Welcome to the start of something magical. You are about to embark on a journey through the process of a visual representation of believing in the power of true love's first spark. Follow along with this epic graphic novel as the characters jump off the page, right into your heart, as they battle pirates, conquer fears unimaginable, and surrender to the unknown of romance and adventure.
The texture of his palms was rough from years as a jousting knight, yet despite their coarse conditioning, they remained tender and kind; warm, confident, and often mischievous. Or, maybe, it was his eyes she loved the most. The way they sparkled when he laughed, or deepened in color from their usual vibrant azure to a rich sapphire during a moment of passion, never ceased in making butterflies dance and flutter inside her heart. She especially loved the way they crinkled in the corners when he smiled, like how they formed now, as his head tilted to the side in a gesture that spoke of confused amusement.
“Dandelion?” Raphael asked as he moved his thumbs along her knuckles of their held hands.
“Hmm?” Lola blinked, awakened from her reverie. She remembered where she stood, and snapped to attention. “Oh! Yes! I do!” she announced. She witnessed those happy-lines around his eyes grow more defined, and her heart gave the familiar jolt of that addicting thrilling flutter.
“By the powers vested in me, I now proclaim you as husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” Lazare said, his voice carrying over the open courtyard.
Lola closed her eyes, tilting her head back as she waited for Raphael to meet her. The soft pressure against her puckered lips as they shared a kiss made her wonder if this was the part of him she truly loved the most.
“That’s how you’re going to kiss her?” Jack asked, peering away from his camcorder. “Snooze-fest. Come on, where’s the razzle-dazzle? The alakazam? The pizazz? Try it again, but this time, with a little more chutzpa,” he directed, ducking back to his viewfinder while waving the couple into place.
“Jack, leave them alone,” Modesta chastised with a roll of her eyes. She bumped her hip into his, playfully knocking him off balance. “Let them kiss how they want to kiss. It’s their wedding.”
“It’s giving cold, like I’m watching a cod fish scrounging for food with its lips pressed against the seafood enclosure at the grocery store,” Jack said, mimicking the fish he so expertly described before angling his camcorder for a more dramatic perspective of the soon-to-be wedding couple.
“I’ll have you know my kisses are very warm and very lively,” Raphael defended with an indignant puff of his chest.
“Prove it,” Jack demanded in a lighthearted jeer. “Show me how you kiss your wife, not your mom.”
“Well… they say practice makes perfect,” Lola said, shrugging, and turned from Jack to give a coquettish smile at Raphael, looking up at him from under her batting eyelashes.
“Surely you’re not agreeing with him,” Raphael spoke, taken aback at the notion of needing practice to kiss his beloved. “I was under the impression we had mastered the art of lip-locked affection.”
“That kiss was a little lackluster,” Lazare shared, voicing his opinion not so subtly from under his breath.
“Thank you,” Jack agreed.
Raphael gave a sigh, annoyed that his kiss was being so heavily critiqued, but any animosity, mild or otherwise, melted away as he observed Lola’s slight movements of dancing in place with excitement before him. Her green eyes twinkled, her cheeks glowed pink from an internal flush that mixed with the chill in the air that colored her complexion in a rosy hue. Her sight kept darting to his lips. She wanted him to kiss her, and that realization caused him to chuckle.
“Eager for kisses, my silliest of gooses?” Raphael asked, stepping closer into her space. She giggled uncontrollably when he took up both of her hands and softly brushed his lips on the fingers of her left and right.
“You asked for it. Don’t blame me for what happens next,” he added, whispering that last part so only she could hear.
A heated shiver rippled through Lola from a pit in her belly, creating an explosion of butterflies that tickled her insides. He gave no other warning to his scheme and spun her in a twirl that had her yelping out a startled gasp of surprise, followed by a giddy squeal as he guided her into an elegant ballroom dip. His lips were on hers before she could fully recover her breath. The talented passion of his mouth made her legs weak and wobbly, the rest of her body descending closer toward the ground as she melted from the kiss.
She wrapped her arms around Raphael’s neck, keeping herself balanced as he tipped her lower and lower. She trusted he wouldn’t let her fall, not when he had her cradled in his strong hold around her back and waist. She could have stayed in that position forever, lingering in a suspension of weightlessness, her body’s senses teetering between falling or flying. She responded to his greedy need for her mouth, but before instincts could take full control, she was placed upright, standing once more before him.
Breathless and bleary, Lola swayed on her feet, blinking through the veil of the amorous shroud covering her eyes. A warm chuckle dazedly brought her eyes to meet a pair of sparkling azure.
“How’s that for cod fish?” Raphael asked, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.
“Wow,” she exhaled on a trembling breath, unable to conjure any other words to express the rush of endorphins flooding her system.
“Dude, save something for the honeymoon,” Jack quipped, smiling broadly at the glare Raphael shot his way.
“You sure know how to make me go weak in the knees,” Lola laughed, leaning against the edge of the old stone well to help support her limp body as she regained her composure. “Kiss me like that on our wedding day and I might swoon right over into the wishing well.”
Lola straightened from her slump and turned over her shoulder to look down into the inky depths of the limestone wishing well from where she and Raphael stood. She leaned forward with a wistful smile, trying to find glints of coins from people’s wishes filled with hopeful wonder as they were tossed into the magical void. Instead, she was met with a cone of shadows which funneled into a never-ending hole of a drafty shaft that bore the scars of time and history.
“It’d be a long way down,” Raphael commented, moving his arm to hold her around the hip as a safety precaution in case she tumbled forward. “But if you did fall in, I’ll be right there to pull you out.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Lola praised, beaming up at him, and they shared another, albeit much simpler, kiss.
“I still can’t get over how fast the time has flown,” Modesta said, joining everyone around the wishing well. “It seems like only yesterday you guys got engaged, and now you’re getting married in ten days.”
“Ten days,” Lola repeated, bursting with joy. “Are you ready?” she asked toward Raphael.
“I was ready ten months ago,” he answered.
“And talk about a killer venue,” Lazare chimed in, gesturing about the courtyard. “I’ve never been to Castle Springs before. This place is beautiful.”
“You’ve never been here before?” Lola asked, shock dropping open her jaw. “Well, you are in for a treat. This is one of our favorite National Parks to hike, mainly because all of the trails are---.”
“---haunted,” everyone said together at the same time, and then laughed.
“Of course it’s haunted,” Lazare said with a shake of his head, acknowledging Lola’s proclivity toward locations teeming with ghosts.
“Are you two doing the Love Lock tradition?” Jack asked.
“Yes!” Lola declared. “We had a special key commissioned and everything for that part of the ceremony.”
“‘Love Lock’?” Lazare asked, confused.
“Do you see the slit in that stone?” Lola asked, pointing to where Lazare rested his hand on the ledge of the wishing well.
Lazare looked down, moving his hand away from where Lola pointed, and revealed a crack in one of the stone blocks that formed the top of the circular structure. The naturally formed gap in the middle of the stone, roughly two-inches long, resembled a keyhole, the intriguing divot drawing focus to the characteristic charm of the old well.
“That’s the Love Lock,” Lola explained. “It’s a tradition for couples who get married here. After saying their vows, they take a key and ‘lock it in.’”
“It visually symbolizes the forever-after,” Raphael added. “It’s similar to other wedding traditions like handfasting or pouring different colored sand into a jar. Plus, being a wishing well, it secures our desires of happy wishes for the future.”
“The Love Lock is special specifically to Castle Springs,” Lola continued. “It honors the late Count Bastian and his wife.”
“Let me guess, they’re the ones who haunt the trails?” Lazare asked.
“That’s right,” Lola said with a laugh. “Count Friedrich Bastian built this castle for his wife, Wilhelmina, as a wedding present.”
Lola opened her arms out to their surroundings in a grand gesture that encompassed the vast property of the sprawling estate. In the middle of the grassy courtyard where they stood was the famed romantic wishing well. Beyond the iconic simple focal piece of limestone and wood, were the remains of a once imposing stone castle. Where most of the existing structure crumbled within itself, a majority of the grand walls stood tall and proud, defiant of time, the elements, and Mother Nature’s attempts to claim the building with tangled weeds and brambles.
Built in this portion of the expansive Dead Forest, deep in the northern region of Newberry’s mountain range, ancient overgrown trees hugged the remains of the castle built for love and for healing. While majestic in its scale and placement, a somber mist coated the blocks of sandstone and granite. Most accepted the moisture glistening off the rubble as a byproduct of the spring waters cutting below the cliffs on the castle grounds. But in the perfect light, in the timing of the wind or the shifting of one’s attention to the periphery, that gentle glisten shimmered with a liminal elusiveness.
The air thrummed with an invisible resonance, cloying with an underlying eerie trepidation as if donning a blindfold made of cobwebs. Power skittered through the network of roots beneath the soil, and Castle Springs stood as the beacon of otherworldly magnificence, belonging to the land, but not of the land.
“This place is going to be completely transformed on the day of our wedding come the eleventh,” Lola said, stepping away from the wishing well. “We’ll go over more details during the actual wedding rehearsal next week, but for now, picture some chairs that will be placed here, facing the well and forming the aisle where we’ll walk,” she shared, gesturing around the courtyard to indicate the logistics and seating arrangement.
“The well is going to be decorated in a way that complements the aesthetic of the castle, so there will be strings of fairy lights, some candles in antique jars, and these beautiful clusters of roses to make it positively enchanting. And, if you follow that path,” Lola said, pointing toward a set of stone steps leading down a hill, “that’s where the reception will be.”
Following Lola’s guiding hand, the friends observed what looked from this distance to be the remains of a narthex that once connected to the Castle itself. One wall was erected where three others should have been to help enclose the floor of paver stones. A hearth and chimney stack anchored the crumbled structure with barred windows of stain glass stretching out on either side.
The arched roof remained intact, standing the test of time. It curved over the floor, held up by exposed loadbearing pillars with gnarled fingers of vines covering the bases, clawing their way up from the ground in grasping tendrils. The lonely scene radiated a haunting beauty. The small building could have originally been a chapel, at first glance, but any plans for the construction of Castle Springs had since been lost, the mysterious identities of walls and rooms left to the imagination of the explorers who tread the grounds in wonder.
“From the pictures you’ve shown me off their website, I think that big fireplace is functional,” Modesta said. “It’s really quite enchanting, Lola, like you said, and suits the two of you perfectly.”
“It’s sure to be a magical evening,” Jack agreed.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Raphael confirmed, hugging Lola into his side.
“You guys are going to make me cry,” Lazare declared, laughing as he moved his glasses to wipe away a tear from his eye.
“We don’t want that,” Lola said. “Come on. As much as I love showing off our venue, let’s get started on our hike before our lunch spoils.”
Ready to get their adventure underway, the group of friends busied themselves in assembling their hiking supplies. Raphael and Jack pulled on backpacks filled with a homemade lunch and picnic items, while Lola threw the strap of a tattered purple satchel with patchwork quilts tucked inside across her body. Lazare adjusted his binoculars hanging from his neck, and Modesta picked up her walking staff embedded with crystals of tiger’s eye and obsidian. She also situated a satchel to lay comfortably against her hip, the soft leather pouch filled with extra snacks and a first aid kit.
“Before we go, there’s still one more thing we have to do at the well,” Modesta said, and she took out a quarter from her jeans pocket. “I’ve got extra coins if anyone needs one.”
The five stood around the old wishing well once more, shaded by the wooden pitched roof supported by two stone pillars. They held their coins over the maw of the well, a chilled breeze caressing the backs of their hands in a gossamer whisper drifting upward from the depths of endless shadows.
“Passage for the Ferry Man,” Modesta recited, and flipped her coin into the wishing well.
In a twinkling glimmer, five silver coins flashed in the cool November sunlight, and then disappeared down the narrowed tunnel of darkness.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm back, back, back again, friends! I am over the moon excited to share this next installment of Newberry for you all! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have been!
Let me know how you like the chapter! Can't wait to start posting more!
Modesta was the first to reach them, throwing her arms around Lola in a crushing hug as she spilled out words mixed with panic and thankfulness. Jack mirrored his girlfriend, giving Raphael a firm embrace as well, relieved his best friend appeared only marginally scathed. Lazare hugged them both at the same time, tears brimming his eyes from all the worry he suffered and then release once he saw that they were safe.
Lola’s ears throbbed with a steadfast high pitched ringing caused from all the inquisitive bombardment of questions, and she swayed on her feet, her head feeling dizzy. A paramedic was instantly at her side, guiding her and Raphael to the back of an ambulance for a quick examination.
She took in the sights around her, amazed at all of the firetrucks parked in the street to contain the attic fire, as well as the ambulances, and plethora of police cars. In the back of a second ambulance, Lola spotted CJ on a gurney holding an oxygen mask to his face as a curious EMT prodded the bruising around his nose.
Lola stiffened when they made eye contact, and CJ pushed away the gloved hand of the medic trying to help him, fumbling with orders to close the doors. Raphael was quick to calling over a police officer, and as Lola was helped to the back of an ambulance, her fiancé shared the nasty details of events to the police captain on duty.
The paramedic placed an oxygen mask over Lola’s nose and mouth while checking her vitals and cleaning up her unusual scratches, Raphael climbing into the vehicle soon after to be with her.
“And?” she asked, on the edge of her seat to learn what transpired.
“He’s lawyering up, but the preliminary investigation from the fire chief corroborates with what I shared, and it’s enough to take Carrington to the station for further questioning. How are you feeling?” Raphael asked.
“Tired,” Lola answered, the heightened flow of adrenaline from the whole evening finally getting the chance to leave her system. “How about you?”
“Also tired,” he said, heaving a great big sigh.
“I’m ready to go home,” she added, and he nodded with a hum in agreement as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Who called the fire department?”
“Modesta,” Raphael said. “She, Jack, and Lazare were in her car in the parking lot when the lightning hit the roof. She instantly saw smoke and called it in.”
“Thank goodness for punctual friends,” Lola said, giving a powerful yawn through her smile.
The night was long and tedious, but finally, after being cleared by the paramedics and each having given full testimonies of their ordeal to the proper authorities, it was time to go home. Modesta offered to drive the two of them so they could rest in the backseat while Jack drove Raphael’s car to caravan behind them.
Once home, Lola and Raphael displayed careful measures in undressing one another, ghosting fingertips over their glaring claw marks mapping their bodies of CJ’s cruelty. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, holding the other close, their souls communicating the words their lips could not speak.
*****
Lola placed the bouquet of red roses on Lillian’s grave, then took a step back to stand next to Raphael, the two practicing a moment of silence for the fallen lady at the hand of the cannery mogul. It didn’t take much research to figure out that the Ainsley family had plots in the Newberry Cemetery as well, and after some careful searching, they found the particular headstone of interest on the opposite side of the consecrated grounds. Raphael handed her the second bouquet of red roses, to which Lola placed upon the grave marker of Absalom.
The days following their ordeal at the Northcott Manor House were by no means relaxing. The fire made the news, the police wanted more details, and Raphael’s lawyer was hard at work to make sure CJ was locked away for a good long time. Now that most of the excitement died down, the two could do what they needed to find a satisfying conclusion to their adventure.
“All in all, I’d say I’m happy,” Lola said, lacing her fingers with Raphael as they strolled through the grounds of the cemetery.
“That’s good to know,” Raphael said, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “Why are you happy?”
“We brought Lillian and Absalom back together again,” she said, hugging his arm. “I’m a sucker for love being the happily ever after. Maybe that’s why Absalom reached out that night on my birthday. He saw our love shining and it gave him hope.”
“That’s a good theory,” Raphael agreed.
They continued meandering, enjoying the summer breeze wafting the pleasant aroma of sweet grass to fill the air around them as the birds sang from the leafy hawthorn trees and the sun warmed the paved path they trod.
“So what’s next?” Lola asked. “What becomes of the Northcott Manor House?”
“Well, the city is already underway in repairing the storm and fire damage,” Raphael said, “and the Board was thinking of inviting Annie to be the General Manager of the estate.”
“She’d be perfect as General Manager,” Lola gasped with delighted excitement. “And, I think she’d be the best at sharing Lillian and Absalom’s story. She’s a romantic, so who else better to tell a love story than her?”
“I can think of one person whose compassion exceeds all others when it comes to reveling in the joys of love, even for those who are dead,” Raphael proclaimed, squeezing Lola’s hand affectionately.
“Ghosts deserve love too,” Lola declared.
“I’d like to celebrate love while still in the realm of the living, but to be wholly encompassed by you in this plane and the hereafter is a gift I cherish deeply, Mrs. Glenbrook.”
The way he said her soon-to-be married name caused butterflies to sweep their wings against the inner walls of her stomach, and she broke out into a wide smile. He paused their journey through the cemetery under the cooling branches of a shade tree, and with a gentle finger, lifted her chin to meet him with a kiss.
“Come along. We don’t want to be late,” he said, his lips close enough to continue brushing against hers sensually while he spoke.
Lola blinked a few times to try and clear her head as she followed beside Raphael on ground that felt like cotton. They left the sleepy cemetery, driving to Newberry’s Historic Old Main Street, whereupon walking into Curios and Oddities with snacks, beverages, and goodies, were met with pleasant greetings from their friends. It was cleanup day, and taking up brooms and dust rags, they set to work.
Lola and Modesta chatted easily together while separating and regrouping the mixed and jumbled tumble stones, as Jack, Lazare, and Raphael organized the bookshelves while also enjoying their conversations. The cozy little shop, perfumed in nutmeg, their second home, blossomed with life and love. Gone were the touches of the grimoire and its shadows, and in its place beamed the everlasting bright light of their shared friendship and laughter.
The End
*~*~*~*~*~
And there you have it, friends. That's the end of this adventure, and I think it's just now hitting me that this particular story is over. As always, it's very bittersweet. Hopefully you've come to love these characters and their spooky little town as much as I do.
Fear not! This is not the end of Newberry or these characters.
Thanks for being on this journey with me, and until the next one, happy reading, and I'll see you all again soon!
Flashes of lightning illuminated the innards of the cauliflower puffs bubbling over the horizon of the approaching storm clouds. The crackling electricity fluttering in the deepening shadows of the heavy cumulonimbus mimicked the nervous energy dancing inside the confines of Lola’s heart.
“Think we’ll get tornadoes?” Lola asked, breaking the silence.
She surveyed the clouds from the comfort of the passenger seat, captivated by the power sheathed in what looked like fluffy cotton candy. Raphael’s chuckle from the driver’s seat warmed her soul, soothing the storm raging inside her breast.
“We don’t normally get tornadoes this far up in these northeastern valleys,” he replied.
“Never say never,” Lola challenged. “Stranger things have happened. Don’t put all of your eggs in one basket. The pen is mightier than the sword. All’s---.”
“Dandelion,” Raphael cut in with his charming laughter. “You’re stuck on a loop of idioms.” He scooped up her hand flailing about in nervous gesticulations, giving her fingers a kiss. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I am about to throw up,” she declared, locking eyes with him.
“Oh! Do I need to pull over?” He let go of her hand, checking his mirrors and nearby surroundings to find a location to maneuver the car to give Lola the chance to retch in safety.
“Thank you, but no,” she reassured. “I feel that way because I’m so anxious.”
“Ah!” he said, nodding in agreement while leveling a heavy sigh. “Me too.”
“I can’t even pinpoint exactly what it is that’s making me so nervous,” she admitted, tossing her hands up in frustration. “Is it the idea of performing a magical encasement ritual or the fact that CJ’s energy is saturated all over this night? Or is it because the grimoire is in the trunk tied up like a kidnapping victim?”
“I’ll take option D: All of the above,” Raphael quipped. “There’s no getting around Carrington’s hand for why we’re going to the Manor House tonight, that’s a given, but I think once the ritual is in place, and Lazare and Modesta have bound the spell book, everything will go back to being as it once was and is supposed to be.”
The days leading up to their visit to the Manor House, courtesy of the voucher winnings, had Lola’s fears eating away at her mind, yet in an unpredicted turn of events, her night terrors inexplicably stopped, as if the demons knew the prolonged mental tortures of the day far outweighed the blessed respite of sleep. That afternoon, after CJ’s visit to her and Raphael’s house, the group of friends devised their plan, and as Lola suffered for the week to pass, the intensity of surviving the waiting game grew harder to endure.
“Think we’ll look back on this and laugh?” Lola asked after some time passed sitting in silence.
“Why wait? We can laugh about it now,” he suggested.
“True enough,” she agreed with a rising grin, and fully leaned back into her seat with a sigh. “All of this trouble over a book,” she murmured, catching another flash of lightning. “Well, here’s a positive; at least we get to dress up.”
Lola took no rush in observing Raphael, appreciating the coziness of his cashmere sweater, the powder blue collar of his buttoned shirt poking out of the neckline accentuating the azure of his eyes. Her gaze traveled to his hands lightly grasping the steering wheel, and then lingered on the thick leather band of his wristwatch, which made her think of his forearms, and then her eyes lowered to his charcoal slacks where she took notice to each rise and fall of the folds along his hips, to his belt, to his---.
“Clothes maketh the man, I take it?”
His voice startled her, and she blinked, darting her sight back to his face.
“My eyes are up here,” he added with a grin that ignited his twinkle of play in said eyes. “You can look, but do not touch.” He moved a hand from the steering wheel to waggle a finger back and forth in the universal gesture that proclaimed a reproving “no-no.”
She harrumphed, folding her arms, annoyed by his incorrigible teasing, even though it caused a pulsating fluster to quicken her heart and brighten her cheeks.
“Now who’s full of idioms and catchphrases?” she retorted.
“If it’s any consolation,” he started, his melodious chuckle filling the car, “you are a feast for the eyes, as well.”
Lola fidgeted with the hem on the sleeve of her oversized cream sweater and she smiled wide, her earlier blush increasing in heat and color. She knew the tactic he played, using the routine of their mutual flirty banter to distract her frazzled nerves to settle.
“Thank you,” she said, the two words including the whole sentiment of his actions outside the cheesy and appreciated compliment.
The remainder of the car ride was spent in companionable silence, with Raphael paying attention to the roads while Lola focused on the advancing storm. At last, as a rumble of thunder woke the crows from their nests hidden in leafy treetops, the couple stood side by side in the parking lot of the Northcott Manor House.
Golden amber light beckoned the two from behind panes of thick glass and vintage lace, the comforting glow a sobering masquerade of death that lingered within those historic walls. Crickets sang their night song in tune with the whistling wind, and somewhere, a dog barked in the distance. The echoing sound of their footsteps as they crossed the parking lot sank the pit sitting in Lola’s stomach further down into her gut.
“I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this,” she repeated with a shiver, clutching hard around Raphael’s arm. “It feels like we’re walking into a trap.”
“I know, my Love, and I’m sorry. I don’t like this feeling either. There’s not much we can do until 10:30, so let’s try to enjoy the night as much as possible,” Raphael encouraged as they ascended the stoop.
“10:30,” Lola repeated, heaving a hefty exhale. “That’s three more hours to go. Okay. I can do this. We can do this.”
“Together,” Raphael agreed, and he pulled the heavy ornate door open.
Lola passed under the threshold of the mighty door, walking through the tiny vestibule to wait for Raphael in the foyer. He came alongside of her with a reassuring grin as Annie came out from one of the back dining rooms to meet them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook, good evening. It’s lovely to see you both again. Congratulations on winning the voucher,” Annie greeted, a genuine smile of hospitable delight on her face as she sauntered to her podium.
“Thank you, Annie. Finding out we won the voucher was quite the surprise,” Lola shared. “How are you doing from the break in? I know it’s been a few days, but do you have any new information?”
“I’m doing surprisingly well, thank you, and no news yet about the break in. But, the police have all they need to do their investigation and we’ve been given the green light to operate business as usual,” Annie replied.
“That’s good to hear. Hopefully the police will get everything cleared up and you can put this whole incident behind you,” Raphael said.
“That’s the idea,” Annie said as she selected two menus from under the hostess stand. “Oh! Before I seat you, do you two want to go ahead and bring any luggage inside? Once that storm hits, it’s supposed to last until morning, and no one needs to be going out in that while struggling with baggage.”
“Sure, I’ll grab it real quick,” Raphael volunteered. “Are you all right waiting here by yourself?” he asked Lola, checking in to make sure she was comfortable being left alone for a few minutes.
“I’ll be okay. Thank you, Honey Love,” Lola assured with a gentle nod of her head.
“We’ll take good care of your wife, Mr. Glenbrook,” Annie promised, stepping away from her podium. “Once you have your bags, I can take you to your suite.”
“Sounds like a fine plan to me,” agreed Raphael. “I’ll be quick as a wink. I can already hear the wind picking up.”
With that, Raphael gave a departing kiss to his beloved and ventured out into the night. Lola watched him go, the front door closing behind him with a jarring clatter, and in the vacant coldness of her solitude, her anxiety level rose to lodge a tightening lump inside her throat. She didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling, however, as Annie ushered her into where she would be dining.
The formal dining room, glittering in aged gold and crystal, had one large rectangular table placed in the center of the room under the antique gilded chandelier. The usual arrangement of smaller linen covered tables around the perimeter for the dinner theater had been cleared out, the massive, polished walnut table with blooming chrysanthemum center pieces and two complete formal place settings the only thing occupying the opulent space. Lola thought it also important to note that there were no other diners to be found.
“Are…are we the only guests here?” Lola asked as she watched Annie place the menus at the end of the ten-person dining table.
“You are, yes,” Annie informed. “CJ wanted your stay to be extra special. He had it arranged so you and your husband have the whole house to yourselves tonight, including dinner.”
“How kind of him,” Lola said, the lump in her throat rising higher up her esophagus.
Before she could accept Annie’s gesture to take a seat at the table, Raphael came into the foyer with their overnight bags.
“That storm is looming on our doorstep,” he announced, brushing windswept hair out of his eyes.
“Please take a seat, Mrs. Glenbrook. I’ll show your husband to your suite and then we can get dinner underway,” Annie said, leaving Lola to the whims of the dining room. “Follow me, Mr. Glenbrook,” she then instructed, and after grabbing a small packet from her podium, took to the grand staircase with Raphael following behind her.
Lola stood in the dining room, alone, the old love songs of jazz and romance caressing the timeless timbers in their honeyed serenades, and she trembled. She wrapped her sweater tightly around her body, hugging herself to stave off the unnatural cold that breezed its way into the elegant space. She didn’t feel like sitting, her legs too jittery and restless to want to stay motionless under a table, so she paced the edges of the room, looking at each portrait of the House’s lineage captured in oil of a prestigious past.
She came upon Cornelius’s portrait and stared deep into his painted immortal tawny eyes which, surely from a trick of the light, looked to be glowing. She gave the image a hearty glower that caused her face to scrunch and her nose to wrinkle.
“I know who you are and I know what you’ve done,” Lola hissed in a sharp whisper. “It ends tonight.”
A bright flash of lightning followed by a long, angry peal of thunder frightened Lola, the beginnings of the squall shaking the house to its very core. Raphael was right, the storm was upon them, and sure enough, the sky broke open and a hard rain pelted the world outside.
“Perfect timing,” Annie declared, entering the dining room. “Another minute and you would have been caught in that downpour.”
Lola whirled around to face the dining room’s opening as Annie came waltzing into the space followed by Raphael. Annie gestured for the two to sit, and Raphael held out a chair for Lola to take her place next to him at the head of the table.
“Take your time looking over the menu,” Annie said as Raphael took his seat. “I’ll be taking care of you tonight, so please don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.”
“We’re the only ones here,” Lola whispered to Raphael once Annie left the dining room. “Like, for the whole night, in the whole house, there are no other diners or guests.”
“No one else is here?” Raphael asked, and when Lola shook her head, he pressed his lips together into a firm line, his eyebrows lowering to finish forming his expression of wary speculation. “I don’t like that.”
Annie returned to the dining room with two fluted glasses and an ice bucket of champagne. She popped the cork, the festive noise synonymous with declaring celebrations reverberating harshly in the open room without bodies to absorb the sound.
“Lola shared with me we’re the only people here tonight,” Raphael said as Annie placed the fluted glasses onto the table before pouring the bubbling liquid into the empty vessels.
“Yes, I was telling her that CJ wanted to make sure the winner of the voucher got a full five-star experience. He also wanted me to remind you that everything is on the House tonight. That includes dinner, your bar tab, desserts—he recommends the red velvet pudding—and of course, your accommodations,” Annie divulged as she finished pouring the second glass of champagne for Lola.
“That’s very generous of him,” Raphael stated, trying his best to keep the growl of distrust from his voice.
“Almost too generous,” echoed Lola.
“You two must be very special to him,” Annie said as she returned the champagne to its ice bucket, her tone fond and gentle. “I’ve never seen him cater this much to previous voucher winners. So! Are you ready to order or shall I give you some more time to look things over?”
“I’m going to need another minute,” Lola informed, and Raphael agreed along with her.
“No problem. Take your time and enjoy,” Annie said, gesturing about the empty room. “It’s like stepping into the past. I’ll be back to check on you in a moment.”
Annie left them with an artful turn, disappearing somewhere out of sight into the foyer and beyond. Lola smiled, watching after the woman who was clearly made for the role of Hospitality Director.
“I like her,” Lola said. “She’s a romantic who loves her job. It’s a shame CJ is her boss.”
“I know this is easier said than done, but let’s put aside Carrington, and focus on us,” Raphael said, holding his champagne glass toward Lola, and they clinked the edges of fine crystal together.
After taking a sip, they perused the menu, making light chitchat and comments over certain dishes, and as gracefully as Annie left a room, she entered just as elegantly with an ethereal glide as if the Mistress of the grand estate herself.
“All right, you two, what can I get started tonight?” Annie asked.
“I’m going to have the smoked wagyu brisket poutine with the bone marrow mayo,” Lola said.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Annie complimented, approving Lola’s choice. “Would you care for a glass of the paired wine for that dish? It’s one of our vintage pinot noirs.”
“Ooh, yes please,” Lola agreed readily, and she handed Annie her menu.
“I’ll have the coffee-rubbed elk tenderloin in the chipotle-blackberry sauce, please,” Raphael said once Annie turned to him.
“A very good choice,” Annie said, taking the menu he offered. “And would you like the wine pairing with that, as well? I believe it’s a sangiovese.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Wonderful! Sit tight and I’ll bring those dishes out shortly.”
Per the norm, Annie drifted away, giving the couple the freedom to indulge and relax in one another’s company. A rumble of thunder rattled the house, the gales of the tempest pushing the heavy rain against the windows as flashes of lightning glimmered through the delicate shapes of tatted lace, drawing Lola’s attention. Each flash created a shadow theater compiled of bushes and tree limbs, the organic forms tangling behind fragile peepholes of tightly woven thread.
“Do you know what I think I like about Annie the most, aside from her being a romantic?” Raphael asked, breaking Lola’s reverie of the curtains.
His voice cut through her daydream, distracting her from the cloudy spell the Manor House seemed to frequently cast upon her mind. Lola smiled, turning her focus toward the man that continuously made her heart flutter every time she laid eyes on him.
“What?” she asked.
“I like it when she calls us Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook,” he answered.
Lola felt him subtly lean into her space, and the magnetism of his charm pulled her forward, their lips meeting with the tender taste of champagne between them.
“I like that, too,” Lola hummed, licking at the taste of him lingering on her lips. “Pretty soon, everyone is going to be calling us that, and I can’t wait to start officially calling you husband.”
She laughed, the sound warm and intoxicating, taken aback at discovering how Raphael’s eyes dilated while trying to hide his shiver when she finished her sentence.
“Oh? Something the matter, Husband?” she teased, enjoying watching the rising flush creep up his neck to shine beneath his cheeks.
“You don’t know what you do to me, Wife,” he said, heat in his words, the color of his eyes turning from azure to a sultry sapphire.
“Do my words affect you so easily, Husband?” She laid her hand on his forearm and felt him flex under the contact, the warmth of his body radiating through the cashmere of his sweater.
“Wife,” he said, tone-dropping, the lower register to his voice making her breath hitch in excitement. “I will end this dinner now and take you under the table to show you how pleased I am to have you call me husband.”
He once more leaned into her space, and Lola wasn’t sure if it was thunder or her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Your cries of my name as Husband will awaken every forgotten ghost in this house, the eyes of those portraits watching as you ‘come’ unraveled beautifully before them,” he continued to promise, whispering his lips close to her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “Twice.”
Her face burned as a rush of blood surged through her body, the heat mingling with the shivers of desire tickling her skin, and her brain was quick to imagining the scenario he so expertly described. Raphael knew seducing her mind was the quickest way to warming up her other regions, his foreplay of words as equally efficient, if not more so, than by his touch alone, his clever tongue ingeniously crafty in more ways than one.
“Something the matter, Wife?” he toyed, repeating her previous comment of concern, his fingers softly brushing along her wrist. “Do my words affect you so easily?”
Lola would have retorted, supplying a clever dose of banter, had Annie not entered the dining room at that moment.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Annie lilted, not hiding her smile at having caught the two in a passionate exchange.
She sauntered to the table, placing the glasses of red wine she held next to Lola and Raphael’s place setting as the chef entered the dining room shortly after her. The couple scooted back a respectable distance, each taking to their ice water to cool down from their intimate huddle. The sparkle of yearning never left their gazes, even as their dinner was placed before them.
“Bon appetite,” the chef spoke, and he lifted the silver cloches to reveal the savory dishes.
“Please enjoy,” Annie said, preparing to make her exit, but she hesitated. “If I may…I just have to say, it’s really special how much you two love each other. This house was made for love.” She gestured to the portraits, indicating Cornelius and Lillian.
With that, Annie and the chef left the couple to their meal in peace.
“To love,” Raphael said, raising his wine glass.
“To love,” Lola agreed, and they clinked edges. “Do you think Annie is right?” she asked after sampling her wine. “Do you think this house really saw a lot of love in its time? Especially between those two?” She waved her fork toward the wall of paintings.
“Maybe,” Raphael replied, setting his wine down after taking a sip. “But given our recent understanding of their relationship, I don’t think the house saw the love it was meant to hold.”
“Then it’s our job for the rest of the night to make sure it witnesses our love,” Lola declared.
The two shared a kiss, and not wanting to prolong the ache in their bellies from the tantalizing meal wafting inviting smells in their direction any longer, tucked into the tasty concoctions. Dinner was spent in pleasant conversation and laughter, the harsh winds and rains adding a comforting soundtrack to the room flowing with life and warmth, the roll of thunder a hug instead of a growl. Eventually, empty plates were cleared. Lola wanted to take a look at the available desserts, and so to round out their dining experience, they ordered two slices of strawberry shortcake cobbler and two cups of coffee.
“Too bad they don’t have a fire going in the fireplace,” Lola said, finishing off the last few bites of cobbler. “That would make this night perfectly cozy. I’m ready for some fuzzy socks and a blanket.”
“I’ll make sure to bundle and snuggle you up extra special tonight,” Raphael promised.
Annie came into the room, wrapping up for the evening. “Is there anything else I can have the kitchen prepare for you? Maybe another refill of wine or coffee?” she questioned as she gathered empty plates and glassware.
“Nothing else for me, thank you,” Lola said with a light laugh. “I am one stuffed turkey. Everything has been absolutely wonderful tonight, Annie, thank you again so much for such a pleasant evening.”
“My pleasure,” Annie beamed. “Feel free to walk the rooms or inspect your suite, if you wish. I’ll take these to the kitchen and dismiss the staff. I’ll let you know when you’re locked up for the night.”
The two thanked Annie, and she bustled away with their dishes, effectively clearing the table.
“Shall we retire to the front room?” Raphael asked, pushing away from the table.
“Yes, please. I need to move my legs,” Lola commented, rising from her spot.
Hand in hand, Lola and Raphael walked into the front room, if only to stretch their legs and change the scenery before it was time for Annie to lock the main doors.
“Look at the time,” Lola said, spotting the intricate clock on the fireplace mantel between the ancient crystal oil lamps.
“Ten till ten,” Raphael declared, reading the hands of the clock face.
“It’s almost time,” she reminded. “I’m not as anxious anymore, but excited. Once the ritual is completed, we can enjoy the rest of our night without fear of any bad spookies coming from that grimoire ever again.”
“If I’m honest, there was a part of me that completely forgot about the ritual tonight,” Raphael admitted. “Dinner, combined with the pleasant company, worked its magic on me.”
“I forgot, too,” Lola laughed. “It’s this house. It has a way of casting its spell in creating a suspended pocket of existence in a twilight moment.”
“Speaking of casting spells, do you hear the song that’s playing?” Raphael asked, pointing to the ceiling to indicate the melodious tenor emanating through hidden speakers.
Lola looked upward, honing in on the song of laidback jazz singing around her, and to better focus, she closed her eyes. She knew the answer, of course, but she wanted to savor the gentle touch of Raphael’s hands clasped in hers. She could almost feel the fibers of his sweater pressing closer to her, his warmth accentuating the aromatic notes of sandalwood in his cologne.
“Witchcraft,” she said with a smile, opening her eyes and naming the classic tune’s title. “Our soon-to-be first dance.”
“Shall we practice?” Raphael took a step from Lola and dipped into a slight bow, offering her his hand. “May I have this dance, Wife?”
“I would love to, Husband.”
Lola laid her palm into his awaiting hand, and in a fluid motion, he pulled her to his chest, guiding her in a gentle sway in the middle of the front room.
It was difficult to imagine the trials and drama that infected their lives over the past few weeks, for in each other’s arms, softly dancing, the lingering darkness melted away. All too soon the song ended, and silence, aside from the heavy rain and thunder, filled the front room. Confused, the two blinked, breaking the intimate bubble between them. A wistful sigh came from the entryway and they turned to see Annie, who wore a dreamy grin.
“I’m sorry I had to cut the music, but it’s time for me to go,” Annie said. She had her umbrella in one hand and had slipped on her raincoat. “Everyone has gone for the night. You have your keys to your suite and know when and how to check out in the morning. Do you have any questions for me?”
“I think we’re all set. Thank you, Annie,” Raphael said.
“Of course,” Annie replied with a grateful nod of her head. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
The couple helped to see Annie out the front door, her final farewell being the solid shift of the hardy deadbolt sliding into its hardware as she locked the front doors. The two stood in the silence of the foyer, alone with their thoughts and the thunderstorm.
“And now, we wait,” Lola said, picking up Raphael’s arm to read his watch, double checking the time. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s go upstairs and get settled,” Raphael suggested. “I think I spotted a welcome bottle of champagne we can get into, if you’d like,” he added, turning themselves toward the grand staircase to ascend to the upper levels.
“Can we save it until after the ritual?” Lola asked, her arm linked with his as they walked. “We can drink it in celebration of binding the grimoire.”
They reached the landing of the second floor, and Lola paused them briefly so she could observe the library door. It had been repaired with new hinges, the contrast of old wood and new hardware glaring in mish-mashed textures of character. She frowned at the door, her expression one of dissatisfaction and curiosity.
“Did you notice the new locks?” Raphael asked. He pointed to the newest addition to the heavy oak door near the top of the frame. “They were installed after the break in. All of the doors have them,” he added, motioning toward the suites lining the long hallway.
Lola looked up, noticing the golden slide bolt in place that secured the door to its frame.
“Annie shared with me that now, as part of the staff’s nightly routine, these are to be locked as extra precaution in case of another break in,” Raphael informed, continuing their progression toward their suite for the night.
Stopping at Lillian’s room, Raphael dismantled the upper lock and then fished the fancy room key for the knob lock out of his pocket. Pushing the door opened, he gestured for Lola to go before him with a sweep of his arm, and she entered the elegant chamber of lilac and lace. Fond memories filled her heart as she took in the delicate area of sophistication and finery, and landing her eyes upon the bed, yearned to cuddle under the blankets of the lavish coverings with her beloved, dozing and snuggling while the thunderstorm continued its mighty wrath.
Raphael closed the door behind him as he trailed in after Lola, noticing her pause midway into the suite, and he followed her dreamy gaze toward the bed while giving a soft chuckle.
“Soon, my eager Dandelion. Soon.” His voice must have startled her, for she gave a subtle jump in place.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied, a rising blush already painting her cheeks.
“Whatever you say,” he relented with a shrug, moving toward the luggage rack that held their overnight bags.
Ignoring him, Lola sauntered toward the bed, sitting down on the plush top as she pulled out her cellphone from her purse.
“I got a text from Modesta,” Lola informed, her thumb scrolling over the screen. “Everyone is on their way. ETA is about twenty minutes,” she said, passing along the information as Raphael pulled out his toiletry bag.
“That’ll make it 10:30 on the dot,” he shared, stepping into the bathroom.
“Punctual as always,” Lola responded as she typed in a reply to their friend. “So, when they get here, we’ll let them in through that basement side door.”
“Right. We’ll do the ritual in the front room,” Raphael recited as he maneuvered around the marble sink counter.
“And then send them on their way, leaving us to a night of passion and debauchery,” Lola finished.
“My favorite way to spend an evening with you,” he said, coming to lean upon the door jamb of the ensuite. “Are you ready?”
“For canoodling with our pants off? Yes. For the ritual? Maybe not as much. I’m starting to get nervous again. Is there anything we need to do before everyone gets here? Any kind of preparation?”
“The only thing we have to do is let them in when they get here. Modesta and Lazare have everything else taken care of,” Raphael reassured. “And Jack will be there, too, filming the whole procedure, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” Lola echoed in agreement. She let out a sigh. “Nothing to do but wait,” she repeated, the phrase becoming her coping mechanism to deal with the stress of anticipation.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get out the grimoire? I need to take a moment in here,” Raphael said, thumbing over his shoulder to the bathroom behind him. “As filling as dinner was, it leaned more toward the richer side of delicacies.” He patted his stomach for emphasis.
“Take your time,” Lola said, waving him away. “No point in being uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.” Raphael gave a theatrical bow to his beloved before closing himself off inside the bathroom.
Lola stood from the bed, finding her overnight bag next to Raphael’s, and rummaged inside until she found the grimoire she had wrapped securely in a canvas tote bag. Returning to the bed, she unfolded the stiff cloth and took out the troublesome spell book. It felt heavy in her hands, her palms tingling under the weight of nefarious paper, and she received the creepiest impression the book was purring, pleased to be returned home. She shook off the weird aura surrounding her emanating from the grimoire, and shifted her attention instead to the white envelope sticking out from the top tucked between pale and brittle pages like a bookmark.
She didn’t have much of a chance to think on the object, as a light sound of music caught her ears. Her head turned to the closed bedroom door and she froze, quieting her breathing to better hear the drift of music.
“Maybe it’s just the rain sounding like music,” Lola postulated aloud as she rose from the bed.
She set the grimoire down and took soft footsteps toward the door, turning the knob and opening it a crack to gauge where the music came from. A faraway ballad of brass and piano entered the room enough to beckon her forward, and she opened the door a little wider. She took a step into the hallway where the brush of a bygone era waltzed up the stairs to meet her in a voluptuous melody. A rumble of thunder snapped her attention away from the hallway and she took a retreating step back into the suite.
“That is music,” she said with a startled gasp. “Did the sound system turn itself on?”
Lola tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, uncertain if the music coming from downstairs was menacing or thrilling, but if a ghost wanted some Big Band ambiance then that surely warranted a little paranormal investigating. She took a step into the hallway, only double-backing for a split second to grab the silver tape recorder Stanley from her purse. Fully in the hallway, she quietly closed the door to the suite so as not to scare off the spookie down below or Raphael in the bathroom.
“All right, the tape recorder is running,” Lola narrated aloud, coming around the upper landing at the top of the grand staircase. “There is music coming from down stairs, and I’m just briefly going to check it out,” she continued, speaking into the microphone.
Lola, utilizing as much stealth as possible, crept down the stairs, her heart beating hard and fast against her ribs as if expecting a ghoul to pop out and scare her. She got to the bottom landing and stood in the foyer, waiting a beat before turning slowly in a full circle to observe her surroundings. She noted the music indeed came piping in from the hidden speakers of the House’s sound system, the enchanting tune being sung by an old-timey woman who harmonized with the thunder and rain that continued to drench the world outside.
“Nothing looks to be out of place,” she said. “Maybe Lillian wanted some ambiance, is all.”
Lola couldn’t help shake the feeling the song that played was familiar. A flash of lightning illuminated the front parlor’s windows, catching her attention, and she turned on instinct toward that room. To her surprise, as a bone cracking thunder clap momentarily drowned out the music, she saw upon the corner edges of the fireplace mantel Lillian’s antique crystal oil lamps. They were lit and glowing brightly.
“Maybe Lillian wanted some mood lighting,” Lola speculated as her body shuddered from head to toe.
A glimmer of something shiny flickered between the two oil lamps in the middle of the fireplace mantel, and Lola’s sense of curiosity moved her feet forward, taking her into the front parlor room. She stepped across the aged carpet, the worn fibers muffling her footfalls as she approached the opulent fireplace. She stuffed Stanley into her sweater pocket as she picked up the tiny glass vial of colorful charms in the shape of stars.
The chorus of We’ll Meet Again flooded the room, causing a stream of rapid fire memories to erupt in a flash of vivid images in her mind: a plague doctor, gold coins, three scratches, and the Dark Sorcerer.
She turned around, tiny vial in hand, intending to run back to Raphael and share her findings, when she stopped short, coming to an abrupt halt while letting out a sharp scream. A man stood in the entryway of the front room, blocking her path, his three-piece linen suit in its deep shade of vermilion intensifying his threatening persona.
“Come now, surely the dead are more frightening than I am, Mrs. Glenbrook,” the man said, taking a step further into the room.
“CJ!” Lola placed a hand over her heart, catching her breath from the shock of fright to her nervous system. “Holy frickin’ biscuits, what the heck are you doing here?”
“Aren’t I allowed on the premises of my family’s estate?” CJ asked, taking another step forward.
“Of course…sure…but, I mean…maybe not while guests are spending the night?” Lola stammered, subconsciously retreating as CJ came slinking further into the room. Her back pressed against the mantel, and a sinking feeling of being trapped made her heart quiver.
“Why are you here?” she repeated her question.
“If I’m being honest, it’s only for the fact that I wish to have a conversation with you,” CJ replied. “I want to talk with you about your fiancé.”
“CJ, don’t you think the timing for this is a little weird?”
“Mrs. Glenbrook—Lola, if I may—you’ll find that the timing for this conversation is actually of the utmost importance,” CJ declared. “Your fiancé is a Board member of the Historical Society, is he not?”
“You already know the answer to that, and I don’t know what that has to do with anything for why you’re here right now.” She wasn’t about to entertain a conversation about Raphael behind his back to CJ, and the audacity of this man assuming she’d comply to his questioning gave her the needed strength to stand firm before him.
“Fair point,” CJ acquiesced, clasping his hands behind his back. “Allow me to get to the point. I’ve submitted a proposal to the committee for a renovation project, and I need all Board members to approve it. Your fiancé’s vote is the last one I need to secure.”
“You should talk to Raphael about your proposal, not me,” Lola said. An eerie, chilled tendril of fear poked at her heart, stirring her sense of anxious foreboding.
“You see, the few others who initially disagreed with my proposal eventually came around and gave their consent. All except for Raphael,” he continued speaking, ignoring Lola’s comment. “But I am glad to see he has accepted my gift, which means he should be making his vote in my favor come the morning.”
“Gift? What gift? Raphael never accepted anything from you,” Lola said, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“Why, this is my gift,” CJ proclaimed, releasing his hands to spread his arms out to indicate the room. “A night’s stay and dinner at the Manor House, all expenses paid, I’ll add. I’ve provided a five-star, luxury, exclusive experience. Isn’t that a generous gift?” he asked.
His tone matched the tendril needling her heart in tiny, icy pricks, and she put all of her effort into suppressing the shiver her body wanted to give.
“This wasn’t a gift, we won a voucher,” Lola defended, but CJ’s placating look of derision had her faltering her words. “Oh, my God, you rigged the voucher,” she realized. “This isn’t a gift, it’s a bribe. This won’t change his vote, CJ, and you’re a fool to think an ‘all-expenses paid’ experience would.”
“But a free night’s stay makes you happy, and if there’s one thing I’ve witnessed in regards to your fiancé, it’s that he’ll do anything to make you happy.”
“You can’t force his hand. Send us a bill. We’re leaving,” Lola declared, her anger pushing the chill away from her heart. She took a step forward, but CJ held up a hand, stopping her.
“This conversation has now become twofold,” he announced.
“There’s nothing more to talk about. I’m done and I’m leaving,” she reiterated.
“I’m having you arrested,” CJ bluntly declared.
Lola froze solid. The chilling tendril that prodded around in annoying pokes turned into a sledge hammer, slamming its bitter head into her heart.
“W-what?” she managed to breathe out in a whisper.
“I’m pressing charges against you for breaking and entering, and grand larceny,” CJ stated as matter-of-fact.
“I haven’t done any of those things. How can you accuse---.”
“You’re literally stealing from me right now,” CJ interrupted, pointing at the jar of charms clutched in Lola’s hand. He smirked as she quickly placed the vial back on the mantel behind her.
“The police are waiting on me to give them a final report on what was taken from the library,” he continued speaking. “I would hate to have to inform them that a priceless family heirloom has gone missing.”
“What family heirloom? What are you talking about?” Lola panicked, her tongue growing thick and her lips turning dry.
“Let me paint you a picture. You orchestrated a break in after Annie, the dear, sweet Director of Hospitality, let you and multiple witnesses into the library for a special tour. You saw the heirloom and desired to steal it. So you plotted, broke in through the window, and took my great, great, grandfather’s journal. You even returned to the scene of the crime, as a thief often does, to which Annie can testify.”
“I didn’t…that never…I---I.” She was at a loss for words, stunned speechless as CJ did indeed paint a very grim picture.
“But, I don’t have to call the police, unless,” he stressed, “Raphael changes his vote.”
“What are you saying?” Lola asked, confused and scared.
“If your husband-to-be doesn’t want his future wife locked behind bars for a very long time then he’ll accept my renovation proposal. Otherwise, the police are only one phone call away.”
“He won’t---.”
“It’s almost comically poetic how predictable it is to manipulate a man through measures involving the heart,” CJ said with a chuckle, cutting off Lola mid-sentence. “He’ll bend over backward with his hair on fire if it means protecting you.”
Lola closed her eyes, shaking her head to fight back the welling tears that threatened to fall as her lower lip quivered, and she stepped backward, her shoulders once more pressing into the fireplace mantel. She was cornered, scared, and left without any semblance of a plan to save herself and Raphael. CJ created an ironclad scenario, his masterful scheming locking her in a prison of her own making, as he was right, for she did steal from the Manor House—the grimoire; the heirloom—and he knew it. He exploited her own fallibility while ruthlessly twisting Raphael’s love for her against him. She couldn’t see a way out of his entrapment, and that miserable fact caused a single tear to slip down her cheek.
“It pains me to see you so distressed, Lola.”
CJ spoke in layers of sickly sweet artificial honey, and the sound of her name coming from his mouth made her stomach drop. She opened teary eyes and saw he had taken several paces closer toward her, and she flinched back in surprise, moving to a nearby linen covered table.
“Return the grimoire,” he said, his voice kind but still by no means less threatening, “and consider the voucher as a sign of good faith that I won’t hold you responsible for its short-lived disappearance. Raphael will change his vote, and you will remain out of prison.”
The sounds of someone banging on a door could be heard coming from upstairs, followed by the muffled shouts of Lola’s name, and she frowned with worry.
“Tick tock. It appears your fiancé is calling for you.”
FWEEEEEEEEEEEEP *CLICK*
CJ took a step back, startled, Lola giving a jump at the same time, the sudden modern mechanical noise out of place amidst the room of Victorian charm and elegance.
“What in Heaven’s name was that?” CJ asked. “And why did it sound like it came from your pocket?”
Lola looked down at her sweater, glimpsing shiny gray metal, and a serene sense of calm dissolved all her fears, replacing her dread with hope.
“Perhaps it’ll be me who calls the cops, Carrington,” Lola said. She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out her tape recorder Stanley. “I’m sure they’d love to hear your plan of framing me for a crime I didn’t commit, of the blackmail you threatened me and my fiancé with, and the admittance of bribing and coercing other Board members into making deals with a devil like you.”
She laughed, the act helping to dispel the tension coiling inside her gut. She would beat him at his own game and fight fire with fire.
“Maybe the cops would also like to know that you’re responsible for the stampede at the Renaissance Faire, Dark Sorcerer. I could also press charges from those scratches I got on my back during your attempted hex,” she continued. “All I have to do is give them a call and hand over this tape. You want to paint a picture? I’ll give you a mural.”
There was a certain sense of satisfaction watching CJ’s eyes play out the inner thoughts of his mind, Lola reading every expressive cue of shock turned horrified turned defeat in one seamless sweep. She wasn’t, however, expecting his eyes to darken into a stormy colored gray right before he snapped, lunging at her.
She jumped out of his range, safely stowing Stanley back into her sweater pocket as he reached for the metal rectangle. He recovered his balance, swiveling toward her. Lola tried to make for the entryway, but he blocked her path in one bound, as he suddenly filled the threshold with his towering form.
She reached for the closest weapon for self-defense and grabbed a shaker of salt from one of the linen covered tables. She unscrewed the lid, pouring half the glass shaker’s contents into her hand, and reared her arm back, ready to throw.
“Salt won’t work on a being of the mortal realm,” CJ said, a dark laugh enriching his voice as he mocked her.
“I’m not so sure you’re fully human right now. You’re being corrupted by that grimoire, just like Cornelius, right before he murdered Lillian,” Lola said. She took cautious steps backward to put more space between herself and the increasingly alarming Northcott heir.
“How dare you speak against my lineage,” he seethed through his teeth. “I am continuing my great, great grandfather’s legacy, both in business and in magic. He would be proud to see all that I’ve accomplished in his name.”
“What about Lillian?” Lola asked. “Do you think she’d be proud of you right now?”
Lola watched as CJ gave pause, his eyes clearing for a brief moment, and he relaxed his aggressive stance while adjusting the lapels of his linen suit jacket. She lowered her arm from its ready position to throw her handful of salt, thankful she had gotten him to see reason.
“Lillian was never one of us,” CJ said, and he pounced, knocking Lola to the floor.
She fell hard, letting out a frightful scream. She tried to throw her fistful of salt, but it merely scattered in a cloud off to the side, covering tables and chairs rather than CJ. The next thing she knew, he was on top of her, grabbing and pawing at her sweater for her tape recorder. She fought back to the best of her ability, pushing and scratching his hands away, kicking and screaming while trying to roll onto the recorder itself to protect the device, and then, in a sudden terrifying moment, his hand wrapped around her throat.
It was a warning, for he didn’t outright squeeze her windpipe, but petrified tears sprang to her eyes regardless. She went rigid beneath him, too scared to even utter a sob as his other hand pulled back with an open palm to slap her.
Before he could strike, CJ flew off her, careening into the old fireplace hearth with a violent clatter. Lola turned to her rescuer, expecting Raphael, but nothing could prepare her for who it was that stood above her.
“N-Newspaper Man?” she stammered.
“Run.”
The command came out loud and strong. Lola scrambled to her feet, bolting for the entryway of the front room as a groggy groan came from CJ still crumpled on the hearth. She didn’t look back, too stunned and confused yet also curious and fueled with adrenaline to fully process the man in his tweed cap and navy wool trousers who had saved her.
Halfway up the grand staircase, Raphael’s shouts became louder, and the banging behind their suite door sounded more like a wallop, as if he was throwing himself upon the wooden structure.
“Raph!” Lola shouted, her sobs finally breaking free in a choked cry as she neared her love. “Raph! It’s CJ!”
“Lola!” came his obstructed voice after a hard throw of his body against the door. “I heard you screaming. Why is the door locked?”
Lola ran to the suite, fumbling with the hardware near the top of the frame. She didn’t remember locking the extra bolt into place, but trying to figure out the means of how it became secured would have to wait for later speculation. Instead, she clawed at the lock, frantic when she heard CJ’s groggy voice from somewhere in the foyer below her. She got the door free and barged inside, smashing hard into Raphael’s chest.
She wanted to cry, desperate to burrow in the safety of his arms, to feel comforted and protected, but she had to squash those desires down as her sense of danger begged her to run and hide from the menace currently climbing the stairs.
“Get in! Close the door! Hurry!” Lola shouted.
She turned from him, closing and locking the large door of their suite, and only when she felt secured behind the panel of heavy oak did she turn back to Raphael, throwing herself into his arms with a violent sob as fat tears rolled down her face.
“Dandelion! My Love, what happened?” he asked, hugging her tight as she grasped hold of him and cried.
Before she could answer him, three loud knocks rapped upon the door.
“Lola, please, allow me to clear up our little misunderstanding.”
“Is that Carrington?” Raphael asked, his jaw clenching down in a hard grind.
“Raphael, are you in there? Please let me in so I can properly explain,” CJ’s muffled voice requested.
“Go away, CJ! I’m calling the cops!” Lola turned her head from the safety of Raphael’s chest to shout at the door.
“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” came CJ’s panicked voice and another round of frantic knocking. “I’m sure if the three of us have a civil conversation without the authorities involved we can come to an agreement.”
“Agreement?” Raphael asked to Lola.
“He’s trying to blackmail us. Don’t let him in,” Lola said, looking up at Raphael with frantic eyes. “Where’s the grimoire?”
Lola disengaged from Raphael, taking up her purse to loop the strap across her body as she walked toward the bed, and then shoved the grimoire down inside a spacious pocket along with Stanley for safekeeping.
“We have to go,” Lola declared, pacing the room. Her eyes scanned every corner, looking for an exit that didn’t require going through CJ. “I know we’re on the second story level, but do you think if we jump far enough from one of these windows we’ll miss the parking lot and land on the lawn?”
“You can’t be serious,” Raphael said, turning his attention from the bedroom door to his beloved.
He saw her standing by a window in the small sitting area by the fireplace with the curtains pulled back. Rain poured down the glass in hard rivulets as lightning raked the sky.
“Look, there’s a patch of grass right there. I’ll bet the ground is pretty muddy, too, which will make for a softer landing,” Lola continued, searching for a window latch.
“Lola, do not launch yourself from the window,” Raphael said, coming to pull her to safety. He stopped short as the sound of rattling metal caught his ears, both he and Lola spinning around to face the bedroom door, watching as the old knob jiggled.
“He has a spare key,” Lola gasped. “Don’t let him in!”
Raphael rushed toward the door, grabbing the doorknob just as CJ unfastened the lock. He pushed his full weight upon the heavy wood, engaging in a strength battle with the other man in the hallway.
“Why…is Carrington…here?” Raphael asked again between grunts, bracing his stance to better hold back the door. “And why is he trying to break into our suite?”
“He wants the grimoire and Stanley,” Lola said, coming over to help Raphael.
“Why Stanley?”
“He recorded some very sensitive information,” Lola replied, moving so her back pressed against the paneling instead of her shoulder. “CJ wants you to agree to his renovation proposal, and by accepting that voucher, we unknowingly accepted a bribe.”
“I knew this whole setup was fishy,” Raphael acknowledged. “I don’t accept. Do you hear that, Carrington?” he asked, raising his voice to carry over their grappling. “I’m denying your proposal.”
A hard shove slammed into the door from the other side, causing Lola to lose some of her footing.
“There’s more,” Lola continued, “but I can’t talk and keep this up for much longer.”
To prove her point, CJ at that moment made a running start to shove his body against the door, jostling her to such an extent she dropped to the floor.
“We can’t do this forever,” she said. “He’s like a juggernaut.”
“Get me that chair,” Raphael said, nodding his head in the direction of the sitting area. “I’ll try and jam it under the knob to buy us some time.”
Lola stood, rushing to grab the chair Raphael wanted, as all the while, CJ’s shoving and growling at the door grew in violent desperation. She feared what would happen if he did manage to break down the door. Clutching the edges of the chair in a tight grip, she came back to the bedroom door, waiting for Raphael to give further instructions.
“As soon as he takes that running start, I’m going to relock the door. Then, we’ll jam the chair under the doorknob,” Raphael said, divulging his plan, and Lola nodded at him, ready to take action.
Raphael felt the door slacken underneath him, signaling that CJ was gearing up to gain momentum to throw himself upon the door.
“Now!” Raphael shouted.
He flipped the lock and moved to the side, helping Lola jam the top of the chair under the old brass knob. In seconds, CJ’s body rammed hard against the oak, followed by gruff cursing. Much to the couple’s relief, the chair helped stay the door, even as CJ unlocked it a second time and pounded against it when it wouldn’t budge. After a few more futile attempts made of angry shoves and kicks to barge into the suite, silence filled the hallway beyond the other side of the door.
“Is he gone?” Lola whispered.
“I’m not going out to check,” Raphael said, whispering back to her.
“No, that’d be silly,” she agreed with a small laugh.
The adrenaline coursing through her system ebbed the longer the silence lingered, giving her mind the chance to process the events in the front room, including CJ’s attack, and the fading adrenaline spiked right back up again. The shift of chemicals vying for prominence in her brain made her body wobble, and she sank to the floor as a chilled sweat beaded upon her forehead. She closed her eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
“Easy, Dandelion, easy,” Raphael consoled, his arms wrapping around Lola to help steady her to the floor.
He didn’t like how pale she became, and her breathing was coming in as shallow wheezes instead of full lungs of air. He worried she was on the verge of going into shock, and even though she gave a tired smile and half-hearted reassurances she was “fine”, he kept a cautious eye on her.
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to do the ritual tonight,” Lola said.
“We can worry about that later.” Raphael adjusted himself on the floor with his arm around her shoulders so she could lean into him. “I think you’ll agree with me that we’ll not be spending the night here.”
Lola laughed. “Are you sure? I’ve never felt more welcomed.” She gave a sigh, staring at the door with a chair tilted under its knob. “We have to get out of here.”
“How? As much as I loved your ‘let’s jump out the window’ plan, unless we go through that door, I don’t see how we can leave.”
A heavy whack and a thunk shattered the brief and quiet moment of the two sitting on the floor as something hard splintered the door. They leapt to their feet, huddling close as repeatedly they heard the hacking scrape of metal against the sturdy bedroom door.
“Is that…an axe?” Lola asked.
“Shit,” Raphael swore.
They backed away from the door just as a sliver of metal from an axe blade poked through the paneling.
“Don’t panic, I only wish to speak with you,” CJ said, his voice carrying into the suite. “Please unlock the door and let me in. I really don’t want to have to become pushy.”
The shock of an axe tearing its way through the door kept them frozen in place, too terrified to move as they watched more and more of the wood chipping away before their very eyes. Despite the chaos banging down the door, Lola detected the scent of fresh cut roses wafting from the sitting area. The lingering aroma of perfume was heavy enough to cut through the fear, and she turned in time to see a gray wisp of fabric disappearing into a slight gap in the wall next to the fireplace.
“Lillian?” It came out as a whisper, but loud enough for Raphael to hear. “I think I saw Lillian.”
Lola hurried across the room, going to the spot where she saw the grayish mist evaporate. She found a long, skinny crack in the wallpaper, wide enough to slide her fingers into the crevice.
“It’s a false wall,” Raphael said from behind her. “Try pushing through it.”
The two placed their hands along the tiny opening and pushed, opening up a gaping maw of darkness to greet them, and Lola brought out her cellphone to use as a flashlight to see what lay behind the hidden paneling. Old cobwebs captured the luminous glow that bathed the small vestibule in a gossamer veil. Lola’s light landed on a structure near the back of the alcove and she let out a startled gasp of hope.
“Stairs. There’s a staircase,” she announced, pointing into the darkness.
“It leads to the upper level,” Raphael noticed, having taken out his cellphone as well to lend more light into the small room. “Those are the servants’ quarters. These stairs were used by the house staff.”
The crackling sound of wood snapping in half yanked their attention back to the bedroom door, where they saw CJ’s arm waving around the axe through a sizeable hole he managed to create, trying to dislodge the chair denying him entry. Without needing to say words, Lola and Raphael darted fully inside the alcove, Raphael closing the false wall behind him just as the chair fell to the floor.
Lola tugged on Raphael’s sleeve, motioning with her head to have him follow her upstairs. Even though the steps were wooden, they were carpeted, and well-trod, silencing their carefully placed steps as they climbed to the third level, CJ’s confusion filtering through the thin walls after them.
“Where are you, my friends?” he called, his voice drifting around as if he were traveling the suite. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
The child-like verbiage sent a chill deep into Lola’s bones that plummeted her stomach to bottom out and cause a violent tremor to wrack her body. They reached the top of the stairs to a small landing with a simple wooden door, and to both of their surprise, the door gave way when Lola turned the handle. On quiet tiptoes, they entered the servants’ quarters.
“Carrington is right below us,” Raphael said in a whisper. “Try not to make any sound.”
Lola nodded in understanding. Taking advantage of their moment hidden away from CJ, she used this time to observe her new surroundings. The servants’ quarters, now turned storage unit, had glimpses of its former years mixed with holiday and event decorations, as well as old furniture and boxes. The ceiling was pitched, the third floor a livable attic space with the old brick structure marking the walls and exposing support beams. There was a single fireplace, now boarded up, with its iron pokers still in their holder collecting cobwebs at the hearth.
She spotted the curve of the turret near the front of the Manor House with one large window facing toward the sea. In the middle of the room protruding from the roof was a cupola, its banks of windows opening the attic to the display of lightning flashes that strobed through the continuing heavy thunderstorm.
Lola caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Even in the flickering shadows of lightning, she distinctly saw a gray mist moving through the room, as if trying to get her attention, or lead her in a certain direction. Following the shadow, she found an old cot in a tarnished frame amongst a grouping of cardboard boxes. One small box rested on the musty mattress, its placement aside from the others peculiar to her. She tiptoed to the bed, using her phone to help light the way. The cardboard flaps were open, and written on the side with big, block letters in marker were the words: Lillian’s Library.
She sat down at the edge of the cot, the old springs creaking under her weight.
“What are you doing?” Raphael asked in a whisper as the lingering groan of metal scraped the air around them.
“These are Lillian’s books,” Lola whispered back, taking out the items from the box before her.
“Have you learned nothing when it comes to books that don’t belong to you?” he asked, astounded at her rummaging through the storage box.
“I think there’s something in here we need,” Lola said, picking up one book after another while flipping through the pages.
She saw a different item, an oval picture frame about the size of a postcard, buried near the bottom of a stack of books. With careful hands, she lifted the frame, her skin prickling as she turned the item over to see the image. In the light of her phone, she saw the black and white portrait of a man in a tweed cap and a white collared shirt with straps of suspenders coming over his shoulders. His eyes bore into her, but despite the gaze being hard-fixed, there was a clarity and a touch of friendliness in the gray color that stared back at her.
“Raph,” she breathed, the discovery making her hands shake. “Raph. Raph, come look!” She clamped a hand over her mouth, apologizing for raising her voice from the excited shock of discovery. “It’s Newspaper Man.”
She turned the picture for Raphael to see and his eyes went wide in shock. He took the portrait from her, studying the image closely.
“I’ve seen him here before,” Raphael said, recognizing the man in the frame instantly. “You’re right. It’s Newspaper Man.”
“Open it up. Maybe there’s a name written on it,” Lola said.
She stood from the bed, holding her phone up for Raphael to see the velvet covering of the frame. He opened it smoothly, revealing a delicate, lady-like scrawling along the back of the portrait.
“Absalom ‘Abe’ Ainsley. My Love,” Lola read aloud.
Her phone rang, blaring out a shrill of sweeping violins and wind chimes, the sudden quick-tempo waltz causing her to yelp, and she dropped the device where it bounced hard several times along the old wooden floors. Lola rushed to pick up her phone, accidentally hitting the answer icon and putting the caller on speaker.
“What up, weirdo? You going to let us in or what?” came the loud volume of Modesta.
“No! Ssh!” Lola fumbled with her phone, trying to take Modesta off speaker. “CJ’s here and he has an axe!” she whispered into her phone.
“What? Who has an axe? It’s really hard to hear you over this rain, Lo. Are you going to let us in?”
“I suggest you end that phone call.”
CJ’s voice slithered into the room from the opposite side of the attic over by the main entryway to the third floor apartments. Lola, spooked, instantly ended the call with Modesta as Raphael came to her side, shielding her from the man who entered the servants’ quarters while nonchalantly spinning the handle of an axe in his grip.
“I want the grimoire and that tape, please,” CJ spoke, walking further into the servants’ quarters. “Consider your time here not as a ‘bribe’ but as my silence for not alerting the authorities. Give me back what’s mine, and this will end.”
“And let you off the hook from all the trouble you caused? Never!” Lola spat from around Raphael’s protective stance.
“All the trouble I’ve caused,” CJ scoffed, taken aback.
“Shall I count the ways?” Lola sardonically asked, ticking off the list of CJ’s offenses on her hand. “The Ren Faire, the newsletters, the crawler, the fires, it’s all been you!”
“The Renaissance Faire?” Raphael questioned.
“CJ is the Dark Sorcerer,” Lola informed.
“So you’re the one who harmed my Dandelion,” Raphael growled, curling his hands into tight fists so that his knuckles popped.
He took a ready stance, crouching enough to spring upon CJ while preparing to start swinging, though the only thing keeping him at bay was the axe CJ lifted in defense.
“Let’s not be petty and go tit-for-tat,” CJ said, his guard rising when Raphael looked like he was going to charge at him. “You know by now I tend to be eccentric.”
“I think you’re more like your great, great grandmother than you give yourself credit for, CJ,” Lola said. “She, too, was known to be eccentric, which is why Cornelius murdered her.”
“Bold of you to keep making accusations of my family without any proof of evidence,” CJ said, still maintaining his guard in case Raphael decided to act upon whatever homicidal thoughts played behind his eyes. “It was a tragic accident how Lillian met her demise, now enough side-tangents. Return the grimoire.”
“You have to let us destroy it, CJ. The evil inside it is corrupting you,” Lola said, trying to appeal to the part that connected him with Lillian, hoping he would see reason. “It’s changed your heart.”
“I’m by no means a desperate man, Lola, but I will start swinging,” CJ threatened, taking a warning step toward the couple. “Give me the grimoire.”
“I can’t do that,” Lola said, shaking her head and retreating further behind Raphael. “Cornelius found out about Lillian’s lover Absalom, and he had her killed for it. See? She even kept a portrait of him. A portrait that kind of…actually…looks a lot like you,” Lola said, stunned.
She took up the small portrait, holding it out to compare Absalom’s stern face to CJ’s angry expression, which abruptly turned into one of mirthful madness.
“The wannabe Brenda Starr figured it out, has she?” CJ drawled, his mocking tone dripping with disdain. “Solved the dark family secret, have you? Absalom betrayed Cornelius. They were colleagues intending to go into the cannery business as a joint force, until wandering eyes ruined their partnership. Cornelius sent Absalom out to sea for an acquisition proposition up north, where, ‘unfortunately’, he failed to return. Last chance. Give me the grimoire so I may continue honoring the legacy of my great, great grandfather.”
“But you’re not his great, great grandson. You’re not a Northcott. Maybe in name, but not by blood. You have no right to the grimoire. Absalom is your ancestor,” Lola declared. “Not Cornelius.”
A storm erupted inside the attic, not of thunder and lightning, but of rage and violence. CJ took up his axe, hell-bent on causing damage. Raphael pushed Lola toward the thin cot just as CJ’s axe arm came swinging down, embedding the blade into the hardwood floors. He gave a forceful jab at CJ’s nose, blood spurting from the hit as his head jerked backward, then dodged out of the way as CJ wildly yanked the axe free from the floorboards.
There was no rhyme or reason to CJ’s attempted blows, using the axe as a baseball bat instead of the proper melee weapon it could become. The valiant flailing had the potential to be fatal, despite CJ’s lack of skill in how to handle the weapon. All he needed was a lucky hit and another ghost would be added to the cache already filling up the Manor House.
Raphael looked for a weapon to use to fend off CJ’s axe, and he saw the set of fireplace pokers against the dusty brick of the fireplace where Lola huddled near the foot of the cot. He put himself between her and CJ, grabbing a metal poker with a sharp hook at the end, and brandished the item like a sword. The weight of the metal balanced like the hilt he grasped for so many years upon the jousting field, and he readied himself to fend against the maniac ranting and sputtering incoherent curses.
An axe, in the hands of a knowledgeable wielder, was far superior of a weapon when pitted against a fireplace poker. Raphael had to rely upon agility in order to at least disarm the other. He tightened his grip and focused on his opponent, waiting for his opportunity.
“That grimoire, and its teachings, have been passed down from generation to generation,” CJ proclaimed as he wiped blood off his face with his sleeve. “I will not allow the wiles of some troublemaking woman to upend the sacred history of my family.”
“What ‘sacred history’, Carrington?” Raphael asked. “Cornelius took the lives of two innocent people.”
“And yet, history reveres the Northcott name,” CJ countered. “The grimoire gave my heritage the power and influence to build an empire.”
“But why at the cost of two lives?” Lola asked.
CJ laughed bitterly. “I see the detective hasn’t put together all the puzzle pieces. The grimoire needs to feed.”
“Feed?” Lola repeated, a deathly chill crawling over her heart upon hearing the word.
“In order to sustain the power of the Northcott name, the grimoire needs to take in energy. Preferably lower frequency, such as dread or sorrow,” CJ informed. “And what better buffet-of-plenty to feast upon than a haunted mansion?”
“He created a ghost,” Raphael said. “Cornelius created the Gray Lady.”
“What about Absalom? He haunts the Manor House, too. If they were lovers and are haunting the same place together---,” Lola spoke, trying to figure out the strings the grimoire pulled.
“Are they haunting it together?” CJ asked, a sinister sneer of pleasure curling back his upper lip.
“They don’t know the other is here,” Lola realized with a sharp gasp. “They’re trapped in their grief.”
“Which feeds the grimoire with constant sorrow. That’s why it’s hidden under the floorboards,” Raphael said, “to syphon the forced pain of those Cornelius murdered.”
“That’s…beyond cruel,” Lola sobbed, fighting back tears. “That’s wretched!”
She felt sick. The tortured souls of Lillian and Absalom were forced to endure eternal separation from one another in the home that was their constant reminder of their loss. Her stomach gave a lurching somersault. The whole time she had the grimoire, it fed upon her fears. It twisted her mind, creating her paralyzing night terrors, darkened her home with its shadows and whispers, snuffed out the light, and took from her the joy that was building a life with her lover.
“It was my grandfather who had the idea to open the House up to the public, the Gray Lady’s fame having spread all over Newberry by then to procure fear and curiosity. My father, however, didn’t see the true vision of Cornelius, and convinced Granddad to partner with the Historical Society to try and keep the grimoire as benign as possible,” CJ continued to inform.
“What was Cornelius’s true vision?” Raphael asked.
“He didn’t just want the name Northcott to be held in high regards amongst social influences, but feared,” CJ answered. “In order to have ultimate standing, the grimoire needs three lives.”
“Cornelius only took two,” Lola said, her voice trembling.
“Which is why I’ve decided to continue the dream of my lineage. Northcott will not only be powerful, but after tonight, feared!”
CJ started swinging. Raphael sprang into action, thrusting his fire poker out to thwart the blows flung in their direction. Lola ducked low, hiding between the cot frame and the storage boxes, watching on in fright as CJ hacked the air around her beloved. Raphael dodged the axe blade, keeping sufficient distance away from the close-combat weapon, and lunged forward to jab at pressure points around CJ’s open guard, their weapons creating sparks when metal scraped against metal.
Raphael wacked at CJ’s knee, crumpling his stance as he geared up for a heavy hit. He was surprised by how scrappy CJ fought, noting the man moved on instinct, swiveling out of range or righting himself before he lost balance. Each adjustment forced him to keep vigilant guard lest he wind up Northcott’s third victim.
CJ grew sloppy, which made him unpredictable, his stamina dwindling as Raphael continued to move him about the servants’ quarters, forcing him away from Lola. In a shout, CJ raised his weapon, forcing the butt of the axe handle down into Raphael’s extended arm as he made for a thrust at his abdomen, connecting hard at the joint of his elbow.
Raphael made a noise of pain, but he held firm the fire poker, tucking away from the backhanded swing of the axe blade coming from his side. CJ had no protection in his follow through, and Raphael jutted his shoulder hard upward into his sternum, knocking him backward over his feet a few clumsy steps. He straightened, shaking out his arm before reinforcing his grip as CJ righted himself to face him with murder in his eyes. There lingered a tense pause between the two, each breathing hard from their fight. Raphael’s body stiffened in defense when he saw CJ’s beady eyes flick over in Lola’s direction.
“Carrington,” Raphael drawled in warning, taking a step forward to shift attention to himself.
Instead of focusing on the battle at hand, CJ took the tip of the axe blade and nicked his thumb, drawing a thick droplet of blood. He smeared it over the other fingertips on his hand, uttering guttural sounds that blended whispering and growling. The temperature in the servants’ quarters dropped, becoming unnaturally cold. Making a clawing gesture, CJ raised his blood-covered hand and swiped at the air.
Silence mingled amongst the storm, intensifying the longer the men stared down at one another, waiting for the other to blink. Raphael was the first to break away eye contact when he heard a frightened whimper coming from the cot.
Lola made an uncomfortable wince that scrunched her face, her hand moving to rest over her side. A burning, sharp pain pinched her body, and at first, she though it was a muscle spasm from crouching for so long. When her palm felt damp, she pulled her hand away to see traces of blood on her skin just as three angry lines appeared to soak through her clothing. Invisible claws raked down her body, and she gave a cry of pain again as three more scratches appeared on her thigh, the skin breaking enough to force blood to spill. She then reached for her foot as more lines and more blood covered various places on her body.
The scratches burned painfully even from their tiny width, going beyond the simple touch to the surface of her skin, but to feel pain burrow deeply into muscle and bone. Accompanying the sensation of splinters made of glass was a sharpness of a bitter chill prickling around the torn flesh. She couldn’t get away from the invisible claws and in a panic, looked to Raphael with fear and tears in her eyes.
Raphael roared, swinging the fireplace poker, but CJ countered the blow, the axe blade flaring with sparks as they collided. He tried again but faltered in his steps, as three claw marks raked across his chest. In shock, he brought a hand up to where it burned, and felt the sticky dampness of blood already soaking through his clothing. Another sting of pain drew down his stomach, and then his back. He took several steps away from CJ, only to drop to the floor when claws burned into the tendons behind one of his knees.
“Which life shall I take this night?” CJ asked, his hand continuing to be held aloft as Raphael and Lola endured persistent scratches. The humanity to his demeanor was gone, replaced by the dark desires of the evil latched into him from the spell book.
“Which one of you have been the most obnoxious to deal with? The busybody sleuth?”
Lola let out a shout of pain as claw marks appeared on the tender side of her neck.
“Or the too big for his britches history professor?”
Raphael bit out a grunt of pain as claws carved around his shoulder.
“Which one of your deaths will feed the grimoire with the most pain and sorrow? Who will suffer more? Widow or widower?” CJ continued to goad. “Who will---ow!”
A book came flying through the air, the corner hitting hard against CJ’s leg. Then came another book, and another, the tomes pelting CJ around or near his body. The men turned to see Lola standing by the tower of storage boxes filled with extra tomes from Lillian’s library, her face tear streaked and blood stained.
Through the hurt of the nasty claw marks, Lola launched her books. With an angry shout, she hit his hand smeared in blood, and he dropped his arm, shaking away the smiteful sting. When his hand fell, Lola breathed a deep sigh of relief, the supernatural shards of pain leaving her body, and she smiled when she heard Raphael’s soft exhale of comfort as well.
“You’re a horrible person!” Lola shouted, berating CJ with more books and better accuracy now that she was no longer in pain. Raphael had to take several steps back so as not to get hit by friendly fire by accident. “You manipulate, and play games, and…God, you’re just so selfish!”
She heaved a half-empty carton of books at CJ, allowing her pent up frustrations and anger to flow freely against the man who caused so much darkness and misery for fun.
“You’ve attacked me, gone after my friends and their places of business, and now you’re threatening to take the life of the very man I love! Well, no more, Carrington! You like playing with fire? How about a taste of your own medicine?”
Riled with righteous fury, Lola reached into her purse, pulling out a white envelope with her name scrawled across it penned in gold filigree. She held the envelope above her head, tearing the newsletter in half the same moment CJ pulled his arm back to throw his axe at her. Raphael shot forward, the hook of his fireplace poker connecting with the handle under the blade, and he yanked the weapon out of CJ’s hand. His fist collided in a hard punch against CJ’s jaw that snapped his head to the left just as a bolt of lightning struck the cupola.
A deafening explosion shook the House, echoing like cannon fire as a shower of wind, rain, and glass fell into the attic from the now gaping hole that once was the cupola. A support beam took most of the damage, shattering from the heat of the lightning bolt, falling to lay across the cot bed and damaging the fireplace. Sparks of lightning landed on the old dust covered storage boxes and cobwebs, kindling the speckles of heat into growing flames of a healthy fire.
Amongst the plume of dust and debris, CJ sat up, having fallen back from the blast of lightning and Raphael’s punch. He coughed, waving away smoke and detritus, and looking around the servants’ quarters, found Raphael on the other side of the support beam that sectioned the space in half. Looking to the cot, he saw that Lola was nowhere to be found. He stood, stumbling to get his balance.
“Seems she made the choice for me,” CJ declared, stepping back as the fire by the far wall found new things to burn.
“Lola?” Raphael called, coughing and waving away smoke. “Lola?” When she didn’t answer, he panicked, jumping to his feet.
He rushed toward the cot, unable to feel the rain pelting his skin or the heat from the growing flames, nor did he notice CJ making his exit through the doorway whence he came, closing the door behind him and locking it.
“Dandelion! Can you hear me?” Raphael shouted, rounding the beam to find the cot bed partially smooshed beneath it.
He found her on the floor half-hidden under the bed, and with a frantic gasp of fright, he fell to his hands and knees, crawling to her.
“Dandelion! My Dandelion! Please, wake up!” he shouted.
He reached out his hand, grasping her shoulder, and she groaned, turning her head and fluttering her eyelids open at him. He let out the breath he had been holding, relieved she was alive.
“Raph?” she asked, her voice hoarse, and she started coughing, trying to sit up and gather her bearings. “Why is it so hot?”
She found that the mysterious heat source warming her back was a growing wall of flames.
“We have to get out of here. Can you walk?” Raphael asked.
Lola nodded and he helped guide her out from under the bed. For a brief second they paused, staring into each other’s eyes. A lifetime passed between them, where unspoken words were heard and unfelt touches caressed and comforted. Their souls understood the quiet desires of love and reassurances, but survival instincts drove them to move, as well as the burning storage boxes and edges of the gaping cupola now torn asunder above them.
“Let’s go,” Raphael encouraged.
The two stood, ducking under the growing cloud of smoke that filled the servants’ quarters.
“Where’s CJ?” Lola asked, looking all around for any sign of him.
“He must have escaped,” Raphael replied, helping Lola over the support beam. “The villain. He’d be pleased if we both perished.”
“Let’s not give him the satisfaction,” Lola quipped.
They reached the doorway CJ had entered from and found the door to be locked. Raphael rammed his shoulder against the wooden barricade, but it wouldn’t budge.
“No time. We’ll use the secret passage,” Lola said, tugging on Raphael’s sleeve. The two once again crossed over the support beam as pieces of roof crumbled inward, when she stopped them. “Wait!”
“Why? What are you doing?” Raphael asked, trying to nudge her toward the exit. He watched, confused, as Lola took out the grimoire from her purse and turned toward the growing fire.
“Lillian Northcott,” Lola declared. “Absalom Ainsley. I release you from the grimoire. Find one another and live eternally in the love and happiness you both deserve.”
Lola chucked the dreaded grimoire into the fire. She saw the spell book burst into flames before it even hit the ground, and a peace filled her soul knowing the darkness from it was over. She felt Raphael take her hand, and they darted toward the hidden servants’ entrance.
The rest flowed like a lucid dream, Lola not fully registering the descent on the worn carpeted staircase. She only semi-acknowledged the soft room of lace and lavender as she and Raphael pushed through the false wall, and half-remembered looking toward the library before floating down the grand staircase.
Even as they barged out of the Manor House from the front doors to meet the chilled rain of the dissipating thunderstorm, she swam in the dream of her disassociation. Sirens and lights blared and flashed around her, and she blinked away rain droplets from her eyelashes that kissed her dirty face. There were shouts of controlled chaos swarming around her and Raphael as firefighters rushed passed them. EMTs approached asking questions she could barely register an answer for.
Under Raphael’s protective arm, they descended the stoop. Once on the sidewalk, they turned back to face the House. The fire had grown, but looked to be contained to the third floor, for which Lola was grateful. A golden glimmer from the front parlor window caught her eye, and looking toward the room, let out a sharp gasp, squeezing Raphael’s hand and motioning for him to look at the famous room with her.
Staring out into the world at them from behind a frame of wrought iron and thick glass stood a man and a woman, their hands lovingly clasped between them and held close to one another’s hearts. The woman’s hair was neatly pinned up in an elegant bun to show off the high laced collar of her dress, the man tipping the bill of his tweed cap in a gesture of gratitude. They were both bathed in white and smiling.
*~*~*~*~*~
How 'bout them apples??
This was a labor of love, I tell you what, and to see it all coming together has been the best part about writing this chapter! The last chapter is up next, and it posts tomorrow! Until then, happy reading!
Despite the topic of conversation, mainly focused on the unsavory character known as CJ, the friendly raucous in the kitchen created a pleasant and homey cadence. Raphael started a fresh pot of coffee to percolate and then helped Lola at the stove as she made her favorite grilled cheese sandwiches of blackberry jam and brie. Modesta and Jack volunteered to help with lunch by offering to make a charcuterie board, much to everyone’s delight, so as the friends talked, Modesta sat at the island making salami roses using the rim of a shot glass while Jack and Lazare gathered nuts and crackers from the pantry and any spare fruits and vegetables from the refrigerator.
Lola stood at the stove, monitoring the current sandwich on the skillet, occasionally prodding the bread with her spatula. Raphael was to her side being an excellent sous chef, preparing the construction of the sandwiches by buttering the thick slices of brioche and layering on slices of cheese. The chatter and laughter from her friends around the kitchen island wrapped her in an effortless embrace of warmth.
“What’s that grin for?” Raphael asked, leaning over to gently bump his shoulder with hers.
“Oh, nothing,” Lola replied, her smile growing wider at being caught in a daydream. “I just love our family, that’s all.”
She looked up at him, and Raphael saw a peace shining in her eyes he hadn’t seen since the day she came home with Lillian’s grimoire, and he couldn’t help but kiss her. The tender contact eased his heart of the lingering wisp of memory stuck on repeat of his beloved clutched in the terrors of her nightmare.
“I think it’s standard kitchen etiquette you’re not supposed to swap saliva over food you’re about to serve your guests,” came Jack’s timely quip, followed by tiny chortles from the others.
“He acts as if kissing is the worst thing we’ve done in here,” Raphael whispered so only Lola could hear.
“Stop!” she whispered back, giggling and flustered. “You’re distracting me. Oh, look, now this side is burned.” Lola flipped the sandwich and sighed in annoyance at the sight of the overly charred bread.
“My apologies,” Raphael said with a good natured laugh. “That one can be mine. I’ll scrape off the burnt parts.”
“Go pour coffee for everyone or something, I can handle it from here,” Lola said, playfully shooing him away with her spatula.
“I’ll help,” Lazare chimed in, moving to speed along the progression of lunch.
Once the grilled cheese sandwiches were made and all the tasty morsels of the charcuterie board had been assembled and placed upon the kitchen table, the friends gathered, sitting to enjoy their meal.
“Lola, before I forget,” Jack started, pausing his sandwich midway to his mouth. “You left your debit card at the shop yesterday. I brought it with me as well as your completed birthday video.”
“Oh, my goodness! Thank you, Jack! I didn’t even realize it was missing,” Lola admitted. “And I can’t wait to watch the video. Hey! Maybe after lunch, we can all watch it together,” she suggested. “Were you able to find any evidence of our ghost hunting from that night?”
“Not to give away any spoilers, but there are a few good finds,” Jack answered. “However, nothing will ever compare to that apparition peeking around the door in Lillian’s library.”
Lola stiffened on reflex, taking in a small sharp breath at the mention of the famed library. She felt Raphael’s comforting hand on her knee under the table, the touch giving her reassurance she was safe. She knew the flash of emotions on her face was quick and hoped her recovery was quicker, but when making casual eye contact with Modesta, the confidence at masking her expressions deflated. Her best friend had a sharp eye and was never one to miss on subtle details, especially when it came to reading body language. She shifted her gaze away from the squint of curiosity that observed her from across the table.
“Speaking of the Northcott Manor House, what are we going to do about CJ, and why haven’t you gotten your newsletter yet?” Lazare asked, turning the question to Lola.
“Before we get into all of that, I want to know what happened with these fires you mentioned,” Lola said. “Why do you think CJ is responsible?”
“We’re pretty positive it’s because of those newsletters he gave us,” Lazare replied.
“That statement is going to need a little more explanation on how the two are connected,” Raphael said.
“When I opened our newsletter,” Jack began, motioning to Modesta and himself, “inside was this strange looking business card. The only thing on it was the number one written in silver ink.”
“Inside my newsletter was the same type of business card, except mine had the number two written on it, also in silver ink,” Lazare added.
“Jack tore up the business card and threw it away,” Modesta said. “After dealing with the crawler incident, our trash can self-ignited,” she summarized.
“I also tore that business card up and tossed it. At the end of the day, I took the trash out to the dumpster behind the pawn shop where it self-ignited,” Lazare filled in next.
“That’s pretty crazy---wait, you had a crawler? Did you have a crawler, too?” Lola asked, looking to Lazare.
“Actually, I’m not sure. I didn’t have any extra activity happen in the store that I’m aware of, except, there was this one really loud knock at the front door while I was closing up,” Lazare said, retracing his memories of last night. “Spirit told me not to open the door, so I left through the back instead, which, thankfully, in hindsight, forced me to take the trash that had CJ’s business card to the dumpster.”
“That’s what happened to me,” Jack said. “I heard a single loud knock right before the crawler made the lights go out and started flipping the crystal tables.”
“It flipped tables?” Lola asked, her jaw dropping open.
“The shop looks like a bulldozer came through. I’m going to have to close down for the next few days until I can clean it up,” Modesta said with a hard release of frustrated breath. “Any help would be greatly appreciated,” she added. A tired smile lifted her lips as everyone around the table instantly agreed to pitch in and help with the recovery efforts.
“You might want to be on the lookout for an uptick in activity, Lazare,” Jack said. “We trapped our crawler in the supply closet with an iron railroad spike.”
“How did you manage to do that?” Lola asked, fascinated by the retelling of events.
“When it scurried into the closet, I put the spike on the doorframe,” Modesta said. “Now, it can’t get out. Iron keeps it from crossing the threshold.”
“Interesting.” Lola’s eyes flicked to the basement door behind her friend, lingering on the possibilities and benefits to having an iron spike up there.
“Which brings us to this current tricky situation,” Modesta continued, the seriousness to her tone pulling in everyone’s attention. “CJ was hand delivering newsletters to the addresses you gave him, and if we had the number one written on our business card, and Lazare had the number two written on his, then most likely you’ll have---.” Modesta let the statement hang in the air, encouraging Lola to finish the line.
“I’ll have number three,” Lola quietly spoke, realization dawning in her mind. “He asked for three addresses, which means our house could go up in flames next!” she shouted, whipping her head toward Raphael. “He knows! I told you! It’s my fault and he’s retaliating!”
Raphael pulled her into himself and she buried her face against his shoulder, turning away from her friends as she trembled. The spark of her carefree spirit from earlier was snuffed out again, and he vowed in that moment CJ was going to pay---dearly.
“It’s okay, Dandelion, breathe. It’s not your fault,” he consoled in a hushed tone, hugging her tighter.
“Lo, you didn’t know CJ was a pyromaniac,” Jack said, trying to lighten the drastic shift in mood.
“The good news is you haven’t gotten a newsletter from him, right?” Lazare asked. “And if you do get one, you know now not to open it, or at the very least, tear it in half and throw it away.”
Lola took in a deep breath, implementing the breathing exercise Raphael used to help her regulate from the aftermath of the night terror, and she pulled away from his shoulder once she felt in control of her wild emotions and heartbeat.
“Be that as it may, all of this is still my fault,” she declared. “I stole Lillian’s grimoire.”
Exclamations, gasps of shock, curses, and questions were only a few of the jumbled reactions tossed around the table from the friends, the sudden bombshell of her comment leaving them stunned and confused.
“The day I gave our addresses to CJ was the same day I took the grimoire. I swear, I had no idea he was going to attack your businesses. I don’t even know how he found out I was the one who took it, but when Jack said CJ was replacing a journal that was stolen from him, and now, knowing who he really is---.” Lola’s sentence was cut off as Modesta interrupted her.
“What do you mean who he really is?”
“CJ is Carrington Jacob Northcott, heir to the Northcott line and great, great grandson of Cornelius Northcott, Lillian’s husband,” Raphael recited.
A quiet hush blanketed the friends, the otherwise bustling activity of conversation and breaking of bread squelched under the chill of learning the identity of their newest charismatic acquaintance.
“If CJ has access to the library,” Modesta said at length, putting puzzle pieces together in her mind, “and he knows you stole the grimoire, then that means he knows of the grimoire’s existence.”
“Do you think he could be…practicing from it?” Jack asked, hesitant in voicing the possibility. “Like, he’s into dark magic, like Lillian?”
“That could build the case against him for instigating those supernatural fires,” Lazare said, agreeing with Jack, “along with that crawler and the both of you getting those scratches,” he added, tilting his head in Modesta’s direction.
“Hold on, you have scratches?” Lola asked, her pitch raised in shock.
“I receive three scratch lines on my shin from the crawler, and before you ask, yes, they are very similar to the ones you got at the Ren Fair,” Modesta said, absentmindedly smoothing her hand over the marks hidden under her jeans.
“Everything is so messed up,” Lola wailed, dropping her face into her hands. “And now we’re stuck with the darn thing.”
“What do you mean by ‘stuck’ with it? Wait, you don’t still have the grimoire, do you?” Modesta asked.
“We tried to get rid of it this morning by returning it to the Manor House,” Raphael shared as he placed a hand on Lola’s back. “Unfortunately we were met with a slight hindrance to our objective. The Manor House had a break in last night and the police have the building closed off for their ongoing investigation. The library was ransacked.”
Lazare made a hard dry-heaving noise which startled everyone at the table, wide eyes turning in his direction.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he apologized, pounding a fist at his chest while clearing his throat. “Ooh, I just got hit with a wave of chills when you said that. Whatever happened in that library disturbed something in that library, and I do not like this energy I’m picking up on.” Lazare shook out his hands with a full body shiver. He then reached for his coffee mug to chase away the chill.
“Disturbed?” Jack parroted.
“Riled up,” Lazare clarified after taking a sip. He continued to hold his mug, warming his fingers. “It’s just…weird and I can feel my hackles starting to rise. I keep hearing this phrase on repeat in my head: when Death comes a’knocking.”
Three loud knocks, at that moment, followed by the doorbell ringing, filled the house with such a jarring calamity that it caused Lola to dive under the kitchen table in fright, and the others to let out shouts of surprise or startled jumps in their seats. The kitchen hummed with a deafening silence as confused glances eventually turned toward Raphael to see if he would answer the door.
Taking that as his cue, Raphael pushed himself away from the table, but as he stood, a hand shot out to grab onto his pant leg, stopping him before he could take a single step.
“Don’t you dare answer that door,” Lola ordered from under the table.
“I can’t just not open the door, Lola,” Raphael said, beginning the journey across the kitchen to make for the front door.
Lola held onto his leg, his movements dragging her out from under the table. “Sure you can! I do it all the time! I pretend I’m in the shower,” she said, struggling to hold Raphael back. “Didn’t you hear what Lazare said? Death is knocking at the door.”
As if to prove her point, three more knocks rapped upon the front door.
“See? Now just…pretend…you’re in…the shower!” Lola grunted between scoots as Raphael continued to drag her along the kitchen floor.
“Dandelion, it could be important. What if it’s the Ren Fair Committee with news about the return of our horses?” Raphael asked. “Please, let go, you’re starting to pull my pants down.”
“That’s a great idea! You can’t answer the door if you’re not wearing pants!” She gave his trousers a firm tug and he scrambled to hold firm the belt around his hips. “Come on, who needs pants, anyway? Oh! I know! Let’s have sex!”
Raphael paused, mildly stunned as he stared down at Lola clasped around his leg. He couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at her tactical request while giving a hefty sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose before commenting.
“Though I appreciate the enthusiastic initiation for consenting intimate activities, I feel I would be more inclined to oblige if one, your proposition wasn’t being made coming from a place of panic, or two, our friends weren’t presently sitting at the kitchen table.”
He gestured to the others who sat in amused entertainment watching the scene play out, enjoying the remaining light finger foods of the charcuterie board like popcorn at the movies.
Lola glanced over her shoulder, following the direction of his arm, and her face brightened in a warm flush from embarrassment when she realized the others were staring, unfazed by the obviously weird spectacle taking place before them. She glowered, annoyed they’d rather sit back and enjoy themselves instead of helping her in keeping Raphael back from answering the door. She harrumphed audibly when Jack had the audacity to wave at her.
With her attention preoccupied, Raphael felt her embrace slacken, and he took that opportunity to pull his leg free, but she was quick, however, to wrap her arms firmly around his knee.
“You are an insufferably stubborn silly goose,” Raphael declared with an exasperated huff, and leaning down, hooked his hands around his beloved to vigorously spider his fingers in the hollows of her underarms.
She wriggled and shrieked, his tickle attack having the desired effect, for she instantly let go of him, rolling away to protect herself while releasing a stream of hard laughter and cursing. Unencumbered at last, he swiftly headed toward the front door. Lola was quick to recover and jumped to her feet to chase after him, her favorite four letter words trailing behind for her friends to hear as she disappeared into the front hallway.
It sounded like a freight train barreled through the house behind him; chairs scraped across the floor, dishes clattered, and Lola’s swearing grew louder as her running footsteps brought her closer. He hastened his steps, reaching the front door and lock just as Lola threw herself upon him, her arms circling around his waist trying to yank him backward. He managed to get the door open, revealing the person who patiently occupied the front step.
“CJ!” Lola squeaked.
The playful exuberance of the couple in the hallway immediately froze solid, the breath ripped from their lungs as icy fingers slithered up their spines to grasp firmly around their hearts, giving a painful squeeze. CJ, in a three-piece linen suit of loden heather and slicked back brown hair, smiled in a broad grin that crinkled the corners of his striking gray eyes.
“Oh, dear. Am I…interrupting?”
CJ’s gaze slowly traveled up and down the forms of the breathless, flush cheeked, rumpled appearances of the two standing in the doorway. Lola shivered when his eyes stayed on her for a second too long, and Raphael must have sensed her distress, for he took a protective step forward, blocking her from the other man.
“Carrington,” Raphael said with a warning rumble in the back of his throat, the name leaving a bitter aftertaste as it rolled off his tongue.
“Raphael Glenbrook, at last we finally have the chance to meet,” CJ greeted, his tone warm, friendly, and yet, despite the pleasantry, threatening. “How fortuitous that it is your lovely wife that brought us together? Or, at least, soon-to-be-wife. Tell me, when is the happy nuptial?”
“What do you want, Carrington?” Raphael asked, moving so his full frame shielded Lola.
“Please, I insist all my friends call me CJ, but I know you’re a man of business, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’m here because of your wife,” CJ announced.
Lola wanted to run, to scream, to hide, to melt into the floor and disappear, anything if it would spare herself from being linked to CJ and his schemes. The spot in the middle of her back between her shoulder blades burned, and she shifted uncomfortably. Movement in the dining room next to her caught her eye, and upon glancing over, noticed the others peering out the windows as inconspicuously as possible to observe the confrontation on the front walk way. Modesta was crouched the closest to her, rubbing her shin, and when they made eye contact, a quiet understanding passed between them regarding the residual claws that marked them.
“This is something you felt needed to be done in person?” Raphael asked, drawing the attention back to the scene at hand.
“I’m known to be eccentric,” CJ said with a shrug as he reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a white envelope and held it out in the space between Raphael and himself. “Congratulations!”
“For what?” Raphael asked, his eyebrows lowering in question and mistrust at the item and its presenter. He folded his arms in front of his chest, refusing to accept the envelope.
“You won the drawing for a free night’s stay at the Northcott Manor House. Well, Mrs. Glenbrook won the drawing, technically, but the voucher includes a guest, which I assume will be you,” CJ said. “The voucher is good for this Saturday. Mind you, it’s for this Saturday only.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Lola said, coming around Raphael to stand beside him as she addressed CJ.
Her curious mind overpowered her fears and trepidations of the man in the linen suit. He was leaving breadcrumbs toward a cryptic endgame, and despite all of her internal alarm bells warning her to leave well enough alone, she took his bait.
“What about the break in?” she asked. “Will the police be done with their investigation by then to have guests stay the night?”
“News travels fast,” CJ said, taken slightly aback by her abrupt appearance and forthcoming question. “I wasn’t aware the media outlets released that information to the public yet. As for the break in, no need to trouble yourself. I can assure you the whole affair will be settled by the time of your stay.”
CJ held out the envelope toward Lola. “Please take it. I don’t want to have to become pushy.”
Lola took a small step forward and reached out a hesitant hand to take the envelope, but Raphael stopped her by gently resting his palm over her arm.
“We can’t accept the voucher,” Raphael said in a tone that brooked no argument on the matter. “We have prior commitments that require our time and attention.”
“Surely you can finagle arrangements to make it so you are able to accept,” CJ said, layering on the smarm of his greasy charm. “This is quite the opportunity. The voucher includes a free dinner,” he added as extra incentive. “Consider it a little romantic date night.”
“It’s a non-negotiable,” Raphael firmly stated.
“Oh, tut!” CJ scoffed, unimpressed, waving away the declaration. “What could possibly be so encompassing of your time to interfere with a complimentary dinner and night’s stay at a historic landmark?”
“Honey Love,” Lola called sweetly, moving Raphael’s attention toward herself instead of burning a hole into CJ’s skull from his hardened grimace. “I’m sure we can work something out with the Renaissance Committee for this one weekend. CJ’s right, after all, this is our golden opportunity.”
“Are you talking about Newberry’s Renaissance Fair?” CJ asked, his eyes lit with excitement. “I myself go every year. Isn’t it fascinating to be in a place where one can be disguised as a character while at the same time embodying their true authentic self? It’s simply a marvel, a true character study of people.”
“I’m sure with your eccentric personality you blend right in,” Raphael said.
“More than you know,” agreed CJ with a chuckle that hid secrets. “Well, if your obligations lie so strongly with the Renaissance Fair, then---.”
“No!” Lola shouted, interrupting CJ. He was in the process of rescinding the envelope, and she panicked, watching her chance to return Lillian’s grimoire slip through her fingers. “What I mean is thank you, CJ. We’d love to accept the voucher.” She held out her hand, palm facing upward to receive the envelope.
“A wise decision, Mrs. Glenbrook,” CJ said, a creeping grin splitting his face as he placed the envelope into her palm.
Lola recoiled, yanking her arm back away from CJ’s reach once she had the voucher, not wanting to make any type of physical contact with him. Her eyes flicked down to the glint of gold filigree scrawled across the envelope, the sharp, slanted letters catching her by surprise as she read her full name.
“Wow! That’s some fancy calligraphy,” she stated. The elegance of each letter strung together in their confident flourish was impressive, and yet, to her confusion, danced on the edge of familiarity.
“Thank you,” CJ said, puffing his chest out with pride. “I’ve been told I’ve inherited my great, great grandfather’s handwriting. Well! I am pleased you have accepted your winnings, and with that, I won’t take up anymore of your time. Continue enjoying your party.”
CJ waved his arm out to indicate the set of dining room windows, turning his head to acknowledge the friends spying through the glass. He smiled as he watched the three interlopers duck out of sight, clearly caught guilty in the act of eavesdropping.
“Until we meet again,” CJ said, and with a toss of his hand, departed from his place upon Lola and Raphael’s front walk.
Raphael ushered Lola inside the house, eager to shut the door and rid themselves of CJ’s presence. Lola held the letter containing the voucher, staring hard at the gold lettering that caught the light in innocent glimmers as she maneuvered the envelope from side-to-side.
“Is that the newsletter?” Jack asked. “We couldn’t really hear all of the conversation too clearly from in here.”
“Why did you accept the newsletter? Do you want CJ to burn your house down?” Modesta asked.
“Carrington handed out newsletters in envelopes like this?” Raphael asked, and when the three nodded at the same time, his eyes widened with a sudden realization. “We’ve had our newsletter the whole time,” he said on a quiet breath.
“What? We have? How? When did that happen?” Lola asked, turning to match his expression of surprise.
“I noticed it tucked in the stack of letters I brought in from the mailbox yesterday. It’s still on my desk.”
Raphael turned on his heel, disappearing into his den behind them, and in a matter of seconds, returned to the hallway with a mirror image of Lola’s white envelope held in his hands. He tested the thickness of the contents, giving cautious squeezes until he could feel what he thought was a firm rectangular shape.
“I think I found his calling card,” he said, a sneer curling his upper lip.
“Don’t damage it,” Lazare warned. “I think those cards are cursed. Once the seal, those numbers that are written on it, is broken, it will unleash the negative entities and then ignite.”
“It’s not Lillian’s!” Lola shouted, blurting out the statement with enough force to create a reverberating echo in the entryway. “It’s not Lillian’s!” she repeated, laughing in a mixture of both relief and enlightenment. “This is not Lillian’s!”
Lola turned the envelope outward, showing the gold script to the others as she pointed to the letters.
“It’s not her…address?” Lazare asked, darting confused looks around the group.
“No, the handwriting. It’s not Lillian’s. I knew it was familiar,” Lola replied, though she mainly spoke to herself as she pushed through the cluster of friends.
She picked up a canvas tote bag off the foyer sitting bench and marched into the back parlor room with everyone else following behind. Walking over to the coffee table, she gave an abrupt turn on the ball of her foot in a dramatic spin to face the others as they entered the room. In her flair, she took out Lillian’s grimoire from the canvas bag, and plopped it straight onto the coffee table with a satisfying thunk.
“This,” she reiterated, waving CJ’s voucher, “is not Lillian’s.”
Lola opened the grimoire to a random page near the middle of the book where elegant slanted letters written in a confident stroke covered the brittle paper. She then tossed the envelope she had been holding on top of the pages and took a step back, spreading her hands at the two objects as if the evidence couldn’t be any clearer.
“The quicker you tell us what we’re looking at, the quicker you can put that thing away,” Modesta said, taking a step backward into the hallway as she physically shivered.
“Sorry, I’ll hurry along,” Lola apologized. “Lillian’s grimoire is not Lillian’s grimoire. It’s her husband’s. It belonged to Cornelius. Look at the handwriting,” she continued, pointing to the envelope and the open pages. “Sure, there are subtle differences, but the handwriting is nearly identical.”
“Carrington’s handwriting matches the grimoire’s,” Raphael said. He came up to the coffee table, leaning in to get a better look as Lola delivered her findings.
“And CJ just told us he inherited the style from his great, great grandfather.”
“Cornelius,” Jack said, the threads of information connecting together in his mind.
“If it’s Cornelius’s grimoire, why was it hidden in the floorboards of Lillian’s library?” Modesta asked.
“May I make an odd request, Lola?” Lazare asked as he scrutinized the open spell book.
“Of course. What is it?” Lola asked.
“May I hold the grimoire? I’m getting a vibe of its energy from here, but if I can hold it, I might be able to tap into its essence.”
“That would be amazing if you can. Give it a try,” Lola said with excitement, picking up the grimoire and handing it to Lazare.
He held the book out comfortably in front of him, sandwiched between his hands, and then closed his eyes while taking three deep breaths. His facial cues changed the longer he held the grimoire, silently communicating to the group the myriad of spectral energy clasped within his palms.
“He killed her!” Lazare cried out in a startled gasp as his eyes flew open, the outburst making the friends jump in place. “He hated her,” he then added. “He hid the grimoire under the floorboards to punish her.”
Lazare snuffled hard, fighting back an onslaught of unshed tears, and Lola handed him a handful of tissues.
“Why are you getting the impression he hated her?” Lola asked.
“I keep hearing the word ‘eccentric’ in my head. There were appearances that needed to be kept. Order to maintain. Lillian was a proper lady of her time, to be sure, but she couldn’t be completely tamed,” Lazare explained as he blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes.
“You can tell all of that just from holding the grimoire?” Jack asked, jaw open and mind blown by the details his psychic friend shared.
“Oh, yes,” Lazare chuckled. “It’s practically bleeding with Cornelius’s residual energy.” He handed the grimoire back to Lola.
“Cornelius hated Lillian so much that he killed her?” Lola asked, her thoughts turning somber toward the history of Lillian’s tragic fate.
“I don’t know the exact reason why he wanted her dead, but his hatred was strong enough to fuel his actions,” Lazare explained. “Wait a minute! Remember the tarot reading from Lola’s birthday?” he gasped, swiveling sharply to Modesta. “Lola was right all along. Lillian was murdered by her husband the Devil.”
“Now, wait, we don’t have proof of that,” Modesta said, pumping the metaphorical breaks on the runaway train of speculation.
“Actually, I think we might,” Lola said. “That book I bought from you makes a lot of sense now.”
Lola sat down on the couch as she placed the grimoire on the coffee table. Raphael mimicked her actions, sitting down next to her, the others following suit as the conversation weighed down the energy of the room.
“I first read over the chapter regarding haunted objects, since I intended to sage the grimoire, not my fountain pen,” Lola shared, finally voicing the truth.
“Sage is not going to work on that,” Modesta cut in, choosing to sit as far away from the spell book as possible while still being part of their gathering.
“We figured as much,” Lola agreed, placing her hand on Raphael’s knee. “The chapter after haunted objects caught my attention. It talked about three common apparition sightings, and why some figures appear all in white, some are shadow figures, and why a few of them are gray. The book speculates on a theory that if a ghost is appearing gray, it’s because they were unalived tragically, either by self-infliction or by the hand of their lover. Lillian is known as the Gray Lady of the Northcott Manor House. What if she’s gray because Cornelius, her husband, was the cause of her demise?”
“I’m getting the craziest idea,” Jack began, and turned in his seat to address Modesta. “Mo, can you do a quick tarot reading on the grimoire? Now that we know this belonged to Cornelius, maybe the cards can shed some light onto the situation if you can tap into its energy.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Modesta said after some thought. “I’ll go get my purse.”
The friends stirred about the parlor room while Modesta retrieved the tarot deck she kept in her purse, the bubbling excited anticipation for the impromptu tarot reading spreading throughout everyone as they gathered close to Modesta. Lola had taken it upon herself to light a tall pillar candle scented in orange blossom, rose, and myrrh, and placed it in the center of the coffee table. She moved the grimoire closer toward herself as she took her seat at the couch, Raphael at her side, and Jack and Lazare at the single wingback chairs to the flanks of the intimate seating arrangement.
Modesta took her place at the ottoman across from the couch, holding her well-worn deck of tarot to her heart as she cast a circle of intention and protection.
“We are protected,” Modesta stated, her eyes closed and breathing even. “I ask that we receive the messages we need to hear, not the ones we want to hear. Please give us guidance and understanding.”
Once connected to her spirit guides, and honing in on her intuition, Modesta shuffled the cards. The ease with which they fanned and fluttered between her hands was nothing shy of mesmerizing, and after a few skilled shuffles and artful bridging, she smoothed the cards face down in a long line across the coffee table. Taking in another deep breath, she hovered her left hand over the cards.
“Okay, let’s get some clarification,” Modesta said. “What were the motives surrounding Cornelius Northcott toward his wife Lillian?”
As before, sitting on the floor in the front parlor room of the Northcott Manor House those many nights ago, Modesta slowly ran her palm in the air above her tarot cards, waiting for the telling tingle to brush along the skin, indicating which one to turn over. She felt the need to turn over a card near the beginning of the row, and flipped the gilded rectangle, letting it lie in the open for everyone to see.
“The Tower. Interesting,” Modesta narrated, moving her hand over her cards again. She flicked over another card from the middle of the row, setting it next to the first. “Four of Wands, that’s…not good,” she commented.
As much as Lola wanted to ask questions, she sat in her place with her hands over her mouth, her elbows on her knees, and her legs bouncing in excitement to know what Modesta saw as she read the cards. Raphael’s comforting palm settled on her thigh helped to ease her fidgeting and calm her anxious spirit. Modesta’s soft laughter pulled Lola’s attention from her fiancé’s warm hand toward her best friend, who had selected and revealed the third card.
“Which one is that?” Lola asked, unable to hold back her questions a second longer.
“Okay, are you guys ready for this?” Modesta asked, and when everyone said “yes” at the same time to hear the tarot’s message, she held up the first card.
“There was a shakeup, a crumbling, that happened around Cornelius. That shakeup had to deal with…his marriage,” and Modesta held up the second card. “Something big shook their foundation, enough so that it crumbled into the dust.” She tapped the ruins on the picture of a burning tower being struck by lightning.
“What caused it?” Lola asked, desperate to learn the story.
“Three of Cups,” Modesta answered, holding up the last card. “A third party was involved and Cornelius found out about it.”
There was a pause as the information etched itself deep into the minds and hearts of the friends sitting around the coffee table.
“So, you’re saying, there was a shakeup in their marriage due to a third party? Lillian was having a secret affair after all,” Lola said, stunned.
“Is that why he murdered her?” Lazare asked.
“Cornelius couldn’t have done it, though, he was out of town,” Lola reminded.
“Unless it was a hit for hire,” Raphael said. “If he had enough hatred in his heart, that could be cause for motive.”
“Not to mention he had the funds to keep it quiet,” Jack hypothesized.
“What about the grimoire itself? How does that play in with why Cornelius kept it under the floorboards of the library to punish her?” Lola asked.
Modesta set aside the three cards she held and pulled one more to answer Lola’s question. Her palm burned over the cards, and she snatched at it, turning over two cards in the process of her quick movement.
“Ooh, I don’t like this combo,” Modesta said, clicking her tongue in disapproval while shaking her head. “Three of Pentacles: Teamwork,” she said, holding up the first card. “The Devil.”
She held up the second card and a chill filled the room that left everyone feeling unnaturally cold.
“Cornelius was in a partnership with something bad and something dark. I’ll bet he used the grimoire to record his teachings. He was doing ‘Devil’s work’ and keeping the grimoire under the floorboards of her sacred space was probably a petty move to make her feel uncomfortable.”
“He sold his soul to the Devil,” Lazare said point blank. “I don’t like to say things like that, but Cornelius turned into an evil man. Hatred warped his heart.”
Lola sat in silence, her mind volleying fuzzies back and forth as she pondered the tarot’s messages and the insights of Modesta and Lazare. “Can we get some more information on this third party? Maybe something to do with who he was?”
“Sure. Let’s see what comes up,” Modesta agreed.
She moved the cards she held to the side and again hovered her hand over the row of tarot. She paused at the section near the back-half, and frowned, see-sawing on which direction to go.
“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, his forehead scrunching with concern. It wasn’t like Modesta to hesitate when it came to tarot readings.
“Normally, I intuitively ask for one card, but I’m feeling called to draw two,” Modesta replied.
She bit her bottom lip from indecision, and after a few more turns rocking between two cards, gave a huff and pulled them both. Lying on the coffee table were the Ace of Cups and the Knight of Swords.
“Now these are nice,” Modesta said, relaxing. “Whoever this third party was, he was her Big Love.” She held up the Ace of Cups. “He was also a great communicator, and was swift and precise with his words and actions. He was fast acting, like delivering speedy messages,” she shared, holding up the Knight of Swords.
The candle in the middle of the coffee table decided it was time to randomly blow itself out, as if signaling to end the tarot session. Goosebumps crawled over Modesta’s arms and she shuddered.
“So…the grimoire,” she said, distracting herself from the ghostly prickles skittering up her arms. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Ideally, I’d like to return it to the Manor House and be done with it,” Lola said. “But I don’t think that’ll be enough. I feel like I need to make it go away forever.”
“It’s not just a matter of returning the object anymore,” Lazare said in agreement. “We have to stop it from spreading its dark magic.”
“How? Let’s say you guys somehow get it back into the Manor House. CJ could still use the grimoire to do his evil bidding and keep coming after us just for the fun of it,” Jack speculated. “If he knows we all know about his practices in the dark arts, what’s to stop him from conjuring more crawlers, and scratches, and fires?”
“We need to seal it and bind it,” Modesta said, her tone matter of fact. “If we can get the grimoire back into the House, Lazare and I can perform a ritual to lock in and nullify the negative energy for good, that way, CJ won’t be able to cast any of the spells or conjure any curses. We can hide the grimoire somewhere on the property, and once we do that, we can safely cleanse out any lingering negative energy around our businesses and your house,” she added, motioning toward Lola.
“No more night terrors,” Raphael said, hugging an arm around Lola’s shoulders.
“I’d really like that,” Lola agreed on a weighted exhale.
“Great! So, how do we get back into the Manor House without it being obvious or suspicious we’re up to something?” Jack asked.
“Luckily for us, that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about,” Lola said.
She picked up the white envelope inscribed with her name in gold filigree, where inside, rested their hope in the form of a prize winning voucher, the very ticket they needed to end the chaos of Carrington Jacob Northcott once and for all.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends!!
We're soooooooooooo close to finishing this story, and it is a doozy, let me tell ya! So happy to show you more here in the couple of days! Thanks, as always, for reading!! Until next time, happy reading!
It was a rare occurrence when Raphael found he had the house to himself. Physical solitude was never a bother to him, and as he traipsed his home, finishing vacuuming the rug in the back parlor room, the little pieces of Lola’s essence settled in his heart. These were the quiet reassurances that he was never truly alone. He smiled at her subtle touches in each space of the house, their blended aesthetics creating a whimsical warmth of their shared lives together. Before meeting her, his house was pleasant enough by conventional standards, but Lola brought the sparkle.
A gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he took a step back, admiring the couch, or, more specifically, her section of the couch. Her favorite cozy blanket was in a jumble tucked between the seat cushions, the pillows in an array of purposeful haphazard placement to support her writing apparatuses, and a used coffee mug sat on the coffee table next to a scented candle of sandalwood and vanilla. There was also a random potholder, for some reason. She was a bit of a tornado, but the untamed chaos of her spirit was what made her all the more endearing.
He picked up her blanket, folding the plush fabric to drape over the back of her spot, and then gathered her mug and potholder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw on the side table a ring of salt circling the lamp. His eyebrow quirked in question, but he shrugged off the mild confusion, chalking the eccentricity up to being just that: eccentric. Walking into the kitchen, he put the potholder in its proper drawer and the mug in the dishwasher. He spotted another ring of salt, but this one encircled a bottle of hand soap, and it dawned on him that he was finding more and more random objects throughout the house rimmed in salty circles.
It was time he started asking questions.
Lola had her secret reasons, he’d give her that, but how far was she willing to go in placing household appliances and furnishings in a circle of salt? Their bed? The idea caused him to smirk, and he let out a surrendering sigh. Instead of fretting or fussing over the peculiar mystery, he decided to spend his energy into being productive.
The flower garden needed watering, and maybe he could indulge in a little reading time as well. The day was filled with endless opportunities, and so with a spring in his step, Raphael turned from the dishwasher, a plan in his mind and joy in his heart. Two steps into his journey toward the foyer, he noticed a generous mound of salt on the floor sitting in front of the pantry.
“That’s unusual,” Raphael said, taken aback by the pile of salt.
His eyes lingered on the mound, transfixed in a fierce curiosity, as stemming from the pile was a thin line of salt, forming a path along the kitchen floor that led his attention to the closed basement door. Lola must have taken the canister of salt down to the basement to conduct more of her “research”, not having realized the nozzle was open. The longer he stared at the path of salt, the more his curiosity stirred.
“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see for myself what this ‘research’ of hers entails,” he said.
Granting himself permission to snoop gave him the needed confidence to explore the basement. He didn’t particularly enjoy going behind her back to learn her schemes, but if it meant helping Lola in the long run with her research, while at the same time slaking his curiosity for knowledge, then he would indulge in his desires and follow the trail of salt to the basement door.
Pulling free the wooden barrier from its frame, the eerie, creaking whine of lumber and old hinges set his teeth on edge, the sounds reminding him of a classically spooky haunted house. Standing on the precipice to the basement, Raphael stared down the stairs that disappeared into a wall of darkness. He flipped on the light switch, but no light came on to obliterate the shadows, and he frowned at the inconvenience of needing to replace lightbulbs. The annoyance evaporated when he spotted the trail of salt marking Lola’s path down the steps.
Raphael followed the salt, each footfall taking him deeper underground, closer to the shadows, until he finally reached the basement floor. The trail of salt glowed silver in the dark, leading him in a jagged path toward the guest suite. He shivered as he approached the room, feeling a radiating coldness seeping through the door. It was unnaturally cold.
He turned the doorknob and the door swung open on a silent breath. He stood there, observing, waiting, questioning, and then came the screaming.
Dreadful, terrible shrieks of fear and agony echoed all around.
The screaming intensified into a loud and frantic shrill of desperation. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe and panic was setting in, but all that came out were the screams.
“Lola! Lola!”
It was faint, but the name cut through most of the fog.
“Dandelion! Wake up!”
It was her. She was screaming, again, and the jolt back to reality was violently discombobulating. The first thing Lola’s sight recognized were Raphael’s eyes above her, wide and worried, but more importantly, they were beholding her filled with life behind those azure colored orbs. The flashes of her night terror flooded her mind: her fiancé crooked, unmoving on the hard, cold floor, staring into a void without seeing or breathing.
Fat tears instantly poured down her cheeks as her screams shifted into cries of unfathomable heartache. Raphael was alive, but that fact didn’t match her recent memories. She started hyperventilating, her body convulsing from her hard and hysterical crying, her expression remaining petrified.
“Fuck! Lola breathe with me. It’s okay. You’re safe, you’re safe. Just breathe, like this.”
Raphael clasped one of Lola’s hands and held it to his chest, taking in a deep inhaling breath for three seconds before exhaling it out for another three seconds. She tried to match him, but the panic attack had too strong of a hold around her heart.
“Try, my love, please. Breathe in-two-three and out-two-three.”
They were shaky breaths, but she followed his directions, and that gave him a spark of hope.
“That’s my girl, you’re okay. You’re safe. Can you tell me what you’re holding?” he asked, continuing to exaggerate his breathing so she could keep mirroring him.
“H-hand,” she answered in a trembling voice that hiccupped.
“Good, good. And where is your head? What’s underneath you?” Raphael asked next, encouraging her to engage in tactile sensations to help her brain ground her haywire thoughts and tumultuous emotions.
“Pillow,” she said, some semblance of strength returning to her voice.
“There you go, that’s right. Keep breathing with me, Dandelion, you’re safe.”
“Honey Love, it’s my fault! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Lola wailed.
She sat up in bed, throwing herself at Raphael, and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace while openly crying into his neck. She trembled, distraught, her heart broken and lying in shattered pieces.
“You’re safe, Dandelion, you’re safe. I’m here. I’ve got you,” Raphael comforted. He held her close, rubbing her back as she wept.
“I did this! It’s me! I’m sorry!” she cried.
His heart swelled painfully at hearing her wretched cries and sobs. He continued to hold her, rubbing her back in a gentle rhythm up and down, and trying his best to soothe her, softly started singing one of his favorite French lullabies.
“À la claire fontaine M’en allant promener J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle Que je m’y suis baigné.”
The combination of the rich, comforting baritone of his voice and the steadfast strength of his arms holding her worked their magic into silencing her fears and chasing away the shadows of her nightmare. She crawled into his lap, and he lovingly rocked her while he continued his melody. Her vice-like embrace around him slackened, her tears subsiding.
In this tender position, cradled in his arms and pressed against his chest, where the comforting sounds of his heartbeat and breathing brought her soul back into the folds of warmth and safety, she placed her hand over his heart, feeling connected with each consistent thump beneath her palm. They swayed like that for some time before Lola finally spoke.
“You died,” she warbled, her voice small and fragile.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Raphael assured, his body tingling where he felt her light touch upon his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Please, my Dandelion, there is no need for apologies. It’s not your fault. There is no fault even to be had,” he stressed, smiling down at her.
“But there is, and it’s mine. I’m sorry.”
He sighed, but didn’t correct her. They sat in bed, holding each other in the silence, allowing the space needed for thoughts and emotions to regulate.
“I took it,” Lola said at length.
“Took what?” Raphael asked.
“Lillian’s grimoire.” She felt him startle in surprise, but he quickly relaxed, trying his best to mask his reaction to her admission. “When I had my lunch at the Manor House last week, I got to go into the library. One thing led to another and now her grimoire is in the basement.”
Raphael needed a moment to process all of what Lola shared, his thoughts bombarding him all at once.
“I don’t want it in the house anymore,” she said, her voice faraway as her mind drifted back down into the shadows of the basement. She shuddered, and Raphael squeezed her tighter.
“It’s all my fault,” she again stated. “I read up about haunted objects in that book I bought from Modesta, and it said that if a haunted object has a negative attachment, and you remove that object from its space, it has the potential to wreak havoc in its new location. The ghosts don’t know what to do, so they lash out.”
“Nothing has been wreaking havoc---,” Raphael tried to rationalize, but he was cut off by Lola’s sudden sharp laughter.
“Please,” she said. “Honey Love, I read the grimoire. Even here, in our bed. It’s filled with dark magic. I unleashed the cold, the shadows, the whispers, the scratches, and these terrible night terrors. It’s my fault the spirit of our house is gone. It’s my fault that whatever is in the basement will go after you next. It’s my fault---.”
“My love, no more. You’re working yourself up,” Raphael interrupted, resuming his gentle rocking.
“I tried putting it in salt, but I think that made it worse,” Lola shared, burrowing into Raphael’s embrace.
“Wait, so, is this why I’ve been finding random salt circles everywhere?” he asked, stunned yet oddly amused by the discovery. He chuckled as she sheepishly looked away.
“I was trapping spookies.”
“Oh, Dandelion,” he said on a sigh, shaking his head at her shenanigans.
“I think I’m at the point where I’m in trouble now,” she acknowledged.
“That’s an understatement,” he laughed. “In the morning, let’s you and I take the grimoire back to the Manor House,” Raphael proposed.
“How are we going to put it back in the library? It’s locked,” Lola reminded.
“We can leave it at the hostess stand.”
“I don’t want whatever is attached to the grimoire affecting anyone else. We’ll have to hide it somewhere on the property. It deserves to be buried under the floorboards. I can’t believe I hugged it.”
“For now, let’s put our minds at ease, and deal with it in the morning,” Raphael said. “Do you feel up to trying to get in a few more hours of sleep?” he cautiously asked.
“I think I can.”
Lola reached up, cupping Raphael’s face, and gently tugged him down to meet her with a kiss. She was soft and adoring, tenderly showing her appreciation and gratitude toward his expert efforts in helping her through the ordeal of her night terror and panic attack.
“You are wonderful,” she said as they parted. “I love you so much. Never ever, ever die, okay?”
“I will try my best not to,” he promised, kissing her again. “Get some sleep, my precious Dandelion. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The two readjusted themselves, lying back down and snuggling into each other under the blankets. Raphael spooned her protectively, hooking a leg over her to keep her safe, and Lola nuzzled up against him so her back pressed against his chest. He gave her sleepy kisses as he drifted off, Lola’s eyelids falling heavy with each tired blink.
Right before sleep took her, she saw her new dreamcatcher sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor. It had been ripped off the wall from above her bed, bent in half and broken.
*****
In the morning, Lola went down into the basement to retrieve Lillian’s grimoire. Raphael wanted to go with her, but she insisted he stayed upstairs, and planted him in a sunbeam in the middle of the kitchen so the shadows couldn’t get him. Having the knowledge they were going to be ridding themselves of the cursed book gave Lola all the courage to march into the guest suite and chuck the grimoire into an unassuming canvas tote bag.
Coming up the stairs, she found Raphael where she left him, and with a curt nod of her head, said, “Let’s go,” and they departed for the Northcott Manor House.
On the journey to their intended destination, Lola shared with Raphael the full extent of her dealings surrounding the grimoire. Now, with all of her secrets out in the open, they spent the remainder of the drive formulating their plan in dispersing Lillian’s cursed spell book. Once at the House, they would partake in a pleasant early lunch and then find a closet or nook where they could secretly stuff the journal, whereupon they would return home and enjoy the rest of their summer in peace.
It was a sloppy plan filled with holes, but at least they had a plan, and that was enough to keep Lola’s nervous energy in check. Despite their strategy, a wayward fuzzy in her mind continued to roll around her thoughts, causing her to feel unsettled, as if a loose end still had yet to be tied.
“CJ knows I have the grimoire,” Lola said.
“How do you figure?” Raphael asked. He turned down another side road lined with large hawthorn trees, their thick branches weaving a canopy of emerald above the well-to-do neighborhood.
“He bought a black leather journal at Curios and Oddities, telling Jack that it was to replace the one that was stolen. Talk about a coincidence,” she emphasized, thumbing at the tote bag lying in the back seat. “Here’s what else I don’t understand. Why would he be handing out the Northcott newsletters? Does he work for the Manor House, or something? I don’t get it. My concern is, do we need to tell CJ we returned the grimoire?”
“Why would we need to tell him? It’s not like he’s the one causing all the chaos,” Raphael said.
“I feel like there’s something we’re missing,” Lola said with a forceful exhale. “I know it. I just hope we can figure it out sooner rather than later.”
Raphael turned onto the street where the Northcott Manor House resided, and slowed to a stop, pulling the car over to the side of the road.
“Uh-oh,” he breathed. “This might throw a wrench in our plans.” He pointed toward the haunted restaurant and inn, Lola following his movement as he guided her attention forward.
“What? Why?” Lola looked at the Northcott Manor House and gave a small gasp. “Oh, no!”
Police cars blocked the parking lot entrance, and yellow caution tape crisscrossed the elegant front doors. Police officers roamed the grounds bordered in that same yellow tape or stood on the sidewalk in clusters to help move along the few gawkers. Lola’s eyes scanned the people, and she noticed Annie on the stoop, talking with an officer as they descended the massive steps.
“Look! There’s Annie. Maybe she can tell us what happened,” Lola said.
She got out of the car, quickly crossing the street with Raphael close beside her. As they got to the sidewalk lined with caution tape, Annie finished speaking with the policeman.
“Annie! Annie!” Lola called, waving to get the Head of Hospitality’s attention.
“Hello, there,” Annie greeted, the ever-pleasant hostess, giving the couple a faint, friendly smile as she came over to the edge of the sidewalk. “Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook, right? You’re Lola.”
“Yes, and this is Raphael,” Lola quickly introduced. “Annie, what’s going on? What happened to the Manor House?”
“We had a break in,” Annie said with a sigh, the incident weighing heavily on her shoulders. “It happened sometime last night.”
“Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry,” Lola consoled.
“Thank you,” she said, a smile briefly lifting her frown. “It’s actually quite devastating. In the whole known recorded history of the Manor House, there’s never been a break in before.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, and she apologized, dabbing at them with a tissue from her pocket.
“Was anything taken?” Raphael asked.
“I’m not sure. The perpetrator broke in by smashing the library window. The room has been ransacked. Lillian’s books are everywhere, and the door is hanging off its hinges---.” Here, Annie let out a hard sob, and she turned to collect herself.
“Not the library,” Lola gasped.
“I know. It’s devastating,” she reiterated. “I called the police the instant I noticed the damage when I was making my morning rounds. I’m still a little shaken up about it. Strange thing is,” Annie continued, turning back to face the couple, “the library was the only room vandalized.”
“What?”
“As far as I can tell, no money was taken, or booze from the bar, or any of the artwork,” Annie shared. “Whoever broke in clearly had an agenda, and it had something to do with Lillian’s library.”
“Well, hopefully nothing too valuable was taken,” Lola said. She swallowed hard as an unexplainable chill crawled up her windpipe.
“That’s why CJ is on his way over. He’s going to walk through with the police to let them know what or if anything was taken,” Annie said.
“CJ is coming over?!” Lola didn’t mean to shout, her outburst startling both Annie and Raphael. She cleared her throat to quickly gain her composure. “Why is CJ coming over to help the police? How would he know what’s in the library? Does he work here?”
The stream of questions fell from her lips, but it was the only thing she could do to stave off the bubbling butterflies rising in her stomach.
“He doesn’t ‘work’ here, per se, but he is well-versed in the property,” Annie said with a smile as she tilted her head, giving Lola a look as if to wonder why the other was purposefully misunderstanding the obvious. “After all, it is his family’s house.”
Lola physically took a step back, feeling as if she had been pushed over, and she ran hard into Raphael who had grown rigid and cold.
“CJ Northcott,” Raphael said, his tone pitched low, and to Lola’s ears, close to an angry growl. “Carrington Jacob Northcott.”
“Or, just CJ, as we call him,” Annie said, her eyes brightening as the conversation turned to the heir of the Northcott family line.
Raphael’s large hand rested on Lola’s shoulder, and she looked up to see that his jaw was firmly set, the muscles twitching. His face had hardened, and although he wasn’t outright glowering, the annoyance radiating around him was almost palpable.
“We should take our leave,” Raphael announced as a police officer approached, calling for Annie. “Good luck with finding answers to the break in, Annie. Come along, Love.” Raphael turned away from the Manor House, Lola following his lead.
“Can I ask questions?” she whispered as they crossed the street.
“In the car,” he answered, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
The two made brisk steps to their vehicle, Lola buckling herself in as Raphael pulled onto the road. They sat in a stunned silence, processing all that Annie had shared with them.
“He’s plotting,” Raphael said, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
“CJ?” Lola asked.
“That man has been a thorn in my side ever since I became a member of the board of directors at the Historical Society,” he continued. “Those ‘renovations’ the Manor House are conducting aren’t entirely for restoration purposes. Carrington has been vying for a complete overhaul, wanting to bring the Manor House into the twenty-first century.”
“But, that’ll destroy the legacy of what makes the Manor House the Manor House,” Lola proclaimed as her jaw fell open.
“Precisely. Newberry has a 50/50 split charter dating back to Carrington’s grandfather when the Manor House became a historical landmark. Anything involving the Manor House or its property has to be approved by a unanimous vote of the board. Carrington has been pitching these renovations for years, or so I’ve been told by other board members, but a few of us, including myself, keep shutting his proposals down.”
“As you very well should,” Lola agreed. She physically shivered. “I already didn’t like this guy, now I don’t like him even more. Okay, but wait, what are we going to do about the grimoire now?” she asked, dropping her voice so the bad-spookies couldn’t hear her. “We can’t keep it in our basement.”
Raphael sighed, rubbing his forehead as he came to a stop light. “Have you done the sage cleansing yet?”
“No. Is that something we should even try? I mean, if salt made it act out, what will sage make it do?”
“Let’s go home and call Modesta. Once you tell her the truth that it’s Lillian’s grimoire you’re trying to sage, and not your fountain pen, maybe she will have a better idea on how to neutralize it,” Raphael suggested.
“I have to tell her I took the grimoire?” Lola asked.
Raphael chuckled. “Are you more afraid of her wrath than those spookies?”
“But she’s going to be so mad at me,” Lola groaned, slumping into her seat.
“You could always not steal artifacts of dark magic to begin with if you’re worried about your friends being upset with you,” he said, giving her one of his sassy looks.
“Okay, Mr. High Ground, you’ve made your point,” Lola said with an eye roll. “I’ll give her a call when we get home.”
They rode on, and as luck would have it, Lola wouldn’t have need to call Modesta, for her car was already parked outside their house. As Raphael pulled into their driveway, Modesta, Jack, and Lazare came pouring out of the other vehicle to meet them.
“What’s everybody doing here?” Lola asked, stepping out onto the driveway.
“We have a problem we need to discuss with you about your good pal CJ,” Modesta answered, leveling Lola a serious look.
“We think he’s up to no good,” Jack added.
“Considering he set our places of business on fire last night,” Lazare stated.
“What? Oh, my God, is everyone okay?” Lola asked, stammering out her questions as a wave of shock slammed into her.
“These are conversations best suited for indoors,” Raphael said, stepping in to pause the overlap of sudden chatter and intriguing storytelling.
The heightened kerfuffle on the driveway was excellent fodder for gossiping neighbors to eavesdrop. He spotted one such busybody coming up the sidewalk with her dog, her attention already craned in their direction to learn their business.
“We need to share some information as well,” he added, indicating Lola and himself.
“Raph’s right. Come on, everyone. I’ll make us a pot of coffee and some sandwiches. I feel like this is going to be a sit-down type of conversation,” Lola agreed.
The friends gathered together, eager to enter the house, already sharing tidbits and cryptic clues surrounding the alarming excitement, threatening drama, and ominous dangers orchestrated by the man with striking gray eyes and a penchant for wickedness.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Two chapters in one week?! That's pretty exciting! Speaking of exciting, we're coming to a head here in "The Third Light", so expect the unexpected!
So much is about to be revealed and answered, and it's I'm excited to share it all with you! Hopefully everyone is enjoying the journey! Until next time, friends! Happy reading!
Lola sat in her car in silence, staring at her house from the driveway, gnawing her bottom lip while her mind spun a million intangible thoughts. Her home, and the life she built there with Raphael, was tarnished. The warm house had grown cold, the laughter extinguished, and in its place beat a thrumming darkness permeating from the basement. The walls were saturated with an invisible cloak of dread that absorbed into the rafters and timbers of the once beacon of light at the quiet end of the street.
No one noticed the change except for Lola.
She heard the muttering shadows lingering in the doorways, sensed the eyes watching from the darkened mirrors, and felt the claws incessantly scraping at flesh while she slept. She let out a barking laugh, wiping away tears caused from her prolonged unblinking stare.
“You have no one to blame but yourself,” she declared sardonically. “I brought myself into this mess, so I am more than capable of taking myself out.”
She sighed, cutting a glance to the brown paper bag sitting on the passenger seat with the Curios and Oddities label printed on the front. Inside, the bag contained the all-powerful spiritual tools needed to break the shackles of fear and despair: an herb bundle and a feather. Two simple devices that wielded devastating results. That realization alone took the edge off her anxiety, and Lola smiled. Picking up her bag, she left her car and stepped out into the fresh air and sunlight.
Despite the confidence she put in her newly acquired purchase, apprehension managed to slow her steps as she traversed the front walk leading to her door. She stopped to stare at her house, her eyes landing on each window, and she worried over what lay hidden inside. A breeze ruffled the leafy tops of the trees surrounding the property, and for the first time that day, Lola heard the birds chirping.
Who knew the simple cadence of a cardinal could shatter the overwhelming weight of fog determined to drown oneself in nihilistic submission?
Lola turned her head, finding the bright redbird perched on a nearby branch of the maple tree standing firm and tall in the front yard. She took note of the sunbeams filtering through the abundant leaves that created a dazzling lightshow upon the freshly manicured lawn, and a desperate need to touch grass filled her soul. Kicking off her sandals with a burst of giddy enthusiasm, she stepped down from the walkway. The cool grass met the bottoms of Lola’s feet, and all at once, everything was right in the world.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, connecting with each blade of grass between her toes. The moisture of the damp soil from a recent rain shower stained her soles, and all the while, as she experienced this pocket of Nature’s sanctuary, her cardinal friend serenaded his sweet melody. The sun warmed her skin, the breeze filled her lungs, and any lingering cloud of doom and gloom, for the present moment, ceased to exist.
Opening her eyes, she saw the cardinal had been watching her. She smiled at him, and he gave one light chirp before flying away. She briefly imagined how it would feel to fly, like that cardinal, and the imagined weightlessness and sense of airborne freedom gave her the encouragement needed to confront the mean-spirited spookies. It was time to take back her home, her peace of mind, and her life.
“Thank you,” Lola whispered. She patted the tree trunk for good measure and then turned around to face her house. “I can do this,” she announced, and ignoring the creeping sensation feathering the fringes of her perception of someone leering at her from across the street, held her head high as she unlocked the front door and disappeared inside.
The house was peaceful and cool; not unnaturally cold as it was to get in the evenings as of recent. After setting her sandals in their place under the sitting bench of the foyer, Lola took her brown paper bag with her into the back parlor room. She threw open the French doors to help circulate the stagnant energy of the past three days, and along with the refreshing breezes, came the angelic tintinnabulations of the wind chimes off the kitchen window and the lulling hum of a lawnmower in the distance.
“I can do this,” Lola repeated, a nugget of hope at the presence of normalcy blossoming in her chest. “Let’s get started.”
Determined, Lola plopped down in the middle of the couch and pulled free her new book, “The Peculiar Mannerisms of Ghosts”.
“This looks like a good place to start,” she said to herself as she read through the table of contents. “’What to do about a Haunted Object’.”
Flipping to the proper page, Lola leaned back into the cushions of the couch, cozying down for some insightful, and hopefully, helpful reading.
*****
“Whew! What a day we’ve had,” Jack said, exhaling a large breath as he locked the door after the last customer left Curios and Oddities.
“With all of the excitement throughout the day, I’m thinking a back massage, some whiskey, and a bubble bath are in order,” Modesta said, stretching her arms above her head to help loosen the tight muscles along her back.
“Ooh, that sounds nice. Can I get in on that?” Jack asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’ll cost you,” she coyly replied, leaning against the checkout counter. She gave a sly smile as Jack came from the door to meet her, his hands resting on either side of her body as he braced himself on the counter to hover close.
“What’s your price?” he asked, matching her sly grin.
“Hmm,” Modesta thought, playing up the dramatics. “I’m thinking maybe…two-piece and a biscuit.”
“A hard bargain, but seems fair enough,” Jack said, agreeing to Modesta’s terms. “Here are your two-piece---,” and he gave her two quick kisses, “---and your biscuit.” He turned, bending over slightly to waggle his buttocks as he backed up into his lover.
Modesta laughed as she grabbed a firm hold of each cheek, giving a playful squeeze. “Here’s your change. Honk-Honk!” She let go of Jack’s backside and he straightened, turning to give her a warm grin and a loving kiss.
“Do you mind counting down the register while I fill out a shipment order?” she asked once they parted. “I’ve been putting it off for too long, and with as many books as we’ve sold today, I really need to pad our inventory.”
“Take as much time as you need. It’s only a little after eight,” Jack said as he looked to his watch. “When we get home, I’ll whip up my famous creamy steak carbonara.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time. I’ll be quick as a wink,” Modesta promised, and after another kiss, departed into the backroom.
Jack set to his work, pulling out from the compartments under the checkout counter the necessities for documenting the register till, whistling a happy, absentminded tune while he counted the cash. He made a note in the paperwork about the extra money from the overall projected total due to CJ’s decision to opt out of his change. The thought of CJ had Jack pause his whistling, his lips pressing into a firm line instead as he looked at the freshly printed fifty dollar bill.
A hard, sharp pinch on his left butt cheek caused Jack to jump and yelp in surprise. “Hey! What was that for?”
He turned around, expecting to see Modesta, but there was nobody behind him. With a confused frown, he checked his immediate surroundings, hoping to find her hiding spot, and when his search came up empty, he hollered down the hallway leading into the back storage room and office space.
“Modesta? Sweetie? You still back there?”
“Yeah!” she hollered back. “Everything okay?”
“Yep! Just checking! Love you!” he called down the hallway.
“Love you, too!”
Jack returned to his station, rubbing the sore spot on his bottom. Hearing Modesta’s voice wafting up the small entryway from the storeroom proved to him there was no plausible way she could have crept up behind him, give a pinch, and then dart back in retreat without being heard or seen. No one was that fast. Shaking off the incident, he returned to his task of counting, resuming his whistling to fend off the beginning stirrings of foreboding prickling his hackles.
He thrust a fat stack of bills into the security banking pouch, giving the zipper a firm tug when an inquisitive tapping sound came from one of the large storefront windows. He jerked his head up, startled by the soft noise that was out of place from their usual comforting creaks and groans of the historical space. The tapping persisted, a light little pitter, and despite his better judgement, Jack decided to investigate.
Peeking out of the storefront window, all Jack could spy was the empty cobbled street. The light from the old oil lampposts flickering in the deepening shades of twilight reflected an amber glow off the historic stones, and the chorus of crickets in the nearby Dead Forest filled the night with their soothing lullaby.
“Must have been a moth or a June bug,” Jack said with a shrug. He pulled away from the window, satisfied with his debunking of the strange tapping sound. “Ow!”
Something small, like a rubber marble, struck him in the back of the head, and he whirled around, annoyed. The tapping sound from the window morphed into a skittering scrabble, the clicky-clacky noises traveling along the scuffled hardwood toward the large bookcases, and he watched in shock as right before his eyes a book fell to the floor from its place tucked away on a high shelf.
“Modesta is going to freak out if we have rats in the building,” Jack declared under his breath, assuming the peculiar noises were animal-made. “This place isn’t haunted, so let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”
Jack pulled out his cellphone, unlocking the screen to access his ghost hunting app, planning on using the dancing skeleton feature to pinpoint where and if an animal had somehow found its way into the store. A singular loud, hard knock at the heavy wooden door made Jack jump with fright, and he fumbled his phone.
An indescribable wave of terror washed over him, and he dropped to the ground, hiding behind a small fixture filled with jars of incense sticks. He couldn’t explain why he became frightened, or why he was shaking, for that matter, but whatever was behind that door was yearning for the permission to be granted access to come inside. If he stayed silent, maybe it would go away.
“Jack? What are you doing?”
He nearly leapt out of his skin, Modesta’s approach from behind giving his heart a fierce startle. Quickly, he grabbed at her wrist, and pulled her down to join him on the floor behind the fragrant fixture.
“He’ll hear you,” he stressed in a whisper, laying a finger against her lips.
“Who will hear me?” she asked, swatting his hand away, though unconsciously matching his whisper when she voiced her question.
Her query was a foreign concept, and he stared at her, genuinely baffled. “I don’t know,” he eventually answered. Logical thought cleared his mind to his present situation, and he rose from the floor, feeling a touch foolish.
“Someone knocked on the door,” he simply stated.
“And so instead of seeing who it was or telling them that we’re closed you felt the best course of action was to hide?” Modesta asked. She tried to add some levity to her question, hoping the harmless ribbing would ease whatever lingered behind his eyes that made them appear so haunted.
“I’m not afraid of answering doors, Mo, but something was…‘off’ about that knock,” Jack said, defending his actions.
“How can a knock feel off?” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the notion, but Jack had a residual aura of panic radiating around him. “I’m surprised you even heard a knock in the first place,” Modesta continued, watching Jack as he left her to put a book from the floor onto one of the mighty bookcases. “Especially with all of your rattling around in the backroom,” she added.
“What are you talking about?” Jack asked, shelving the book.
“That little scurrying around you were doing,” Modesta reminded. “At one point it sounded like you were climbing the walls, which, not gonna lie, was pretty creepy.”
“I’ve been here the whole time,” Jack informed, pointing to where he stood.
“No you haven’t,” Modesta said after a lengthy pause. “Don’t kid me.”
“I’m serious, Sweets.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any---.”
“Ssh!” Jack shushed, interrupting Modesta. “There’s that tapping noise again. Do you hear it?”
The two stood in silence, listening to a skittering tapping noise move about the space. Together, they looked up toward the ceiling.
“That’s gotta be squirrels,” Modesta said, though she didn’t fully believe her own assessment.
“I don’t think it’s squirrels,” Jack said, slowly shaking his head. “I think something else is here.”
Once more, Jack got out his cellphone. He walked back over to Modesta so she could see his screen as he activated his ghost hunting app.
“Looking for dancing skeletons?” Modesta asked with a smile.
“It’s been a proven technique to have come in handy in the past,” Jack replied. “Okay, let’s take a look. If there are squirrels, hopefully this’ll pick up the bothersome critters.”
Jack slowly panned his phone around the room. The screen was black with a few gray, large pixelated blobs indicating the furniture, highlighting the spatial cues for reference points. He scanned the bookcases, finding nothing amongst the tomes. He turned in a half-circle to look at the front door and windows, and again, found nothing bizarre except for their own reflections as skeletal armatures in the glass.
“So far so good,” Modesta declared in a whisper. She held her breath as Jack scanned the store, prepared to see a dancing skeleton, yet hoping none would pop up. When he panned slowly over the checkout counter and the entrance of the hallway to the backroom, the screen void of skeletal frameworks, she let down her guard. Jack, as well, appeared to be relaxing, his shoulders dropping from their tense position from around his ears.
A blob came into view on screen made of tightly coiled yellow circles when Jack panned his phone over the back wall of the store where the tables of crystals and tumble stones were set up. Text appeared next to the strange image in bold letters: ANOMALY DETECTED.
Jack shivered, but held his phone steady. “It’s on the wall,” he whispered, taking a peek around his phone to see the physical location of where the anomaly registered. “Over there, by the corner.”
“I don’t see anything,” Modesta said, her voice low. She hid behind her boyfriend for protection, peering over his shoulder to watch his phone screen.
“Ope, it went away.”
The anomaly vanished in an instant, then just as quickly reappeared in the same spot near the corner, but as a fully grown humanoid shape. The two jumped in place, surprised by the figure standing in the corner, mapped out in circles for joints and lines for limbs, creating the form of the unseen presence.
“That’s definitely not a squirrel,” Jack stressed.
“Should we talk to it?” Modesta asked. They watched as the figure on screen fluctuated in place, its jarring movements disjointed and unsettling. “Hello, over there. We can see you in the corner. Can you wave and say hello?”
Finding her courage, Modesta demonstrated what she requested of the dancing skeleton and held her arm up to wave at the space where the invisible presence stood. To their shock, the slim arm of the figure jutted high above its head, mimicking the friendly gesture.
“There you go, good job,” Modesta praised. The uneasy sensation of fear ebbed as she observed the dancing skeleton wave. “We don’t usually get visitors who are like you in this place. Do you need help with something?”
“Did you wander in from outside?” Jack asked. “Where are you supposed to be?”
The figure continued to stand there, waving.
“It’s not doing anything,” he said at length, lowering his voice so as not to offend the figure. “What are we supposed to do? Should we ask it to leave?”
“Wait, it stopped moving,” Modesta noticed, pointing at Jack’s phone.
The two took a closer look at what was supposed to be a dancing skeleton, but was now instead a frozen statue. If the stilted, clumsy movements of the figure before were considered unsettling, then seeing it suspended in frame was unnervingly terrifying.
“That’s never happened before. Maybe the app is glitching.” Jack moved his phone to a different part of the store and the screen reacted in real time to the surroundings the camera lens captured. “Nope, the app is fine. It’s gotta be the figure.”
As Jack pulled the camera up once more to focus on what lurked against the back corner, the power to the building cut out. Curios and Oddities was plunged into pitch darkness with such violent abruptness that Modesta let out an alarming scream and Jack swore with a sharp intake of breath. Not even the comforting ambient glow of the streetlamps could penetrate the deep shadows blanketing the inside of the store.
“Ow! Something was thrown at me!” Modesta shouted. “Ow! It happened again!”
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, trying to find his girlfriend in the dark.
“No! Ow!” She cursed, her anger rising as what felt like tiny pebbles pelted her body.
“It’s the dancing skeleton!” Jack proclaimed. His phone screen mapped out the large and agitated armature, its flailing arm movements matching the timing of Modesta’s outcries followed by the tiny clatter of whatever was thrown at her bouncing along the ground. “I think it’s throwing the tumble stones at us. Ow!”
“Knock it off!” Modesta shouted.
Apparently, the figure didn’t appreciate being yelled at, as Jack watched the dancing skeleton from his phone screen rush toward them through the tumble stone displays.
“Watch out!”
Instinct fueled Jack’s swift actions. He reached out in time to pull Modesta toward him as the horrible sound of wood scraping against wood filled their ears. Modesta tripped over her feet and she lost her balance, falling into Jack and knocking them both to the floor just as the crystal display came crashing down before them. Thousands of tumble stones and crystals scattered in every haphazard direction, strewn in wild abandon from the force of hitting the ground. Just as the first table fell, a second one was not far behind, splintering as it toppled over.
“Did that thing just flip a table?” Modesta asked with a groan, pulling herself up into a sitting position. “Where’s the figure now?”
“Oh, shit! We’ve got a crawler!” Jack shouted as he scanned the room with his phone. “It’s on the ceiling!” He watched the jumble of yellow circles and zigzagging lines scuttle above them, making its way over to the bookcases.
“I do not like crawlers,” Modesta griped with a shiver. “What’s it doing?”
As she asked her question, the books from the top shelf of the bookcase closest to them came flying off all at once.
“Get back!” Jack warned.
The two scrambled to safety, ducking behind the checkout counter, fumbling around in the dark while dodging books that flew off the remaining shelves.
“Fuck me sideways, this thing is a nuisance,” Modesta cursed. “We have to get rid of it.”
“Any ideas on how?” Jack asked. He poked his phone above the counter, trying to locate their new friend. “It’s on the move again, and heading this way,” he informed, scooting back until he felt the brick wall behind him.
“Quick! The breakroom!” Modesta leapt from the floor and booked it toward the back storeroom while activating the flashlight feature on her cellphone, lighting the way in the blanketed nothingness.
Jack scurried closely behind her. He turned over his shoulder, cellphone out, and located the crawler on the ceiling of the small hallway above them. “Goddamn, it’s following us. I’m gonna have nightmares about this!”
Modesta and Jack turned the corner, entering the backroom where the break area, inventory, and the manager’s desk was situated. The small light from her phone was bright enough to illuminate an opened box on the corner of her desk. She sprinted toward it, plunging her hand inside, and retrieved an iron railroad spike. She murmured something at the item clutched against her palm, then turned to find Jack.
“Where is it?” she asked.
“Crap, I lost it,” Jack swore, scanning the ceiling. They stood in the middle of the breakroom, silent, waiting for the crawler to make itself known. “Do you think it left?”
A skittering, tapping noise clicked its way across the wall beside them. Jack held his camera up to scan the wall but couldn’t find the entity. Modesta shrieked.
“Ground! Ground! It’s crawling on the ground!” she screamed.
Jack whipped his phone toward the floor, locating the crawler, and jumped back when he saw how close it was to them. “It’s moving! There! It went into the supply closet!”
Modesta rushed forward, chasing the crawler as it darted inside the tiny alcove. She flung the door closed, slamming it shut. Taking her railroad spike, she placed the large and hefty item on the top ridge of the door jam.
“Locked and protected,” she declared.
Modesta stepped back from the supply closet door, holding her breath. One loud singular knock banged against the door, causing her to recoil, bumping into Jack as she retreated from the closet. Silence followed. The lights flickered on overhead, and both Modesta and Jack let out a relieved breath as the power to the building returned.
Jack put away his cellphone as Modesta plopped down on the couch, and he noticed her wince as she rubbed at her shin. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said, rolling up her pant leg. “That thing ran up against me, and it’s starting to burn where it touched me.”
She revealed the part of her leg that stung with needle-like prickles as Jack knelt down to help inspect the area around her upper ankle. He sucked in a breath through his teeth before giving her a worried look.
“There are three scratch marks,” he said. “You’re not bleeding, but blood has definitely been drawn to the surface.”
“Three scratches?” she asked. “I don’t like the coincidence of that,” she added as Jack took a picture of the scratches to show her. “Hang on. Do you smell something…burning?”
Jack smelled the air, trying to find the scent Modesta detected, and when glancing up, saw a thin wafting tendril of smoke rolling into the breakroom along the ceiling. “Smoke!”
He bolted from the floor, racing down the hallway as the fire alarms bleat their high-pitched whine. The smoke around the ceiling grew thicker as he neared the front of the store, and coming out of the hallway, was met with large flames spouting from the wastebasket tucked by the wall next to the checkout counter. Fire licked the hundred years old bricks, threatening to burn the hanging décor and fragile handmade dreamcatchers. He grabbed the nearby fire extinguisher, pulled the pin, and smothered the growing flames in a plume of charged white powder.
Not far behind him, Modesta ran toward the front door, hopping over piles of debris, and threw the heavy wooden barrier open to allow the remaining smoke a channel to air out. The onslaught of adrenaline took its toll on the couple, as now, free of chaos, their bodies began to shut down. Jack slumped to the floor, resting against the wall marred with fresh scorch marks while Modesta took full stock of the damage before her.
To call the store a disaster would be a disservice to the extent of wreckage that befell Curios and Oddities. Clusters and pyramids of crystals were shattered, the once carefully organized tumble stones now mixed together in a jumbled mosaic mishmash. Some of the heavy display tables were overturned, one even broken in half with a nasty crack down the middle. Books, with most of the spines broken, lay in haphazard heaps, littering the hardwood floor.
Modesta took careful steps to stand in the middle of the tangible aftermath of the crawler’s destruction, at a loss for how to even begin the process of recovery.
“At least the fire alarms stopped chirping,” came Jack’s attempted quip from where he sat on the floor.
“Yeah,” Modesta said. Her attention was centered on the mess she stood in, her mind too wrapped up in the post-mayhem to fully acknowledge his comment.
“How did you manage to trap the crawler in the supply closet?” he asked.
“Iron railroad spike. It’s a talisman to drive away negative energy. I put it on the doorframe so it can’t cross the threshold. Jack.” Modesta turned to fully face her boyfriend. Tears blurred her vision and a hard lump in her throat cracked her voice. “How am I going to fix this?”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Sweetie,” Jack consoled in a comforting voice, quickly getting to his feet. He embraced her to his chest as she sobbed, and he gently rocked her to help ease her distress. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’ve got you.”
He felt her nod of affirmation through her tears and he smiled. Modesta was a tough cookie, and he knew that once she allowed herself to completely vent her frustrations, she’d be ready to take charge of delegating and orchestrating the speedy cleanup. She would bounce back from this and have her store up and running without even a trace of the crawler by the end of the week.
“Lazare’s is on fire,” Jack stated, freezing in a jolt of surprise as he looked out the open doorway.
“Wrong time for jokes, Jack,” Modesta scolded with a snuffle.
“I’m not joking. Look!” Jack turned Modesta around in his arms to show her what he saw. “There’s smoke coming from the roof.”
Modesta wiped at her eyes, brushing away her remaining tears as she focused on Pyrite’s Pawn Shop across the street. Jack was right, the old building’s roof appeared to be burning. He left her side, going to stand on the sidewalk, and she soon joined him, getting a better view of the rising black smoke cloud billowing upward into the growing night.
“It’s not the roof!” Modesta gasped with sudden clarity, clutching his sleeve. “It’s coming from behind the building. Quick! You call 9-1-1, and I’ll call Lazare.”
“I’m going to check behind the pawn shop to see what’s on fire. Stay here.”
Jack was across the street before Modesta could bring her phone to her ear. He dialed the emergency number as he rounded the side of Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, and thankfully, the emergency dispatcher answered as he came upon the dumpster in the back alley engulfed in flames.
“Holy Jesus!”
Jack retreated from the wall of heat that blasted him when he turned the corner. Stunned motionless, all he could do was watch, hypnotized, as bright yellow flames danced in the air, toying with the lip of the roof to Pyrite’s Pawn Shop in a dangerous whisper.
“Sir? Sir? What is your emergency? Are you in danger?”
Jack heard the faraway voice of a controlled yet worried operator around his ear, and the sound snapped him back to reality.
“Hi! Yes! I need a firetruck!” he blurted out. “Please hurry! The dumpster behind Pyrite’s Pawn Shop on Historic Old Main Street is on fire, and it’s threatening to take the roof!”
“Sir, I need you to get to a safe location away from the fire. I have units on their way. Are you able to stay on the line until help gets to the scene?”
“Yes, I can stay on the line. I think I can hear some sirens now.”
Jack left the alley, going to stand on the main sidewalk in front of the pawn shop. Observing the rising smoke, he noticed the once pure black plumes were now tinged with an orange glow, signaling that the fire was growing stronger. He raced across the street to meet up with Modesta.
“What’s going on? I have Lazare on the line, he’s on his way over,” Modesta said as Jack trotted toward her.
“The dumpster behind the store is on fire,” Jack stated. “Oh, good, I see the firetrucks.”
Jack hopped off the sidewalk, waving his arm in the air to try and flag down the blaring engines of flashing lights and sirens. Modesta ducked inside her store, standing under the threshold to watch the firefighters as well as to better hear and communicate with Lazare.
“Did Jack just say the dumpster was on fire?” Lazare asked.
“Lazare, did you happen to throw out your sage bundle while it was still smoldering?” Modesta asked, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for the fire emergency.
“Of course not, I brought it home with me,” Lazare answered. “This is so weird. I took the trash out to the dumpster when I left the store tonight. I almost didn’t even bother, since there wasn’t that much we collected, but something in my gut told me I needed to take it out. Good thing I listened to my intuition,” he added with a chuckle filled with ironic hindsight.
“I wish some of your intuition had rubbed off on me. We had to put out our own fire here at the store. It was in our wastebasket by the register,” Modesta shared.
“You had a fire?”
“And a crawler, but I’ll tell you more about that later. I don’t like the connection of these fires happening in our trash receptacles. Can you think of anything that was in your trash that could have caused a fire?” Modesta asked. She left the doorway to lean over the checkout counter to spy into her wastebasket, but it was burned to a crisp and covered in fire extinguisher residue. She would get no clues from there.
“There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just some junk mail, some used wads of tissues…and CJ’s newsletter,” Lazare said.
Modesta’s hackles prickled and the marks along her shin burned and tingled. “Did you get a chance to read CJ’s letter before throwing it away?”
“Briefly, but he had creeped me out so much I had to get rid of it.”
“Did you notice anything weird inside your newsletter? We found a business card tucked inside ours with the number one written on it.” There was a lengthy pause on the other end of her phone, and she checked to make sure the call was still connected. “Hello?”
“I have literal full body chills,” Lazare announced. “I did have a business card in my newsletter. Mine had the number two written on it, in silver ink. I tore it up and threw it away.”
A wave a nausea slammed into Modesta, and she wobbled, forced to brace herself against the counter. “We tore ours up and threw it away.”
“Wait a minute. If you had number one, and I had number two---.”
“Lola has number three,” Modesta finished. “CJ asked for three addresses to send newsletters to, and Lola gave him hers, yours, and mine.”
“And he was out hand delivering them today. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! What do we do?! Do we call her?” Lazare asked. “What if her house is already on fire?” he shouted on a hard gasp.
“Okay, don’t panic! Focus on getting here safely, and I’ll call Lola.”
Modesta hung up on Lazare, then swiftly punched in the number for her friend. The phone rang on in an endless drone, and Modesta cursed vehemently that Lola still hadn’t set up her voicemail inbox. She tried calling again as Jack stepped into the store, followed by two police officers, who gave a curious eye to the haphazard remains of the crawler’s calamity.
“Modesta, this is Officer Salem and Officer Winchester. They need to talk with us to get our statement about Lazare’s dumpster fire,” Jack introduced.
“Sure! Yes, of course, good evening, Officers,” Modesta said. “I’d be happy to help.”
Before joining her boyfriend and the police, Modesta sent out a text to Lola:
WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T OPEN CJ’S LETTER!
She heard a pinging notification as she shook hands with the officers and glanced down at her phone screen. She knew her face drained of color as a cold sweat beaded her forehead. Lola replied.
I haven’t gotten mine yet.
~*~*~*~*~*~
H-eeeeeey! Sorry for the cliffhanger, mwha-ha-ha!
Y'all, this story is ramping up, so strap in, because it's about to get wild! You won't even see it coming, and I'm so excited to share more! Love you all!! Until next time, happy reading!
Jack was busy juggling customers at Curios and Oddities, jumping from the register to answering questions between patrons hanging around colorful displays of crystals and candles. He didn’t mind the rush of people. In fact, much like his beloved Modesta, he thrived in the chaos, putting on a performance of amiable showmanship and hospitality. He liked learning about the people he helped. Knowing a part of their journey gave him an insight to their needs, and when he succeeded in helping a customer discover a trinket or a treasure, a personal satisfaction warmed his heart.
He never pressed people into revealing too much of themselves, for he prided himself on being a relatively good judge of character. When he saw a man wearing a three-piece white linen suit standing off to the side of the store nonchalantly eyeing the bookshelves with a pleased smile on his face, Jack knew he found within this inconspicuous shopper a challenge. Modesta was out picking up lunch for the two of them, so he would have to dazzle this character on his own, and regale her with the details later. Luckily for him, all of the previous customers had been helped and were content in their browsing, which gave Jack the chance to grace this customer with his full, undivided attention.
“Good afternoon,” Jack greeted, displaying his award winning smile.
The man in the linen suit smiled back, matching him grin for grin, and Jack faltered his footing when the piercing gray eyes of this customer cut across the way to acknowledge him as he approached. Feigning an awkward soft-shoe two-step, he regained his balance to finish his greeting, despite the sudden chill filling the air.
“I noticed you’ve been observing the store,” Jack said, clearing his throat as he stood before the man. “Are you finding anything you like? What brings you in today?”
“Hello,” the man in the linen suit easily replied. “I’m not needing anything special today.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we offer the mundane, as well,” Jack quipped, miming to elbow the other man in the ribs.
“Hmm, yes,” the customer said with a polite chuckle.
Jack noticed a devious twinkle in the man’s eyes, as if this stranger was reading his soul, and subconsciously, he took a step back. “Well, if you’re not looking for anything special, how may I help you?”
“A friend of yours recommended this store to me, and seeing as I have some time on my hands, decided to satisfy my curiosity. No pun intended, of course.”
“One of my friends?” Jack asked, taken aback.
“Are you not acquaintances with a troublemaking red-haired woman?” the man asked, smirking.
“Ha!” Jack laughed. “You must mean Lola. It’s good to know word-of-mouth advertising is alive and well. I’m Jack, by the way.” Jack reached out his hand in a friendly gesture.
“CJ,” the other supplied, taking the hand offered and giving it a firm shake.
“Oh! You’re CJ,” Jack exclaimed, continuing to laugh. “Lola told us all about her run-in with you and the haunted guest book. I take it we should be getting our newsletters from the Northcott Manor House any day, now. Modesta and I are looking forward to reading all the spooky goings-on over there.”
“Modesta?” CJ asked, tilting his head upon hearing the new name.
“Modesta is my girlfriend and the owner of Curios and Oddities,” Jack informed, motioning grandly about the store. “I think Lola gave you Lazare’s address, too,” he added, jutting a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the pawn shop across the street.
“You’ve inadvertently answered one of my next questions. I was going to ask in which direction Pyrite’s Pawn Shop was located,” CJ said with that same polite chuckle.
To Jack’s ears, he thought the tone had a pinch of wickedness behind it. “Well, I’m glad I could help you.” He shook off the growing sense of trepidation as he took another cautionary step backward away from CJ.
“Perhaps I am looking for something special after all,” CJ announced, pulling Jack into a new conversation. He turned his head to rove his eyes over the bookcases once more. “I’m in the market for a leather journal. Black leather, if you have any available.”
“I believe we have a few black ones,” Jack said, stepping up to the bookcase. He patted a shelf at chest-height, indicating the row of leather bound books. “Take your time with these. Hopefully you’ll find one you like. I’m going to ring up those customers, and if you need anything else, I’d be happy to help.”
“You have been plenty helpful, thank you.” CJ gave a slight bow, ending the exchange as he turned from Jack.
“Okay then bye-bye.” Jack awkwardly moved away from CJ, quickstepping toward the checkout counter, relieved to put some breathing distance between them.
While although a relatively pleasant individual, Jack couldn’t help but feel off-kilter by the man currently perusing the bookshelves. During the whole of their conversation, a prodding in the back of his mind told him he was in the wrong for answering questions that were unprovoked. A lump of foreboding sat on his chest, filling him with a sense of anxiety that he divulged too much sensitive information. Normally one who welcomes customers, he wished very ardently for this one to leave.
“You have an agreeable selection,” CJ said.
Jack jolted back from the register, blinking his sight into focus and shaking his head to clear away the heavy clouds blanketing his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed CJ’s approach nor his placement of a thin leather journal on the glass counter.
“Oh! Good! You found one!” Jack was shouting. He cleared his throat and picked up the item to scan its barcode.
“It will suffice for the time being. Its use is only that of a temporary replacement journal,” CJ said with a forlorn sigh.
“What happened to the original journal?”
“It was stolen from me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said with genuine sympathy. “Would you like a bag?” he then asked after a brief, uncomfortable pause.
“I’ll carry it out. What’s my total?” CJ asked, pulling out his wallet.
“Uh…thirty-two-fifty,” Jack replied.
He stalled reading out the numbers, his eyes having widened at the amount of cash nearly spilling free from the leather folds of CJ’s wallet. It wasn’t done in a flashy manner, the money simply existed in large quantities of large value, and the sight of the neatly crisp bills caught him by surprise. Maybe that’s why he felt uneasy: CJ’s demeanor was odd because he was loaded.
“Keep the change,” CJ said, sliding Jack a fifty dollar bill across the counter, giving the banknote two little pats. “And before I forget, this is for you and your girlfriend.”
CJ reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a white envelope with the address to Curios and Oddities scrawled across the front in sharp, thinly-slanted writing. He handed the letter to Jack, who took it, though his reach was cautious and his expression confused. CJ smiled at the reaction, deciding not to inform the other what was inside the envelope, and pleased with his purchase, picked up the journal without another word. He turned from the counter, his steps taking him toward the exit, when a woman entered the store at the same time he was leaving.
He saw her struggle to manage the heavy door and the bags of food in her arms, and stepped forward to ease her inconvenient plight. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said. CJ held the door open for the woman, and she smiled up at him as she passed under the threshold.
“Thank you,” Modesta said.
She smiled at the man holding open the door, but her pleasantry of gratitude shifted into fight-or-flight mode when they made eye contact. She scurried into the store, unable to break away from the gray eyes that locked onto her. The chill of an ice cube slid down her spine as she watched the man leave the store, the chimes above the threshold tinkling merrily as he left. A moment of frozen silence passed before the sensation of bugs crawling over her skin forced her to move.
“Sage,” she uttered in a half-trance as she turned to look at Jack. “Sage,” she repeated, a little more forcefully to dispel the invisible shroud of cobwebs that settled over the store in the wake of that stranger’s leaving. “Now.”
Modesta set the bags of food on the counter, only briefly acknowledging her boyfriend standing in a half-stupor at the register holding a white envelope in his hands. She marched over to a cabinet lined with buckets holding bundles of tightly wrapped swaths of sage and selected one specifically crafted for energy cleansing. She next plucked a sacred eagle feather from a nearby glass jar, and going back to the counter, she held out a hand to Jack.
“Pass me the lighter, please,” she requested.
Jack came to his senses, moving to match Modesta’s pace, and found the item. “You’ll never guess who that man was,” he said while giving her the lighter, indicating the customer who had just left the store.
“Who was he?” she asked over her shoulder. She walked back to the door, propping it open for when she lit the sage to give the bad energy a place to exit from the building.
“CJ from the Northcott Manor House.”
“No,” Modesta breathed, taken by surprise. “That was CJ? Well, Lola sure downplayed the creep-factor when telling us about him.”
Modesta lit the end of the sage bundle, letting the leaves catch fire. She blew out the flames as she stuffed the lighter into her back pocket, then took the eagle feather to start wafting the sage smoke around the doorframe. As she began to walk the perimeter of her store, Lola came bursting into the building.
“Sage,” Lola declared, then B-lined it to the cabinet of bundles, inspecting the varieties for one that best suited her needs.
“Speaking of little miss mischief,” Modesta quipped.
“Hey, Lola, you’ll never guess who was just in the store,” Jack greeted. “Your good pal CJ.”
Lola spilled the bucket she was poking through. She tried to stabilize the falling container, but the sage bundles layered in rose petals still managed to scatter to the floor around her feet. She cursed as she crouched down, swiftly collecting the items.
“C---CJ was here? At Curios and Oddities?” Lola asked, stammering the man’s name around a thick tongue and dry throat. When had she started shaking? She took a deep breath to calm herself, setting the bucket back in its rightful place.
“He personally hand-delivered our newsletter,” Jack informed, waving around the envelope. “At least, that’s what I’m assuming this is,” he added, tearing into the flap. “He’s a super creepy dude, Lo. Your text made him sound like a harmless, pushy solicitor. Ah! I was right. Newsletter.”
Jack reached into one of the sacks of food by the register, pulling out a sandwich, and took a large bite. He leaned over the counter on his elbows to examine the newsletter, occasionally taking sips from the straw of his soda, content with his new reading material.
“More like an eccentric solicitor,” Lola said under her breath.
She grabbed a random sage bundle and an eagle feather, then turned to the bookcases just as Modesta came along to waft tendrils of lilac-colored smoke around the shelves.
“Why are you saging the store, Mo?” Lola asked, stepping out of her friend’s way.
“CJ,” Modesta answered, brushing smoke into the corner above them. “He left a weird aura, so I’m recalibrating the energy. Why do you need sage?” she asked, eyeing the items in Lola’s hands.
“I’ve been working with…uh…that…fountain pen Lazare gave me for my birthday,” Lola said.
She hated lying, but she wasn’t ready to share about Lillian’s grimoire. Not yet. At least, not until she had a chance to return it back to the Manor House. That way, no one could be angry with her for taking it in the first place, as it would have been already returned before anyone knew it was missing.
“I didn’t think that pen needed saging,” Modesta said with a small laugh. “The energy attached to it seemed benign to me.”
“I guess my using it awakened something nasty,” Lola said with a shrug. “I put it in a circle of salt, but I think bad-spookies are still somehow leeching out of it.”
“It could be your attempt to cleanse it via the salt method is accidentally aggravating a negative spirit. You’ll need the classic sage. The one you’re holding is best for spiritual alignment,” Modesta informed, continuing her wafting.
“Oh. Thank you,” and Lola returned to the cabinet of sage to select the proper bundle.
“Jack, did we sell some books while I was getting lunch?” Modesta asked. “It looks like some of these shelves need restocking.”
“Good eye,” Jack complimented, briefly glancing up from his newsletter to spot Modesta at the bookcases. “Actually, CJ bought a book. Well, a black leather journal, to be more specific.”
A clatter of buckets hit the floor from the sage cabinet, startling Jack and Modesta. They found Lola already on her knees, gathering the fallen sage bundles, trying to put them back in their organized proper places.
“You okay, Lola?” Jack asked, sharing a concerned look with Modesta. It was unlike their friend to be this extra clumsy and swearing full-on curses under her breath.
“I’m fine. Sorry. I’ll pick these up,” Lola apologized.
“You’re not acting ‘fine’, Lola,” Modesta said softly.
She had noticed the puffy bags under Lola’s eyes when she first entered the store, the sickly-purple tinge giving the illusion that heavy eyeliner from a night on the town had been smeared and half-heartedly rubbed off. She placed a hand on Lola’s shoulder, who jumped back with a gasp of startled fright from the touch.
“And you’re acting like a Chihuahua in hyper-drive during a thunderstorm. You’re not yourself, Lola. Please tell me what’s going on,” Modesta implored. She made a quick glance at Jack, who hastily came over to take the sage and feather from her. He continued her path of wafting so she could sit on the floor with Lola.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Lola said with a heavy sigh. She tucked a curtain of hair behind her ear and tried to give a reassuring smile to her friend.
“If you keep lying to me, you’ll leave me no choice but to use the ‘Raph Card’,” Modesta teased with a lightheartedness.
That statement caused Lola to laugh and she relaxed. “Well, I wouldn’t want that,” she said with a roll to her eyes. “I’ve not been sleeping well these past three nights. I think it has something to do with that…pen. I’m having horrible night-terrors ever since I started using it.”
“Oh, Lola, I’m so sorry. That has to be pretty scary. Have you talked with Raph about these dreams?” Modesta asked.
“You can’t really avoid that kind of topic of conversation when you’re awoken drenched in a cold sweat from screaming,” Lola said with a mirthless smile. “We’ve talked,” she added, “which helps, but it’s hard to live your day with the ghosts of demons playing in your head.”
“Lola, if something is trying to attach itself to you---,” Modesta began, but Lola cut her sentence off with a raised hand and small shake of her head.
“I think the energy is feeding off the spookiness of my book. I’ve been using that pen to write my draft,” Lola shared. That much, at least, was true. She enjoyed her fountain pen and felt guilty using the innocent object in place of the grimoire as the source of her troubles.
“So, not only do I need to sage the…pen…but I wanted to see what kinds of books you have on dream protection and demons. Or, see if you have a book about dream demons and how to thwart them,” Lola concluded.
“I try to stay away from shelving darker subject matter,” Modesta said. “I don’t have any literature focused on demonology. But that doesn’t mean I want you going online to accidentally summon anything unsavory to stir up more trouble for you.”
Modesta stood from the floor and walked over toward the rows of books, Lola following suit closely behind. After a quick look over the titles, she pulled a book free and gave it to Lola.
“Here,” Modesta said. “This should help you. If you do have a haunted object linked with something of bad-ilk, this will help guide you in how to safeguard yourself and how to safely get rid of it.”
“Will it make the dreams stop?” Lola asked, her eyes downcast as she took the offered book.
Modesta didn’t like how timid and broken her friend sounded. Lola loved her spookies, more often than not embracing her paranormal experiences as a fantastical adventure to write about in her stories. Whatever these dreams were, and whatever dark spirits lurked in her shadows, it was clearly taking its toll.
“It should, yes,” Modesta answered. “And for a little extra precaution, take this as my gift to you.”
Walking to the wall behind the register, Modesta picked out a dreamcatcher. The twine was intricately woven with glittery crystals as soft, black feathers hung from leather strings at the end with matching colored beads.
“Oh, Modesta! This is beautiful,” Lola gasped. She set her other items on the checkout counter, freeing her hands to carefully take the confected dreamcatcher. Her fingers ghosted over the crystals, and she watched them sparkle.
“Those are smoky quartz, rose quartz, amethyst, howlite, and blue sandstone; all good crystals to protect against nightmares,” Modesta informed. “Hang this above your bed. The dreamcatcher will take the bad dreams and release them back out into the ethers come first daylight. The black feathers are good for protection, as well.”
“You have no idea how much this already fills me with hope for tonight, Mo. Thank you,” Lola said. She beamed a full smile, hugging her friend.
“I’m glad to hear it. You know I’m always here and happy to help,” Modesta said, returning the hug and smile. “Now, I’m going to take these to the back,” she said, hoisting the takeaway bags into her arms. “Jack can ring you up. Keep me posted on those dreams and your pen, and if there’s anything else I can help you with, please let me know.”
“I will. Thanks again for everything, Modesta.”
Lola laid out her items in a neat row upon the counter as Jack came around having finished his turn about the store saging the remainder of the space. He left the door propped open, allowing a subtle breeze to filter through, and she took in a deep breath, feeling for the first time in three days a weight lifting from her chest.
“I can tell Modesta’s help is already taking affect,” Jack said, noticing the lightness to Lola’s posture and spirits. “Sorry about those night-terrors.”
“Thanks, Jack. I’m sorry I waited so long to look for answers,” Lola said with a soft chuckle. “The good news is, I feel confident that this,” and she motioned to all of her items as Jack rang them up, “will help clear away the bad-spookies and I can get my nights back.”
“That’s the right attitude,” he agreed with a laugh.
Lola, comfortable, let the silence settle between them as she half-watched Jack wrap up her new dreamcatcher in blue tissue paper. Her eyes meandered the countertop, and she spotted the white envelope with CJ’s newsletter. Her levity melted and her eyebrows drew together into a knitted furrow.
“So, CJ was in here earlier,” Lola slowly spoke, and Jack nodded as he bagged up her book, sage bundle, and feather. “You mentioned he bought a book?”
“Yep. A black leather journal,” Jack recited.
“That’s weirdly specific,” Lola said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know we all have our preferences, but to specifically want a black leather journal seems a touch…eccentric.”
“Does it? He said it was to replace his original journal that he claims was stolen from him,” Jack supplied.
Lola dropped her bankcard halfway in the middle of passing it to Jack to pay for her items. “S-stolen? He said that? Stolen? CJ said those exact words? He had a black leather journal stolen from him?”
“Y-eah,” Jack drawled, eyeing her curiously as he picked her card up off the counter. The shift in her emotions was startling, and he noticed the color had drained from her face. “He also hand-delivered our newsletter,” he reminded, hoping to move the conversation along so Lola wouldn’t dwell on whatever had spooked her.
“That was nice of him,” she said, swallowing hard, not fully registering his remark.
“He went over to Pyrite’s to give Lazare his letter right before you got here. He might still be over there if you wanted to talk with him.”
That was the wrong thing to say, Jack realized, as Lola immediately retreated from her place in front of the counter to duck down behind it. She poked her head around the side from where she crouched, her sight fixated on the clear line of view she had of the pawn shop through the store’s open doorway.
“Lola, are you afraid of CJ?” Jack asked, once more perplexed by her out-of-character antics. She didn’t move from her spot close to the floor; just kept staring out the door as if CJ was going to emerge onto the street at any given second. “I can go over to see if he’s still at Lazare’s if you’re worried about running into him.”
“No! No, thank you, Jack, no! I…I….”
Lola stammered, unsure of how to process the onslaught of heightened emotions plowing through her at that moment. A tear rolled down her cheek, her body’s signal that she was overwhelmed, and she brushed it away in frustration. Taking a deep breath, she rose from her hiding place, gaining control over her racing heart that beat wildly from the rush of adrenaline-fueled panic.
“I won’t be afraid of him,” she announced.
Grabbing her purchase, Lola raised her chin and threw her shoulders back. She glared down her nose at Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, hoping CJ saw her defiant glower as she marched out the door of Curios and Oddities. Outside, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, “harrumphed” definitively, and turning on her heel, stomped down the cobblestone sidewalk toward her next adventure, wherever that may be.
Jack was left standing behind the register, at a loss for words as he watched Lola leave the store. One minute she was shaking like a leaf, the next, determined and headstrong. He briefly wondered if there was a full moon tonight, and he smiled to himself, equating Lola’s odd behavior as a reflection to what was transpiring in the astrological cosmos. Deciding to carry on with his day, Jack turned his attention toward checking in with Modesta, and as he turned from his position at the counter, noticed he still held Lola’s debit card.
“What’cha got there?” Modesta asked, coming out of the backroom with a partially half-eaten sandwich in her hand.
“Lola left her debit card,” Jack said, tapping the hard plastic against his palm.
“Want me to text her to come back and get it?” Modesta asked, pulling her cellphone from her back pocket.
“No, I think it’s best if she stayed home,” Jack said with his usual lopsided grin. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s weirder than usual today. I’ll swing by her place later and drop it off along with her birthday video.”
Modesta gave a nod of acknowledgement to Jack’s plan while taking another bite out of her sandwich. “Anything worthwhile in that newsletter? I’m curious to know if the content matches the creator. Did CJ write it himself or was it someone else on staff at the Manor House?” she asked, gesturing to the envelope resting on the counter. For something as innocuous as a sheet of paper, it was causing a lot of excitement around this sleepy corner of Old Main Street.
“I’m not quite sure who wrote it, but there’s some neat stuff in there,” Jack said with a non-enthusiastic shrug to his shoulders. “There’s a monthly calendar of events, some up-coming changes to the menu, talk about possible renovations, and---oops.”
Jack lifted the newsletter while talking and a small, rectangular piece of paper fluttered from the crook of the tri-fold to the ground.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“It looked like a business card,” Modesta said.
Jack bent down, picking up the white rectangle, noting the paper-weight matched the cardstock, size, and style of a traditional business card. It had no depictions on it, Jack observed as he turned the card over in his fingers, except for the numeral figure “one” drawn in silver ink. With a quirked eyebrow, he held the item out for Modesta, who in turn, curled her lip in disgust, refusing to take it.
“I don’t trust that CJ,” she stated. Then, with a scoff, said, “Pitch it.”
Jack agreed with Modesta’s declarations, and without a second thought, tore the business card in half. He tossed it in the wastebasket under the counter. The two returned to their routine of everyday tasks, Jack going to tidy around the shop while Modesta finished her lunch in the breakroom so as not to leave too many crumbs on the sales floor. They stopped in their tracks when the sound of footsteps came racing toward the open door of the store, and soon after, Lazare came barging in.
Hands bracing himself on either side of the door jam, Lazare paused under the threshold, breathing in heavy gulps of air as his eyes swept across Curios and Oddities. Finding what he sought, he pointed to a cabinet next to Modesta.
“Sage!”
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! Another piece to the puzzle, I'm afraid. Things are about to get absolutely convoluted in the BEST WAY POSSIBLE so keep an eye out for more to come!
Lola reminded herself that speeding tickets were a bad thing, and eased off the accelerator. Her heart thundered a million miles a minute, the rush of adrenaline making her whole body tremble. She needed to expel this heightened amount of energy safely, so hopping curbs and making hairpin turns was definitely not the answer. Sitting at a traffic light, gripping the steering wheel, she laughed. She looked to her broken purse resting on the passenger seat, the corner of Lillian’s grimoire poking out from its hiding place between her notebooks.
“I can’t believe I stole from the Northcott Manner House. What have I done? Who am I?!” she declared, delirious with adrenaline. “I’m such a bad girl. Naughty minx,” she chuckled, quoting her fiancé’s favorite term of endearment when he thought her mischievous. Thinking of Raphael, she knew, in that moment, exactly how she needed to expend her energy.
She thanked her lucky stars when she spotted his car in the driveway. She parked next to him and then grabbed her things, racing to the front door. The keys fumbled in the lock, but eventually, she pushed her way through the threshold, and now stood in the foyer, panting as she secured the deadbolt with a shaky hand.
Raphael entered the front entryway from the kitchen, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a ham and cheese sandwich in the other. He was also shirtless, having recently come home from training at the stables.
“Dandelion, hi,” he greeted, taken aback by her sudden appearance. He tilted his head, noting the heavy breathing and feral look to her eyes. “I was on my way to take a shower. Everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” she answered, laying her purse on the sitting bench as she kicked off her shoes. She unbuttoned her top, never breaking eye contact with Raphael. “How was training?”
“Good,” he replied, fixated on Lola’s movements. He was perplexed, but also didn’t want to interrupt. “How was your lunch?”
“Good,” she said, tossing aside the fabric of her blouse. “I saved room for dessert.”
Ham and cheese forgotten, Raphael lunged at Lola the second her fingers worked at the fastener of her jeans. His lips were on hers, his hands lifting her backside so her legs wrapped around his waist. He lost balance, toppling forward, and slammed her up against the front door. He apologized through their passionate kisses, but she didn’t seem to mind, as her thighs squeezed tighter around his middle, her body pressing closer to him.
She had to come up for air, and he took that opportunity to attack her neck with greedy kisses. Her head fell back, giving him more surface area to lavish and explore, and he deviously lingered on the extra sensitive spots that made her breath hitch and back arch in his hold. Nibbling her collarbone nearly did her in.
“I need you,” she managed to work out through heated gasps, “to ravage me. Please!”
He chuckled, sending vibrations through her body as his lips grazed her throat. “I have a needy Dandelion?” he asked. She nodded, voice robbed of her when his lips brushed her ear. “It will be my pleasure,” he purred.
He found her mouth again, and turning her from the door, the two managed somehow, in a tangle of teeth, tongues, and limbs, to tumbleweed themselves upstairs to their bedroom.
* * * * *
The two woke up from their power-nap atop their bed stripped of its coverings, still tangled in each other’s arms. Sluggishly, they staggered into the adjoining bathroom, and showered together. Afterwards, Raphael was quick to dress himself, giving his beloved a tender kiss before departing to pick up dinner.
Lola threw on one of Raphael’s T-shirts and her lounge-wear pants. Taking advantage of having the house to herself, she ventured downstairs to retrieve her purse. Whilst thoroughly lost in the moment with her lover at the time, there remained in the back of her mind a tiny space occupied with the image of a black leather book with shiny slips of paper sticking out of the aged and brittle pages. Now, she hugged her purse to her chest as she climbed up the stairs.
“Hmm. Do I want to read the grimoire in the bedroom, or maybe in my craft room?”
Lola stood in the doorway of the primary suite, turning back and forth from her craft room down the hallway to the naked mattress in her bedroom. The bed looked the most inviting. Perhaps the fresh memory of her and Raphael’s intimate romp upon the pillow-top swayed her decision, but with a giddy grin, she frolicked fully into the bedroom. She picked up the crumpled comforter and hastily threw the plush covering over the mattress, then, crawling onto the middle of the bed, sat herself cross-legged with her purse resting before her.
“I can’t believe I have it,” she announced, pulling free Lillian’s grimoire. “I can’t believe I actually have you!” She held the book out with both hands, admiring the soft leather. “For being so old, you’re in relatively good condition,” she commented. “Now, let’s see what kind of secrets you store.”
She opened the cover. A breath of air whispered across her face, and invisible fingers combed through her hair. The sensation crawled through the underside of her heavy tresses, starting from the nape of her neck to squiggle up the base of her skull, and she shivered. The temperature around her dropped, becoming unnaturally cold. She ignored the rising goosebumps pebbling her arms, too engrossed with the grimoire sprawled across her lap to take notice, as page by page she exposed the unfamiliar words to her hungry eyes.
The handwriting was narrow and slanted, the script made with an elegant yet confident flair. She attributed the old-style cursive to be the reason why she couldn’t decipher most of the words. She picked out simple ones, like “the”, “darkness”, and “night”, but the more she read, the more she felt like the grimoire was written in an otherworldly language.
“Igmus…zla-harsha…bah-nit? Is that Latin? What is this?” Lola asked aloud. She held the book close to her nose, squinting hard at the small, slanted letters written next to a drawing of a shape interwoven of circles and squares.
“Igmus zla-harsha bahnit,” she repeated. The words felt weird in her mouth. She tried shaping the sounds slowly, yet the movement was awkward and clumsy. Instead of trying a third time, she shrugged, turning the page to find new words and symbols.
“Maybe these will be easier to say,” she speculated, turning a few more pages. “Here we go. Ee-art-ma-law,” she drawled rather foolishly.
Her bedside lamp turned on.
“Whoa!” Lola gasped, flinching away from the lamp. “Was that…me? Ee-art-ma-law,” she said again, and stared expectantly at the lamp. It did nothing. “Ee-art-ma-law,” she declared, putting a little more confidence behind her tone. Again, the lamp did nothing.
“Silly me,” she laughed. “The lamp is already on.” She leaned across the nightstand and turned off the light. “Eeartmalaw!” she bellowed.
The lamp did nothing.
She frowned, disappointed, and turned her focus back to the grimoire in her lap. “I guess it wasn’t me.”
The bedside lamp turned on, and her head whipped up in excitement. The lamp then turned off, then on again, then off. It escalated into a sputter, as if malfunctioning. It flickered wildly, flashing sporadically in a dangerous short-circuiting lightshow, transforming Lola’s initial excitement into panic.
She reached over to turn the lamp off, but it made a loud popping noise, scaring her. She fell back, terrified by the strobing light. The lamp on Raphael’s night table started flickering just as wildly, mirroring the other.
“Okay, that’s enough! Thank you!” Lola called into the room, backing away from the lamps to scoot herself to the bottom of the bed against the footboard. “I don’t like this anymore. Please stop!”
The bulbs exploded, and Lola screamed. She covered her head and shielded her face, reflexively curling into a ball to protect herself. She remained in that position, waiting, listening, and when all remained quiet and calm, she lifted her head from the shelter of her arms.
“Well! I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, darting her eyes between the innocent-looking bedside lamps. She crawled up the mattress, inspecting for glass shards, but found none. “No glass in the bed. That’s nice,” she acknowledged, and crawling higher, inspected her side table. “And no glass on the nightstand?”
She dipped her head to look under the lamp shade to find the bulb was perfectly whole and undamaged. Slowly, she reached her hand up, turning the switch. The lamp clicked on easily, lighting the space in a soft, comforting, warm glow. Raphael’s lamp was also perfectly intact and fully functional, she observed upon inspection.
“Interesting,” she breathed, sitting in the middle of the bed.
Lola looked at the grimoire resting inconspicuously near the bottom of the bed, and she frowned at it, her eyebrows lowering in a knitted furrow. “If that was a trick, it wasn’t a very nice one,” she admonished the book.
Her heartbeat, still unsettled, and her nerves a little frazzled, she shifted her gaze to the piles of bed clothing strewn about the floor, and decided a good dose of laundry would calm her. She hopped off the bed, then turned to pick up the grimoire.
A loud, singular knock at the bedroom door made her jump in place. She yelped, chucking the spell book under the bed for no other reason than spontaneous impulse.
“Co---.” She stopped herself, slapping her hands over her mouth, sucking in her breath from saying the words “come in”.
A warning grip around her heart kept her from uttering that particular phrase. She stood frozen, and thankfully, no other noise from beyond the bedroom door was made. After what must have been an eternity of holding her breath, she released a heavy exhale, and half-collapsed herself against the side of the bed, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor.
“If that was a trick, I didn’t care too much for it either,” she declared openly into the room.
Aggravated, she gave her head a shake, and pushed herself off the floor. If indeed the grimoire was the cause of such puckish activity, she was glad it was under the bed.
“You can just stay under there and think about what you’ve done,” she said with a harrumph.
She gathered up the sheets and blankets, throwing them into an empty laundry basket. Balancing the hamper on her hip, she threw open the bedroom door and departed without a look back at the troublesome grimoire.
* * * * *
“Maybe I read it incorrectly,” Lola mused while slipping on a clean pillowcase to Raphael’s pillow. “Or, maybe I read it too much, and that’s why everything went haywire.” She fluffed the pillow, adding it to the others resting atop the freshly made bed. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she then said with a chuckle as she continued the conversation with herself.
She was right in knowing laundry would help settle her mind, and now with clearer thoughts, she pondered over the happenings from the first few pages of the spell book. Curiosity replaced trepidation, and Lola dropped to her hands and knees, peering under the bed for her new book. Fishing it out, she held the grimoire in her lap as she sat on the floor in contemplation.
“I’m sorry I threw you under the bed,” she apologized, lightly rubbing her thumb along the book’s spine. “You’ve probably spent a lot of time hidden away in the dark. Well, I won’t let that happen to you anymore. I think it might even to you good to get some fresh air,” she said with a smile.
“To be fair,” she then drawled, her forehead furrowing, “you must have gotten plenty of fresh air at the Renaissance Faire.” A prickle of tingles tickled between her shoulder blades, and she shuddered.
“If you are the same grimoire the Dark Sorcerer used, then whatever hex he cast upon me, and Sir Richard’s horse with those scratches, must be in here somewhere.” Lola turned the book in her hands, her fingers gliding over the textured edges to flip through the pages.
“Wait! What am I doing? Modesta said this was dark magic. I shouldn’t be reading this here,” and she gestured openly about the room. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to make some necessary precautions.”
Lola stood from the floor, leaving her bedroom to walk down the stairs, venturing into the kitchen with Lillian’s grimoire tucked securely under her arm. She paused in front of the pantry, scanning its contents, and finding the item she wanted, plucked a canister of salt from its shelf. With a lighthearted hum to her jaunty steps, she descended into the basement.
The basement was partially finished, with holiday storage and mechanical features like the furnace and water heater hidden away behind an ordinary door. The rest of the downstairs space was furnished as a recreational room for entertaining their friends during game nights.
Lola held her bottom lip between her teeth, gauging the best spot to read the grimoire. She needed a place that was unassuming and hidden away, so the wet-bar and pool table weren’t an option for her plans. She briefly considered the unfinished portion of the basement, but the idea of cobwebs and hairy spiders shut that thought down immediately.
That left her with the guest suite; a cozy bedroom connected to a three-quarters bathroom. She entered the room, making sure to close the door behind her, and sat down at the writing desk pushed up against the wall.
“Okay, here we go,” Lola announced, laying the grimoire in the center of the writing desk. “This should keep you in check for releasing any bad-spookies to wreak havoc in this house.”
She flipped up the nozzle of her canister, and poured out a ring of salt, enclosing the grimoire within a large oblong shape. She drew the circle wide, making sure the span of pages, once fully opened, would lie within the protective boundary. Satisfied, she popped the nozzle down with a pleased thump of her palm, smiling broadly at her clever work.
“There! That should do it. Now, show me what you got,” and Lola opened the grimoire.
She held her breath, pausing, evaluating her surroundings for any spectral activity. When the energies appeared calm and regular, she took a relaxed sigh, and proceeded to flip over the pages. The wording and images depicted in the spell book grew darker and heavier the deeper into the manuscript she perused. At one page turn, an image sketched in deep, black ink of a creature’s face popped out at her, and she jumped in her seat, taken by surprise at the creature’s gruesome, sinewy tendrils that formed its flesh.
“Oh! He’s nasty,” she announced, horrified, but she couldn’t look away.
The lines forming the drawing gave the impression as being alive. Whenever she blinked to refocus her vision, some of the marks around the edges seemed to shift, pulsating as if it had its own heartbeat. Snapping out of the grisly hypnosis, she shook her head and turned to a new page.
“I did not care for him,” she mumbled.
The table lamp next to her flickered.
“Hey! No.” Lola grabbed the can of salt, tracing a circle around the lamp base, and the flickering instantly stopped. “I’ll have none of that, thank you.”
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling to give her brain a chance to process all her eyes absorbed. Slanted words were unreadable, the haunting images were confusing, and in the back of her mind, she just couldn’t imagine Lillian as the one to pen such darkness.
This couldn’t be the same Lillian who tended to her gardens, the same Lillian who drank her tea in a library surrounded by her treasures, the Lillian who was a loving wife and mother. There was a disconnect, that much was certain, and somewhere, somehow, Lola was going to find the answers.
Returning to the book, she continued scanning its pages. She flipped through a couple more when she saw it, sketched in the margins: an inky, humanoid creature, with gaping, hallowed, wide eye sockets, and long, gangly arms. At the end of monstrous, elongated hands were three gnarled, boney fingers. The residual tingles between her shoulder blades turned into pricks of tiny pins and needles, as if three fresh claw marks slowly raked down her back.
Terror-stricken, she slammed the grimoire shut, and the sensations clawing at her back vanished. At that same moment, she heard footsteps above her, with the sound of Raphael calling her name. She pushed back from the writing table, grabbed the canister of salt, and fled from the guest suite. She booked it up the stairs, unsure exactly why she was running, but any reasonable speculations on the matter disappeared as she emerged from the basement to see Raphael at the kitchen island, setting bags of their takeaway on the marble countertop.
“So, that’s where you have been. Why were you in the basement?” Raphael asked, giving her a curious look.
“Research,” she responded, out of breath from her sprint up the stairs. She closed the basement door, resting her back against it, trying to regain her composure.
“Sorry it took so long getting dinner, but now, at last, we can eat,” Raphael proclaimed, taking out the containers of food. “Fresh off the grill, your steak fajita taco bowl, my love,” he announced. “I wanted to make us some margaritas, but I can’t find…the salt.”
Raphael trailed off his sentence, taking note that Lola had yet to move from her spot at the basement door and that she held the missing canister of salt. “Is there a particular reason you needed salt in the basement for your research?”
“Salt? Oh! No, don’t worry about it,” she stammered, her thoughts trying to catch up to her head.
“Don’t worry about it?” he repeated, quirking a singular eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest.
He smirked, leveling her a sultry look. He was still feeling mighty frisky from their spontaneous bout of passion, the lingering warmth of her body fitting around him invading his thoughts while he procured dinner, and he leaned into his talents of salacious teasing, confident he could instigate round two of their earlier wild, intimate activities.
“Oh, Dandelion,” he lilted, gaining her attention as he took measured steps toward her. “You’re acting rather sneaky. Must I tickle your secrets out of you?”
“Huh?” Her mind was still in the basement, until she fully registered Raphael’s words and calculated stalk in approaching her. “Wait, what? No!” she squeaked, clutching the can of salt close to her chest while flattening herself against the basement door.
Usually the threat of play caused a pretty flush to brighten her cheeks and clever banter to fall from her lips before an inevitable chase ensued accompanied by her delightful squealing, but when Raphael saw panic fill her eyes, he immediately pulled back his seductive advances, concerned.
“Lola,” he softly called, “please, look at me.” He was near enough to gently cup her shoulders, and he leaned down to meet her with an even gaze. “Are you in trouble?” he asked, searching her eyes.
“No,” she said with a sigh, and relaxed under his touch.
“Will you tell me before it gets that far?”
“Yes,” she promised, a smile lifting her lips and lighting her eyes.
“I’m here when you need me,” he declared, squeezing her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she acknowledged with a nod, and kissed him. “Can I help you with the margaritas?”
“I would welcome it,” he said, dusting her chin with his knuckle. He straightened, and Lola eased herself into a normal routine, setting the salt aside to grab the blender. Raphael smiled, watching her from the corner of his eye as he selected the tequila, margarita mix, and limes.
His first instinct was to mend and problem solve when Lola displayed her distress. He learned rather quickly that Lola liked to gather the facts of a situation before coming to him with an issue. That way, if he asked questions, she had the knowledge to answer them instead of the conversation turning into a frustrated one-sided back-and-forth of dialog to try and “fix” a problem she knew nothing about. He knew when to give her time and space, and when to press for details. She was good at keeping communication open, not leaving him in the dark or treating his opinions as something unwanted.
They were partners, and he trusted that whenever she was ready, she would approach him, and he would be there for her. For now, what she needed most, was a taco bowl, their favorite streaming service, and a circle of salt around a margarita glass. That, at least, for the moment, was something he could easily fix.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
I think this is two chapter in one month. WHO AM I?! Haha!
Anyway...things got kinda spooky here, and only more trouble can surely follow! Looking forward to getting more out to you lovely readers! Thanks for coming along on this journey!
The question continued to linger in Lola’s mind, sinking its hooks into the deepest recesses of her thoughts.
Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?
So overcome with the question, she knew the only way to calm the fuzzies ricocheting in her brain was to return to the Northcott Manor House. There could be no rest until she laid eyes on the spell book. She needed to physically hold the item and compare it with the one burned in her memory clutched in a pair of fingers ringed with glittering jewels. With Raphael being out of the house for longer stretches during the week, thanks to his new training schedule, and her friends tied to their jobs and obligations, this would have to be a mission she accomplished by herself, so she made a lunch reservation for Tuesday.
Now all she needed was a plan.
The days leading up to her lunch date were consumed with ideas on how to achieve getting the grimoire. One major roadblock she had to contend with was the fact the library remained locked and off limits to the public. She tried to formulate a believable ruse that she left one of her belongings in the upper rooms when she stayed the night and needed to retrieve it, but that had been two weeks ago. Anything the cleaners or staff found would have already been removed by now. Her mind continued to wander, even while driving to the Manor House, concocting any scheme or loophole that could get her in and out of the library without the police getting involved.
“Maybe if I climb through a window,” she thought aloud, picturing herself scaling a rickety wooden ladder left out by a careless groundskeeper. She laughed, the idea obviously ridiculous. Though, she considered, it held better merit than some of her other ideas. Before long, she parked her car in the lot next to the Manor House, her steps taking her up the magnificent stoop, to present, standing in the rich foyer of mahogany, crystal, and candlelight.
The house sang to her. The walls whispered their old charm and elegance, the woodwork, of poise and grandeur, while a thrum of warmth circulated through the space as a quiet veil of mystery. The house, though at times stoic and pretentious, welcomed her with its embrace of secrets. She glanced around the small entryway, seeing the front parlor room was empty, though appeared as if a big party was about to arrive, as staff members had maneuvered the long, linen covered tables to accommodate for space. The formal dining room resonated with a healthy amount of chatter and levity, lunch running as usual for the clusters of diners.
Looking to the grand staircase, Lola saw a thick velvet rope spanning the width of the steps from railing to railing. A heavy gold placard hung from the barricade with blocky, bold letters reading: NO ENTRY.
Lola bit her bottom lip, annoyed at being thwarted by a sign. She flicked her eyes up the stairwell, peeking a sliver of the library’s doorframe, and for a brief second, debated if she could bolt up the stairs without anyone the wiser.
“Thank you for your patience,” the hostess greeted, appearing from the bar area. She approached the podium, and beamed a brilliant smile. “Are you joining us for lunch?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I have a reservation,” Lola said, tearing her focus away from the upper floors.
After giving her name, the hostess walked her to one of the rooms near the back of the house. What used to be Cornelius’s den had since been transformed into a dining room of five linen covered tables. She was sat at a small table in front of a marble fireplace, given a menu, and then left alone to her own devices.
Serenading melodies of easy listening jazz warmed the underlying coldness that seeped from the shadowed corners of the room, and combined with the turn of the century opulence that practically dripped down the walls, the ambience created a pocket of suspended existence. If Lola wasn’t careful, she could easily find herself captured by the elegant charms of the House. Shaking off the hypnotizing spell, she held up her menu, reading the dishes just as a waiter approached her table.
“How are we doing today?” he asked, filling Lola’s water glass as he flashed a cheery smile.
“I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking up at him. She guessed him to be of college age, not quite yet grown out of his youthful face, with close cropped sandy hair and brown eyes. Not Newspaper Man, she concluded, slightly disappointed. “How are you?” she asked in turn.
“Can’t complain,” he laughed. “My name is Grant, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get started for you?”
Lola mentally shrugged, figuring she might as well take advantage of a good lunch considering it appeared gaining entry to the library was a bust. “I would love the fish and chips with a glass of the house Sauvignon Blanc, please.”
“Excellent choice. I’ll put that order in and will be back momentarily with your wine,” Grant declared.
She thanked him, and he retreated for the kitchen. Breathing a sigh, she took another look around the room. There was one couple mid-meal in the corner talking quietly to themselves. Aside from them, Lola had the dining room to herself. Since her library reconnaissance mission was a failure, it only made sense to make the drive and her lunch worthwhile by using this time to get some writing done. She pulled out a notebook and pen from her purse, opening to her notes for “The Toe Box” just as Grant came around the corner with her glass of wine.
Lunch was brought out soon after. She found a steady rhythm between relaxing in the enjoyment of fancy-casual fine dining and making great strides in her work. She leaned back from the table with a contented sigh, having just finished a crucial plot point in her key twist ending, as well as the last bite on her plate. With a grin, she looked at her outline, rather impressed with all that she accomplished. The waiter Grant appeared as she set her fork down.
“Can I interest you in some dessert? We have a lovely double berry mascarpone cobbler with brambleberries and blueberries,” he said with his pleasant smile, clearing her table.
“No, thank you, I am stuffed. That was delicious,” Lola boasted.
“May I get you another glass of wine?”
“Thanks, but the one was enough for me,” she said, packing up her things. “Just the check, please.”
Lola handed Grant her bankcard and he disappeared to grab her receipt. She once again observed the small room while waiting for Grant to return. She took her phone out to snag a couple of pictures, adding to the album from her birthday weekend. From the entryway, a trickle of laughter caught her ear, the sound increasing as more voices joined in the merriment.
That party must have arrived, she thought to herself, the sounds of their gleeful enjoyment making her smile. Grant returned, thanking her for joining the Manor House for lunch, and was gone. She signed for the meal and stood, albeit reluctantly, even going so far as to take her time putting away her bankcard in its correct place in her wallet. She didn’t want to leave the House. She hemmed and hawed, picking invisible lint off her table, saddened at having no reason to keep herself at the House. Lola looked to the ceiling, appreciating the preserved mural spanning the surface, yet longed to go beyond it. Lillian’s library sat right above her.
As did the grimoire.
It was so close, and yet so far. She yearned to reach up, stick her hand through the rafters, and pluck out the grimoire, satiating her desire to have it in her possession. Alas, the book remained untouched. Part of the fuzzies in her brain managed to calm down, knowing she was near the grimoire, at least, and that was good enough for now to pacify her curiosity. Throwing her large purse over her shoulder, there was nothing left to do but to go home.
“Bye, House,” she mumbled into the old den, shuffling her feet toward the front entryway. The sounds of laughter grew louder as she approached the hostess podium, and again, she smiled, happy for the party that seemed to be enjoying themselves. Upon reaching the front parlor, she noticed an easel outside the room displaying a large foam board sign. Lola paused to read it, as the purple bats, witches’ hats, and spider web cartoons in the upper corners caught her attention.
“The Stitch ‘n Witch retreat?” she read aloud, tilting her head in question. She turned fully toward the room, shocked to find the party consisted of people sitting at the banquet tables working away at their needlework projects. Some had contraptions made of wooden stretcher bars that held their fabric taut to help easily weave their needle and thread. Others held embroidery hoops of varied shapes and sizes, while a few simply sat with fabric and needle in hand, making stitches at a pleasant pace. The tables were also littered with the comforting evidence of snacks, wine, and comradery.
“---And so, it was in this very room, where Lillian was murdered in cold blood, her killer, never to be found,” proclaimed a man in a sweater vest and wide gold framed glasses. “The End.” The room cheered, some even applauding, and he gave a proud bow over his needlework.
“That’s my favorite story,” declared a woman with light up magnifying glasses at the end of her nose.
“You always tell it so well,” said a man with salt and pepper hair around his temples sitting next to the storyteller.
“Thank you, thank you,” said the first man. “Lillian’s story has always been my favorite.”
“Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve caught a curious fly in our web,” said a woman with purple, pixie-short hair who sat at the table in front of the fireplace. She spotted Lola standing in the threshold of the parlor room, clearly intrigued by the people gathered.
All eyes turned to Lola, and she flinched back a step in surprise, having been caught staring.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered, embarrassed for trespassing on their private conversations. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“We’ll forgive you…if…you can tell us something spooky about this house,” said the man in the sweater vest and glasses, giving her a crafty smirk. The collective eyes of the room swiveled back to her, eager to know what this newcomer would say.
“Um…well…uh, did you know the turret on the upper level was supposed to be a widow’s walk?” Lola said. Her mind initially went blank when put on the spot, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“That’s interesting, but not very spooky,” said the man with salt and pepper hair.
“Well, did you know it was Lillian who had it decommissioned?” Lola asked.
“Why?” the woman in the purple pixie hair questioned.
“She didn’t want Cornelius to know about her secret love affair,” Lola answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if what she said was public knowledge. Collectively, the room gasped.
“She was having an affair?” asked the woman with the light up magnifying glasses on the end of her nose.
“A secret affair,” Lola reiterated, “with a sailor that may or may not have been the one to murder her, since her lover was evil.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How do you know all of this? Or if it’s even true?” asked the man in the sweater vest.
“Lillian told me herself---through tarot cards.”
The room erupted in a flurry of activity, and Lola found herself being ushered inside, bombarded with questions to know more. She was given a chair at one of the tables, the crafters setting aside their needlework projects to give her their full, undivided attention as she regaled them with the tarot reading from the night of her birthday party.
“All in favor of making this little monkey an honorary Stitch ‘n Witch, say ‘Aye’,” the man in the sweater vest announced once Lola wrapped her tale. The room resounded in one booming “Aye”, and she laughed.
“So, what exactly is a stitch ‘n witch?” Lola asked.
“The Stitch ‘n Witches are a group of cross stitchers, who gather together at the Northcott Manor House once a month to tell scary ghost stories while working on our projects. My name is Robert-Paul,” introduced the man in the sweater vest, “and this is my husband Johnathan,” he next introduced, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man with the salt and pepper hair.
“We launched our group on social media, and formed our community of misfit crafters. We’re basically a family now,” Johnathan shared.
“Tell us your name, little monkey,” requested Robert-Paul.
“I’m Lola.”
“Well, good to meet you, Lola. That’s Denise, Margaret, Juan, Julie, Linda-Joy, Claudia, and Mark,” Robert-Paul introduced, pointing to everyone he named. “Don’t worry about memorizing their names, I promise there won’t be a quiz at the end of this,” he added with a laugh.
“So, do you cross stitch, Lola?” Denise, the lady with the purple hair asked. Some of the crafters had gone back to their stitching, relaxing into their hobby again now that the excitement of the newcomer had settled.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Lola answered. “My mom taught me. She’s the real stitcher. She’s working on a squirrel right now named Dweezil.”
“Have her join our online group, and if she’s local, she’s more than welcome to participate in our Stitch ‘n Witch retreats,” Claudia said, adjusting the magnifiers on the tip of her nose. “Hopefully she likes ghost stories.”
“You don’t have to worry about her, she’s more than capable handling her own,” Lola replied with a chuckle. “But, speaking of ghost stories, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Lillian.”
“She’s my favorite ghost,” Robert-Paul sighed. “Absolutely tragic how she passed,” he said, pulling a needle through his fabric, returning to his stitching.
“It was a horrible accident,” Lola agreed.
“Accident? I meant what I said about her being murdered in cold blood,” Robert-Paul said, shifting his gaze back to Lola. “I’m not buying into the whole ‘stray bullet’ theory. That incident had premeditation written all over it.”
“How so?”
“She was lighting her third light,” Johnathan said.
A shiver touched her skin, raising the small hairs on her arms. “What do you mean her ‘third light’?”
“If you really want to deep-dive into the Northcott rabbit hole, you’ll quickly learn appearances didn’t match what went on behind closed doors,” Robert-Paul said, lowering his voice to a mysterious level.
Subconsciously, Lola leaned forward, wanting to learn more. “It wasn’t a happy marriage?”
“Rarely are ones made in convenience,” Johnathan said, matching his husband’s tone.
“Lillian was rather…eccentric, and Cornelius was more straight laced,” Robert-Paul shared. “It was noted that she always lit the candles by three.”
“Why?”
“Eccentric,” Johnathan reminded while threading a needle.
“When they found Lillian, the butler made a casual remark in his testimony to the police that only two lanterns were lit on the fireplace mantle,” Robert-Paul continued. It couldn’t be helped, the three briefly turned their attention to the antique oil lamps at the corners of the fireplace mantle. “So why wasn’t there a third lantern lit?”
“She had died before lighting the third one,” Lola answered, reading between the lines of Robert-Paul’s question.
“Exactly! And who better to know when to pull the trigger than someone on the inside.”
“Someone who knew her eccentricities,” Johnathan purred.
“Wait, but her husband was out of town,” Lola said, pulling on her memory of all the details surrounding the infamous case. “And all the staff had been sent from the house.”
“Yes, and if what you said about her secret love affair was true---,” Robert-Paul began.
“---Then her lover was the one who killed her,” she finished, eyes widening in shock. “That’s mind blowing!”
“And that’s why Lillian doesn’t like it when you try to light three lights. It reminds her of her death,” Robert-Paul said. “It happens without fail.” He rummaged in a tote bag on the floor next to him, pulling out a booklet of matches. “Follow me.” He stood, as did Johnathan.
Lola followed suit despite being at a loss of the movement around her. She glanced around at the other stitchers sitting at the tables. Some watched her with a knowing smile while others continued stitching, relaxed and uninterested at the scene before them. She was instructed by Robert-Paul to stand in the middle of the room, he and Johnathan placing themselves in front of her.
“Hold this, please,” Robert-Paul said. He broke off a matchstick from the bifold and handed it to Lola. Then, he broke off another to give to Johnathan, followed by breaking one off for himself. “Lillian is going to stop you from lighting your match.”
“She will?” Lola asked, her eyebrows raising high.
“You have the third light,” Johnathan said.
“It’s like clockwork. Watch,” Robert-Paul scratched his matchhead across the prickly strip on the back of the matchbook. “The first light,” he said, and passed the booklet to Johnathan.
“The second light,” and Johnathan struck his match. He handed over the booklet to Lola.
She stared at the two men, noting their gleeful, expectant expressions while holding actively burning matchsticks. An eerie trepidation had cloaked itself around her, settling into her lungs as she watched the two take turns striking their matches. A warning sense of dread made her hands tremble as she took the proffered matchbook. She licked her dry lips, sucking in the lower one, and set her matchhead to the striker.
“The third light,” Lola said, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Hello, Stitch ‘n Witches! How’s everybody doing today?”
Lola yelped. She dropped her unlit match and the booklet as a staff member appeared in the threshold of the parlor room. She crouched down, picking up the fallen items, and looked up to see the Head of Hospitality Annie standing in the room.
“Hi, Annie, always a pleasure,” Robert-Paul greeted. He shook out the flame from his match to give air kisses to the pleasant lead hostess. “What brings you into our little corner?”
“How would you all like a special treat?” Annie asked, addressing the room of crafters, to which, they “ooh-ed” in curiosity. “As you know, the Manor House will be undergoing some renovations. One of the rooms about to start renovations first is Lillian’s library. Before construction begins…do you want to see it?”
If Lola hadn’t already been on the ground, she would have surely fallen over, as she could have been knocked over with a feather upon hearing Annie’s treat.
“You’re going to take us into the library?” Robert-Paul asked. “I’ve only ever dreamed of seeing her library.”
“Well, it looks like your dreams are about to come true,” Annie said, and turned to leave the room with a wave of her arm for everyone to follow her.
Light commotion moved all around Lola as the crafters rose from their tables, happily sharing their excitement and hopeful expectations of what they’ll find in Lillian’s library. She stood up, momentarily at a loss for what to do, but the gentle prodding from Claudia moved her feet to walk with the others gathering around the bottom of the grand staircase. She waited in the middle of the pack as Annie removed the velvet rope barring the people from venturing to the upper levels. Her heartrate picked up several beats as the excitement and disbelief of being allowed free access to the library registered in her mind.
Lola followed as Annie continued to guide the way up the stairs. Her eyes fixated on the oak door, her anticipation building as each step brought her closer to her coveted destination.
“Okay, my Stitch ‘n Witches, here we are,” Annie called out in a sing-song lilt. She produced a ring of fancy keys from her jacket pocket. “Get your cameras ready.” She slid one of the keys into the lock and twisted. An audible “click” echoed in the small space as the key released the tumblers inside the hardware. “I present to you Lillian Northcott’s library.” Annie pushed open the door and then stepped to the side, gesturing for the group to walk in.
Again, Lola felt herself prodded to move forward, and she complied, accepting the invitation to enter the library. The room was unnaturally cold. She shivered, bringing her hands to rub up and down her arms for warmth. The room was just as it was that fateful night she stumbled upon it, though, in the daylight hours, Lillian’s library had a soft glow emanating from the gilded furnishings, as if this space was frequently loved instead of closed off and forgotten. She stepped all the way inside, observing the room in its full beauty.
“Are you all right?” Annie asked.
Lola blinked, taken out of her daydreams as the hostess approached her. “Yes, thank you. It’s just a little cold in here,” she said, smiling politely and rubbing her arms again to emphasize her comment.
“You look familiar,” Annie said, her eyes squinting as she tried to recollect who Lola was. “Have you visited the Manor House recently?”
“Actually, I have. A few weeks ago, in fact. A group of us rented the House for my birthday.”
“Oh! How lovely. Yes, I think I do remember your party. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” Annie said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t know you were also a member of the Stitch ‘n Witches. I haven’t seen you in the group before.”
“She’s our newest inductee,” Denise said over her shoulder as she stepped back to take pictures of the intimate space with her phone.
“Annie, you said the library was about to undergo some construction,” Johnathan said from the fireplace. “What is the Manor House intending to do? This space looks in relatively great condition.”
“This room is going to be converted and redesigned into a modern day home office,” Annie answered.
“A what?!” Lola nearly shouted, the information acting like a hard slap in the face. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, the owner wants an office space on site to conduct business, and the library was chosen as the optimal location,” Annie explained.
“But…what about the books?” Lola demanded, throwing her arms out to indicate the hardback, dusty treasures.
“Most will go into storage, and some will be donated to the museums, but the rest will be given to the surviving Northcott family members.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Lola laughed incredulously. “That’s not right. That’s not fair. These are Lillian’s books!” She started pacing, her indignation at the thought of boxing up Lillian’s treasure trove of sanctum artifacts absurd and out of the question. “Aside from her son, this is her legacy.”
“Well…I’m sorry…but there’s really not a whole lot to be done about it,” Annie tried to appease. “The books will be handled with care and respect---.”
“It’s not just about the books,” Lola stressed. “Lillian lived here.” She laid hands on a white, canvas tarp covered chair. “She read these books,” she continued, going next to touch a bookcase. “She ran her household from this very spot, and---oh!”
The strap on her purse snapped, falling off her shoulder, and landed on the ground. Lola looked at her spilled bag, sighing as she crouched down to gather her scattered belongings. As she scooped her things back into her purse, her fingers brushed over a loose floorboard. It slid out from under her hand, opening a secret compartment. It dawned on her she was behind Lillian’s sheet-covered writing desk, hidden from the Stitch ‘n Witches and Annie. Laying before her, shrouded in a pocket of shadows, was Lillian’s grimoire.
“Do you need some help, dearie?” Denise asked.
“No! No, sorry! I’ve got it! Silly me, it’s okay!” Lola stammered. “Don’t worry about me!” Her hand was in and out of the hole faster than her brain could process the movement. She put the floorboard back into place with her foot as she stood, clutching the broken purse to her chest.
“Sorry for getting so worked up,” Lola apologized. “I just really love books, and the news caught me by surprise.”
“It’s understandable,” Annie said with a nod, accepting Lola’s apology. “Why don’t you take some pictures, so you can look back on this little piece of history?”
Lola agreed, and grabbed her phone from the outside pocket of the purse still clutched to her chest. She fumbled with the device, her hands shaking almost too much to take a decent photo from her trembling. Eventually, it was time to depart and head back downstairs. Before Annie could close and lock the door, Lola hovered in the doorway, giving the library a farewell look-over. She snagged one more picture, the last of the group to leave the sacred room. Lagging behind, she waited for Annie to lock up as the others descended the stairs to return to their crafting.
“Again, I’m sorry for being overly passionate in there, and thank you for showing us the library. That was a really special treat,” Lola said as she and Annie walked down the stairs together.
“You’re very welcome. And no more apologizing, please. I think it’s very sweet you wanted to protect the books and Lillian’s library,” Annie said with a heartfelt smile.
“By any chance, do you know when the construction is going to happen?”
“Soon, I believe, but I don’t know the exact date. I know it will start before the next time the Stitch ‘n Witches meet, which is why I wanted to show you the library.”
“I just wish---oof!” Lola ran into something hard and solid that had turned the corner to come up the stairs just as she was coming down them. She fell over, landing hard and flat on her bottom upon the carpeted steps.
“My gracious, I am so sorry,” a man declared, startled himself by the surprise impact. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Lola looked up from her place on the steps to see a tall, broad shouldered man in a three piece navy suit standing before her. At first glance, he reminded her of a robin’s coloring, with his red double-breasted vest and slicked back brown hair with shoes and belt to match. His eyes were a striking clear gray, and he had massive hands, she noted, as one was reached out to help her stand. She slipped her palm against his, accepting his assistance, and shivered at the contact, the skin unnaturally cold. She thanked him for his help, but when trying to take her hand back, he held on tighter.
“Forgive me for saying this, but, I have the strangest feeling we’ve bumped into each other before,” he said.
“I can’t say that we have,” Lola said. Part of her wondered why her insides were internally panicking, but the longer he stared at her with his hauntingly glassy eyes, the more she wanted to flee.
“You’re probably right. I’d be a fool not to remember you,” he said. “May I have your name?”
Something deep in her spirit told her not to give it to him. She floundered, flustered in coming up with a response that didn’t involve disclosing her name. She became more nervous the longer he stared and the wider his smile grew. Thankfully, Annie came to her rescue.
“CJ, what a pleasant surprise,” Annie greeted, genuinely cheerful. “It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you.”
“Just making the rounds, Annie,” the man, CJ, said, matching Annie’s smile.
“CJ, this young woman stayed the night at the Manor House a few weeks ago for her birthday,” Annie continued to share.
“Really?” His attention and smile turned back to Lola whose hand he still clasped. “Well, happy belated. Tell me, did you notice any peculiar, otherworldly things during the night? Any wails or rattling of chains, perchance?”
“Just some footsteps on the third floor,” Lola said. Again she tried to pull her hand free and again he held strong. The cold sensation of his palm made hers turn clammy, her discomfort increasing the longer her hand remained trapped.
“Ah! Then you must sign the haunted guest book,” CJ proclaimed. He let go of her hand, turning to a side table by the entryway of the front doors, and picked up a rectangular object.
“What’s the haunted guest book?” Lola asked.
“It’s a regular guest book, but, if you have a personal ‘ghostly’ experience during your stay through the night, you get to share it in the haunted guest book with all the other claims,” Annie explained.
“Oh! That’s a fun idea,” Lola said, a lightness returning to her disposition.
“Here you are,” CJ announced, returning to the women. He held out the haunted guest book, opened to a blank page. “I insist you record your experience. And, if you share your address, you’ll receive the exclusive newsletter detailing all of the Manor House’s paranormal events.”
“Maybe another time, I have some errands---.”
“Nonsense,” CJ stressed, dismissing her rejection with a scoff and click of his tongue. “I’m sure your errands can wait. Please?” He held out the book closer to her. “I won’t let you leave until you sign it.”
Lola was positive he meant every word of that statement. Her purse weighed heavy in her arms like a lead brick the longer she stood in the foyer. If signing the haunted guest book meant she was free to leave, she’d acquiesce. “Do you have a pen?”
“Certainly,” and CJ produced a gold plated pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Taking the item, Lola wrote in the book while he continued to hold it out for her.
Stayed the night for my birthday and heard footsteps on the third floor.
Finished, she held the pen out for CJ to take back.
“And your address?” he reminded, tapping a column in the margins where guests could leave their information.
“All right, there you go,” Lola declared, biting back her sigh of impatience as CJ refused to let her leave. She tried to give him his pen back, but he ignored her, turning the book around to double check her work instead.
“Glenbrook?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering as he thought upon the surname. “Glenbrook. Hmm. Why do I know that name?”
“It’s fairly common,” Lola was sharp to reply, and he laughed.
“We obviously have two very different definitions for when it comes to being ‘common’, Mrs. Glenbrook. Rest assured, it is a name I shall not soon forget.”
Lola involuntarily trembled, his promise reading more as a threat. Her legs begged her to run away, even if that meant sprinting back up the stairs, her feet itching to put as much distance between herself and this slick man. “I hate to write and run, but I need to get to those errands---.”
Again, he interrupted her. “You know, if you submit three addresses, the House enters you into a drawing to win a voucher for a free one night stay. Know anyone else who might enjoy a newsletter?” he asked, turning the haunted guest book back around to Lola.
“CJ! My goodness you’re being particularly pushy,” Annie said with a laugh.
“I’m allowed to be pushy, I’m eccentric,” CJ rejoined with a played up haughty scoff and raise of his shoulders. “Two more addresses and then I promise you’ll be on your way,” he said, tapping the empty space on the column below her name. “You have my word.”
It was easy writing her home address, putting down her soon-to-be married name, and so used the same loophole of anonymity for her friends by only listing their places of business. She finished writing down the address for Curios and Oddities, and as she went to scribe Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, the gold plated pen flew out of her hand. It landed on the floor in front of the hostess podium, where Annie bent down to retrieve it.
“Sorry about that,” Lola said while laughing. “That was weird.” She tried to write Pyrite’s Pawn Shop’s address for the second time, and as before, the pen flew out of her hand. “Well, you know what they say; if it happens a third time, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
CJ acted as if she physically attacked him. He bristled and blustered, offended by the very idea that she couldn’t write down the third address. He grabbed the pen from Annie, who, for the second time, had retrieved it.
“Why don’t you tell me the address, please? That way, we’ll have no other interferences, and you can be on your way,” CJ said, turning the haunted guest book toward himself, poised to copy down her dictation.
Eccentric is an understatement, Lola thought, eyeing CJ warily. At least he was quick to recover himself, the mask of poise having slipped only briefly. She gave the pawn shop’s address and he sighed, relaxing tense shoulders as he put his pen away in his suit jacket pocket.
“Well, now that that’s all settled, I have no reason to hold you hostage from your errands any longer,” CJ said with a chuckle. “I appreciate you indulging my pushy behavior,” he added, the charm and smarm back in full swing.
“It’s a good thing I like newsletters,” Lola said. “Have a nice day. Thanks again for showing me the library, Annie.” She slipped past CJ and Annie, her purse burning against her chest. Without a look back, she pushed open the main doors, and was gone.
“You took her to the library?” CJ asked, a curious look in his eye as he watched after Lola’s retreating form.
“I did, I hope that was all right,” Annie apologized. “The Stitch ‘n Witches adore this house so much, I wanted to treat them to the library before the renovations began.”
“No harm, no foul,” CJ said, giving Annie his signature smile. He closed the haunted guest book, passing it over to the lead of hospitality. “Great minds think alike. I, too, was on my way to visit the library.” With a nod, he departed, his light steps carrying him up the stairs.
Annie resumed her business. She checked over paperwork at the hostess podium, humming blissfully to herself and enjoying the laughter coming from the front parlor room filled with the needlework crafters. She moved to return the haunted guest book back to its place on the side table, when from behind her, a clattering sound of footsteps came running down the stairs. Startled, she whirled around to discover CJ barreling toward her. He pushed past her, bursting through the front doors.
He took the stoop steps three at a time, nearly flying down them to reach the front walkway. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw a car pulling out from the Manor House side parking lot to glide along the quiet street across from him. He noted the woman behind the wheel, her distinct red hair billowing behind her as she sped away. CJ took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He ran his hands through his hair to help him gain his composure, watching the little black car morph into a speck down the road before disappearing around a corner.
Turning on his heel, he slowly climbed back up the stoop, entering the Manor House. He found Annie in the entryway, still discombobulated from his brusque departure. She recovered enough to stare at him, wide-eyed and stammering around her questions. His eyes flicked down to the haunted guest book she clutched in her hands, and wicked inspiration flared to life in his mind. He plucked the book from Annie’s grasp, a thin grin splitting his face.
“I think I’ll take over the newsletter this month,” he said, and without another word, tucked the haunted guest book under his arm. He turned from Annie, waltzing up the grand staircase. He whistled a happy tune, the notes eerily complementing the cold shadows lingering in the corners of the entryway, his song creeping down the stairwell as he vanished into the lonely solitude of Lillian’s library.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! It's been awhile! I'm in love with this chapter for so many reasons! I hope you all liked it too! And now...mayhem! See you all next time, and happy reading!
Lola sat in the middle of the couch, head bent and eyes narrowed as she typed away at the document pulled up on her laptop. The French doors leading to the backyard had been thrown open, allowing the balmy breezes of early summer to drift in around the parlor room, the lilting birdsong from the nearby dense crowding of trees the perfect ambient white noise for her creative endeavors. More often than not, she had logs burning in the fireplace to further solidify the atmosphere of intimate coziness, but considering the already warmer weather, she settled for a scented candle of brown sugar and lavender instead.
The events at the Renaissance Faire over the weekend were chaotic, to be sure, but also inspiring. The spark for her mystery novel “The Toe Box” continued to fuel her imagination, the evidence of her wild inklings scattered about the couch in open notebooks and loose leaf papers filled with her writings of bullet points, outlines, and intricate webbings. A small twinge in the muscles at her back signaled she had been hunched over for too long, so she straightened her spine while rolling her shoulders back. She rocked her head side-to-side, releasing the tension in her neck with a satisfying “pop”, and sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back to relax against the plush embrace of the couch.
She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh air that hinted at a touch of sweetness. She detected the distinguishing murmur of a distant lawnmower as a soft breeze brushed through the wind chimes hanging outside the kitchen window, the warming ping-pong notes playing the quintessential melody of summer. She smiled, releasing her breath in a rushing exhale, melting into her surroundings.
“Feet, my love?”
The sudden, resonating baritone of Raphael above her head made Lola scream in surprise, clearly taken unaware of his presence from when he entered the room. She fumbled with her laptop, realizing the tab for an image search of human toes was splayed across the screen, and her face grew hot, burning from initial shock and embarrassment as he chuckled above her.
“I had no idea. Far be it for me to kink shame. You know I’m at least open to a conversation, especially when it comes to pleasing my dandelion,” he continued to tease, loving how the blooming flush of her cheeks matched the shade of her hair.
“Raph! When did you get home? How long have you been there? I can explain! This is for research!” Lola declared, shutting the lid of her computer. She frantically collected herself, refusing to allow the all-too-pleased smug expression plastered across his face to further rattle her flustered nerves. She took in a breath, trying to recover from her startled, racing heart, and moved the attention onto himself rather than what was on her computer screen.
“How did it go with the board of directors? Are you still able to joust this season?” While she asked her questions, she cleared a spot for him to sit on the couch with her. She scooched to one end, turning inward as she set her laptop on the ottoman to then pick up her coffee mug, and patted the empty cushion across from her to signal the open invitation. She was eager to hear all the details from the Faire’s emergency meeting regarding the messy events during the joust over opening weekend.
“It’s complicated,” Raphael began with a sigh, rounding the furniture to sit with Lola. “Our horses have been recovered, and luckily, they seem relatively healthy.”
“I’m glad the horses are safe,” Lola said, relieved to learn the animals were well.
“However, they’re too spooked to ride,” he informed. “The Committee are bringing in replacement horses from a nearby circuit that haven’t started their season yet.”
“That seems like a good solution.”
“In theory, yes, but it’ll take a couple of weeks to get them acclimated to their new riders, which means Tony, Richard, and I have to squeeze in extra rehearsal times to train with the new horses before the joust can resume its full performance.” Raphael slouched down in the crook of the couch, his legs sprawled out and head fallen back. His hand covered his eyes, rubbing at his forehead, annoyed at the thought of extra rehearsals, but also resigned to the circumstances of the situation. It couldn’t be helped, so he accepted his fate.
“I’m sorry, Honey Love. Does this mean you can’t joust until the horses are ready?” Lola asked, placing a hand on his knee for comforting support.
“On the contrary,” Raphael laughed. “The Committee find the joust too profitable to want to shortchange the experience of the Faire, so I am still obligated to joust.”
“But, you don’t have a horse.”
“They gave me a temporary one. Would you like to meet my new steed?”
Lola watched as Raphael sat up, his tone and gestures dripping with snark and sarcasm. “You have a picture of him?” she asked, leery of his response.
“Actually, I brought him home.”
Before Lola could put two sentences together, confusion muddling her thoughts, Raphael rose from the couch, disappearing into the foyer. She turned in her seat, setting her coffee mug aside, and followed after him with her eyes as he left, yet he returned soon enough, galloping into the room with a stick horse between his legs.
“Lola, meet Buttercup,” Raphael introduced, prancing onto the scene while holding the brittle, plastic reins attached to the muzzle of the stuffed horse’s head. The dusty black yarn of its mane stuck out in dangerous angles along the old, chocolate fur of the child’s hobby horse, with large glassy buttons for eyes awkwardly pushed too far to one side of its face, giving the illusion its gaze could follow one’s self around the room.
Lola burst into laughter, quite literally falling off the couch, unable to control her hysterics as the love of her life, her pristine history Professor, her knight in shining armor stood in a gallant pose before her with one foot raised on the hearth, and a fist perched on his hip while the other hand clutched the reins in a tight grip.
“No way!” she cackled. “You can’t be serious!” She peeked over the ottoman at him, doubling over once more at the sight of him glowering at Buttercup.
“Yes, it is quite…dignifying, isn’t it?” he sneered.
“You have to joust,” she gasped between breaths, “with that?”
“Not only me, but Sir Tony and Richard as well.”
“Sir Richard?!” she screeched, holding her sides, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too much!” she bellowed.
“Another thing, which I’m sure you’ll find amusing, is when we joust, we were instructed to have one of our serfs behind us to clap coconut shells together to mimic the sound of horses’ hooves as we ‘ride’ down the line.”
Lola begged for mercy, her sides splitting at the mental imagery of the surly Green Knight skipping down the tiltyard with one of his cronies clacking away with a set of coconuts behind him.
“I’m glad you’re finding this so funny,” Raphael droned, deadpan, petting the mane of Buttercup while Lola continued to laugh as she rolled around on the floor. "Richard blames you for this, by the way.”
“What? Why is he blaming me?” Lola finally gained control of herself, sitting up while wiping tears from her eyes. “What’d I do?”
“Nothing, as far as I know, but he’s been grumbling about your supposed involvement to our new situation ever since we were told to joust like this,” and he motioned to Buttercup. He sighed, dropping his arm, letting the toy fall to the floor. “He thinks the whole catastrophe was somehow your doing.”
“What a jerk face,” Lola swore.
“Don’t worry, I set him straight.”
Lola had sharp eyes, and noticed him subtly flex his right hand. “Raph, did you punch him?”
He avoided eye contact. “It’s possible his jaw happened to be in the spot where I placed my fist.”
“Thank you for defending me,” Lola said, crawling onto the ottoman. She reached out her arms for Raphael to join her. “But, please, no more hitting, okay?” She held his hands as he sat down with her. “I’m also sorry for laughing as hard as I did. It must be very demeaning for a noble knight of your expertise to be reduced to such a state as to have your trusty steed replaced by a child’s plaything.”
“The sting of humiliation will soften over time, I’m sure. I think I’m most dreading over how Richard will react for when the time comes he is to face the crowds,” Raphael said, admitting his concerns.
“That’s a valid worry, he’s a bit of a hothead.”
“And thank you for your apology, but I don’t blame you for laughing. It is a ridiculous predicament,” he said, cracking a genuine smile.
“Well, I’ll help you doll up Buttercup into the prettiest pony on that jousting field anyone has ever seen. You’ll be the envy of every knight out there.”
“With your flair for costuming, how could I fail?” he laughed, and they shared a kiss. “Now, I seem to have walked in on some important---*a-hem*--- ‘research’,” he continued, raising his hands to make air-quotes, to which, she rolled her eyes. “What has your mind buzzing about on this fine afternoon?”
“I’m trying to get the terminology correct when it comes to my new villain,” Lola answered. “He’s a serial dismemberist.”
“Dismemberist isn’t a word…nor a profession.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said, waving off his comment with a scoff. “What I really want, is to capture the essence of a mysterious, creepy aura for my villain, like what the Plague Doctor exudes.”
“You think Karl is creepy?” Raphael asked, stunned by the descriptions made of his fellow cast member.
“His name is Karl?”
“He’s a pretty decent guy. He’s actually the Conductor for the University’s chamber orchestra. I see him from time to time on campus.”
Lola’s jaw dropped, having her turn to feel the shock of hearing the descriptions made of the character. “Don’t tell me his backstory, that completely ruins the whole illusion.”
He laughed. “Sorry to dispel the smoke and mirrors.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m basing my villain off vibes, anyway, not ‘real’ people, per se,” she said with a sigh. She then straightened her spine, angling her shoulder blades to dislodge a tiny patch of itches prickling over the skin along her back.
“Are those scratches still bothering you?” Raphael asked, concern turning down the corners of his mouth and knitting together his eyebrows. He gently turned Lola’s shoulder to place a warm palm over the spot where three claw lines had marked her tender flesh. He was initially worried she had injured herself at some point during the Faire to receive such nasty marks, but his vision bled red when she told him of the coincidence between those scratches to that of the clawing gesture made by a supposed Dark Sorcerer skulking about the grounds.
He vowed vengeance, but cursed his unfortunate, ill-luck, for the Faire employed no such character. Whoever attacked Lola got away without consequences to his actions, and the cruel guilt at being unable to bring the ne’er-do-well to justice gnawed relentlessly at his heart. Thankfully, at the very least, the scratches cleared up the following morning, leaving no trace behind of their menacing existence.
“No, I think it’s just an itch,” she replied, wiggling a touch under his hand. She heard the smile in his relaxed breath, his fingers moving to take care of her itch, and she shivered, a rush of goosebumps erupting over her body from the pleasant, caring contact.
“Speaking of scratches,” Raphael said, dropping his hand once she turned to thank him, “the handlers who recovered our horses from the forest noticed something…unique…upon examining them for injury.”
“Oh? What did they find?”
“Tony’s and my horse were relatively unharmed, but they found three long scratches on the haunch of Richard’s horse. They only made note of it because it seemed weirdly out of place.”
Lola knew the color drained from her face as a chill whispered its caress to raise the small hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms.
“They said it was probable an animal could have made those marks, but there are no harmful wildlife like that on the grounds, especially ones that would attack horses, nor is there anything big enough to leave only three scratches in that particular way.”
The air hung thick between them, their eyes conveying the words of speculation they dared not speak aloud. The tension broke when Lola’s phone chirped a text notification, and after one more shared moment of lingering eye contact, she reached for her device.
“Oh! It’s a text from Jack,” she said, unlocking her phone screen to read the full message. “He says he sent me an email he thinks I’d find interesting regarding my birthday.” She reached for her laptop as Raphael shifted off the ottoman to the floor next to her. Perching the computer over her crossed legs, she opened the lid, ignoring his resonating chuckle at the image search of toes being the first thing to pop up on the screen. She minimized the page, and then accessed her emails in a matter of seconds.
“Here we are. Looks like he sent a video. ‘Hey, Lola’,” she said, reading aloud the message. “’This was too good not to share right away. Happy hauntings’.” After checking to make sure the audio wasn’t muted, she clicked on the video clip Jack sent her, sizing the viewfinder to fill the screen. Hitting “play”, the two watched the scene unfold. The clip began with the fateful incident in the hallway outside the row of suites in the Northcott Manor House, chaos encompassing the screen at the image of Raphael hoisting Lola over his shoulder. He had leaned toward Jack’s camera lens, the eye recording the close up of his profile complete with disheveled bedhead and sultry eyes.
“No need for your camera, Jack. Mine will do just fine.”
“You actually said that?” Lola gasped, turning her head to see her fiancé mirroring the same grinning smirk with the one he made towards the camera. “You’re impossible,” she breathed, going back to watching her computer.
“I think you mean ‘passionate’,” Raphael corrected, his hand coming along side of her to pull her close as he cupped her hip.
The camera angle shifted downward and off to the side, glimpsing the retreating form of Raphael carrying Lola into their suite as the sheet around his waist unraveled. Jack must have edited this part of the video, for the clip began to play in slow motion when the camera tipped to its side, eventually freezing on a frame of a tilted image of the library at the end of the hallway. Lola squinted at the screen, she and Raphael leaning forward at the same time to focus on what it was Jack apparently wanted them to notice. Jack had superimposed a white ring around the half ajar doorway into the library, indicating the spot he wanted to draw attention. The ring faded, and the footage returned to its regular recorded speed. A few more seconds in, the upper half of a gray figure leaned around the door as if to peek into the hallway, and then just as quickly, darted back behind it. The heavy barricade closed itself soon after with what looked to be a pretty hefty push, as if slamming shut, but never making a sound. The video ended there.
“What the hell?!” Lola screamed with excitement and surprise. “Was that the Gray Lady?! Oh, my God, did Jack get actual footage of the Gray Lady?!”
“Play it again,” Raphael said, his excitement as equally palpable to that of his beloved, the two glued to the laptop screen.
Lola scooched back the slider bar to locate the spot where the camera focused on the library door, and watched as a gray figure lurked out from behind the door, retreated, and then shut the door closed.
“That was the Gray Lady,” she exclaimed, rewinding the footage again. “I have literal chills. Holy heavens, we captured evidence of the Gray Lady.”
“This is nothing short of compelling,” Raphael agreed.
“Lillian---we found you.”
“Are you crying?” Raphael detected a slight snuffle, and he turned his head to catch Lola wiping at her eyes. “Dandelion, what’s the matter?” His hand at her hip moved to rub up and down her arm for comfort.
“These are happy tears,” she assured, laughing as she fanned her face to dry her eyes. “Do you have any idea how incredible this is? That’s Lillian, and she’s in her library. Even in death, it’s nice to see she still visits her favorite spot.”
“It is rather poetic,” Raphael said.
“That’s not the only thing poetic. I forgot to show you something. Look at what I just found.” Lola moved her laptop aside and disengaged from Raphael’s embrace, unfurling her legs from under her to retrieve a cardboard box sitting on the floor with her stacks of notebooks and papers. “I was going through that old box of stories Mom gave me, looking for inspiration and ideas, when I found this envelope of pictures. Take a look at this.” She rummaged through her box, finding the envelope of topic, and returned to the ottoman, handing him one of the photos.
He took the photo with a drawn out “aww”, smiling at it, his heart warming at the young image of his bride-to-be looking back at him in all her preteen glory: braces, newly experimenting with makeup, and maybe having the slightest chance of a brush touch her hair. Her eyes sparkled, much to the same as her present self, alerting those who knew her best that mischief was at play, and he loved her all the more for it.
“Do you see it?” Lola asked.
“You’re not an ‘it’, but a ‘you’,” Raphael said, admiring the wild, untamed image of his future wife.
“No, not me. There, in the window. I never noticed it before.” Lola had given him the snapshot of the first time her parents took her to the Northcott Manor House. At the time, the three of them had finished lunch and were exploring the grounds. Her father asked to have their picture taken with the large house in the background, the moment forever captured on film as well as in her memory. What she didn’t remember, however, was where specifically on the grounds the picture was taken, and its significance.
“Are you talking about this grayish blob in this window?” he asked, pointing to the bank of windows along the second floor of the house.
“I am talking about that grayish blob,” Lola answered. “Do you notice anything special about that particular window?”
“Only that it’s in the back of the house.”
“Right, and what specific room has windows facing the backyard of the grounds?”
“The bedrooms. Oh! Wait! These windows are from---.”
“---From the library,” they finished together. “It’s the Gray Lady in her library, Honey Love, and I’ve had proof, this whole time, that she’s been in that house looking after her books. How’s that for poetry?” She sighed with a dreamy smile, caught up in the charmingly endearing romance of a ghost in her library, living out her eternal peace amongst her books. “It feels like a full circle moment.”
“Maybe that’s why we caught her peeking around the corner. She was making sure you didn’t walk off with any of her books. Or her grimoire.”
“That damn grimoire,” Lola cursed, her daydream broken at the mention of the spell book. “I still don’t understand how the Dark Sorcerer had it to begin with.”
“If it even was her grimoire. I hate to say it, but I doubt it was the same,” Raphael said, handing her the photograph.
“It had to be the same, it even had the little bits of paper sticking out of it, and the Dark Sorcerer didn’t retaliate until after I named the book out loud,” Lola reiterated as she took back the photo. She stared at the glossy image in her hands, her eyes not focusing on the imprint of her past in the foreground, but of the solitary gray blob framed in the upper windows. She chewed her bottom lip, her mind crowding with unanswered thoughts and speculations.
“It does beg the question, though,” she said, her thumb gently moving over the library windows. “Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Who else knows about the grimoire indeed???? Only time will tell, but it might be sooner rather than you think! Mwha-ha-ha-ha! We're heading back to the Manor House, folks! Buckle up! Next chapter is going to be one for the books!
Lola ran straight to Jack and Lazare who were waiting under an oak tree for the two friends to return, filling them in on the events of the Labyrinth once she and Modesta exited the attraction.
“We were calling your name from out here, hoping you could hear us and find the exit before Mo went in looking for you,” Lazare shared, “but if you were too busy being cursed at the time, I don’t blame you for not hearing us.”
“Whether cursed or hexed, I’ll feel more at ease once we talk with the Elven Lord,” Lola declared. “Maybe he can shed some light on this mysterious Dark Sorcerer, if, in fact, he is a new character.” The friends began walking as they continued to share ideas and opinions on the possibilities surrounding this Dark Sorcerer, their journey taking them in the direction of the inner Fairy Village located in the middle of the Enchanted Forest.
“Is the Elven Lord allowed to tell us such specifics?” Lazare asked. “I mean, Raph wouldn’t even share who the new additions are, let alone how many, and he’s your fiancé. What are the chances the Elven Lord will shoot straight with us?”
“If the Dark Sorcerer is a new cast member, then surely the Lord of the most powerful magical abilities in the Realm would have heard of him,” Lola said.
“Unless…he’s not a cast member,” Jack supplied.
“We’ve never had random patrons try to curse us before,” Lola countered. “It could be some of the cast is kept secret from one another, to create drama and excitement.”
“Or, maybe, he didn’t like the fact you ran into him, and as his own character, decided to curse you,” Modesta suggested.
Lola shuddered. “I hope not. The energy around us felt heavy, like a change in the air’s pressure dropped, and the menace radiating all around him---.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, chilled at mentally reliving the encounter. “I’m confident the Elven Lord will have all the answers I need.” And with a determined lift of her chin, Lola took the lead of their group, guiding them into the forest where the Elven Lord dwelled.
*****
“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you need,” the Elven Lord said, lowering his cup of tea to the large tree stump acting as a table to host company. He listened to all of Lola’s tale, intrigued and concerned by what she encountered at the graveyard in the center of the King’s Labyrinth. Unfortunately, he had no knowledge to impart that would ease this young woman’s troubled heart.
“What?! No! You were my only hope,” Lola wailed, nearly falling off her spot atop an upturned log set with others like it around the wooden table for intimate seating.
“However, being threatened by dark magic, regardless of employment status, is a serious affront to the King’s people,” the Elven Lord stated. “What style of magic was the individual performing? Incantations? Use of a wand?”
“Nothing like that,” Lola said. “He held up three fingers and clawed the air like a bear. Then, he made a bunch of other weird gestures, but I ran away before anything could happen to me.”
“You were wise to flee. I will ask my spies and allies about this potential Dark Sorcerer, and should he cause you or other people harm, he will be dealt with…accordingly.”
“Banishment?” Lola asked. “Or stardust?”
The Elven Lord smirked, his use of wielding stardust far more potent than any curse or hex, real or otherwise. “It shall be handled,” he cryptically promised. “In the meantime, child of the moon, please at least accept this token of protection.” Out from one of his many pockets, the Elven Lord produced a large, shining crystal pendant dangling from a loop of thin leather, and placed the necklace into Lola’s hands.
“It’s beautiful,” Lola breathed. “Oh, hey! This crystal looks just like the ones I bought at the lapidary.”
“If they are one in the same, then you have been protected all along,” the Elven Lord stated. “Whatever ill-intent was sent your way has no hold on you. You are safe.”
Lola let out a sigh of relief, holding the crystal to her heart. “Thank you, my Lord. You have given me back my peace.”
“It was never mine to return. You found your strength. Now, friends, go. Enjoy all the Faire has to offer, and please, give my regards to the privateers.” The Elven Lord stood and escorted the group to the edge of his forest, where he turned after bidding them farewell to disappear into the cool and pleasant shadows.
“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Jack declared as they all trudged along the forest path towards the main grounds.
“Half-solved,” Lola amended. “I’m not cursed, but we still don’t fully know what role the Dark Sorcerer plays.”
“If he has a role,” Modesta stated.
“Precisely. Thus, half-solved.”
“I think the best thing we can do, is enjoy the rest of the day,” Lazare said. “There are a lot of people here at the Faire, so what are the chances we’ll run into the Dark Sorcerer again? I say let’s kick back, do some more shopping, say ‘Hi’ to the pirates, get a turkey leg, and watch the joust.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Lola agreed with a laugh, and emerging from the tree line, the friends renewed their journey of leisure shopping and entertainment. Lola was able to find her sought after incense, as well as a plushy, handmade mushroom forest sprite she named Frederick, while Modesta found some miniature antique glass perfume bottles. Lazare obtained a blue velvet pouch with gold inlay for his set of runes, and Jack found a booth selling handcrafted wooden roses. He purchased a bundle for Modesta, the two holding hands all the while as they journeyed to the stage designed like a pirate ship located by the lake’s edge to hear some jaunty, nautical melodies.
The musical pirates, a trio plus their captain, were a saucy group, encouraging crowd participation by singing and dancing up and down the aisles of the audience who clapped along with the music, cheering with pleasant laughter. Jack got pulled up on stage to play an extra hand drum, while Modesta and other select maidens were chosen to dance with the pirates in a small circle as they sang about clever mermaids. The pirate captain, the scandalous Captain James Vladimir Winthrop, wandered the area, observing the people and his crew, participating in calls and responses during songs or bantering back and forth between each number.
Presently, he moved near the back of the seating area, where Lola and Lazare sat, clapping along to the beat of the mermaid song.
“It is good to see ye at the Faire, intended of the White Knight,” Captain Winthrop greeted, coming to sit in the row with Lola and Lazare.
“As if I would miss opening weekend,” Lola returned. “It’s good to see you, too. The Elven Lord says ‘Hi’, by the way.”
“Ah, it is good to have friends,” he said, spinning his long mustache while reflecting on his alliance with the magical Lord of the forest. “Ahoy there, lad,” he then added, nodding over in Lazare’s direction.
“Ahoy, Captain,” Lazare greeted in turn.
“Oh! Captain, this is our friend Lazare Pyrite. Lazare, meet Captain James Vladimir Winthrop,” Lola introduced, and the two shook hands.
“Tell me, new friend, are ye as much trouble as this one?” the captain asked, jutting a thumb at Lola.
Lazare laughed. “I have my fair share, but Lola’s talents far surpass my own.”
“You talk as if I’m not sitting right here,” Lola said, though she wasn’t offended, pleased, in fact, that the two were already getting along.
“I’m not the one getting cursed,” Lazare joked, proving his point with a leveled look.
“Attempted cursed, and it was a hex,” Lola said.
“Is there a difference?”
“Curse?” The jollity of Captain Winthrop dissipated, his good humor replaced by confusion, and then concern. “Someone is trying to curse ye?” he asked Lola, his thick and bushy eyebrows knitting together as he looked at her with worry.
“It’s a long story, but it’s a possibility. I don’t suppose you know anything about a Dark Sorcerer roaming around, do you?” Lola asked.
Winthrop shook his head after giving some thought while rubbing his chin. “Nay. But, if the King has a secret Dark Sorcerer under his employ, that is rather alarming information, especially if he’s walking around cursing people, let alone a betrothed to one of his knights.”
“And…if he’s not employed by the King?” Lola asked.
“Then he is a problem that needs to be dealt with.”
“The Elven Lord said the same thing,” Lazare commented.
“I should be expecting a missive from one of his spies soon enough,” Winthrop said with a half-smile. “It’s not even noon and already trouble travels fast,” he then teased, elbowing Lola gently.
“It’s not like I planned this,” Lola defended herself. “Plus, the Elven Lord said I was probably not cursed, and gave me this necklace to keep me safe,” and she held out the sparkling gem for the captain.
“Ah! He is generous. That is moon crystal. It’s concentrated stardust. With that, no one can touch ye,” he informed upon observing Lola’s necklace.
Applause filled the air, the song on stage coming close to an end, and as the crowd settled, Lola heard the distant symphony of a melancholy violin. Turning over her shoulder, she glanced the top of a wide-brimmed black hat bobbing between the crowds of peasants shopping before it disappeared over a hill in the direction of the armory.
“What are your thoughts regarding the Plague Doctor?” she asked, looking at the space where the character in question vanished.
“He be odd, that one is, but rather harmless,” Winthrop easily answered with a shrug of his shoulders, unconcerned with the man. “If ye want to earn his good opinion, give him this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold doubloon, passing the coin to Lola, who held it out while turning it in her fingers to look at both sides with a careful eye.
“It has your crest,” she said, noting the wind rose and sails of a ship embossed on one half, a crude coat of arms belonging to some forgotten ruler on the flipside.
“Aye. The Doctor has no allegiance. He is his own master, and makes no waves with either party, be it royalty, the fairy folk, or the privateers,” Winthrop shared. “However, should ye desire a friendship, or truce, if things around here get…adventurous,” he added, landing Lola a look, “then give him that coin, and ye shall have his loyalty if lines be drawn.”
“Captain!” came Modesta’s voice as she rejoined the friends. “Please tell me you didn’t just give her a quest.” The performance completed, the crowds began to disperse, onwards to the next show or activity.
“Nay, m’lady. Only advice,” the captain said with a friendly smile, standing to meet Modesta as she approached.
“I swear, if we wind up on the news….”
“Captain Winthrop, a lively show as always,” Jack said, cutting off her half-hearted grumblings, reaching over to shake hands with the pirate.
“Thank ye, lad. Always a pleasure to entertain the landlubbers,” he chuckled. “My crew appreciate eager participation.”
“We also appreciate lunch!” shouted the piper of the musical trio from the stage, beckoning his captain with a large wave of his arm.
“Aye, midday meal it is. Would ye care to partake in some nourishment and ale, friends?”
“What are you having?” Jack asked.
“Squid eyes and chum,” proclaimed the drummer.
“Caught it fresh this morning. I left it in the sun to gather all kinds of extra flavor,” joked the accordion player. The three waved and blew kisses in the group’s direction, then disappeared into the Captain’s quarters for their lunch break.
“I think I’ll pass,” Jack said with a queasy grimace.
“Suit yer self,” Captain Winthrop shrugged, making his way towards the stage. “Oh, and one more thing, Little Lark,” he added, using Lola’s old nickname amongst the cast. He turned back to deliver his next line. “Remember, ye and yer friends always have safe passage with us…should ye need it.” With that, he gave a low bow, and then continued up the gang plank into his quarters.
“That was a touch ominous,” Modesta said, giving a slight shudder. “So, what ‘advice’ did our dear Captain bestow upon you?” she asked as they all moved from the pirate venue to travel towards the armory. It was nearing the lunch hour, and if they wanted to make it to the Bookbinders and find decent seats for the joust in time, they needed to pick up the pace.
“He suggested I give this coin to the Plague Doctor,” Lola said, handing the golden item to Modesta for her to get a better look. “If I want his good opinion, or loyalty, I can give him that doubloon.”
“And then what?” Jack asked, taking his turn observing the pirate treasure. “What will the Doctor do in return if you give him this?”
“I don’t really know,” Lola answered, slipping the old money into her satchel as Jack passed it back to her. “I just, give him the coin and I guess we become friends if things get hairy.”
“Are you going to do it?” Lazare asked. “Will you give him the coin?”
Lola released a heavy breath. “I haven’t quite made up my mind yet. I’m not going to go looking for him though, so if we happen to run into each other, I’ll just go by what my gut tells me in the moment.”
“Well, my gut is telling me we need to find us some turkey legs, stat,” Jack said, rubbing his belly. “I’ll stand in line and get us food if you guys want to check out the Bookbinders.”
“Are you okay with waiting by yourself?” Modesta asked.
“I don’t mind. Besides, there’s already a decent line forming at the canteen, so better get in while the meat’s still hot,” Jack declared.
“You’ll be missed.”
“Buy me something pretty.” The two shared a kiss before the group split up, Jack going to stand in line for lunch while Modesta, Lazare, and Lola headed for the Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press.
They discovered the location to be an old barn converted into a gift shop of sorts, with some items brandished with the Renaissance Faire’s logo amongst random trinkets or souvenirs, numerous books about local history of the Faire and National forest preserves and parks around Newberry sprinkled around the knickknacks and bric-a-bracs as well. Lola stood in front of a cabinet filled with stationary supplies, looking at the variety of leather notebooks, quills, bottles of ink, and wax seals and stamps. She selected a travel-size tube of colored pencils as Modesta came up alongside of her.
“Hey, Lazare is going to wait with Jack to help with food, and I need to find a restroom,” she informed. “Can you find us seats for the joust when you’re done here?”
“Sure! No problem,” Lola answered. A sudden twinge at her back had her flinch in surprise, her nose scrunching up in discomfort, and she reached behind herself to swat away at the irritant.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Lola said, continuing to fidget with the back of her outfit. “Can you check to see if a bug or something fell in my shirt? I think something bit me, and it’s starting to sting a little.” Lola turned so Modesta could pull back her shirt to inspect it for any unwanted creepy crawlies.
“Whoa!”
“’Whoa’? Why whoa? What’s in there? Get it out!”
“Calm down, Lo, it’s not a bug. You’ve got scratch marks on your back, and they look relatively fresh,” Modesta said. “Here, I’ll take a picture to show you.”
“Scratches? That’s weird.”
“Did you accidentally brush up against a tree, or run into something sharp today? Maybe from when we collided into each other in the Labyrinth?” Modesta took out her phone, snapping a pic of three red lines forming between Lola’s shoulder blades, then turned the screen over so Lola could see the markings.
“I don’t think I ran into anything that would cause scratches, or leaned on anything to cause it. Whoa,” Lola breathed, looking at Modesta’s phone. “Are they starting to welt up?”
“A little. It’s like three claw marks are going down your back. Luckily, they’re not deep enough to draw blood.”
A chill rippled up Lola’s spine, replacing the burning sting, and she shivered, as if eyes were watching her. She unconsciously reached a hand up to her chest, clutching the moon crystal pendant, her stare fixed on the image of her back. She blinked in surprise when Modesta placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Modesta said, putting away her phone. “Do you want me to stay with you while you buy your pencils?” She tried to change subjects so Lola’s mind wouldn’t tunnel into a mental entrapment of spiraling thoughts, and thereby overthinking the issue.
“Thank you, no, I’m fine. I’ll meet you at the jousting ring,” Lola said, plastering a smile onto her face, waving Modesta away while moving to stand in line to purchase her colored pencils.
“Okay,” Modesta said with a smile as well, though hers had a touch of concern to it. “Text me when you’ve found a spot.”
“I will.”
Her friend gone, Lola sighed, dropping her smile. She tested the muscles between her shoulder blades, feeling a slight burn of where the scratches marred the skin. Her brows furrowed downward as well, her mind focusing on a suitable explanation of how she could have received those scratches. She shuddered once more when the images of her mind played out the scene in the Labyrinth and the Dark Sorcerer, his three fingers clawing the air, and her hand grasped tight around her pendant as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, nervously chewing the tender flesh. The prickle of eyes watching her stood the hairs on the back of her neck, and thankfully, her turn to pay for her item came next, giving her the opportunity to set aside the sense of dreadful foreboding.
Walking in the fresh air to the jousting field helped to clear her head a little, and to her delight, she found a section of empty bleachers stationed under a large maple tree, and quickly claimed the spot. She faced the jousting ring from the far right, looking down the length of the tiltyard, the perfect view point to see the Royal Pavilion, as well as Raphael, when the joust was to begin. Happy with her findings, and putting away speculations regarding the claw marks on her back for the time being, Lola plopped her satchel into her lap to dig out her cellphone to text Modesta and the others her location. While rummaging around the contents of the day’s purchases and her belongings, she came across her ever-faithful tape recorder.
“Well, hi, there, Stanley. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Lola said, pulling the recorder out of her satchel. “I’m sorry to say I forgot I tossed you in there.” Turning the device in her hand, she pressed down on the recording feature to document this simple moment of being at the Renaissance Faire, when a figure dressed all in black, startled her by dropping down onto the bleachers right next to her.
Lola gasped from the initial shock, and then froze as realization of who decided to pay her a visit kept her rooted in place, allowing the Plague Doctor time to serenade her with a song from his violin. He was too close, too personal. She tried to scooch down the bleachers to put space between them, but he pursued, closing the distance, and it wasn’t until she was teetering on the edge of the row that she was forced to endure the duration of the Doctor’s melody. The white, bulbous eyes of his mask offered no leeway into glimpsing the human eyes of the man behind the façade, the faceplate and beak serving to solidify the illusion of his character, muddying the lines between fantasy and reality. Despite his closeness, Lola did find she enjoyed the song he played. The smooth gliding push and pull of his bow was different from the earlier waltzes she heard him perform throughout the day, and a part of her brain told her it was peculiar for the Plague Doctor to be playing a melody that seemed…familiar.
As soon as his song was complete, he hopped off the bleachers, turned to face Lola, and offered her a deep and theatrical bow, to which, she applauded, though guardedly, as she was still recovering from her spontaneous private performance. He straightened, placing the instrument under his chin, preparing to waltz away with another song resonating throughout the land, when Lola snapped into action, stopping him.
“Wait! Mr. Plague Doctor, please! Don’t leave. I---I have something for you.”
The Plague Doctor, doubling as a mime, splayed an open palm across his chest, taken aback. He creeped closer, his movements bird-like, reflecting the mannerisms of a crow, his mask adding to the full-embodiment of that which he portrayed.
“Here,” Lola said, holding out the gold doubloon Captain Winthrop gave her. “This is for you.” She willed her arm to stay steady as the Plague Doctor neared even closer. He examined the coin, bobbing his head side to side to look at the item from different angles, when at last, he plucked the treasure from her fingers, gave it a flip where it glinted in the sunlight, and caught it midair. He seemed pleased with his new acquisition, and Lola smiled.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, watching as he pocketed the coin. “I guess this means we’re friends, now?” She didn’t quite fully understand the rules to how this exchange was going to benefit her time at the Faire, but making friends was better than making enemies, she figured.
The Plague Doctor tapped his chin, pantomiming thinking, and then bent forward into another lusty bow, agreeing to the contract of friendship. Rising, he held out a finger as a gesture to wait, and fishing around into a separate pouch connected to his belt, retrieved a glass bottle, no bigger than a roll of quarters, filled to the cork with colorful charms in the shape of a star. Mimicking Lola’s earlier actions, he presented the jar for her to take.
“Oh! For me?” she asked, and he nodded, moving a step closer. “Thank you.” She took the bottle, twisting it slowly, the charms shifting around one another with a shimmering glint. “They’re beautiful.”
With another flourish of farewell, he was off, playing his waltz and disappearing amongst the crowds. She watched after him, hypnotized by his swaying, her mind caught up in the unexpected turn of events with the Doctor. The metallic “click” of Stanley signaling the tape recording was at its end brought her thoughts back to the present, and all at once, excitement fueled her limbs. She threw the jar of charms into her satchel, located her phone, and in all caps, texted Modesta her location. Then, she scrubbed through Stanley’s tape, finding the moment the Plague Doctor joined her on the bleachers, a smile spreading on her face when she discovered she had managed to capture the familiar tune he played.
“Look who I ran into,” entered Modesta’s voice from behind Lola, and she turned in her seat, easily locating her friend who strolled over with Jack and Lazare, the two carrying large trays of food and beverages.
“Wow! Great spot, Lo,” Jack said, balancing his tray in one hand as he helped Modesta up the bleachers with the other. “Nice and shady.”
“Great view of the field, too. We should see a lot of the action,” Lazare commented.
“The Plague Doctor was here!” Lola blurted, unable to hold back her news any longer. “I gave him the coin, and he gave me this!” She pulled out the charms, holding the bottle for all to see. “And he played me a song!” Lola next held out Stanley, and pressed “play”, the Doctor’s tune filling the space around the friends.
“Why does the melody sound familiar?” Jack asked.
“Right?”
“Hey! I know that song,” Lazare spoke up. “I did a study on old war songs last semester in my history of broadcasting class. That’s, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, by Vera Lynn.”
“We’ll meet again?” Lola repeated, her eyes grown wide and her jaw dropping open from shock.
“That’s so spooky,” Modesta declared. “He played that for you when you gave him the coin?”
“No, before I gave it to him. He sat down right next to me, did his song, and was going to leave until I gave him the coin, and then he gave me the charms,” Lola explained as she put Stanley back into her satchel.
“Why does it feel like a direct message to you?” Jack asked. “It’s like he sought you out specifically to play that song.”
“Like, someone told him to play it?” Lola asked, reaching a hand behind her back to brush away the feelings of a dull, burning prickle between her shoulder blades.
“I didn’t know the Plague Doctor took requests,” Lazare said. “But, you gave him the coin, so that means he can’t…hurt you?”
Lola laughed, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear. “Maybe?” she finally spoke, wiping away watery eyes from her mirth. “I think it means we’re friends, at least, but spiraling on an empty stomach isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s not let good food go to waste, and dig in!” And she gestured toward their lunch.
Agreeing to set aside questions and mysteries for later contemplation, the friends divvied out food and ale, their conversations and laughter landing on a lighter tone than of Doctors and waltzes. More and more of the crowds people filled the seating areas as the time for the joust was nearing. Lola noticed the pages of each knight circling the perimeter of the field, requesting volunteers to present favors for when the knights were to do battle, and she hopped down from the bleachers, flagging over the White Knight’s attendant.
“M’lady,” greeted the page as he moved toward Lola. “Sir Raphael sends his regards and is honored to fight for your favor.”
“Thank you, Master Simon. Please relay my deepest gratitude,” Lola said, accepting the elastic loop adorned in ribbon streamers of white and gold. She returned to her seat, smiling and blushing as her friends teased her with childish, lighthearted “oohs” and kissy sound effects.
“So, whose honor does Raphael fight for when you’re not attending the Faire?” Lazare asked.
“No one’s,” Lola answered, dreamily running her fingers through the strands of fabric tied to her favor. “He only fights for mine. I made him this token, and he keeps it wrapped around his arm when I’m not here.” The “oohs”, “awws”, and kissing noises intensified, and Lola laughed, embarrassed, but none the less, wholeheartedly in love.
It was time for the grand proceedings of the main event to take place, starting with the jester leading the procession of the royal court to their lavish pavilion as trumpeters marched across the field to enhance the pomp and splendor of the festivities. Flag bearers maneuvered in intricate patterns to add to the spectacle, the King’s coat of arms emblazoned on their wide, majestic purple banners. The King loomed at the railing of his pavilion, the crowds erupting in applause at his presence. He called for calm, and once the noise quieted, he greeted the masses.
“Generous patrons, I welcome you!” he bellowed, and once more, shouts and applause filled the air. “You are about to witness the deadly art of the most high caliber that few only dare to attempt. To judge these skills of might and mettle, I present my Knight Marshal Lord Beckham.”
A decorated man and two serfs appeared onto the field to more applause and cheers.
“Your Majesty,” the Lord Beckham began, “it is with honor and dignity that I judge you these knights. The games are as follows: tent pegging and tilting at rings. The Crest Melee is officially enacted, and should the heraldry of any knight falter or damage, they are hereby disqualified from the joust and any opportunity of earning your grand reward.”
“Very well,” acknowledged the King. “I find these terms suitable. And now, Marshal, you may call upon the knights.”
“Good people! Cheer for your champions!”
The thunder of horses’ hooves blended with the cacophonous roar of shouts and ovations as the knights on horseback burst onto the field. The Red Knight led the others in a jaunty race around the tiltyard, the many noble house colors flashing in the sun, manes of horses blowing in the wind, dirt and dust kicked up into thick clouds, the men in arms reveling in the excited proclamations of their enthusiastic audience. After a few turns about the field, the men pulled up on their horses, cantering into a softer trot, safe enough now for the knights’ grooms to lead the imposing creatures in a line to face the Royal Pavilion.
“Your Majesty, I present to you your knights. What say you of them?” boomed Lord Beckham.
“Knights,” the King addressed, “I find you to be acceptable in today’s games. I ask that you fight fairly, with honor, and give these people entertainment worthy of your house.”
As a row, the six bowed in a gracious sweep in their saddles.
“Your Majesty,” Sir Richard, the Green Knight, called out as he righted himself. “I can assure you we are nothing if not honest and true, and I pledge that today’s tournament will indeed give you the entertainment you so seek.”
“Thank you, Sir Green Knight. I trust you will uphold these declarations.”
Some audience attendees began booing, knowing full well the trickery and falsehoods of the man in green, and Lola, who booed amongst the most of them, could have sworn she saw Raphael roll his eyes at his obnoxious scene partner.
“To arms!” the King commanded. “Let the games begin!”
The attendants stepped aside so the knights could prod their horses into one more jaunting circle around the tiltyard, waving to the crowds who cheered them on. The games were officially underway, and Lola, cheering for her knight in shining armor, sat back to enjoy the show.
*****
One by one, each knight took his turn throughout the games, the Knight Marshal’s serfs keeping score of each declared victor, the points quickly racking up to determine the order for the joust. Soon, it was time to tally up the total, and as the calculations were being made, Lord Beckham announced for those selected from the audience to present their favors to their knights. Lola, like the other chosen volunteers, made her way to the rope lining the boundaries of the arena, waving her favor of glittering streamers above her head, and she gave one powerful “Caw-CAW!” instantly alerting the White Knight to her location.
His warm smile lit up his face as his horse pranced over, and once he was close enough to be within comfortable earshot, called out a healthy “Caw-CAW!” of his own. She laughed, her heart filled to bursting, not minding that their weird and playful greeting gathered a decent amount of onlookers, drawing curious attention. Raphael’s horse neared, and upon delivering a special commanding click of his tongue, the horse dipped into a stately bow, kneeling on one foreleg in a dignified display of respect towards his chosen lady. The crowds around them “aww-ed” while Raphael lowered the tip of his lance for Lola to slip on the elastic band of ribbons. The horse rose, the two mouthing words of love to one another, and then he gallivanted away into position for the joust.
“Pages!” roared Lord Beckham. “Attend to your knights. The time for the joust is nigh.”
The audience exploded in jubilation as the knights gathered their helmets, the main event ready to begin. The Red and Black Knight were swiftly eliminated, the Blue Knight advancing to take on the Murder Hornet, but to no one’s surprise, was promptly defeated, sprawled in the dirt after one pass, leaving now the Green and White Knight left to duke it out for a place to challenge Sir Tony. The tension surrounding the famed rival knights laid heavy and thick, the crowd booing or shouting encouragements, some even chanting for bloodshed. The men had to make three passes at one another, and if they somehow both managed to stay atop their mounts, Lord Beckham would declare a victor to advance.
Lola sat on the edge of her seat with rampant anxiety of how the joust was to play out, she and the others cheering for Raphael to make quick work of the villain at the opposite end of the tiltyard. The first pass was a bone-cracking hit upon their shields that splintered their lances, much to the delight of the spectators, the second pass equally as thrilling when Raphael managed to disarm Sir Richard. It was time for the third pass, and if Raphael could either land a clean hit or at the least stay on his horse, he was guaranteed the opportunity of battling the Murder Hornet, potentially winning the whole joust.
The two combatants were given fresh lances, their horses scraping at the earth, ready to charge, when at last, the all clear was given, and the horses took off at a mad sprint down the line. As the lances were lowered to strike the incoming opponent, Sir Richard’s horse violently whinnied, pulling up short, and rose to stand on its hind legs, all the while screeching terribly. Sir Richard dropped his lance, grabbing hard at the reins to steady his mount, but the horse dove forward, bucking its back legs out in a powerful kick that caused it to tangle itself in the rope of flags dividing the strip marking the tiltyard. The horse’s ankles buckled, tossing Sir Richard off his saddle, where he hit the ground hard, luckily rolling just out of reach of the creature’s powerful legs that scrambled in the air for purchase.
Chaos erupted onto the scene, spectators screaming and abandoning the stands in droves while the Knight Marshal tried to steady the wild horse. The beast became more frantic, changing gears to charge at the White Knight, bucking and kicking at the other in a dangerous flail that managed to clip the jaw of the rival steed, spiraling Raphael’s horse into a horrified panic of pain and confusion, whinnying and snorting as it, too, began to buck around the grounds haphazardly. Raphael was thrown from his saddle, landing roughly in and amongst a pile of hay bales. The vision of her lover flopping into the barricade was enough of a shock to jolt Lola into action, and ignoring the cries of her friends, she leapt from the bleachers, dashing under the safety rope line, desperation fueling her movements to reach Raphael. A pair of strong arms encircled around her waist from behind before she could take two steps across the field.
“Hold, woman! What do you think---oh. It’s you, Little Lark,” Sir Richard huffed. He had staggered over to the sidelines, removing his helmet to gather his bearings, watching on with mild disorientation as the horses appeared to go berserk. “Are you daft? The White Knight will skin me alive if you got injured, and believe it or not, I’m still a knight left with some amount of moral code to protect another’s intended.”
Lola wriggled frantically in his grasp, trying to get to Raphael’s side no matter the cost, even if it meant putting her own safety in jeopardy. “Let me go, Sir Richard!” she demanded, managing to break free.
“Wench! Come back!” he roared.
She ran, relieved to see Raphael standing, tumbling out of the haystacks, but she still needed to be with him, hold him, make sure he was sound and unharmed. “Raph! Honey Love!” she sob-screamed at him, her voice breaking as desperate delirium pushed her forward.
“Lola, stay back!” Raphael shouted upon seeing her sprinting into danger.
“Look out!” came Sir Tony’s warning. He tried helping the Knight Marshal and others corral the wild horses, but his own steed became unnaturally spooked, also throwing its rider, and taking the lead of the other two beasts, began a stampede across the field with Lola in the direct line of their path. In all of the kerfuffle, with shouts and screams and orders being hurled at or around her, she noticed too late the ground shaking beneath her, the earth trembling as the crazed horses careened in her direction. Lola stopped short, stumbling, and in the process, lost her balance, tripping over hidden pits and divots in the field, unavoidably falling over her feet. She saw the horses coming, and on pure instinct, curled herself into as much of a protective ball as she could, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced for impact.
A heavy weight fell upon her just as the horses were about to collide into her, and she held her breath, waiting for the pain of trampling horses’ hooves to stomp her into the ground. Instead, a sharp, metallic clang of metal resounded in a jarring clash above her head, and a grunt of hot air fanned her neck from above. All at once, the clatter stilled, the sounds of retreating horses dissipating in the opposite direction.
“He jumped over us,” Raphael said on an exhale, lifting himself off her. “Thank the high heavens he jumped over us.”
Lola opened her eyes, seeing that the heavy weight above her had been Raphael the whole time. His shield was raised in front of them, one of the horse’s back legs having nicked the metal as it jumped the rope fence to delve into the woods with the others. The chaos of staff members trying to rally control hummed as a quiet roar like packed cotton balls in the back of her ears, the ebbing adrenaline numbing her senses enough so that she could barely register Raphael’s arms holding her to his body in a firm embrace, rocking gently, his worried voice echoing faintly in her periphery.
What rang out crystal clear over the mayhem and panic, striking a haunting image to sear into her soul, was a figure in long black robes and a wide-brimmed hat, waltzing across her line of sight with his violin tucked under his chin, all the while playing the chilling, intimate tune to Vera Lynn’s promise of “We’ll Meet Again”.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! Well, that was a doozy of a chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it! Hopefully, you all enjoyed reading it! As a reminder, this isn't a Ren Faire story, although it could absolutely turn into one, haha! It all plays a part in how everything unfolds, I promise! Hopefully I can get some other chapters out sooner rather than later!
Again, hopefully everyone had fun, and until next time, happy reading!
The aromas of spiced nuts, cinnamon, and turkey legs perfumed the air, the gentle breezes of the early morning carrying the signature scents over the crowds of lustrously costumed characters mingling around the lush grounds of the Newberry Renaissance Faire. Minstrels sporting drums, pan flutes, and lyres serenaded passersby from stone bridges or wooden platforms adorned with swaths of colorful fabrics, the merrymaking of frivolity an infectious delight of ye old entertainment. Cheers and shouts erupted from clusters around tantalizing performers, as all the while, the sun beamed brightly in a picture-perfect, clear blue sky. Lola, clad in peasant maiden attire of a linen blouse and cotton skirts, crossed the main entry wooden bridge spanning a healthy flowing stream, entering the space created by and celebrated with magic, imagination, and mischief. Here, the Realm reigned supreme, and the currents of palpable chaos brought Lola’s spirit higher and lighter with every step she took with giddy enthusiasm filling her heart. The Renaissance Faire held its usual traditions and predictabilities, yet every adventure was always new, and rarely produced the same outcome twice, but if one thing remained steadfast and true no matter how frequent she entered the grounds, it had to be the permeating essence of Love.
Her friends, also garbed in peasant attire of bar maid corsets, jerkins, and spritely pantaloons, were already three steps ahead of her, Lola choosing to linger behind on purpose to absorb her environment. After all, it was the Renaissance Faire where she first met Raphael and fell in love. She wanted to savor the intoxicating sights and sounds around her, to take in where this place, this very spot of earth, held more significance than any haunted house or ghoulish goblin fairytale, for it was in this treasured place where her soul came home. Walking onto the grounds, she presented her ticket to the attendant and received a map detailing special events and the myriad of stages for performances, but her sights were set on one particular section above all these wonderful things: the jousting ring. The knights weren’t scheduled to the field until one o’clock, which gave the group of friends plenty of time to explore and experience all that the Renaissance Faire had to offer.
“All right, kids, what do we want to do first?” Modesta asked. She stepped to the side of the trail, the others gathering close to game plan their morning. “Personally, I want to visit the lapidary in the Makers’ Market,” she began. “I’m hoping there are some loose gems I can pick up to use in items for the store.”
“I’ve got my sights set on some turkey legs and ale,” Jack declared, patting his stomach, “and I wouldn’t mind seeing some old friends in the pirates’ guild as well.”
“Ooh! Look at this,” Lazare said, pointing to his map. “There’s the Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press, and the King’s Labyrinth. That sounds like fun.”
“The Royal Bookbinders and Printing Press?” Lola repeated, unfolding her own map to confirm Lazare’s discovery. “That’s new. Raph didn’t say anything about those being in the faire this year.”
“In all fairness, he did tell us there are more spectacles this season,” Modesta said. “It looks like the Bookbinders and Printing Press are stationed next to the armory. We can stop there on the way to the joust.”
“The King’s Labyrinth is on the outskirts of the Fairy Village,” Jack added, looking over Modesta’s shoulder to point out the location. In the distance, he heard the ringing knell of the town crier, and looking in the direction up the main path of the Makers’ Market, could just work out the tops of brightly colored banners and streamers from a multitude of flag poles. “We made it in time for the opening parade,” he said. “Let’s check it out before we do our shopping.”
Stowing away their maps, the band of friends found an open spot on the outskirts of the crowds under a shade tree where they could watch and cheer on the parade of royals and nobles making their grand appearance. Lola only half-applauded the King as he came onto the scene, his perpetual smug-sneer and cold eyes making her skin crawl, and she was thankful her location wasn’t in his direct line of sight for him to notice her or her friends. As much as Lola loved and enjoyed coming to the Renaissance Faire, her relationship with its cast members was unique compared to most other patrons, who only came for turkey legs and a lively joust, and after watching the King gallivant in his pompous waddle down the path flanked with cheering peasants, was glad she was hidden from view.
Next came Lola’s favorite part of the parade; the line of jousting knights. She cheered for the Red and Blue knights as they walked side by side leading the men fashioned in leathers and plated armor while waving exuberantly to the mass of peers honoring them with shouts and applause. The Black Knight followed close behind the front pair, walking with the Green Knight, and Lola had to fight every urge to berate the Green knight with “boos” when she spotted him. He was a popular character with a loyal following, so instead of vocalizing her outright displeasure, she stuck her tongue out at him, and then gave two thumbs down with a disapproving scowl. Being pitted against Raphael as his sworn, mortal enemy, despite their kinship as brothers-in-arms, The Green knight, Sir Richard of the fox, lived up to his rapscallion reputation of underhanded trickster ways, which annoyed Raphael on the jousting field when the man in green broke script to try and gain favor with the crowds to cheer him on for entertaining deceit.
Behind the knight of morally ill-repute, walked the newest addition to the jousting team, the Yellow and Black Knight, Sir Tony. A seasoned jouster, his speed and quick work of his opponents on the tilt yard procured him the nickname Murder Hornet, his colors easily lending to the affectionate moniker. He secured his place into the cast as a way to spice up the monotony of rival jealousy between the Green and White Knight, and although his skills were quite revered amongst cast and faire attendees, his disposition off the field was more akin to a harmless bumble bee than to his house of the wasp, his doting serfs adorning the lovable title of the Yellow Jackets. Walking side by side with Sir Tony trod Lola’s favorite knight, and upon seeing his broad frame clothed in white and gold, his chain mail and bracers polished and glinting in the sun, she couldn’t help herself but to begin screeching like a wild bird.
“Caw-CAW! Caw-CAW!”
Her abrupt outburst startled her friends, a few patrons around them, and even some of the parade marchers, but she beamed brightly a large smile as her arm waved high above her head, pleased to note her cry secured the White Knight’s attention.
A grin spread across Raphael’s face, and he excused himself from his conversation with Sir Tony, breaking away from the parade line to cross the slip of field around the dirt path to unite with his beloved under the shade tree. She laughed as he encircled her with his strong arms, pulling her close to lay a kiss upon her honeyed lips.
“Any particular reason why you shouted at me like a crow?” he asked as he disengaged from their loving exchange.
“Crows scream when they’re happy,” Lola answered.
“I would make a quip about you being happy last night, but I don’t want to be thrown into horny jail,” he chuckled.
“There’s a horny jail? Oh, dear! Please arrest me, Officer, for I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
Raphael gave a sigh, bending down so his forehead touched with hers. “Woman, you are a distraction that will be the death of me,” he declared. “Keep an eye on her,” he said while straightening, sharing a specific look with the others, to which, they nodded in understanding. He pressed another kiss to Lola’s lips before departing back into the parade line, Sir Tony giving him a chummy shove on his shoulder upon return with a boisterous laugh that carried on the wind.
Lola didn’t take insult to Raphael’s parting instructions, though she did roll her eyes when he basically drafted their friends to be her babysitter, as if she had the capability to get into that much trouble. More of the parade continued, the noble lords and ladies in their velvets, silks, and other finery traipsing behind the knights, and to her delight, watched as the Elven Lord and the pirate Captain participated in the celebrated march of royals and delegates. In past years, the fairy folk were considered “unwelcomed” by the King, and the pirates mainly kept to themselves by the water’s edge, tolerated, but rarely incorporated in the King’s festivities. It was good to see progress was being made towards inclusion of the Realm.
Bringing up the rear of the parade, swaggering in a slow waltz along the pathway instead of a straight line, was another newer cast member, the Plague Doctor. His black robes kicked up dust around his feet as he swayed to the music of the violin he played, the long, hooked beak of his mask flashing sinisterly with every tilt of his head, the bulbous, white eyes a jarring contrast to the dark shadow he portrayed. Lola shivered as he passed, the haunting melody of his instrument caressing a spot in her ear that caused her to shake her head to try and dispel the weird, ethereal itch. She cursed him for being creepy…and intriguing. Lola took out a notebook from within her satchel, and jotted down notes of inspiration as the parade dwindled away, opening the road of the Makers’ Market to the people once more.
“I love a parade,” Jack declared with a sigh, hands on his hips as the last of the minstrels and colors rounded a bend. “Are we ready to browse some wares?” he then addressed the group. Ready to start their adventure, the friends moseyed into the Market, eager to explore and discover the multitude of venders in unique craftsmanship. Their first stop was the tanner, where Lola picked up another leather journal, Lazare found a hip flask with what looked to be surrounded in dragon scales, and Jack spotted a handsome stein accentuated with brass studs. It had a weathered, seafaring appeal that he proclaimed to be his new vessel for his game night grog.
They next found the lapidary, where Modesta ogled over the plethora of raw crystals, tumble stones, and the shinier, much more glittery pieces of loose marquise gems, ready for their settings and finishes.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Lola asked, joining Modesta as she looked through the display casings of precious stones.
“Not really,” Modesta replied with a shrug of her shoulder. “I might get a handful of tumble stones I don’t already have at the shop for some organites, but lately, I’ve been feeling the call to try my hand at jewelry making. Oh! Take a look at this,” she said, holding up what looked like a Petri dish the size of a silver dollar. “Morganite. That’s a pretty stone, and ooh! Look at this. Blue Spinel. That one is pretty, too. Ooh! Check out these rubies!”
Lola was quickly forgotten by Modesta who lost herself to the stacks of gem stones, and with a smile, turned her focus to a bowl of miniature apophyllite pyramids. She purchased a handful of the shiny diamond-like points, the merchant placing them in a small leather pouch for protection, and once the transaction was complete, she stepped outside of the shop to join Jack and Lazare to wait for Modesta to finish shopping.
“Let’s hit the Fairy Village once Modesta’s done,” Lola suggested. “There are a few specialty shops in that part of the faire that have the incense I’m looking for. Plus, the pirates are in that direction as well, so we can stay and listen to a song or two before making our way to the Bookbinders. Ouch!” She stumbled, reaching a hand out to brace herself against a tree.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?” both men asked at the same time.
“Yeah, sorry,” Lola apologized with an embarrassed chuckle. “I forgot how much of a pain in the ass these shoes are. Now I remember why I don’t wear them, they’re absolutely killing my feet.”
“That’s because your toe box is too tight,” Modesta said as she sauntered out of the lapidary to rejoin her friends.
“My what?” Lola asked, mouth agape and eyes wide with mild horror.
“Your toe box,” she repeated. “It’s the part of the shoe where your toes go.”
“Okay, one, why do you know that’s what it’s called, and two, why does it have to sound so…creepy?” Lola’s question trailed off as her attention was distracted by the high-pitched lilting tune of violin music wafting on the breeze, and she turned her head in the direction of the Fairy Village where she observed the Plague Doctor from the parade waltzing into the borders marked with tents and campfires of the magical folk. Looking upon the gangly character, a bolt of lightning shot through her, clearing away hazy cobwebs that had gathered in clumps at the forefront of her mind, and her body tingled with the long overdue welcomed buzzing sensations known as inspiration.
“Modesta, I could kiss you!” she shouted with excitement at her friend.
“Please don’t,” Modesta objected as her brows furrowed, taking a step back in retreat.
“I’m being metaphorical. You just gave me the spark I needed!” Lola started walking, abandoning her friends, her steps taking her down the path leading towards the Fairy Village, her notebook and pen plucked from her satchel already in hand, furiously scribbling her thoughts as fast as they manifested, her pages filling quickly with bullet points, webbings, and outlines.
“Wait, I don’t understand. What did I say?”
But Lola didn’t respond, as she was already halfway towards the Village, Jack and Lazare following after with a shrug of acceptance as they trailed behind. Jack took up Modesta’s hand, tugging her along, the three meandering in the background at a leisurely pace while Lola continued to stalk after whatever fancy had captured her attention.
Lola couldn’t explain why she followed the siren song of the Plague Doctor, but his air of mystery was exactly the essence she wanted to replicate for her new villain in her rapidly forming mystery novel to be titled “The Toe Box”. Whatever enchantment was cast by the intricate and nimble fingered master behind the mask had her following him like a pied piper, and after much dodging and weaving between bushes and shrubs, she found herself lurking behind a thick pine tree, observing the dark figure waltzing sinisterly under the archway of the newly constructed attraction of the King’s Labyrinth. Lola hesitated, lowering her notebook and pen, pausing her notetaking. The music of the Doctor’s song continued to drift towards her, calling her forward despite dissipating the farther in the musician traveled. Against her better judgment, she stowed her writing implements back into her satchel and followed, entering the labyrinth.
The walls towered above her, their textured façade manufactured to look like ancient, crumbling stones stacked on top of one another with moss and other damp vegetation emerging through the cracks of mortar. Even though the sky was open to her, the structure exceeded its purpose of making patrons feel trapped and lost. The Plague Doctor’s song had faded to a point where she could no longer detect the melody, and with a frown, figured he had solved the labyrinth, and was on the next part of his meandering journey.
“Oh, well,” she said with a sigh. “At least I managed to get a few good ideas. Who knows? Maybe I’ll run into him again later. Now…to find my way out.” She turned in a circle, debating on which path to take, settling on the crossroad to her left. She continued her promenade to what she believed was deeper into the winding catacombs of the maze, holding onto hopeful feelings of nearing its center soon, when another turn took her onto a path blanketed in fog.
“Ooh! Spooky,” she declared with a gleeful smile, enjoying the tendrils of thin smoke she kicked up from her movements. “Maybe this means I’m getting close to the end.”
Onward she continued, enjoying the creepy ambiance, rounding a corner that opened up into a small clearing. She successfully reached the center of the labyrinth, noting that multiple paths of the maze channeled patrons to this exact spot no matter which direction they took. A clear exit path, marked by an archway mirroring the entrance, stood directly across from her as she entered the fog filled clearing. The small rotunda was designed to resemble a decaying cemetery, complete with scattered remains of tombstones and monumental statues, the crumbling remains weather-worn and forgotten, overtaken by time and nature.
“Definitely spooky,” Lola confirmed for herself. The impressive artistry of set-design was worth notetaking, as well as a few sketches, and once again, she rummaged for her notebook. With her attention focused on the confines of her satchel, she was unaware of the tall, sizeable statue looming in front of her, and knocked into the sturdy structure, dropping her items to the ground just as she retrieved them.
“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry!” she apologized, kneeling down to pick up her things. She then laughed at herself, feeling silly for apologizing to an inanimate object, at least, she thought it was funny, until the statue started to move.
Lola slowly rose from the ground, eyes wide at what she believed to be a tombstone monument draped in a hooded cloak of heavy fabric turn to face her. The obscuring shroud of the thick cowl blocked out any type of discernable facial features, leaving a void of shadows where the head should be. The dilapidated graveyard was eerie enough on its own merit, but as the figure moved, the air grew cold and clammy, causing Lola’s breathing to come in as chilled and shallowed draws, barely sufficient to fill her lungs. She took a step backwards, fear telling her to run while at the same time freezing her in place, the small hairs on her body standing on end, an instinctual indicator that whatever stood before her was, in fact, very dangerous.
The monument remained fixed to its one spot, and Lola blinked, fear ebbing enough for her brain to process what stood so rigidly in front of her. Perhaps the stoic statue was an animatronic on a swivel base, and moved at random as a scare-tactic for people wandering the maze, so she reached out a cautious hand, attempting to understand how the prop operated, but it flinched back a step as her hand drew near, avoiding her touch. She let out a relieved, albeit nervous, chuckle as she dropped her arm.
“Oh! You are alive,” she said, then mimed wiping sweat from her forehead. “Whew! For a moment, you really gave me quite a fright. Sorry again for bumping into you.”
The figure gave a slow, deliberate bow as a way to display acknowledging and accepting her apology. Its movements gave Lola a chance to fully look over her new acquaintance, surmising the form to be of masculine build, with pale hands adorned with many large and bejeweled rings on each of his fingers poking out of his long, robed sleeves. Lola also noticed that the cloaked man held in his possession a black, leather bound book with tiny slips of shiny paper sticking out along the tops and edges of brittle, yellowed pages. Spying the book, her brows furrowed in confusion, for it set off alarm bells, triggering a string of memories to flood her thoughts, and as the figure turned to walk away, clarity broke through her mental labyrinth, and she blurted out her shocking recollection.
“Lillian’s grimoire!”
Numbing terror crawled up Lola’s windpipe, choking the breath out of her as the robed figure first halted in his tracks, and then began to gradually face her head on once more. His earlier demeanor of indifference shifted into menace, the air between them resting thick and heavy. Lola could have sworn she heard her name being called, yet it sounded distant, and underwater, but there was no time to dwell on the matter that may or may not be happening in the background, for Lola was too transfixed on the man who thumbed through the alleged grimoire, too horrified as he raised three glittery fingers into the air. He hooked them into a clawed position, swiping them down through the air to then make a random assortment of other gestures, drawing intricate, invisible symbols, and that was all the incentive she needed for her brain to command her to run.
She turned on her heel, booking in a hard sprint towards the path whence she came, desperate to put whatever cruel entity this was far behind her, and upon leaving the clearing, ran full force into Modesta, the two toppling over one another, hitting the ground hard.
“Ow! Hey! Watch it! Lola?” Modesta shook her head, clearing away the daze of being knocked over. She was unaware it was Lola who collided with her, and any trace of irritation evaporated as she saw her friend scramble to her feet in blind panic. “Lola, what’s wrong?”
“He has it!” Lola shouted, recognizing Modesta, and lunged at her, grabbing an arm and yanking her upright. “He has it!” she repeated.
“Has what? What are you talking about?” Confused, Modesta got her legs under her, and followed Lola who practically dragged her to the place she had just been running from, suddenly finding herself in the center of the labyrinth with Lola pointing wildly at a crusty, mottled tarp hanging off the crumbled remains of a statue.
“There! He has Lillian’s grimoire!”
“Use more words, Lola, what are you saying?”
“That man, in the cloak, has Lillian Northcott’s grimoire,” Lola again shouted, “and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he tried to hex me!”
Modesta marched over to the figure Lola indicated, and yanked down on the fabric, revealing nothing more than a simple statue the shroud had covered. “There’s no one here, Lola. Just a tarp and this random, lonely can of paint someone forgot to put away.” She nudged the paint can with her foot, sliding it in a better hiding spot between the base of the crumbled statue and grave marker so as not to spoil the immersion experience for others traipsing through.
“But…there was someone here, and he had Lillian’s grimoire,” Lola tried to explain while looking around the cemetery for any sign of the man she encountered.
“Lillian’s grimoire from the Manor House?” Modesta scoffed. “We’re the only people who know about that, unless you think ‘Newspaper Man’ has taken to wandering the Renaissance faire, too.”
“Newspaper Man wouldn’t try to hex me,” Lola stoutly retorted, shooting Modesta a stern look.
“Hex you? Lo, no one wants to hex you. Whomever you saw is gone now, and if he was that theatrical, maybe what actually happened was you met a new cast member. Didn’t Raph say the Faire was incorporating more actors whose job it is to roam the grounds?”
“Maybe,” Lola relented, the events of the last few moments becoming muddied as uncertainty crept into her mind as to what she experienced. “But, if he is an actor, then he needs to reel it in. He was almost too menacing. Maybe…if we try tracking him down….”
“Oh, no,” Modesta cut in, stopping any notions of mischief she knew Lola was on the path of creating. “See, this is why you can’t be left alone,” she said with a smile. “You cause too much trouble.” She then hooked her arm with one of Lola’s, leading them both out of the labyrinth. “But, if you’re really that concerned, maybe the Elven Lord can give you a charm or amulet to help ward off any potential hexes.”
The idea of visiting with the Elven Lord perked up Lola’s spirits, and her steps became buoyant, a smile returning to her face. If anyone had the power to dispel or thwart away the essence of evil energy, it had to be the mystical lord dappled in silks of silver and plum.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Hello, hello, hello, friends!
Surprise! I survived the holidays, and can FINALLY get back on a consistent schedule! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I've got plenty more along the way! You all have been so kind and amazing while waiting for me to get my butt in gear, so thank you for ever and always!
Lola, having entered full on detective-mode, interrogated Raphael over their plates of scrambled eggs and bacon with toast. Black coffee and maple syrup scented the air while the morning sun spilled through the plate glass windows, warming the plastic vinyl seats of the booth the two occupied, the din of the older, Sunday morning crowd of churchgoers helping to disguise their conversations surrounding the mysterious and paranormal from nosy eavesdroppers.
“Walk it through with me one more time,” Lola said, conducting the conversation with a strip of bacon in her hand. “You passed Newspaper Man on the stairs,” she began, leading the opening statement.
Raphael nodded as he buttered his slice of toast. “I did,” he confirmed, moving next to dip his knife into the mini, personal jar of raspberry preserves.
“Then, you looked back, and saw him, quote: ‘go into the library’.”
“Precisely,” he agreed, crunching into his toast slice.
“He just…walked in.”
“Turned the doorknob and everything,” Raphael supplied over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Okay, okay, okay. So, you passed him on the stairs, you looked back, and saw him go into the library.” Lola wasn’t sure exactly what the cause of her growing headache was, for whether it was a lack of sleep or not enough caffeine, her brain felt like it was slamming repeatedly into a brick wall, unable to wrap itself around the simple concept presented to her of Newspaper Man walking into the library.
“I can assure you the facts won’t change no matter how many times you have me tell the story,” he said with a laugh. He reached his fork across the table, nudging Lola’s utensil she held loosely in her hand as a reminder to eat her eggs before they turned cold, and his smile softened as she subconsciously began to shovel forkfuls of the yellow fluffiness into her mouth while her brow continued to remain furrowed in thought.
“The library was locked,” she declared between chews. “Modesta made sure of that multiple times while we were checking out. Did he have a key?” she asked, blinking her eyes from staring into the middle ground to turn directly towards Raphael.
“No,” was his answer. “He merely approached the library, turned the knob freely, opened the door, entered the room, and then closed the door behind him.”
“But the library was locked,” she repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, and finally acknowledging the bacon she had been holding, took a bite out of it in frustration.
“I know, which is what makes the whole ordeal so spooky.” He once again reached across the table, taking it upon himself to butter and jam Lola’s slice of toast. Her body moved independently from her mind, her thoughts enrapt and myopic, fixated on the event at the staircase, oblivious to the fact she had taken the toast slice he offered while uttering a small “thank you”, already half-consuming it before asking her next question.
“Well, you know what this means now, right?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” he quipped, then thanked the waitress who came to their table to refill their coffees. “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” he finished once the server left.
“We have to go back.”
Raphael’s hand paused over his cup as he was adding sugar to the freshly poured dark liquid, surprised by Lola’s remark. “To the Manor House?”
“Obviously,” she sighed with an exasperated eye roll. “Come on, grab your stuff, let’s go.”
“Wait a minute, hold on there,” he said, stretching his arm out to stop her from scooching out of the booth. “We can’t go back to the Manor House.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we don’t have our keys to get back into the building, for one,” he began to explain.
“Newspaper Man didn’t need a key,” she grumbled under her breath.
“And, it’s only---,” he looked to his watch, “---eight thirty in the morning. The Manor House isn’t open yet to the public.”
“We can wait in the parking lot until the staff come around to unlock the main doors,” she countered, and resumed her scooching.
“Dandelion, as much as I want to solve the mystery of the Newspaper Man and the library, I think we need to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.” He had stopped her scooching again. “We can give the Manor House a call later today and ask questions on why the actors have such an early call time, all right?”
Lola stared at Raphael sitting across from her at their shared, sticky little table, and noted he was tired, the slight, puffy bags under his eyes taking on a thin translucence to highlight purple shadows around his drooping lids, and the sight of such weary features on his handsome face plucked a cord deep within her heart. She took up his hand still gently pressed to her arm, and raised it to her lips, kissing his fingers before setting their clasped hands down onto the table, and nodded. They shared a smile, and then returned to eating their breakfast.
“The Newspaper Man and the library,” she repeated at length with a chuckle. “Sounds like a title for a good story.”
“If anyone could write such a tale, it would be you,” he complimented.
They went back to eating, enjoying the meal in comfortable silence, yet all the while, Lola’s mind was spinning, wondering how Newspaper Man’s story was going to unfold.
Unfortunately, Newspaper Man’s story was turning into more of a knotted lump of spaghetti than the neat, perfectly laid out exposé she expected once ending her phone call after breakfast. Following Raphael’s suggestion, she phoned the Manor House as soon as they returned home, and after a craftily formulated re-telling of events from the morning to gather information about their surprise visitor, learned that cast members of the mystery dinner do not show up that early for rehearsals or shows, let alone in costume, nor had any staff seen a cast member of Detective Babcock’s troupe dressed as if they were selling newspapers on a street corner. It would seem, as her clever fiancé had previously stated over breakfast, that she would have to chalk this up as a really cool, albeit weird experience.
As the days of the week progressed, she was left to her own devices, which was a risky situation considering most of the time she was bored, the week continuing to draw out in the slow, languid way summer magically melted time. Raphael was preoccupied with Renaissance duties leading up to the big, opening weekend, and so was out of the house most days, and all her other friends had regular jobs to keep them busy, which meant not only was Lola bored, but alone. She listened through most of Stanley’s recordings she captured during her birthday weekend, and hadn’t, as of side A, found a hint of disembodied voices or otherwise, although it was fun re-listening to the mystery theater from that night. She texted Jack to find out how much evidence he was able to collect from his recordings, but he had yet to start going through any footage, as he was needed at Curios and Oddities to help Modesta with the summer crowds.
With nothing to presently occupy her time, Lola reclined flat on her back on the couch in the family room, staring at the ceiling, playing a game she made up with herself of blowing her bangs out of her face to guess where they would land on her forehead. Her mind, all the while, jumped from one thought of topic to the next, unable to land on an activity that sounded the most entertaining, let alone appealing, to spark her interest on how to fill her day. She was all caught up with posting for her writer’s blog, and no new commissions had come in for her freelance jobs. She sighed, and threw a leg over the back of the couch as an arm dangled askance off the edge to complete her sprawled rendition of a squashed starfish. She resigned herself to a day of couch-rotting, and listlessly reached for the remote to the TV for some mind numbing binging, when her phone pinged from its place on the coffee table, and startled by the sudden tinkling of wind chimes, fumbled for the device, curiosity piqued with hope for some much needed excitement.
“Oh! It’s Mom,” she said aloud to herself, looking at the notification on her screen. Instead of reading the message, she decided on giving her mom a call. “Hi, Mom, I got your text. What’s up?”
“Hi, Sweetheart. I was wondering if you wanted an old box of your stuff I had saved from when you were in middle school. I found it while cleaning out the attic,” Lola’s mother, Marcia, asked in her light and chipper tone.
“Middle school?” Lola scoffed. “Why are you hanging onto my old report cards?”
“They’re not your old report cards,” Marcia laughed, “and you never know when you might need them. This box has some of your old notebooks and stories. There are some photos in here I think you might like, too.”
“Old stories? I thought I had all of those with me.”
“I thought you took them all as well, and yet, here’s a box with your name on it. Want me to swing by and drop them off for you?”
“No, I can drive to you,” Lola said. “Are you busy, or can I come over now?”
“Whenever you are able is fine with me. I’m home all day, so there’s no need to rush.”
“Awesome! Let me throw on some pants real quick and I’ll head on over.”
There was a lengthened pause before Marcia spoke again. “You’re not wearing pants? I hope you’re at least in the comfort of your own home.”
“I mean, they’re pajama pants, but at this stage, nothing public worthy,” Lola replied, smoothing down the faded, threadbare Halloween kitty printed pajama bottoms she practically lived in year-round. She smiled when she caught the motherly “disapproval” sigh on the other end of the line. “Love you, too. See you in a jiffy!”
Disconnecting the call, Lola jumped up from the couch to eagerly head upstairs to change into something presentable. Not only was it a welcomed delight to share a phone call with her mother, but the conversation gave her the opportunity to get some fresh air and sunlight, much like a puppy or a house plant. It didn’t take her long to find something clean, and after a short drive through her old neighborhood, she parked her car in the familiar driveway, and with a bounce to her step, used her childhood house key to let herself inside.
“Hi, Mom, I’m here,” she called, closing the front door behind her as she walked into the home.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” Marcia called from the front room, and pausing the video she had playing on the TV, got up from her crafting spot to give her daughter a hug. “You got here fast. I just sat down to start stitching,” she informed.
“What are you working on?” Lola asked, taking a peek over at her mother’s crafting corner of the family room. As far back as Lola could remember, her mother, most nights after dinner, had a threaded needle in one hand and an embroidery hoop in the other, contentedly sitting in her rocking chair with glasses perched on the end of her nose, while her father sat close by watching TV or reading a book, as she sat on the floor between them coloring. Her childhood, though could be viewed as simple, held some of her most precious memories, and she cherished that young era of her life deep in the purest part of her heart. It was nice to see that some things, even if they adapted and evolved, at the core of it all, never changed.
“I’m working on a new project for fall,” Marcia answered, and she held up a piece of fabric roughly the size of a dishtowel with smooth, even lying X’s in warm, variegated tones of chestnut, marigold, and wine in the beginning shape of a squirrel.
“Already starting your fall stitching?” Lola asked with a laugh. “The summer season just started, you know.”
“I need to get these pieces done if your father is going to cut the frames for me so I can decorate in time,” Marcia said. “Plus, you know I can’t resist a squirrel no matter the time of year.”
“He is a cutie pie,” Lola agreed, admiring the hard work her mother put into the cross stitching piece. “What’s his name?”
“Dweezil.”
“Fitting for a creature of the woodlands,” Lola laughed, giving a nod of approval for the name.
“Thank you, I thought so, too. Now, would you like some coffee and then I’ll show you that box?” Marcia asked as she gently folded her fabric, laying it aside for later attention.
“Ooh, yes, please! Coffee would be delightful.”
Picking up conversation as if she had never moved away from home, the two ventured into the kitchen to pour themselves the freshly brewed coffee, and then headed up stairs to where Lola found the hallway strewn with several old, dusty boxes. Marcia waded through the maze of floor boxes like a pro, while Lola moved lopsided to avoid tripping herself, following her mother to the best of her ability until they both ended up in her old bedroom. She paused at the threshold while her mother continued in, and leaned against the doorframe, allowing the ghosts of nostalgia to wash over her.
“How did I ever fit so much furniture into this one, tiny room?” she asked, seeing the years play out in her mind’s eye of her life spent in her special corner of the house. Although the space had since been converted into her mother’s crafting studio when she left for college, there still lingered the scent of her past, the subtle notes of books and summer breezes helping to fuel the little pockets of old memories.
“Time has a funny way of enlightening our perspectives,” Marcia said. “Ah! Here we are. Your box of old things,” she declared, patting the top of the box in the middle of the room. She sat in the chair at her sewing machine while Lola made herself comfortable on the floor.
Setting her coffee mug to the side, Lola unfolded the musty flaps of cardboard. “Oh!” she laughed upon recognizing the bundles of neatly stacked papers. “This is my ‘extras’ box. I had printed out copies of my old stories and tried my hand at bookbinding them to look like real published books.” Lola held up a copy of the first book she “officially” ever wrote, a tale of a magical adventure of her best friends and herself traveling through whimsical realms to conquer some harrowing quest to defeat notorious, evil villains. The cover was held together with faded masking tape, and old remnants of the title made in silver puff-glitter glue flaked off in chunks to land on the carpet.
“Now it makes sense why I left these,” she said as more and more bundles of paper revealed themselves. “I have the originals at my place, but I couldn’t bear to throw away the extras I didn’t need.”
“How many copies did you make?” Marcia asked.
“A good handful or more, maybe ten or so, by the looks of it,” Lola answered. “I gave all my friends their copies, and kept extras on hand for anyone who seemed like they’d be interested in reading. God, I made these when I was…maybe twelve? Thirteen? And here are the extras for the rest of the series,” she announced as she dug through the remainder of the box.
“Have you ever thought about revisiting your old stories?” Marcia asked. A lull had formed in the conversation during Lola’s perusal, and she took it upon herself to fill the silence.
“Revisit my old stories? Aren’t I technically doing that now?”
“I mean, have you ever thought about putting your old stories out into the world? Like on your blog?”
“Well, I wrote them in middle school, so, no,” Lola laughed.
“You can always clean them up, and edit them to fit your style of writing now. I bet they’d do well if people had a chance to read them. Who knows? Maybe a publisher will come across them and offer you a contract.”
“I feel like you’re trying to hint at something here, Mom. What’s on your mind?”
Marcia gave a small sigh into her coffee mug before taking a sip to gain the courage needed to say the words to speak to her daughter that wouldn’t end up hurting her feelings. “I worry, is all,” she began.
“Worry? About what?”
“It’s just…I know how talented of a writer you are, and I love that you’re making your mark in the literary world.”
“But…?”
“But, I worry that you’re spending all your time writing other peoples’ stories with that commission work you do, instead of taking that time to write your own.”
“I write my own stories,” Lola defended, though she dropped her eyes to the bound pages she still held in her hands.
“You used to, Sweetheart, but it’s changed. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great you’re trying to make a profit out of your hobby, but it’s your contest entries where I see you really shine in how gifted you are at writing. You clearly have the ability to craft your own characters and worlds that are truly unique and gripping. You don’t need to waste good ideas on other peoples’ wish lists for their lack of ability to create a good story. I want to see you go within, really look in the mirror, and ask yourself, ‘What story do I want to write?’.”
There was that word again: hobby. Lola knew her mother didn’t mean anything by it, however, the word still acted like a haunted, never fully healed paper cut to her confidence sprinkled with fine wine and lemon juice; it stung. She took her mother’s words to heart as she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her younger self’s tangible figments of imagination. It used to be she couldn’t leave the house without pen and paper in hand, but as the years grew, and new experiences and relationships entered or exited her life, the passions of preteen adolescence stumbled unceremoniously into the muddy waters plagued with societal pressures and prejudices. Writing had always been her saving grace, a link created to keep her heart tethered to a golden place of warmth and joy, yet the desired mantle of authorhood was threatened by seemingly good natured friends and family, labeling her passions as a “hobby” at best, and narcissistic fanfiction at its worst. The loophole she gave herself to keeping the dream alive was her writer’s blog, her freelance gigs a buoy in the mire of unpopular and sometimes unsolicited opinions, allowing her the outlet needed to give her soul a chance at a voice. Her mother wasn’t wrong to worry, and for a while, she had been feeling like she was “acting” the part of an author, as opposed to being the author she knew she was supposed to become.
“I’m not afraid of rejection, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lola softly spoke, speaking on the fringes surrounding some of her fears. “I don’t think ‘afraid’ is even the right word. I just…what if I’m a fraud? I didn’t go to school for writing. I---I don’t even know where to begin.” She finally looked up at her mother as her shoulders slumped in defeat, and a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.
“Sweetie, it’s okay not to know where to begin,” Marcia encouraged, getting down on the floor to be eye-level with Lola. “The important thing is that you start. The rest will figure itself out once you take that first step. And if it helps, you can always start at the beginning.” Her hand rested over her daughter’s, the two holding the clump of tattered pages that symbolized the advent of Lola’s life path.
“Thanks, Mom,” Lola said, her smile returning. She wiped away at a tear and laughed. “I didn’t realize how much I actually needed to hear that.”
“You’re a good author,” Marcia reminded, “and by all means, keep your blog and commissions, but it’s time for you to write. For you.”
“I can do that,” she assured with a determined nod. They embraced, and Lola felt the tether of her heartstrings vibrating with a warmth made of golden joy.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Hey, y'all! Happy Halloween coming up! Although this isn't a "spooky" chapter, per se, it is going to lead into some upcoming ones that are pretty spine tingling, so keep an eye out for more to come!
Raphael wasn’t cruel, theatrical, to be certain, but never cruel, which is why he delicately plopped Lola down upon the bed from his shoulder, and then stepped back to give her space. She scrambled to her knees once free, throwing an arm out defensively while crawling towards the other side of the bed, trying to put distance between him and herself to buy time as she assembled a torrent of half-shouted string of ramblings, her eyes wild with preconceived notions of how he was going to respond to the accusations of her so-called “bad behavior” before she had the chance to explain the whole situation.
“Whoa! Easy, Lola, easy. It’s okay,” Raphael reassured calmly, raising his hands as a sign of good-faith. “You’re safe, I promise. Take a moment, breathe, collect yourself. I’m going to grab you some water.” He retreated into the bathroom, taking his time so Lola could settle herself, and when he returned, he had a towel wrapped around his waist held with one hand and a glass of cool water in the other.
“Here,” he offered, handing Lola the beverage.
“You’re…you’re not going to ‘reprimand’ me?” she asked, taking the water.
He laughed, sitting down at the edge of the mattress. “I am not beholden to Modesta’s ‘orders’, you know that,” he said. “Only I may decide when you have been truly ‘naughty’ enough to warrant a punishment,” he added, waggling his eyebrows in a dastardly fashion. The gesture caused Lola to laugh, relaxing her, and she comfortably sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing him while she sipped at her water.
“Thank you.” She trusted him, and knew she was safe, as their dynamic was based on mutual understanding and negotiations when it came to play, not led by the whims of outsiders to their relationship.
“However, she did enact the ‘Raph Card’, as our friends endearingly call it, when they feel I need to step in and curb your recklessness. As if I could ever control you,” he added with a chuckle. When her head tilted to the side, not understanding his statement, he clarified. “You are charmingly feral, like the wild dandelion you so effortlessly embody. Now, tell me your side of the story. Why did Modesta feel the need to use the ‘Raph Card’?”
Lola shared everything with him, not leaving out a single detail, as all the while he sat with his elbow propped on his knee, chin in hand, listening to her story with rapt attention. He gave her all the space she needed to fully express herself, taking in her words and artful gestures, her whole body moving in an ebb and flow that mirrored her tale.
“So! You were bespelled by your greatest weakness,” Raphael concluded once Lola finished her retelling of the adventure in the library, and he had to smile, for it unquestionably made perfect sense that a book would be her ultimate undoing.
“It was her book, Raph. Lillian’s spell book,” Lola reiterated, handing him her empty water glass. “How could anyone expect me to surrender it, especially once I gave it a hug?”
He laughed, setting the drinkware on the nightstand. “That argument might not be strong enough to hold up in a court of law,” he pointed out.
“No jury would convict me,” she countered, straightening her spine, preparing to face the rhetorical challenge, her smile full of promised mischief. “Obviously, I know stealing is wrong, but given the circumstances, can you blame me? Let alone fault me for wanting to keep it?”
“That depends,” he began, eyeing her shrewdly. “Where is the grimoire now?”
“In the library, under the floorboards, where we originally found it,” Lola answered with steadfast honesty. She caught Raphael’s eyes narrow in the slightest increment, assessing whether or not he believed she was genuine. “You don’t trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” he said, though his sentence felt a touch unfinished.
“But…?” Her own eyes narrowed with wary speculation, for she saw the twinkle in Raphael’s eye forming, his unmistakable tell he was about to be playful. Her body prickled, anticipating his scheme, ready to spring into action should he make any sudden movement.
“Well, I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if I didn’t at least give you a pat down.”
“What?!”
She was momentarily stunned, which was exactly what Raphael was hoping would happen when voicing his comment, and before she could blink, he pounced, knocking her to the bed. His hands roved enthusiastically over her torso and sides, patting her down for any indication of concealment of her desired treasured literature. Her shout of initial surprise morphed into hysterical squeals of laughter, his gestures of frisking her body turning into pure, unabashed tickling.
“You have many places to hide a book, Lola my love, I must inspect these sleeves and your pockets,” Raphael enlightened while his fingers skated across her form. Even the thickness of her robe couldn’t protect her from her fiancé’s clever hands, and she couldn’t help but let out a full-bodied cackle when he made occasional contact with patches of bare skin throughout her twisting and flailing for escape. Despite the sounds of sweet laughter spilling freely from her lips, she was able to catch her breath long enough to defeat him with her most powerful magic incantation.
“Peanut butter, you son of a bitch!”
The tickling vanished, her safe word granting immediate respite, leaving her panting and spent, lying sprawled on the bed like a crumpled marionette whose strings had just been severed. Her breath caught in surprise as Raphael’s frame settled over her, but she relaxed into his surrounding warmth as he kissed her, and with each quick peck they shared, he spoke his closing argument on the matter of the coveted grimoire.
“One mustn’t---*kiss*---take things---*kiss*---that do not---*kiss*---belong to them. Otherwise, I’ll have to subject you to more frequent and thorough pat downs, and you wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”
She looked up at him with a wide smile and blushing cheeks, her eyes shimmering from her laughter caused by his playful sneak attack, and she bit her bottom lip while nodding her head “yes” in a tiny up-and-down motion. He matched her smile and leaned down to kiss her once more, amorously, compelled by the siren song of her radiating soul, practically drowning in love for her.
“My naughty minx,” he breathed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I love you, too.”
“Now, it has been a very long night,” he announced, sitting fully upright while gently pulling at Lola’s hands to follow him, “and I think it’s time for burrito slugs.”
“Yes I need burrito slugs!” she exclaimed with joy.
Raphael hopped off the mattress and found one of the bedcoverings laying nearby. Swooping it dramatically off the floor, he returned to the bed and spread the blanket out, to which Lola then laid down across the end nearest to him, and he proceeded to roll her forward, wrapping her up in his version of a loose, makeshift burrito. When he was done, he kissed her forehead, then stepped back to admire his beloved cocooned like a slug, her grin of satisfaction at being wrapped up snuggly in a blanket the only mental image he needed to conjure in granting him the stamina to survive inevitable future days of toil. Taking up the comforter, he crawled into bed behind her, cradling his burrito slug like the big spoon he was, and then pulled the thicker blanket up to cover them both.
“Too hot?” he asked before tucking themselves in.
“I’m perfect,” she answered, yawning. “You’re perfect,” she added, turning her head back to get one more kiss goodnight.
“Pleasant dreams, Dandelion.”
They fell asleep to the gentle pitter-patter of rainfall.
Daylight filtered through the open spaces of the lace curtains as the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling to the cloistered occupants of the lavish suite that it was time to rise and shine. Lola slept hard during what little of the night was left to her, so the chore of waking up was one of the hardest obstacles she had to overcome and navigate. With patient encouragement from Raphael, she was able to break free from her burrito, albeit sluggishly, and eventually roused enough life into her limbs to help gather and pack their belongings for their early check-out and subsequent journey home.
Even though Modesta continued to repeatedly make sure the library was locked every chance she got once emerged from her chambers, she still demanded to inspect Lola’s bags to make sure she hadn’t, at some point, smuggled the grimoire out of its hidey-hole from the floorboards under Lillian’s writing desk. Raphael was able to proficiently assuage their sleep-deprived friend that Lola hadn’t the chance to try anything reckless, and with Jack’s help, they were able to convince her to drop the subject. Lola didn’t begrudge Modesta for her extra precautions, if anything, she wholly expected it, for if given the opportunity, she would have undeniably tried to sneak off with the secret book of recent focused attention and importance. After weaving in and out of the Manor House to load their cars of their personal bags and equipment, the five naturally wound up gathered in the main parlor room.
“I don’t know about you all,” Lazare said, yawning while stretching his arms high above his head. “But I’m going home and going back to bed.”
“That doesn’t sound half a bad idea,” Modesta agreed, mimicking his actions.
“I’ve got a lot of recordings to comb through,” Jack shared, “and if anyone wants to help go over footage for potential evidence of paranormal activity, that’d be greatly appreciated.”
“Hopefully we captured some pretty compelling things,” Lola said.
“It might be a while for me to edit a cohesive birthday video for you, Lola, but I’ll get to working on that as soon as all the evidence has been gone through.”
“Take your time, Jack, there’s no rush,” Lola said with a smile.
“What are you two going to do for the rest of the day?” Lazare asked Raphael and Lola.
“I’d like to take you to breakfast,” Raphael addressed to his fiancée, wrapping an arm around her waist, “if you’re feeling up to it, and afterwards, we can play it by ear.”
“Aw, I’d like that,” Lola replied, hooking her arm around his waist in return. “We also need to come up with a game plan for this coming Saturday,” she added, speaking to the group as a whole. “It’s the opening weekend for the Newberry Renaissance Festival.”
“That’s right. Are you ready to play knights and maidens, Raph?” Jack asked.
“There are a few more dress rehearsals left to run before opening, but otherwise, yes. The faire should be rather exciting this year, as we’ve added more shows and spectacles, as well as characters to walk the grounds to interact with patrons.”
“Gotta love an immersion experience,” Lola laughed. “Before we all go our separate ways, I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ again for making my birthday so special and spooky. This was a lot of fun, and I’m glad I could celebrate with all of you. Can we take a picture together over by the fireplace?”
In agreement, the friends moved to pose by the elegant fixture, Jack setting up his phone on the edge of a dining table to take their photo, and after many shots snapped of being “normal”, followed by several poses of being “weird”, it was time to depart the Northcott Manor House. Lola dragged her feet, not wanting to leave the mystery house she loved so much, her mind trying to memorize every detail of wall sconce and fixture, her nose recording every scent of old tobacco and musty carpet. True, though she had pictures on her phone to help recall this extraordinary experience, she was desperate to bring a piece of the Manor House’s spirit home with her, and finally, after much procrastinating, the five were soon outside. Lazare and Jack placed their set of fancy keys in the designated lockbox where Annie had instructed the night before, Raphael being the last person out to lock the side exit door as they emerged from the basement.
“Wait! Where’s Stanley?” Lola shouted, her outburst halting Raphael from depositing his set of keys. She was searching in her purse for her trusty friend, but was unable to locate the tape recorder. “I can’t find him!”
“Did you pack him in one of your other bags?” Modesta asked.
“No, I always keep him in my purse.” She started to panic as her search for Stanley became more frantic.
“Are you sure he’s not in your purse?” Lazare asked.
“No, he’s not here.”
“Why don’t you check our bags in the car just to be certain, and I’ll double check our room,” Raphael said, passing over the car keys to Lola. She nodded, too aggrieved over the potential loss of her recorder to insist upon herself going back into the Manor House instead.
“Don’t worry, Lo, he’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Jack comforted as he and the others walked with Lola to the parking lot.
Seeing she was in capable hands with their friends, Raphael unlocked the side entrance and disappeared into the basement. He took the steps leading up to the main level two at a time, his mind thinking ahead of himself as he strategized where to look for Stanley first. Coming up from the basement stairwell, he meandered down the main foyer entryway, and before he rounded towards the grand staircase, casually glanced into the main parlor room only to be stopped dead in his tracks.
“Oh!” he startled, taken by surprise. “Hello, there.”
Standing in the parlor, nonchalantly leaning against the fireplace with his arm propped on the edge of the mantel with a lit cigarette in hand, was a man dressed as if he had stepped out of a movie set taking place at the turn of the early century. He wore a tweed cap and white buttoned dress shirt with suspenders holding up his navy blue wool slacks. The first word that popped into Raphael’s mind was “newspaper”, and he relaxed, smiling at the cast member who stared at him with a focused boredom.
“My fiancée might have forgotten something upstairs,” Raphael informed, gesturing to the upper levels. “I’m going to take a look real quick to see if I find it, and then we’ll be out of your way.”
The man brought the cigarette to his lips, but otherwise, made no reply.
Returning to the objective at hand, Raphael took to the stairs, whistling a cheery tune to himself while walking towards the suite, and upon unlocking it, decided the first place to check for the chunky silver rectangle was under the bed, and sure enough, found Stanley innocently tucked away in a pocket of shadows. It was a bit of a stretch to retrieve, as it was sitting under the middle portion of the bed, yet after some mild grunting and slight contorting positions of his body, he rescued the prized tape recorder, and with a triumphant grin, rose from the floor to tell Lola the good news. He gave the room a final, cursory look-over, and satisfied nothing else was left behind, ventured out into the hallway, relocking the suite behind him.
Coming up the stairs just as he was descending them, was newspaper man, and again, Raphael politely greeted him as they passed one another, whereas the cast member gave no reaction to the salutation, but continued on his intended journey. Raphael found his new friend’s attitude rather peculiar, and he stopped short on impulse, turning to look back over his shoulder in curiosity, and what he saw sent a chill colder than the dead of winter to slither up his spine, forcing him to retreat down the remainder of the stairs in a brisk canter, his limbs growing rigid as terror steadily seeped into his muscles, the once jovial bounce to his gait and song on his lips obliterated from thought. He made it through and out of the basement, and as he locked the door, fumbling with the keys, he could have sworn the sound of hard soled shoes advanced towards the door, following after him. He jumped back, nearly dropping the keys several times as he tried to rid himself of them in the lockbox, and once his task was complete, he turned around only to let out a gasp of fright.
“Did you find him?” Lola’s face was inches from his own, the unexpected closeness sending him reeling a few steps, his shoulder blades pressed to the exit door he moments ago just locked, and with intuitive certainty, knew had someone standing on the other side.
“What? Oh, yes, I found him,” Raphael replied, gaining his bearings. He held out Stanley and she took it from his hand, hugging the device to her cheek, brimming with love and smiles and relief.
“Thank goodness! Where was he?”
“Under the bed,” he answered.
“That’s so weird, I always check under the bed before leaving hotels for this very reason. How could I have missed him?”
“It was dark under the bed, and he was pushed in rather far.”
Lola squinted up at him, her head tilting in a position that spoke of worry. “Are you okay? Did something happen when you were inside?”
“I met newspaper man,” Raphael stated. He took Lola’s hand, the two moving around the side of the house to make their way towards their car, and as they approached the parking lot, noticed only their vehicle remained. “Where did everybody go?”
“I said they could go home. After all, it didn’t make sense for them to wait around since it was my tape recorder holding us up. So tell me about newspaper man! I didn’t know cast members showed up this early to the Manor House.”
“It was pretty shocking to see another person in there, especially when I thought the house was empty,” Raphael said as the two reached the car, climbing inside while continuing their conversation. “He was standing in the parlor at first, and then I met up with him again on the main staircase.” He backed the car out of the parking space, angling the automobile towards the road to their favorite diner for a breakfast date.
“Are you sure that’s all that happened?” she teased. “Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?” she added with a light laugh.
“I looked back,” he simply answered, his eyes remaining fixed on the road.
“You looked back…and…?”
“When we passed each other on the stairs, I looked back to see where he was going.”
“Okay…is that a bad thing?” she was having a hard time connecting the thoughts left in between his ambiguous statements, but when he finally turned his eyes to look at her, she flinched back from the intensity he leveled her with, yet nothing could prepare her for what he told her next.
“Lola, he went into the library.”
*~*~*~*~*~*
Hiya, everyone!
Surprise! I was able to get another chapter out, and rather ahead of time, I might add! Happy Mabon/Equinox!
It's the first day of Fall, so it felt right to post a spooky chapter, haha! Hope everyone is doing well, and I look forward to sharing more soon!
The sound of Raphael’s heartbeat thumping beneath her ear roused her from a warm and cozy sleep. Departing from the ephemeral realm of sweet dreams, Lola lifted her head from Raphael’s chest, noticing the small puddle of drool she left behind in the space between his pecs, and let slip a quiet, half-asleep chuckle.
“Blech, that’s so gross. Sorry about that,” she whispered so as not to wake her unconscious lover. She took her time sitting up, her body stiff and groaning with every stretch of muscle, protesting the unwelcomed movement, her tired limbs demanding more time for rest and recovery. “Honoring my birthday indeed,” she mumbled to herself, rolling the kinks out of her neck while grabbing some tissues from the box on her nightstand. “I’ll have to make sure I repay him the favor for his birthday,” she said with a smile, mopping up her puddle of drool.
The contact from the soft tissue caressing his chest caused Raphael to breathe a pleasant sigh while still in slumber, a half-grin twitching at his lips, and he rolled over onto his side, positioning himself closer towards her, his free arm falling across her lap to squeeze her firmly to him. She paused to watch him sleep, observing the gentleness of his features, a considerable contrast to the otherwise sharper lines of his jaw when awake. Normally a man of poise and polish, in sleep, he was raw, beautiful, radiating an aura of innocence and vulnerability that cushioned her heart in a pillow of tender warmth. Lola lovingly moved wayward pieces of his hair away from his forehead, the golden strands in full, wild abandon, and she could have sworn he started to purr. She held back her laughter, not wanting to spoil his peace, and moved her attention to other less humorous distractions about the quiet room.
Upon first observations, she took note of the bedclothes in their disarray and shambles, the comforter and other blankets strewn haphazardly across the floor, leaving only the top sheet crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Both terrycloth robes had been long since abandoned earlier in their escapades of debauchery, Lola having a difficult time locating them at the present moment, but she shrugged, content with using Raphael’s body heat to keep her snuggly, figuring there was no pressing need to shield her body. Rain continued falling, though the intensity of the storm had lessened in severity, the rumbling thunder in the distance a comforting exodus of a soothing lullaby. Lola balled up the tissue she had been holding, tossing it to the nightstand to discard later, and reached for her phone to check the time. It was three o’clock in the morning.
“Three more hours of sleep,” she announced aloud, counting the hours until her alarm went off. “I can live with that.” Returning her phone to the nightstand, she shimmied in Raphael’s hold to cozy down next to him, and closed her eyes, preparing herself for sleep, but the thumping of his heartbeat, however, kept her from completely drifting off. She shifted, turning to her side, her back pressed to his chest, yet his heartbeat continued to sound in her ear, the cadence slow, odd, methodical, and apparently emanating from the ceiling.
“Footsteps!” Lola gasped, her eyes flying open as she turned her head to stare at the ceiling. She wasn’t hearing Raphael’s heartbeat, but footsteps walking along the third floor above her. “What did Annie say about the servants’ quarters? Is the third floor supposed to be haunted? Who’s walking upstairs?” Lola was wide awake, the idea of sleep entirely out of the question.
“Raph,” she whispered, her ear trained on the footsteps casually traveling across the ceiling, her head tracking the changing directions of the languorous promenade. “Raph, there are footsteps. Raph.” He was out like a light. Lola didn’t want to risk raising the volume of her voice, alerting whomever, or whatever, was creating those footsteps that she was aware of their presence and scare away the activity. She wanted to get up and investigate, but was trapped under the deadweight of Raphael’s arm still draped over her, and feared if she stayed stuck in bed for too much longer, she might miss her chance to capture evidence. She noticed Stanley poking out of the front pocket of her purse, mocking her, the handbag resting in a chair next to the bedroom door in perfect position to get a clear recording of the paranormal experience.
“Have to…get…evidence,” Lola huffed, and grabbed the edge of the bed to pull herself out of Raphael’s heavy embrace. Even in sleep, he was stubbornly affectionate, and Lola sighed in annoyance as his arm tightened around her body, hugging her close as if she were a childhood security blanket, and while adorable, her progress towards freedom had been erased, and the footsteps had begun traveling, the sound of hard soled shoes receding to a far corner of the ceiling.
“I am going to be so pissed if you make me miss capturing this activity,” she threatened, and tried wriggling again while pulling herself forward, knowing full well she resembled a drunken inchworm, but at last, she emerged from his hold and crouched to the floor, listening for the heavy clomps pacing above her. Raphael’s arm flopped about the mattress, in search of something, the movement gaining Lola’s attention, and when she looked back at her fiancé, saw that a frown was plastered to his face with his forehead in deep furrows. He looked devastated, on the brink of whimpering, and her heart broke at the forlorn way he sought for her in sleep. Thinking quickly, she took her pillow and slid it under his searching hand, whereupon he snatched it up, curled the object against his body, and deeply breathed in her lingering scent mingled with the softer thread count.
“Squishy,” he murmured sleepily on the exhale, his expression relaxing once more into being pleased and content.
Lola filed that bit of precious information to the back of her mind for processing later, as she needed to get to Stanley before it was too late. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate with her plan to reach her tape recorder, her knees weak and buckling under her, the activities of the evening’s special celebrations having taken a bigger toll on her body than expected, the awareness of the fact hitting her hard as she baby-fawned her way towards the bedroom door at an alarming forty-five degree angle. By the grace of God, she made it to her purse without injury, and fumbled Stanley like a hot potato as she wrestled it free from its home in the side pocket, miraculously switching on the recording feature to then hold the device high in the air towards the ceiling, only to realize, however, that the footsteps above, had stopped.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Lowering Stanley, she shut off the device and tossed the tape recorder into her purse, defeated. “I can’t believe I missed it. And it happened for such a long time, too.” She ran her hands through her hair, frustrated, and now, too riled up to even think about trying to go back to sleep. With a sigh wrought from the deepest depths of her soul, she leaned her back against the bedroom door. Her eyes landed on Raphael, unconscious, blissfully unaware of the missed opportunities for spookies, and seeing him on the bed as he was, naked and oblivious, his chest rising and falling from the steady rhythm of his slumbered breathing, a smile turned her lips, and she became grounded.
“Maybe I’ll play a game of cards to help tire me out,” she said, and turned back to her purse, intending to retrieve the deck of playing cards she kept on hand for times of emergency, or in this case, to induce drowsiness. She stopped short when the sound of footsteps crossed the hallway on the other side of the bedroom door. She froze, too scared to move or breathe as goosebumps covered her body and raised the small hairs of her arms and back of her neck. Her hand, still in her purse, brushed over Stanley, and she pressed down the recording feature as quietly as possible, lifting the microphone portion into open air to capture the eerie sound. The footsteps walked a path slowly down the hallway towards the grand staircase, but instead of dissipating to the main level as Lola expected, she heard the rattling of a doorknob, followed by the tiniest creak of hinges.
All was then quiet.
“This calls for further investigation,” she declared, adrenaline coursing through her. She reached for the fancy key resting in the bedroom lock, and turning the filigreed metal, threw open the door to explore the hallway. A cool breeze of air washed over her skin, and she immediately retreated back into the bedroom, closing the door in a state of panic. “Whoops! Forgot I’m naked!”
Searching the room, she located one of the bathrobes that had been flung onto the davenport, and yanking it up, laced her arms through the sleeves, tying the sash around her waist while stepping out into the hallway once more, closing the bedroom door behind her so as not to wake Raphael. A rumble of thunder echoed down the corridor, signaling the next wave of approaching storms, and it was here, magnified by the deep, dark shadows, standing alone on old, worn out, dusty carpets of decades gone by, that the weight of the house, its history, what it witnessed, and what it symbolized, seemed to center in on that particular hallway. Half of her wanted to retreat, and she moved back a pace subconsciously, fear and doubt creeping into her mind that she was about to make a horrible mistake if she loitered any longer. However, steeling her nerves, she decided on at least attempting a quick EVP session before hightailing it back to the safety of her bed.
“Hello? Is anyone out here?” she whispered, her tone barely reaching above audible levels. She waited for a response, Stanley faithfully recording in her shaking hand. “Lillian? Was that you walking around just now?” Again, she paused, and the hallway continued to remain silent. “If you’re not Lillian, can you please tell me your name?” Lola took in her surroundings for anything out of the ordinary, when she noticed a glimmer of silver light coming from one room in particular at the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs.
“The library,” she stated. Drawn to the room as if hypnotized, Lola tiptoed towards the forbidden room. “It’s…open,” she gasped, and leaning forward, peeked through the available crack of space between the doorframe, only able to decipher blocks of towering shadows. She straightened, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she contemplated her next move. No one could fault her for breaking any rules, for after all, the library was, at that moment, technically unlocked, which meant she was free to explore this part of the Manor House without fear of consequences. Her mind made up on the matter, she rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin with determined moxie, and took a step forward.
“Hello? May I come in?” Lola politely rapped her knuckle on the door as she pushed the barrier fully open. “Is anyone in here?” and taking a deep breath to calm her heart beating out of her chest, she crossed the threshold and entered Lillian’s library.
It was unnaturally cold.
Inside the relatively spacious room were wall to wall bookcases, the tops merging with the crown molding in a seamless, elegant chestnut finish, the shelves fully stocked with books in varying thickness, their spines dulled and dusty from years spent locked away from the world. The permeating scent of old ash and charred wood wafted in from the fireplace, the cobwebs dangling from the mantel drifting lazily from the unseen force of wind funneling down the flue, and a tattered swath of carpet protected a patch of the hardwood floors under the hearth, the tongue and groove pattern otherwise spanning the large surface area. White sheets covered the few pieces of furniture placed around the room, the canvas tarps creating somber lumps of ghosts in the forms of chairs, lamps, and an old secretary.
One singular window was set in the wall between a set of bookcases overlooking the back gardens, a glimpse of the Dead Forest sidling into view. The curtains were drawn, but they were sheer, allowing a choked glimmer of silver moonlight to enter the room despite the thick shadows threatening to extinguish the celestial light source.
“This is incredible,” Lola whispered, her eyes taking in every detail of the room’s character, no corner going unnoticed by her wandering gaze. Her head tilted back, observing the stamped, brass paneled ceiling and hardy iron chandelier dripping with antique cut crystals. The floors creaked beneath her bare feet, the sound one of embracing nostalgia than sad timbers of neglect, and with every step she took, life awakened the room from its prolonged stagnation. “Lillian, your library,” Lola breathed, her mind whirling from the elegant grandeur as she continued to take in the room, “is stunning.”
She reached the slim window and pulled back the curtains to open the room to more moonlight, and she sighed, a thousand daydreams flitting off her imagination into wondrous, cozy stories woven of a lady’s day in her library above a sunny field of meadow.
“I knew it!”
Lola jumped in place with a frightened scream, whipping around to face the source of alerting accusation coming from the library doorway behind her. She clutched at her chest, breathing out a heavy exhale of relief when she saw it was Modesta standing in the threshold, and she slumped against the window frame, the life nearly startled out of her.
“I wanted to believe you wouldn’t stoop yourself to this kind of level. I wanted to trust you’d actually behave for once, but somehow, in my gut, I just knew you’d do something stupid. I told Jack we should have taken shifts. How could you, Lola? How could you break into the library?” Modesta fumed, verbally berating Lola while still remaining firmly outside the off-limits room.
“I didn’t break in, Modesta,” Lola tried to reassure in a calm that belied the racing of her heart.
Modesta threw her hands out, her stiff arms gesturing around the room as evidence to contradict Lola’s statement. “How---how can you say that, when you are clearly standing in the middle of the room that has one, been locked all night, and two, was specifically instructed not to enter?”
“Mo, I didn’t break in,” Lola repeated. “Why are you up at this time of night anyway?”
“I heard footsteps in the hallway, and when I came out to investigate, I saw a white figure disappear inside here. Now I know it was your robe I saw, and not a ghost.” Modesta rubbed the temples at the sides of her head in an attempt to alleviate the spawning migraine.
“Well, I heard footsteps, too. They started above me in the servants’ quarters, and by the time I grabbed Stanley, I heard them outside my door. When I came out to investigate, the library was open.”
“You expect me to believe a ‘ghost’ unlocked this door?” Modesta asked, folding her arms and cocking her hip, not buying Lola’s explanation.
“You can listen to Stanley if you don’t believe me. He recorded everything,” Lola said, and she held out the silver tape recorder before safely tucking it into her robe pocket. “But the mechanics of how the library became to be unlocked are irrelevant. Mo, it’s the library. The library.” Lola’s wide grin returned to her face, her eyes sparkling in wonder as she spread her arms to encompass the room. “Now, quit lurking in the hallway and get in here. You can’t possibly think to pass up on an opportunity like this.”
“I can, and I am. We’re not supposed to be in the library. It’s for our own safety, remember?”
“Psh! You worry too much, it’s not like we’re going to get in trouble. Plus, if you keep standing out there, you can’t stop me from reading one of these highly rare and highly vintage old books,” Lola teased, slowly reaching a hand over the nearest bookshelf, threatening to pluck one of the aged books from its resting place.
“Lola, leave those books alone, you have no right to touch them,” Modesta scolded, taking a compulsory step into the room, then hesitated before accidentally taking another.
“Come in here and stop me then. Ooh! This title looks interesting.” Lola’s fingers danced over a random book spine, and before she could pull the tome free, Modesta had crossed into the room, swatting her hand away.
“Happy?” Modesta grumbled. She shivered, running her hands up and down her arms to rid herself of the uncomfortable gooseflesh threatening to overtake her body. “Why is it so cold in here?”
Lola shrugged, walking away from her friend to inspect the bookcases closest to the fireplace. “Maybe they don’t heat it to save on energy costs.”
“Why would they need to heat the room, it’s summer.”
“Look at all of these books,” Lola breathed, romanced by the gilded literature. “I wonder if Lillian had a chance to read them all, you know, before she died.”
“It is rather impressive,” agreed Modesta, exploring the opposite bookcase. “You know, the room seems to be pretty well intact. What kind of renovations do you think the Manor House are intending to make?” She meandered around the sheet protecting Lillian’s old writing desk, and the floorboards let out a wail of protest, the squeal of wood on the weakened joist startling the friends. “I’m thinking, possibly, re-doing the floors,” she said once the shrill died down, answering her own question.
“Oh, yeah, these floorboards are really loose over here,” Modesta continued. “Look, I can basically slide this chunk of wood back and forth with just my foot, and…oops.”
“And you were worried about me getting us in trouble?” Lola laughed, sauntering back to Modesta who had crouched to the floor behind Lillian’s desk. “What did you break?”
“Nothing, this section of floor popped up,” Modesta informed. “Help me get it back in place so we can get out of here and go to bed.”
Lola lowered herself to help Modesta slide the dislodged portion of wood back into place, but a glint of something colorful and shiny caught her eye in the darkened hollow of the floorboards. “Wait, I think there’s something in there,” she said, halting Modesta’s attempts to close up the slot of open floor.
“It’s probably a pipe, or electrical work,” Modesta rationalized.
“I don’t think so.” Lola dipped her hand into the well of shadows, searching for the source of the mysterious glint. “Got something,” she declared, her fingers curling around a rather soft yet textured item. “Oh, my God, if it’s a dead rat, I’m going to die.”
Modesta made an involuntary, dry heave, gagging noise. “Please don’t make me barf,” she said, turning her head and shutting her eyes to protect herself from a potentially gruesome sight.
Lola fished out the object, and extracted from the floorboards an old, leather bound journal, the pages brittle and crumbling around their edges. Slips of paper jutted from the top as makeshift bookmarks, the little tabs reflecting glints of moonlight.
“Is that…a book?” Modesta asked. “Why would Lillian have a book buried in the floorboards?”
“I think it’s a journal of some kind.” Lola gently cracked open the surprisingly pliable cover, and spread before her were pages scrawled with elegant, handwritten script combined with symbols, markings, and etchings of strange and questionable depictions, the scribbles and drawings looking foreboding, borderline menacing, and dark.
“It’s a grimoire!”
“A what?” Lola asked, her friend’s gasp of shock snapping her out of her thoughts.
“A grimoire, a spell book,” Modesta said. “It’s Lillian’s personal book of shadows, essentially. That’s why she hid it in the floorboards.”
“She was keeping the book a secret from the household…from her husband,” Lola said, filling in the blanks. “Lillian was a practicing witch.”
“Seems she was,” Modesta said, taking the old journal from Lola to flip through the worn and yellowed pages. “And, it looks like she favored dark magic. These symbols over here are used for hexes,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a wheel made up of twisting shapes. “And this incantation is a summoning for nasty entities.” A sketch of an inky creature hovered next to a row of strange words Lola could not read.
“No, I can’t believe this,” Lola drawled, her skin squirming the longer she stared at the unsettling images recorded in the distressed pages. “Lillian? Practicing dark magic?”
“Well, think about it. This is her library, with a journal in her handwriting, hidden under the floorboards of her writing desk.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Fact is fact, and the evidence proves as such,” Modesta said with a shrug. She closed the book and began to lower it back into the hole under the desk.
“What are you doing?” Lola demanded, reaching out and snatching the grimoire from Modesta’s hands.
“I was putting the book back.”
“Okay, hear me out. Here’s an idea, what if…we keep it?”
“Are you insane?!” Modesta’s jaw fell open as if unhinged.
“What? No one knew it was here in the first place, which means no one will know that it has a new home,” Lola theorized. “And if they are re-doing the floors, there’s a chance this book could be destroyed. If anything, we’re heroes for saving it.”
“Or, they find it, preserve it, and add it to the historical archives of the Northcott family. We can’t and are not going to keep---don’t you dare!” Too little too late, she watched Lola hug the grimoire.
“We can’t put it back now,” Lola said, the book clutched to her chest. “This is a huge discovery.”
“As if hugging the grimoire automatically makes it yours,” Modesta huffed in frustration at Lola’s bizarre way of “imprinting” on inanimate objects. “The Manor House needs to be notified.”
“Ah! But we can’t inform them of this discovery,” Lola said with a wicked grin. “We’re in an ‘off-limits’ room, you said so yourself. How would we explain where the book came from without incriminating ourselves?”
Modesta pressed her lips together in a firm line, glaring hard at Lola, unable to give an answer to refute the argument and apparent victory in the perceived loophole her friend exploited.
“See? All the more reasons for us to keep it.” Lola pretended to polish her nails on the lapels of her bathrobe, obnoxiously confident she won the debate of technicalities over property and rightful ownership.
Modesta glowered hard at the smug redhead sitting across from her. There was only one way to make her see reason, and although possibly considered an underhanded tactic, it was her ace in the hole, one she reserved for times when Lola was at her most brattiness. “I don’t want to have to do this, Lola, but you leave me no other option. I’m telling Raph.”
Lola gasped, eyes wide with surprise before narrowing into slits of defiance. “You wouldn’t. That’s punching low, and you know it.”
“Then put the grimoire back.”
“No. Finders keepers,” she childishly professed.
“Suit yourself. I’m telling Raph.” Modesta got up from her place on the floor, turned on her heel, and made a B-line for the door.
“Oh, shit, you’re serious,” Lola declared in horror. “Don’t be hasty, Mo, look! I put it back! Wait! You don’t have to tell Raph!” Lola practically chucked the grimoire back into the hollow space, sliding the floorboards over the secret compartment, and then jumped to her feet, trailing after the retreating form of Modesta. By the time she exited the library, her friend was already hammering her fist against the bedroom door of the grand suite.
“Raphael! Wake up! Lola’s in trouble and she’s breaking all the rules!” Modesta shouted.
“Fuck, Mo, stop! I told you I already put it back!” Lola exclaimed, trying to stop Modesta from waking the whole house.
“Raphael! Get up!”
“What’s all the commotion out here?” Lazare sleepily questioned, peeking his head out of his room while rubbing tired eyes.
“Mo? Lola?” Jack asked with a large yawn, opening the door of his suite. “Why is everyone in the hallway?”
“Raph!” Modesta’s fist fell through the air, missing pummeling Raphael by inches as he opened the door. He had a bedsheet wrapped around his waist while blinking rapidly, still half-asleep yet growing more alert by the second, especially when he noticed Lola wasn’t next to him in bed as he was awakened to the sounds of someone banging on the bedroom door.
“Modesta? Is everything all right?” Raphael asked, the sound of his voice husky, deepened from sleep. “Where’s Lola?”
“She’s right here.” Modesta shoved her friend into Raphael’s arms, Lola giving a squeak as she landed firmly against his chest. “Pay attention,” she then ordered, pointing a finger at Raphael to hold his full focus. “Lola is not allowed to leave that bed until sunrise.” Her finger gestured to the stripped mattress behind him.
“Oh? My little dandelion has been causing trouble in the night, has she?”
“I can explain!” Lola began babbling, trying to defend herself.
“She’s been very, very naughty,” Modesta tattled.
“I see. Perhaps another round of birthday spankings are in order.” Raphael swooped down, locking his arms around Lola’s knees, and in one fluid motion, stood to lift her over his shoulder. “No need for your camera, Jack,” he added, spying Jack’s ever-rolling camcorder filming the kerfuffle in the hallway. “Mine will do just fine.”
“I swear to God, Mo, I’ll get you for this!” Lola cursed.
“This is for your own good, Lola,” she replied, ignoring the threat.
Raphael turned, Lola continuing to scream her vows of vengeance while balancing on top of his shoulder even as he kicked the door closed behind him, the sheet around his waist falling loose, giving the group of friends a brief glimpse of his bare backside before the door to the bedroom suite shut completely, muffled sounds of gleeful shouts and laughter filling the hallway soon after.
Modesta stood outside the active chamber, rubbing the bridge of her nose as her headache blossomed full force behind her eyes.
“I take it they don’t know how thin these walls are,” Lazare grumpily commented.
“Just…everyone go back to bed,” she said, refusing to go further into the issue. Lazare shuffled off first with a “good night” over his shoulder, his door closing behind him.
“Everything okay?” Jack asked, coming to stand next to his girlfriend. “You pulled the Raph card. Usually we save that for extreme cases when it comes to protecting Lola from herself,” he chuckled.
“I know, and believe me, it was absolutely necessary. It was either this,” she gestured towards their friends’ bedroom door, “or face potential charges on accounts of larceny.”
“I guess it’s a good thing Lola enjoys Raph’s particular styles of unique punishments?”
“It is far too early in the morning for this conversation,” Modesta stated, raising her hand to stop Jack from speaking.
“Come back to bed. There’s still a few hours of sleep left,” he suggested sympathetically.
Modesta cast her eyes to the library before agreeing to go with Jack, noticing the door was closed. “Hang on a second, I need to double check something first.” Retracing her steps, she came to stand before the paneled oak door of the room that caused the random stint of excited chaos, and reached a steady hand towards the crystal doorknob. It refused to budge beneath her grasp, locked, and exhaling a tired sigh of relief, she released the hardware.
Ice prickled the back of her neck, and her skull began to tingle as if being tickled by tiny spiders. If she turned around at that moment, she would bet her life something was at the bottom of the stairs, leering up at her. Ignoring every internal alarm bell to run, she suppressed the urge to shudder, took in a deep breath, and turned instead towards Jack, refusing to acknowledge the dark energy dwelling down below. Jack met her halfway, tucking her under his arm, and guided her back to their room with the hopes of spending the remainder of their pre-dawn hours of the morning in peace.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Hello, hello, hello, friends! Happy full harvest moon!
Just wanted to pop in and surprise everyone with a little treat today. I know I need to update "The Skeleton Keeper" for you guys, and I'll get on that here soon. In the meantime, enjoy some time with this cast of weirdos!
The friends spent the next several moments cleaning up the parlor before continuing on their quest of exploring the Manor House for ghosts. With all that had transpired during the attempted séance with Lazare, and Modesta’s tarot reading, they approached the remainder of their investigation with caution. The energy in the house wasn’t threatening, per se, but the air seemed to crackle with a pent up need to release a burst of paranormal activity. It just needed a catalyst to give it the spark and ignite. As a group, they traversed into the underground rooms of the basement, exploring the reserved private party space, trying their best to capture disembodied voices and dancing skeletons. Eventually, their steps brought them outside, where they took advantage of roaming the grounds under the protective gaze of the silver moon peeking out between billowing thunderclouds. A summer’s storm brewed in the distance, the occasional glimmers of lightning leap frogging from cloud to cloud as the cooler air of the storm front fueled a steady breeze to finger through the treetops with a hint of rain scenting the wind.
They congregated under the old, wooden gazeebo, where a spontaneous play broke out amongst them to perform an impromptu rendition of an amalgamation of fairytales both traditional and newly made up before the watchful eye of Jack’s camcorder lens. He balanced the device on the railing so he, too, could participate in the drama-filled shenanigans of playacting. He jumped into the role of bard, sing-songing his lines effortlessly, Raphael obviously playing the hero knight in shining armor, while Modesta adopted the role of town baker, Lazare, the dastardly woodsman-thief, and Lola donning the guise of duchess. Laughing almost the entire time, they muddled through their “plot” of rescuing the town baker, who had been kidnapped by the woodsman-thief to thwart the duchess’s birthday, for without a baker, there would be no cake, the play then culminating in a swordfight to the death between knight and thief with some sticks they found lying around, whereupon the duchess’s birthday was saved thanks to the power of teamwork and creative ingenuity of the silliest kind.
Lightning flashed more frequently, and a low growl of thunder was their cue to pack up and head indoors for the remainder of the night. Despite being a haunted house in the path of an oncoming thunderstorm, the rooms felt peaceful, the previous underlying thickness of energy having abated, and the close-knit cluster of friends agreed it was time for bed. Once everyone said their goodnights, they headed towards the grand staircase, but Lola lagged behind to lean in the doorway of the main parlor, observing in the stillness the stately room where the Gray Lady met her passing. A warm arm encircled her shoulders, Raphael’s presence comforting and unhurried, patiently waiting until Lola was ready to retire upstairs. After a heavy sigh, she waved goodnight into the empty room, and hooking her arm around Raphael’s waist, the two of them walked in step towards their bedchamber.
They showered, the two squeezing into the intimate glass cubicle to quickly wash the day’s events off of each other before the storm grew closer, but it was inevitable to start sharing sweet kisses, each press of their lips lingering longer and longer as the shower continued. Eventually, Lola darted out first, wrapping herself in one of the white, fluffy spa robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door provided by the Manor House, and tossed Raphael his own robe as he stepped out of the shower enclosure after her. The two went about their nighttime routines, Lola finishing first to wait for her love in bed. She stretched herself out on top of the plush, gilded comforter with a pleasant sigh. Absentmindedly, she held out her left hand, admiring her engagement ring around her finger, the other hand twisting the band side to side, catching sparkles in the dim room lighting.
The jewelry was a fourteen karat white gold vintage inspired twisted band set with diamond accent stones, brandishing a cushion cut amethyst at its center. The ring was stunning, to say the least, and an unexpected surprise when Raphael proposed to her with it, the item far more beautiful than she had ever dreamed of receiving. It was too beautiful, too precious to remove from its black velvet box, but the amount of love emanating from the ring, as well as the man offering it to her, eclipsed the imagined tender fragility of the thin metal, and when Raphael placed the ring upon her finger, it felt as if the jewelry had always belonged there from the start.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
Lola turned her head at Raphael’s voice to see him leaning against the threshold doorframe of the bathroom, the terrycloth of his robe tied at his waist barely containing his broader form. He was smiling, his expression one of contentment as he had been observing her upon the bed. “Perish the thought,” she scoffed, going back to admire her ring.
“What has you in such deep contemplations?” he asked, walking over to the bed. He sat down at the end on Lola’s side, picking up her legs so her feet rested across his lap, and began to massage one foot, feeling her body melt as he worked the muscles along her arch.
“Did you notice what Annie called us while giving the tour?” Lola asked. When Raphael shook his head, she continued. “She called us Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook. That’s the first time anyone has called me that, and we’re not even married yet.”
“And how does it make you feel to be called my wife?” he asked, a smile slanting his mouth in a handsome grin.
“Excited,” she replied easily. “Terrified,” she added after a pause. “Happy,” she continued. “Delighted…but nauseous, like I’m going to throw up a bucket full of butterflies.”
“I didn’t know the idea of becoming my wife had your stomach in such knots,” he laughed, the sound warm and intoxicating.
“In a good way,” she stressed, laughing with him. “I think I’m just feeling all the feels, and I know it’s technically only a ‘title’, but it’s a pretty big title. What if…I’m not…good enough?”
“You are more than enough,” he punctuated, leveling her with a look that meant she should know better than to say something so ridiculous.
“I’m serious. What if we get married, and it turns out I’m horrible?”
“You have nothing to worry about, as you are already an excellent wife.”
“We’re not married, you can’t know that,” she countered.
“Dandelion, how would you describe the role of a wife?” Raphael asked, switching to massage her other foot.
“Someone who’s loving, attentive, a good partner and communicator, as well as listener,” she answered, ticking off her mental checklist on her fingers.
“You’re already all of those things and more. Firstly, you have my absolute trust. You’re kind and generous with your mind and heart. You challenge me to be the best version of myself without me feeling judged or belittled, and that’s not even beginning to scratch the surface of your many bewitching attributes in how we work together in this partnership. I have, with every confidence, no doubt that you will not only fit the ‘title’ of wife, but flourish as the already exquisite woman that you are.”
Lola wiped unshed tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, his loving words reassuring her heart and soothing her soul. “Thank you for believing in me, Honey Love. I will be a good wife for you, and for the record, you’ll make for a pretty spectacular husband yourself, even with your cheesy albeit endearing one-liners.”
“Naturally,” he preened, “for what good is a husband if he’s not filled with cheese? Now, no more frowns.” He lightly waggled his fingers against the sole of the foot he held, and the appendage was gone before he had the chance to acknowledge the force of her pillow smacking him across his face, the blow sending him sprawling flat on his back over the mattress. His wrists were pinned next by the sides of his head as Lola’s weight settled on top of him as she straddled his waist. Turnabout was fair play, in her mind, and if he was going to be cruel and attack her weakest spot, then she had every right to go after one of his.
“Thou art a wretched, saucy fellow,” Lola growled as she hovered above Raphael. “Prepare for a taste of thine own medicine.” Her words were all the more satisfying as she watched the expression of his smug, cocksure arrogance shift into terror.
“Now, Lola, wait just a minute---.”
But she didn’t wait, she lunged, and buried her nose to snuffle and snarfle like a pig hunting for truffles against his ear. Her tufts of breath and light nibbles around the soft skin sent Raphael into a laughing frenzy, unable to control the dam of his mirthful outburst as the unbearably ticklish sensations of her lips short circuited his senses.
“Lola!” he guffawed heartily. “Dammit I yield! I yield!”
She relented in her attack, pulling away from his ear to plant a loving kiss upon his cheek before settling back on his hips, victorious. She released his wrists, resting her hands on the broad plane of his chest that was flushed and slightly heaving from the recent bout of play. He laid beneath her, catching his breath, his hair disheveled and robe splayed open. His eyes sparkled from his laughter, his smile wide and relaxed, and Lola’s heart cocooned in warmth as she remained observing the man with whom even the stars themselves could not compare. A glint of light twinkled in the corner of her left eye, and she reflexively flicked her eyes towards her engagement ring.
“Are we going to change?” she asked, her voice quiet and tender.
“Probably,” he answered, equally soft to match her tone.
“I mean, is this going to change?” Her fingers lightly traced the edge of his chest exposed from the loosened robe. “When we’re married, are we going to eventually drift away from these games and affections?”
Raphael’s hands came to rest on Lola’s thighs, his thumbs disappearing under the hem of terrycloth bunched up around her legs. “We are going to change,” he said, “but not in the way you’re thinking. If anything, we’re going to find even more ways to be weird. Our relationship is going to grow and evolve the more we grow and evolve to accommodate all the new ways you’ll cause mischief and mayhem and loopholes and schemes.”
“I’m not all trouble,” she laughed.
“It’s one of the many reasons why I want you to be my wife, because of your troublemaking talents.”
“You’re not so innocent yourself, mister. I’ve known you to be a scallywag on occasion,” she teased, prodding his chest playfully.
“A ‘scallywag’,” he repeated. “I wasn’t aware I had such a devious reputation." His hands moved higher up her legs, completely, now, disappearing under the folds of her robe. She gasped, shifting forward as his palms filled with the roundness of her backside. “However, you are correct. I have plenty of schemes hidden up my sleeves.” He moved his palms in soothing circles on each cheek, and she shivered.
“Yes, but your schemes involve me more often than not usually underneath you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, the back of her mind having trouble deciding if the sensual attention to her butt was threatening or promising based on his statement.
“And I plan on spending the rest of our lives crafting more clever and mischievous ways to find you so,” he pledged. His hands stilled when she reached behind her, stopping his ministrations, and he quirked an eyebrow in question.
“Thank you,” she said, and leaned down, kissing him soundly.
“I love you,” he announced as their lips parted. “Past, Present, and Future, I love you.”
“I love you,” she declared against his lips, falling forward to kiss him again. Their mouths worked against each other’s passionately, Lola giving appreciative little moans of encouragement as his hands resumed to knead her ass before trailing his fingers in tingling, heated tracks up and down the backs of her thighs. She had to brace herself against the mattress as he yanked the sash of her robe open, pushing herself up with her hands falling to either side of his head, breaking their kiss and creating a curtain around him of her hair and now fully opened robe. She was completely exposed to him, and he savored every angle and curve and dip of her body, his eyes drinking in her supple form. He swallowed; hard.
“You’re going to want to grab onto the headboard,” he spoke, his voice laced with gravelly lust, eyes deepening into a darkened sapphire the longer he stared at her hovering above him on all fours.
Lost in a fog-cloud of hazy, amorous feelings, she soon found herself clutching the top of the sturdy, decorative wooden headboard, her knees still straddling Raphael’s waist, his own body sitting propped up against the soft plethora of satin pillows. She wasn’t sure how he moved them into this new position so quickly, but she didn’t care, as once again his distracting lips landed on her mouth. She moved her hands to grasp his shoulders, wanting to feel him, but he stopped her, guiding her hands back to the headboard.
“Keep them there,” he said, his lips brushing along her jaw and neck. She nodded in understanding, and he purred. “That’s my girl.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she gasped as his praise caressed her heart. He commanded in a way that wasn’t commanding, his guiding confidence unraveling her into a sopping puddle of pure bliss. Her head fell back, exposing the vulnerable surface of her neck, and he descended upon her, making sure to favor the fluttering pulse point in feathery kisses, his hands, all the while, exploring, teasing, whispering over tender places. He took his time, treasuring every sound and shivering tremble he coaxed out of her, savoring each pleasurable jolt of electricity that caused her breath to hitch. Her arms began to shake, and he rubbed her elbows as a subtle reminder to keep them from locking up, and she sighed, relaxing when his lips returned to hers.
The weight of the terrycloth combined with the mingling of their tongues was causing her body to overheat, and she huffed out her frustrations, gruffly mumbling “too hot” as she released the headboard to rid her body of the too cloying fabric, never breaking stride with Raphael as he helped to remove the affronting material. A deluge of rain could be heard pattering the roof as the storm unleashed its fury, the hard staccato of water hitting the windowpanes matching the timing of her wildly beating heart, a crack of thunder rattling her bones as well as the timbers and framework of the house. She embraced him, her hands diving into his hair, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck, flushing herself against him with every plane and curve molding harmoniously together of their bodies.
“Hands, Dandelion, hands,” Raphael reminded, breaking their kiss to utter his request as he unraveled her arms, again guiding her hands towards the headboard.
“You’re killing me, Honey Love,” she groaned, taking hold of the bedroom furniture. She shrewdly lowered her hips, slinking down his body to make contact with what she craved, but a light tweak on her backside caused her spine to straighten, a startled yelp of surprise escaping as she reared up high onto her knees.
“Patience,” he chuckled. “I’m not done honoring your birthday.” Before she could retort, he placed his hands on her waist, holding her steady, and leaned forward to move his lips against her throat. “Happy birthday to you,” he began to softly sing. His heated breath fell over her neck, the vibrations to the low acoustics of his song creating goosebumps to explode and pebble over her skin, her mind frizzling when the kisses at her neck shifted to touch her collar bones to then graze in a devoted, revered gentleness over the tops of her breasts. His nose trailed down her sternum, inhaling her natural scent as he scooted down the mattress, following an imaginary line leading straight to her bellybutton.
“Happy birthday to you,” he continued the song. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her navel and she nearly fainted from the touch, a strangled, rattling noise of pleasure sounding from the back of her throat as her head fell back from the sensations dancing along the tender skin. Her fingers ached with how hard she clutched the headboard, her body flinching from each delicate swipe of his tongue.
“Happy birthday, my sweet, delicious Lola,” he sang, descending lower. Teeth nibbled her hip bone, and she could have leapt out of her skin. She was delirious, her head swimming as tiny, electric tickles skittered over every nerve ending, her body hyper aware of her lover’s intended final destination. He lingered too long at her hips, and although the attention wasn’t unappreciated, she feared she was going to collapse if he didn’t proceed.
“Raphael…please,” she begged, the torturous anticipation of when his lips would move next leaving her breathless, teetering on the verge of her wit’s end.
He grinned, unable to deny his love of anything. He dragged his fingers down the sides of her waist to grasp her firmly at her hips while peppering her panty line with tantalizing, breathy kisses, easing himself farther down the mattress, concluding his song.
“Happy birthday to you.”
All at once, she was flying, surrendering to the dreamy, euphoric weightlessness her soul yearned for, disconnecting from all earthly attachments, her body singing the ancient and sacred song of the angels. A warmth familiar as home bloomed from her chest, crawling up her neck to flush prettily upon her upturned face as every fiber of her body thrummed and pulsated with the language of the universe. Stars erupted behind her eyes in a multitude of cosmic colors as she skyrocketed higher and higher, leaving the world behind, and upon shattering through the clouds of an ethereal dimension, realized heaven had never looked so beautiful.
~*~*~*~*~*~
H-eeey, everybody! Hope you all enjoyed a glimpse into these two lovers' world. Normally, I write closed door/fade to black scenes when it comes to mutually consenting adult special fun time activities, at least, for the public, but I wanted to prop the door open just a little bit.
Plus, we've had a lot of spooky chapters back-to-back, so it was fun breaking up the pace a little bit. More spooky happenings are on the way, so keep an eye out for more of this tale!
Thanks as always for being awesome, and until next time, happy reading!
