, I was reminded of the man I had arrested earlier. Had he not acted like a creature? Brittney’s mysterious words rang in my head. They’re real. It’s not stories anymore.
But what stories was she talking about?My shoes squeaked across the white floors as I circled the small waiting room.
Puncture marks. Where? Why is that the connecting mark between all of them?
Malcolm interrupted my thoughts.
“Talked with our buddies. They theorized a snake bite, but said even then the puncture holes are different in diameter and spacing.”
I nodded.
“Also, we got a call from our forensic scientist. Said there was blood on the dress. Some of it hers, and some of it came back as Sara Caphrey’s.”
I spun around remembering the college roommate’s words. “She was with Brittney the night she was kidnapped. Sara must have been taken too.”
Malcolm’s lips moved into a firm line. “Appears so.”
I said, “According to the roommate, they were all together at Albetos, but she left early to finish homework. Brittney called the roommate in an elevator saying there was more there, and she was stuck in an elevator… not like an elevator.” I shrugged at my last sentence. “However, Brittney has no memory of what happened. Nothing. She remembers going to Albetos and the next thing she knew she was in a hospital.”
I folded my arms, continuing. “So, as far as we know, the perp targets women around the age of twenty at high-end places like Albetos. Or at least that is one of his target places.”
“Did it have to be Albetos?”
Malcolm’s face fell and his shoulders sagged. His offer of dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in the city didn’t seem so nice anymore.
I nudged him with my shoulder. “How about you and I finally having that nice dinner at Albetos? When can you get us in?”
He huffed. “Work, work, work. Think you can fit something more entertaining in?”
I held his gaze.
He relented. “Tonight, probably.”
“Great.” We approached the front door. “I just want to know how they are getting lured, why they have no memory, and why the perp is letting his victims go.”
I exited the front door blinking several times against the midday sun. Movement caught my attention to my left. I squinted and, by the shadow of the hospital building, a man was setting down an unconscious girl wearing a red dress.
Malcolm paused behind me. “What are you—”
The man jerked up, meeting my eyes, and dashed around the building.
I took off in pursuit.
“Check her! I got him,” I yelled to Malcolm.
I chased him down the side of the hospital building. I tried to gain, but his speed was… uncanny. I clenched my teeth, willing myself to stay with him.
He turned left.
The man jumped through the window of a warehouse, shattering it.
I paused outside the window.
He turned right into the shadows.
I huffed, hesitated, and leapt through. I followed his direction, but he was gone. The warehouse lights were off, creating several shadows.
My heart pounded, and no longer because of the physical exertion.
I didn’t like this.
I pulled my gun out and searched. Every corner was covered in darkness, leaving too many places for him to hide.
I paused, listening.
A soft scrap of dirt.
I twisted just as the man dashed toward me from behind a rusted pillar. I fired, but he dodged my bullet.
How? I froze.
He blitzed toward me. He shoved me against the wall.
My head flung back. The impact made my head blare.
He tried to run, but I threw my leg out. I blinked as I tried to alleviate the throbbing in my head.
He stumbled, giving me a chance to scrutinize him. The man stood taller than me. Six-two? Six-three? With black hair.
He twisted toward me, throwing a left hook. I effectively blocked it. In fast and quick movements, he took the offense. I dodged, ducked, and blocked until I found the perfect opportunity to punch him in his midsection.
He doubled over and I kicked him hard. When he looked up, his eyes flashed a gold that penetrated through the darkness.
His attacks came at double speed. It took everything I had to match his intensity. Never before had I fought someone with unearthly speed and strength. He seemed unreal and still I could feel he was holding back.
The man caught my wrist, twisting my arm behind my back. I threw my elbow hard into his rib. He gasped, and I spun around, throwing a kick high at his head.
With force, he blocked my leg, throwing me off balance. My opponent pushed me hard against the wall. His hands gripped my wrists.
I wiggled violently, kicking out my legs. His grip only tightened.
I couldn’t make out any facial features in the dense shadows of the warehouse. But I could see an off-white tint to his skin and his eyes that appeared to glow slightly in the dark, gold. Not as bright as gold, perhaps not as dark as iron. There was something unnatural about him. His speed, his strength, his eyes.
“Who are you?” I whispered. But what I was really wondering was what he was.
His eyes held mine and my head was getting fuzzy. Something was telling me I was at home dreaming. And all I needed to do was close my eyes. My eyes felt heavy and sleep beckoned me. It had been nearly twenty hours since I last slept and I could feel its lullaby. All I needed to do was close my eyes.
But I couldn’t. I wanted to. Yet there was still that part of me that knew this was no dream. Knew that I could not fall asleep and become vulnerable.
I growled, got my hand free, and scratched at his face. He took control of my wrist again, pinning it back.
He stared at me, pausing enough to sense his surprise. His nail dug into my left wrist, and I seethed in pain. I tried kicking, but he was too quick, too strong. He burrowed his thumbnail into my skin until he drew blood. I could feel the stickiness run down my arm.
He let go, and I brought my wrist close to my body, pulling my sleeve over it to apply pressure.
He licked his thumb where remnants of my blood clung. He staggered back, his eyes dimmed, no longer flashing the illuminating gold color. His eyes held mine wide.
“Adira! Adira!” Malcolm’s voice echoed through the warehouse.
The man turned and jumped out of the window. I ran to the window, but by the time I got there he was gone. Only the shadows of the skyscrapers loomed over me.
“Adira! Did you find him?”
I searched along the alleyway for him. There was something about him that piqued my curiosity. A mystery, asking to be solved.
“No. He got away.”
But I was a detective. My job was to hunt.

Chapter 3
5 Stars

Granny entered my room holding a plate adorning a chicken sandwich.
“You gonna eat somethin’?”
“Got a work dinner thing to go to.”
Granny sat beside me. “You lookin’ mighty pret’ to be going out for work.”
The seventy-two-year-old woman pulled my blond curled hair away from my shoulders, running her fingers through it.
“You goin’ with Malcolm?”
“Yup.”
“Hmmm hmm, he is somethin’. Neither of you gettin’ younger.”
“Twenty-seven is still pretty young.”
“Not for a girl who keeps lookin’ at her mother’s files. It ages a woman to be thinkin’ ‘bout the past all the time.”
I slammed the folder closed and leaned back. “Just work made me think of her again.”
“You can’t always be doin’ that.”
“There’s some girls in trouble, and…”
“Staring at her files won’t bring them peace—or you.”
It could. It had to. There was no other way to ease the hole inside her. Each case she completed filled the hole, but only for a moment. Then she needed to do it again.
“Before mom died, I used to overhear her talk about these… I don’t know.”
“Child, let it go.”
“You know something, I know you do.”
“And you keep askin’, but you wouldn’t believe me even if I tried telling you.”
She tapped me on the shoulder with her finger.
“You can’t say that. What if I just got enough proof to re-open her case… maybe… maybe I’d finally find out why.”
Granny said, “I know you’ve been workin’ real hard and wantin’ answers. But sometimes the answers we want may not be what we are ready to be hearin’.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that—I’m not a child.”
She said, “Get up. Let me see you.”
I ran my fingers down the binding of the worn file before I indulged her. Granny scrutinized my choice of a deep blue evening dress.
Granny smiled. “All the Vandemere family is looking down on you with protection and pride. Now, go get your man.”
I gave her a sideways glance, lips pulled to one side.
I heard a knock on the door. I jerked back towards her.
“I heard the car comin’ down that dirt road.”
“You’re shameless.”
Granny followed me down the stairs to the front door. I opened it, and Malcolm froze and stared. He gulped.
“Adira, you look…”
Granny said, “Gorgeous, exquisite, like a full moon on a clear night.”
Malcolm smiled. “You took the words right from my mouth, Granny.”
Malcolm didn’t look too bad himself in black slacks and a gray button-down shirt with a black suit coat.
“You ready?”
The older woman next to us shook her finger. “Now I know you claimin’ work. But don’t forget to have some fun too.”
“We will, Granny,” Malcolm said.
Half an hour later, the valet took our car, and we entered one of the top five high-end restaurants in the city.
I nudged Malcolm at the sign to the side.
Sit and eat half price with college ID. No reservations needed.
Already, there was a line of college students standing outside that door.
Malcolm checked us in, and they seated us near the glass divider. The glass had intricate designs and made it hard to see what was happening across the restaurant. It was obvious that was where they were seating the college students.
“How weird is that?” I asked Malcolm.
“Many places give discounts to college students.”
“But give them their own area.”
Malcolm grabbed my left wrist. I jerked it back in pain. He took it again and twisted it, looking at the small deep wound on my wrist.
“Glass got me yesterday.”
His hand moved down to mine. “All I’m trying to say is, relax.”
I leaned forward. “Those young girls’ lives are at stake.”
“Let’s make a deal. We can analyze and investigate until our plates arrive. After that, no more work.”
“But—”
“You promised Granny.”
I clenched the napkin, then slowly forced my fingers to release.
“Fine. Deal.”
He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the tablecloth. “Okay. Well, we know Brittney and—what I have now confirmed is the girl outside the hospital to be Sara Caphrey—were here the night they were kidnapped. Brittney called her roommate saying she was stuck in an elevator.” He tilted his head to the side. “That is not an elevator. Sounds a bit Scooby-Doo. But that’s what we got.”
I bit my lower lip, looking once again at the college section side. “Who owns Albetos?”
“Garrett Shard. Recently bought the business.”
“When?”
“Five months ago.”
“And the kidnappings started happening four months ago. Don’t you find that odd? He buys and a month later the girls go missing, and each only remembers going to Albetos.”
Malcolm rubbed his neck. “Yeah, but I am not sure what you will find here. The task force already swept, interviewed, and looked at security cameras. The briefing said this place is clean.”
“So the perp just picks them up here. Keeps them for about three weeks. But where they are found is so… random.”
I tapped my finger on the table, thinking over the information. Malcolm put his hand over my tapping.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah.” I leaned back, realizing I wasn’t going to get any answers tonight.
“Though, I think it’s odd,” Malcolm said, “Brittney mentioned an elevator here. But I don’t see how a one-story restaurant would have an elevator.”
“Maybe they have a basement.”
“Doesn’t show that on the blueprints. Maybe it was hallucinations?”
“You’re probably right.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something.
The food was laid before us.
Malcolm said, “A deal is a deal. No more work tonight.”
I matched his expression, even if mine wasn’t as convincing. “Fine.”
“I noticed that Granny’s apple tree is ready to be picked.”
The fork clanked against my plate. “But, do you think there is more of a group to have taken Brittney and Sara together?”
He said, “Well, when you pick them,”—he obviously ignored me—“invite me over. I know an amazing apple pie recipe I can make.”
“You cook? I didn’t know that.”
“That’s because you only know how to talk about work.”
That stung.
“I do no—”
I trailed off as my attention caught onto a man in his early thirties, brown hair, about my height, in a nice expensive suit, walking towards the back of the building with two girls behind him. One was a redhead and the other a brunette. Both wore evening dresses that clung to their bodies. He flashed them a smile.
Malcolm twisted in his chair and watched. I slowly rose.
He said, “What are you doing?”
“Those two girls were at the front of the line when we entered. No man was with them. They seem about the perp’s type.”
“Still work,” he mumbled as I followed their direction.
I peeked around the corner. A wall slid open and inside was an elevator. The two girls stood there, but there was no man. The man was nowhere to be seen. The elevator door opened, and the girls quietly and almost robotically entered the elevator.
It closed.
The wall shut.
And all was silent.
“Definitely Scooby-Doo,” Malcolm whispered behind me.
We looked at each other with no answers.
A pit in my stomach grew, and I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Chapter 4
Bite Specialist

A knock. I jumped and closed mother’s file. I had snuck in early. Who could have possibly known I was at work?
The shadow of the outline of the figure standing outside my closed windows wasn’t the chief, nor was it Malcolm. Curiosity drove me to my feet.
I opened the door.
A man six-two or six-three stood before me in gray slacks, a pressed white button shirt, with a matching gray coat perfectly tailored to him. A man of means, it seemed.
Glasses covered his dark brown eyes; there was a hollowness to them, yet they appeared to see everything. He had thin lips, and I could smell shaving cream. My eyes finally ended up on his black hair—blacker than the midnight sky—which contrasted with his pale skin. It appeared as if his skin used to be a blazing brilliance, like the golden sand when the sun set across a beach. But now, it had lost its brilliance to become faded and pale, like the morning sparkle across frozen snow.
“Can I help you?” I scrutinized him, placing my hands on my hips. “If you’re looking for a detective for a personal investigation or have information for one of our ongoing cases, you can speak to the front, and they will set you up with who you are supposed to talk to. I’m not available right now.”
I took a step away, my hand on the handle already closing the door, when his hand abruptly stopped the door’s progress. I looked up, annoyed and surprised.
“What if I am supposed to speak to you? What if I am an expert in a field you are currently curious about? What if I can help you in your ongoing case, Detective Kilton?”
His voice had a deep richness to it. It vibrated low through the air to me as his accent and words held a formal, regal tone.
The way he peered at me and something in his eyes made a lull in my thoughts, as if I wanted to trust him. I wanted to let him in my office and believe whatever he tells me. I felt a strange wave of enticement to want to hang onto every word he says and trust him completely. It made my head want to enter a dreamlike moment of feeling wrapped in a blanket, relaxed and trusting. All I had to do was let him in.
But he was a stranger.
The cautionary thought made me turn my head away, rubbing my temples, before scrutinizing my intruder. He appeared pleased by something I didn’t understand.
I said, “I will need to see your credentials before I even let you in, and tell me what exactly you can do for me.”
“Of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his identification and handed it to me.
Dr. Covin Castillian, Forensic Odontologist, bite-mark analysis.
I glanced up at Dr. Castillian.
He said, “I received an email from a colleague who said he was recently given pictures of bite marks, and thought I could offer insight.”
“Which colleague?”
“Dr. Steven Abrams.”
I knew Steven and worked with him on several cases as he was a skilled forensic scientist.
“Okay.” I held the door open. “You have my attention.”
He entered my small office and sat on the chair opposite the desk.
“I see it’s pretty well organized.” He gestured to the neatly stored piles.
“Except for that one.” He pointed to a large worn file in the far corner, nearly hidden from his point of view.
I pushed it away.
It was my mother’s file.
“Working progress.”
“You are quite the detective with the success you’ve had, riding fast to this position and at such a young age. You have a reputation for being relentless with every case, even ones that have gone cold.”
His eyes shifted back to where the worn file lay. This man did see far too much.
I took out the pictures of the puncture marks on Brittney and Sara and laid them before him.
“Take your time. Tell me what you know.”
He didn’t grab the pictures. In fact, he barely glanced at the photographs before saying, “No swelling, no redness. Two clean marks. No scabbing either.”
“Can you identify what did it?”
I put my palms on the table and leaned forward, waiting for his response.
“To provide such a clean incision with no other symptoms of agitation, you are looking for a creature that also inserts saliva with chemicals like numbing agents, vasodilators—”
“Please, Dr. Castillian, keep the language simple. I’m not a doctor.”
He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes before putting them on. He squinted in the frames.
“Think of a mosquito. When they bite, they release chemicals into the body. Your body reacts to it by releasing histamine, causing swelling and itching. But this type of creature doesn’t cause the body to react, meaning the body accepts the saliva released into it as healing, so it doesn’t fight back. This saliva, when ready, can even clot the blood, so the victim doesn’t bleed out. Eventually, the wound will close and leave a subtle scar.”
I had to admit, he was giving me quite a bit of useful information.
I had never heard of Dr. Castillian, but he appeared credible. There wasn’t much choice. The team tasked with the missing girls hadn’t moved any closer to answers, either.
“You said creature. So it’s an animal?”
Again, he rubbed his eyes. I was now getting the impression that either he didn’t normally wear glasses or he got the wrong prescription.
He said, “Well, it depends on your point of view.”
“So what is this?”
“Depends on your belief in fables.”
I straightened.
The corner of his lips lifted. “Do you believe in vampires?”
I wanted to punch him in the stomach. Girls’ lives were on the line, and they teased as if this was a gothic movie or some folklore playing out in real life.
“Dr. Castillian, this is a serious matter. I’d appreciate it if you’d treat it as such.”
The other side of his lips lifted as if he had found my response revealing and interesting.
“Of course, Detective Kilton. I was serious. It’s called a vampire snake.” He practically spat the words out. “Very unique bite, but unmistakable. Rare even. Not much research has been developed on them and, for good reason, they are not to be trusted. But it seems you have several loose in this city.” He practically whispered the last sentence to himself.
“Well, I believe the perp is using it as a calling card, a way to put his signature on a crime.”
Again, he rubbed his eyes. “Well, the issue is you have several. Look at the length between the two punctures; they are different.”
“And that’s bad because…”
“I’m assuming your victims are coming back confused with little memory of what their experience was? As if they were under a variation of narcotic.”
I scrutinized him. “Yes.”
“That is the vampire.”
“Vampire snake.”
“Yes, if you prefer to see it that way.”
“So there is more than one person?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm entered the office, stopping short.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were in a meeting.”
Dr. Castillian stood. “No, no. I believe we have finished, for now.”
He brought out his hand. I grasped it and was surprised how cold it was. “Thank you for your help and the knowledge you provided us with, Dr. Castillian.”
“Anytime.”
Malcolm watched him leave. “You about ready?”
“Yes. I’ll meet you out there.”
I texted Steve Abram.
Hey Steve, thanks for sending Dr. Covin Castillian my way. What do you know about him?
Send.
I paused outside my office to watch Dr. Castillian head to the alleyway door. There was something about him that was intriguing and unsettling. The glint of glass caught my attention as I picked up his glasses from inside the trash can.
He didn’t need them. I suspected as much, but why.
Malcolm was waiting in the car.
“I don’t know why you were so insistent on meeting with Garrett Shard. Our task force already interviewed him and his staff.”
“I know.”
“And you already watched the security camera.”
“But we both saw the elevator last night.”
“You should have let me tell the task force.”
I tapped my finger against the car door. “Not until I’m certain that’s the elevator Brittney was talking about. This is too important to go chasing something that may lead nowhere.”
“Team, Adira, means a group of people working together. But you always seem to do things your own way.”
“I’m not. I’m doing my part.”
“You didn’t show up to the meeting this morning.”
“I was talking to Dr. Castillian.”
“You gonna tell our investigative task force about him?”
“No.”
My thoughts turned to what Dr. Castillian said. Was the perp using the vampire snakes to disorient their victims? They would be easy to manipulate if he could.
But no Google search ever showed there was a reptile called the vampire snake.
“I mean, not yet.”
We were taken to a corner office away from the bustle of the restaurant.
Garrett Shard, the owner of Albetos, waited for us by his receptionist. He was shorter than me with a black suit. His brown hair was slicked back. But, similar to the man the previous night, his skin had a palish glint to it.
“Detectives, welcome. I have informed my staff and assistants to be in complete cooperation.”
Malcolm said, “Thank you, and thank you for letting us come back.”
“Of course. The security room is right here.”
We followed him to the left to a room full of monitors and a security guard.
Garrett Shard offered a smile in my direction. “The videos are at your disposal.”
The security guard exited the room.
Garrett said, “We will check in an hour. Unfortunately, that is when we open for our dinner hours. So, my security will need to get back to his job.”
“That is plenty of time,” Malcolm said.
The door clicked closed. “Do you think there is some sickness going around?”
“What?”
“Their skin lacks pigmentation. Like… they need a vacation to the beach or something.”
“You need a vacation. I can get us tickets to—”
“Yeah, right—cameras.”
Malcolm snapped his fingers before sticking his hands in his pockets. He was frustrated with her.
I said, “They went to Albetos, according to the roommate, on September 30th.”
Malcolm, with a few clicks, found the video footage of September 30th.
We saw three girls of college age we quickly identified as Sara, Brittney, and roommate standing in the line. They were seated at the bar.
“We’ve seen this. I’m skipping ahead.”
The roommate left.
The same man from the previous night with the two women approached the girls.
I sucked in a breath. I passed a glance with Malcolm.
We found our lackey.
They conversed for a moment in easy conversation before the girls abruptly stood up and departed with the man. They walked to the hallway.
I switched the camera, but the man was no longer with the girls. It was just them. They pause in front of something the camera did not show, then walk forward out of sight of the camera into disappearance.
“Is there no camera that shows that elevator?”
“I don’t see any.”
“Rewind.”
We watched it again. “Don’t they seem… robotic to you? Like look at Brittney, she entered the restaurant with a hop to every step and the way her arms swung.” I moved the camera forward. “Now look. Totally different. I’ve watched this film hundreds of times. And something always seems off about them once they stand up.”
Malcolm shrugged. “I’ll get Garrett Shard.”
I re-watched the interaction between Brittney and the man. There was a brief transition when she was smiling, the man stared straight at her, then her smile faded. Her face turned to stone, she rose with Sara and they disappeared.
It was as if she was hypnotized. But that was only facade done in shows for entertainment.
It took ten minutes before Garrett and Malcolm entered. Malcolm appeared more at ease, and no longer wearing his “detective scowl.”
“Where does that hallway end?” I asked, showing him where Sara and Brittney paused and disappeared into.
“To the back alley.”
Garrett took control and showed us the back alley where Sara and Brittney exited onto the street. A white limo pulled up, they got in, and it disappeared. There was no license plate.
Garrett Shard glanced at me, surprised. “They were kidnapped?”
“Why did we never get this footage, when we first asked for everything that night?”
Garrett looked at his security.
He said, “Everything was there.”
“I would have seen it.”
Malcolm said, “Mistakes happen.”
I stared at Malcolm. He would normally jump in and interrogate this man. What was wrong with him?
I said, “What about the elevator in that same hallway? I never saw a back door.”
“Detective here,” he pointed to Malcolm, who had not moved from his earlier spot, “asked me the same question. I showed him. A wall opens to the alleyway. There is an exit sign.”
“No, there was an elevator.”
“You mean metal doors that lead to the outside. I know my own building, Detective Kilton.”
“I saw an elevator behind a wall, Mr. Shard.”
Malcolm stepped forward. “Adira, I investigated it. It is a door to the back alley.”
“I want to see this.”
Malcolm said, “Our time is up; they are open for business. I investigated it. It is a door to the back alley.”
I scrutinized Malcolm again. Was he defending Garrett when it was obvious he was lying. He was far better at detecting lies than her.
Maybe he discovered something. She had to trust him.
“Last question for now. Who is that man?”
I pointed to the man on the screen that was talking with Brittney and Sara.
Garrett’s gaze steadied on me and even narrowed as he watched my features, arms lifting for the first time.
He was going to tell me a lie.
“I have never seen him in my life. I don’t know.”
“Can I have a copy of this recording?”
“Of course.” Garrett paused.
His hesitation made me look at him.
When we looked eye to eye, I froze. I couldn’t turn away. He held my gaze, and I felt a melodic feeling sweep over me. I felt my body sway. A voice entered my head telling me that he was innocent and there was no elevator, only a back door. It repeated again and again, I felt myself believing him. Yet, something deep inside of me knew this was not real. This voice in my head was not mine, but an intruder.
He stopped, but I was so confused by what had happened, I couldn’t say anything.
Garrett Shard handed me a USB. “Let me know if you need anything else, detectives.”
I nodded mutely, and Malcolm followed me out.
I slammed the door shut as I slipped into the car.
I said, “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“He’s lying. Something weird happened in that room.”
“I didn’t notice anything. Everything checked out. Brittney and Sara left the restaurant through the back door and got into a limo.”
“But what about that elevator?”
“What elevator?”
I stared at him.
“The one we saw last night.”
“I investigated it. It is a door to the back alley.”
“What is wrong with you! You know he is lying. That security guard too. Why were you defending them?”
“I wasn’t. Our task force checked them out already. You gotta trust the other detectives did their job.”
“What about the limo then? They didn’t find that or the elevator.”
“I investigated it. It is a do—”
“Whatever. Let’s go show it to our team.”
I leaned back in my chair. Malcolm started the engine. I could still feel remnants of Garrett’s voice meddling in my head.
At the precinct, I escaped back to my office. Inside, lying on my desk, was a little square box.
Who got into my locked office?
I checked over all my files. Everything appeared undisturbed, even my mother’s file. I ran a hand over it before carefully opening the box.
A necklace.
It was silver; it glittered in the light of my office. The chain held a circular metal piece with a symbol in the middle. The top of the symbol was circular, blending into what looked like a rugged T shape and small black etched words.
A little note was laid beside the box.
A gift for your time and dedication. A totem of luck and protection.
Dr. Covin Castillian
I dropped the note, searching my office again as if expecting him to be hiding somewhere. But it was far too small an office for anyone to hide in.
I wasn’t a jewelry person, but no one ever gave me a necklace before. Father always resorted to flowers and gift cards.
My lips turned upward at this small gift, and I bit my lower lip to keep my smile in check. A handsome man had bought me a gift.
I placed the necklace around my neck, wondering what to do about this new and sudden attention I normally didn’t receive.
It was probably nothing. I didn’t date.
My phone buzzed. A text from Steven.
I never sent anyone to you. I don’t know a Dr. Covin Castillian. In fact, looking him up in our database, there is no Dr. Covin Castillian.
The warmth in my chest dissolved. Then who was that?

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Daisies and Dandelions
Summer 2026

Chapter 1

April 1831
Leicestershire, EnglandThe Sun should be reliable.
James Tailby shoved the door open, letting it crack against the brick of his house. He would not—would not be dragged into an arranged marriage!
He questioned whether the darkness he now felt meant the sun no longer existed—even at midday.
The door pounded open again as Father and Mother followed him out.
“James, please.” Mother’s soft, breathless plea stopped him.
Running his hand through his brown hair, he tilted his head back seeing the signs of spring among the trees. He scoffed, what a time for seeing the evidence of new beginnings and rebirth. There was surely a cruel joke at play.
“James. Face this.” Father’s usual stern voice echoed off the bricks.
James whipped around moving his lips before the sounds came out. “Why would S-S-Spain do this?”
Until a year ago, he was quite invisible to his father and society. He once lamented that and now he wished it was again.
Father explained as if James was an ignorant child. “King Ferdinand VII changed the law to allow his infant daughter to become Queen. Spain seeks political support fro—“
”I know this.” He clenched his teeth.
“Then you know how important this is.”
“I will not… do it.” How he wished he had a commanding voice like Father’s at that moment.
Mother touched his arm. “Oh my dear James, I don’t believe you have a choice.”
James shook his head.
“That is,” he swallowed, “is Ellis's obligation.” He paused again. Gathering his words became increasingly frustrating when he had an array of emotions. He had many words he wanted to say, but struggled to say, “Not mine.”
Father grabbed his coat.
James shoved his hands away.
Father's snatched his lapels, shoving him closer. His hot breath puffing into James’s face.
“Son, you know full well your older brother is already engaged and has been for quite some time. You will take on that privilege to serve your king.”
James pulled his lips in and pushed away from him walking in a tight circle.
Ellis, his elder brother, was now the heir presumptive to the Earl of Donwich. Something Father was impeccably proud of.
“I do not want…” He forced a swallow to get the blasted words out, “…want to marry.”
Father’s eyes were now slits and fragments of his dark hair no longer were fashionably pulled back.
“You have no choice, son. You will bring pride to our family. A lady of Spain, a daughter of a conde.” He accentuated the last word and lifted his hand. Which sounded ridiculous to James and was positive that was not the correct pronunciation.
“I don’t care about…” he let his words trail off knowing his family was used to his hanging sentences.
Father’s lips came into a straight line. “Let me make myself clear. You will marry this lady. If you are incapable of this basic obligation, I would be forced to give your inheritance back to Ellis and then you will be placed in prison for defying the king.”
James ran both hands through his brunette hair taking in Father’s words. His cravat was becoming too tight, as if the wedding ties were already around him.
“James,” Mother spoke as if comforting a child scared of the dark. “I know this is not what you want, but I am afraid you will need to accept this.” She held up the missive. “She is due to arrive in five days.”
James lifted his head up rubbing his hands over his face. But it didn’t ease the way his muscles kept tensing and the urge to run away.
“How…how long have you known?” His clipped question was directed at Father.
Father narrowed his gaze. It was Mother who answered. “Dearest, we have known for some time. It was I who suggested we wait.”
Mother was the one who decided to keep this secret from him? A secret large enough to cast blackness over his soul?
“Why?”
“Because of what your sister did.” His father spat the words out.
It always came down to his sister’s shame. But it wasn’t supposed to be Jame’s marriage, but Ellis’s. He was the one becoming an earl. James now had land, wealth, and had immediate connections to an earl. The sun was bound to shine on James, until this matter came up.
“It has been decided.”
Father confidently strolled towards their large estate nestled in Leicestershire while smoothing back the loose hairs once again appearing like the dignified man he liked to be seen as.
James dug his boot into the dirt.
Mother’s cold hand touched his face. He flinched.
The dark circles under her eyes accentuated the wrinkles that made her older than she was despite the youthfulness of her eyes and her rich curly brown hair.
“My dearest James, be brave. It will not be as bad as you believe. Have faith all will work out.” She swayed slightly and James grabbed her arm, supporting her. “Be a dear, and escort me to my room. This morning’s excitement has caused me the need to lie down.”
He guided Mother back into the house and upstairs to her bedroom. Through his mother’s window, he could see the orchards covering the south side of the hill. He had always liked the vast trees lining up in uniformed and tidy rows. Trees could always be relied on to be consistent and reliable.
The maid fussed over Mother.
“But why?” That was all he knew what to say.
She held out her hand, but he remained stationed by the window. She dropped it.
“Perhaps this is the miracle I have been praying for.”
“M-m-miracle?”
“You’ve grown up alone, my boy. A life companion will ease that loneliness.”
James became distracted with his hands. He knew that his stammer was not an esteem quality to have when in search of a life companion. He was understanding his sister’s feelings.
His mouth muscles tightened. “I…I wish to ch-ch-choose for myself.”
Mother’s eyes grew distant as if memories were being acted out on the simple white canvas of her ceiling.
“My James, sometimes that choice is taken away from us.” She remained silent before directing her eyes at him. “Meet Lady Sara before you give up hope. Miracles come to the one who is brave enough to take the first step.”
What miracle could possibly come from this? He, who always saw his mother as a light, had just been burned by that same source. At the sound of her heavy breathing, his mother had fallen asleep. He shut the curtains before exiting the room and back to the outside world.
It truly was unjust. There was hollowness inside of his chest with something hot and cold swirling around it.
This marriage was going to be disastrous. She would reject him once she discovered Ellis was supposed to be her intended.
Prison sounded like the better option.
His muscles in his arms tensed until they hurt. He ran.
He needed to leave behind this injustice thrust upon him. Run from the consuming feeling that his life is becoming chaotic and unorderly.
That he was no longer in control.
He paused by the riverside breathing hard. He raked his fingers through his dark hair tugging on the ends of it, looking up to the sky.
There was no choice, but marriage.
He mortared together brick after brick around himself, for he was determined to stay firm against the storm of rejection, never to tumble underneath it again.

Chapter 2

The last glimmers of the sun’s light danced along the trees and hills. Sara peered out the carriage window as the light shifted in and out of view. Land and water separated her from her homeland, yet she marveled how the last rays that played along the ground were the same as the ones in Spain. Sara would have felt enamored with the land if it wasn’t for her stomach once again protesting against the bumps and sways of the carriage.
“Tú ves enferma.”
Sara turned to her riding companion speaking from across the carriage. Despite the long traveling day, Doña Elena held perfect posture, appearing quite regal. Sara wished she had a bit of Elena’s courage in her. As each passing day came, Sara felt herself become more frightened at the burden which laid before her.
Sara nodded her head, confirming her statement. She did feel sick.
Elena said, “Tal vez deberíamos parar.”
Sarah shook her head not wanting to stop now when she knew they were getting close. “No, Nosotras somos…”
“English señoritas, we are in Spain no longer.”
Doña Elena’s maid spoke up, she was also Elena’s tutor, and since the letter deciding their fate, Sara’s as well. Both girls grew up in Seville and the harsh command of their king brought them together. It was up to Señora Trille to help them perfect their English and to educate them on English mannerisms. Some were similar to Spain, but others seemed obscured.
Doña Elena spoke, her English pronunciation was more clear than Sara’s.“I do not care where we are. England will not take away my heritage. I will make sure of it.” Her words were spoken with conviction and even Sara could see the fire brimming from her brown eyes.
Her own maid, who rarely said anything, even lifted her head at Elena’s words. Each person in the carriage felt the heaviness of what they had left behind. However, what Sara left wasn’t the typical family. Her father, who was a general in Spain's military, was hardly around nor were her three older brothers. It was her abuelita, or grandmother, who raised her. She had never traveled outside of Seville and now she was an ocean channel across from her home. Part of her felt free and frightened at the liberty she was suddenly given, until she thought about the entrapment marriage brought. With those thoughts, she felt she was trading one cage for another.
Doña Elena said, “Nosotras estamos aquí.”
Sara quickly peered out the window at her exclamation to see a house down the lane with lights pouring through the windows. With the state of her stomach, she was grateful they had arrived. But she noticed Elena’s posture stiffened. This was the home of Elena’s betrothal, whom she would meet for the first time. They decided to travel together, where Sara would spend the night, then the next morning continue on for another four days to Leicestershire.
The carriage stopped, both girls were helped out, and escorted up to the house. The stone house had an unsettling feeling, and the silent foyer only made it appear eerie. A servant, who was more well dressed, appeared and directed them down the hall.
He stopped, and looked at them expectantly. When neither one answered, he asked, “Which one is Lady Elena?”
Elena took a step forward. “I am, and it is Señorita Doña Elena Peppi Cadiz y Vientazo, Daughter of Señor Don Ernesto Fernando Cadiz y Bonilla, Marques de Mylavente.”
Sara watched the servant’s eyes widen and his mouth slacken probably wondering how he was to pronounce and remember all the names she had given him. Elena looked at him with all seriousness though Sara recognized the small squint of her eyes typically indicating she was amused.
Elena tilted her head towards the door. “You may present us now.” She gestured to Sara and said, “And This is Señorita Doña Sara Emilia Calzadilla y Pasión, daughter of General Andrés Osvaldo Calzadilla y Tamez, Conde de Loyaltimo.”
Elena nodded her head, ready for him to open the door to present them.
The butler swallowed hard then opened the door. Sara heard Elena take a sharp breath in and hesitate.
Sara whispered the word her father spoke to her as he hugged her goodbye. “Coraje.”
She echoed Padre’s words to herself, Coraje mija, or courage my daughter, in hopes her father’s advice would give her strength. Elena glanced at her and gave her a small smile then gracefully stepped into the room with Sara right behind.
Immediately, all the gentlemen in the room stood except for one. The man that remained seated had a receding hairline and a round face. His small eyes and grin showed a satisfaction that made Sara’s stomach become queasy once again. But the man was not observing Sara, but Elena.
The well dressed servant swallowed hard before speaking. “May I present, Señorita Doña Elena…” he hesitated and glanced at Elena with color rising to his cheeks.
She rolled her eyes, and gave the rest of the introductions while also introducing Sara. The man, still sitting in the chair, smiled. The gentlemen bowed to them and the man finally stood up showing his height to be just shy of Elena’s.
“Gentlemen,” he looked at the two ladies present in the room, “Ladies, did I not tell you I would be blessed by the good king to have one of the most beautiful woman in Spain as my bride?”
Sara’s eyes widened and she stared at Elena who suddenly became decidedly pale. The man appeared to be twice their age. Elena narrowed her eyes, but Sara was beginning to feel very ill. The weight of what they were doing settled upon her like a boulder upon a flower, smashing her until she was sure she was either going to faint or throw up.
A gentleman grabbed her arm and escorted her out. He had a narrower build with blond hair and blue eyes that seemed to always smile.
“Miss, you look unwell.”
He was the second person to have told her that, did she really look so ill? “I need to lie down.”
He spoke to her quickly and she only grasped, “I am sure…long…help…room.” How she wished her english was better developed and that her brain was not so foggy that she could have understood what he told her.
“Que?”
She tried focusing on him beginning to feel her body tremble making her more certain she was going to collapse.
“Stay here.” He spoke slowly and held out his hands as if he was talking to a young child. He swiftly left and then she collapsed to the floor in a heap of fabric.
If this is what laid ahead for Elena, then what laid four days ahead for her? She realized now how vulnerable she was in this situation. Her future was in the hands of a stranger. What if he was controlling? Abusive? Demanding? Old? The what ifs of her situation continued to crush her. Her breath became shallower and her vision blurred. She couldn’t remember how to breathe. She leaned forward on her hands trying to suck in deep breaths, but no air seemed to fill her lungs. Panic gripped her chest at her lack of oxygen, she tried harder to breath, but to no avail. She looked around frantically for help but her dizzy mind did not allow her to see anything. This was it, she was sure she was going to die from this crushing pressure that was upon her body.
“Miss? Miss?” Someone grabbed her arms and shook her. She peered up into a face, but her mind could not even distinguish any features.
More people surrounded her.
Then she heard her servant's voice, the only one she could recognize, and listened. “Uno, dos, tres, respirar…” Sara took in two quick breaths focusing on the counting. “Cuatro, cinco, seis, respirar…” Another breath. They continued counting and breathing until finally her vision began to clear and her lungs remembered how to do their duty. Her maid, Ria, grabbed her arm and helped her up.
Sara observed another woman with her black hair tied at the base of her neck with a small frame and the same man who escorted her out of the room with blond hair and a gentle look of concern.
The black haired woman directed her to the stairs. “Come, miss, I have your room ready.”
The kind gentlemen said, “Can you make it up the stairs? Do I need to carry you?”
Feeling thoroughly exhausted she shook her head, she was escorted to her room and collapsed onto the bed. But despite her exhaustion, she kept her eyes on the ceiling, contemplating. She was thankful the man directed her out of the room before she embarrassed herself in front of everyone. But the bigger question is what to do next. In four days she would arrive at her betrothed, Ellis’s house. She did not know what to expect, but her father’s voice echoed into her mind, Coraje mija. But how could she have courage? The future looked bleak.
That feeling reminded her of the countless summers she would watch her three older brothers play outside. How she dearly wished she could have been allowed to join, to climb trees, to run in the sun, or play in the water. But Abuelita had always forbidden it, instead Sara had to focus on her domestic duties and practice the harp which Abuelita loved for her to play quite often.
Sadness enveloped her. When she set off on the boat, she had often imagined she was about to head off on an adventure. Now she was realizing this was no grande adventure, she was traveling to her execution. There was no love in store for her, no affection between her soon to be husband and herself. She knew that once she was married, she was sure to disappear from the world confined to the shadows of isolation and rejection. She could not let this happen again.
Coraje mija. Suddenly, an idea struck her. Quickly, she got out of bed and Ria became surprised at her sudden energy.
Determined to practice her English more, said, “Ria, I have an idea.”
Ria, who spoke little English, but understood it well, turned her attention to her.
Sara said, “You will be me.”
Ria's eyes widened and she shook her head.
Sara held up her hand. “Listen, I will not get married without first…” she searched for the word, “vivendo, living. I watched my brothers do it all. I desire the same.”
Ria spoke quietly, “Your plan?”
“You will be me…at moments, and I will be a servant at moments so I can have adventures before I must marry.”
Ria sat down on the bed with a look of doubt.
“Ria, funcionará.” Ria gave her another doubtful look. “It will work.”
“I have bad English.”
That was true, Ria had poorer english than herself, but she was determined not to be deterred. She had to get married, that was unavoidable. Padre, or father, talked often about the blooming war inside of the monarchy, dividing Spain between the Prince Regent Don Carlos and King Ferdinand VII after he changed the law that now allowed his infant daughter to become the next queen. With a civil war brewing, their country was vulnerable. The King of Spain had made the arrangement with England, hoping they would support his daughter's claim to the throne and also as a peace arrangement to protect Spain, for Britain had the strongest militia of its era. This union between her and Ellis was important.
But Sara couldn’t complete what she wished to as herself, seeing a woman of her birth acting wild would be highly inappropriate; however, if she was a servant, she would not be noticed.
“No Ria, you have to help me.”
Ria shook her head. “Different hair and face.”
Sara slumped forward trying to figure out this development. They were different. Ria had black hair and Sara’s hair was much lighter. Ria had a wider face shape than hers with lower cheekbones. Their eyes were different too. Ria had dark eyes, while Sara had green. They could not possibly pass off as the same person… unless. She stood up and walked to her traveling trunk pulling out a rectangular lace fabric and put it over her head. In Spain, the mantilla was used as a head covering and sometimes worn with the peineta, or a comb.
But despite their strong held traditions, perhaps she could use the fabric in a different way. Sara draped it over herself as a face covering. Unless her betrothed knew or visited Spain, he wouldn’t know what was tradition and what was not. It was worth the risk.
Ria caught onto what she was saying and grabbed her other mantilla out of her trunk and put it over her head. Their vision was slightly obscured, but when they peered into the looking glass, Sara was thrilled to see that they appeared the same. Each girl was close, if not exactly, the same height. They both had a similar body figure. This was going to work, and for the first time since their arrival at the house, Sara felt hopeful.
Late at night, a knock sounded at her door. Sara pulled her robe tightly around herself and peeked through the slightly opened door. Elena stood outside with a candle and her own robe around herself.
“Elena. Come inside, quickly.”
Elena entered and lit two of Sara’s candles, and sat at the edge of the bed pulling her legs up underneath her. Sara followed.
Elena said, “Well, I wish you better luck in who you are marrying than me.”
“Oh Elena, he is as bad as he seems?”
“He is tolerable…” Elena leaned forward with the corners of her eyes squinting, “If I do not look at him or smell him.”
Elena gave a curt laugh, and Sara forced her own lips upwards.
“I can not leave you here, Elena.”
Elena pulled her lips together. “Do not worry yourself over me. Lord Septus thinks he will command me like one does with dogs, but he will learn that is a mistake.”
Elena had fire to her. A passion that ran close to the surface. Sara supposed she should be more concerned about Lord Septus. Sara fiddled with her robe.
“Are you afraid to marry?”
“No. Marriage does not change who I am. Are you?”
“No.” Sara drew out the word. “Perhaps.”
“Is it because of your mother?”
Sara’s mind went back to her biological mother who had long ago left before Sara could remember her and only saw her a handful of times throughout her life. Madre had felt trapped in a marriage with her father. She couldn’t bear living alone, forgotten by the world. But that was not who Sara missed. Sara missed the woman who she really thought of as her mother, the woman who raised her before her abuela. Sara yearned for her Tia Petra, who had been with her since the beginning. Who raised her for most of her childhood.
“The woman who birthed me left because marriage left her alone.”
Her family always made sure that Sara knew it wasn’t her fault that her birth mother left. But to Sara, she had never thought of her birth mother as her own mother because she had Tia Petra, and Tia Petra was Sara’s self appointed mother.
Elena grabbed her hand. “This will be a new beginning for both of us. We have each other if nothing else.”
Sara nodded, solemnly. Elena squeezed her hand.
“Cheer up.”
Sara could see Elena was trying to be brave. Sara straightened her back and held herself rigid as if the simple appearance would imbed courage into her. Elena did look like a fearsome señorita, perhaps Sara could learn from her. She straightened her own back and lifted her head higher.
Sara said, “What could we do?”
Elena gave her a smile, but Sara saw it waver.
She whispered, “Pray for each other.”

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