The Shadow and the Night: Glenncailty Castle, Book 3

by Lila Dubois

  It was terrifying.

  “Shall we get back to work?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I have a dress code. No shirts.”

  “You want me to dig holes with no shirt on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Naughty.”

  “I’m not even going to get any work done. I’m just going to stare at you and fantasize about you naked.”

  He picked up her outer shirt, shook it out and handed it to her. “Then perhaps we should make plans now to spend the evening together.”

  Melissa glared at him. “You were going to make me wait until tomorrow?”

  “Sometimes the waiting is the pleasure.”

  “No. I don’t like waiting.”

  “I guessed that when you kissed me.”

  “How about we just go back to the castle right now?”

  “Ah, but Dr. Heavey, we have work to do.”

  She groaned. “You’re a terrible, bad man.”

  He grinned, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “A bad man who will do wicked things to you.”

  “Dead babies.”

  He jerked his head up. “What?”

  “We’re talking about dead babies for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Must we?”

  “Well, I don’t see—”

  Wind tore through the church. The door slammed shut, sealing them in near darkness. Melissa jumped, startled by the noise. “Time to go,” she said. “We’ll still be able to work if it’s windy, but I don’t want to be out there when it starts raining.”

  “That wasn’t wind.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tristan cursed mentally. After what they’d just shared, and after the plans they’d made for tonight, the last thing he wanted was to have Melissa reminded of the ghosts.

  But as he watched the ripples of light dance near the door, he had no choice but to pull her against his side and back them away from the door.

  “Jacques?” he said. He really hoped his brother hadn’t been hanging around watching him pleasure Melissa, but at the same time his presence would now be good.

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s different. Not ghosts, not like me.”

  “Is it a memory, like what was in the nursery?”

  “No. I think… You should get light. There are candles.”

  “Where? I can’t see anything.”

  Melissa was still and quiet at his side, listening to his one-sided conversation. Tristan tried not to think about what the situation looked like from her perspective.

  He let go of her hand, then followed Jacques’ directions to a niche in a side wall. He gritted his teeth, trying not to think about the spiders or rats that might be nesting in the nook. He found a box of candles, and after some fumbling, a matchbook. He lit a candle, looking at the matchbook. It was from a bar in Trim that he’d been to, and all the candles in the box looked new. He’d grabbed a taper, but there were some pillars too. He lit one of those and turned to Melissa.

  “Come take a candle.”

  “Why don’t we just go?”

  He looked away before she got close enough that he could see her face. The memory of her flushed and gasping under him was better than the pity and derision that he would see right now.

  “You can. I need to stay. I need to figure this out.”

  She took the pillar candle and set it on the altar. He lit a few more, passing them to her so she could set them out.

  “She can’t leave either.”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan walked to the altar where Melissa had set out the candles. In the dim light, his brother’s ghost appeared as solid as if he were alive.

  “This is about her.”

  “What’s about her?”

  “The thing in here.”

  “Fuck,” he said, using the inelegant English curse word.

  “Who’s ‘her’? Who is this about?” Melissa asked.

  “My brother says this is about you.”

  “What’s about me?”

  “Whatever closed the door, whatever is keeping us in here.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “You say that about a lot of things.”

  “Why would it be about me?”

  Tristan looked at Jacques. Jacques cocked his head, as if listening. “I think it’s the thing that protects her.”

  “What protects her?”

  “I still don’t know.”

  “Protects who? Protects me?” Melissa asked.

  Tristan faced Melissa and carefully grabbed her upper arms, forcing her to listen. “You cannot see ghosts. Even Elizabeth, who none of us, including my brother, knew was a ghost. You are different.”

  “Like I said—”

  “No, listen to me. I need you to believe. I have this feeling like if you don’t believe, something bad is going to happen.”

  “Tristan…”

  He squeezed her right arm. “My brother says you’re protected. Something he can’t name is protecting you from the ghosts, making sure you can’t see them.”

  “Protecting me…how? Who?”

  “I don’t know, but Jacques thinks that who or whatever it is just closed that door, locking us in here.”

  “Tristan, I respect you, I like you, and I want you, but I can’t be a part of this. I can’t.” She shook her head, then shrugged free of his hold. “I’m going to walk out the door. I hope you come with me.”

  Tristan combed his hair back with his fingers as he watched her walk away. He clenched his teeth to stop from calling her back. He knew that if she walked out that door, whatever connection they had would be gone. She’d never look at him the same way again. No one wanted to deal with the crazy man. He knew that, and it made him sick to think that Melissa would look at him the way his coworkers and friends in Paris had. Running a restaurant in rural Ireland had never been part of his plan, but if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he needed this place, needed to be where people did not sneer at or pity him. Glenncailty, for all its faults, was a refuge.

  Melissa stopped, her right hand reaching for the door handle. She was a shadowy outline in the faint light from the candles.

  Tristan held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t do it. She stood that way for a full minute.

  “Tristan?”

  He barely heard her whisper his name. “Yes?”

  “I can’t reach the door.”

  Melissa stared at her hand. It was only inches from the handle. Inches from pushing that door open, letting in the light and helping Tristan to break out of whatever dark mental place he was in. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to free him from these delusions. It was painful to watch him talk to thin air.

  She tried some deep breathing while telling herself that she could still like Tristan, still want to be with him despite his weird ghost obsession. She was sure that her inability to move was due to her emotional turmoil and her reluctance to force Tristan to face the truth, and therefore potentially jeopardize whatever they had.

  After a minute of reassuring herself, she tried again, rocking her whole body forward to bridge the gap. Her hand sunk into the darkness, which was thick and cold.

  She froze, not trusting what she was feeling.

  She heard his footsteps approaching, but she refused to turn around. She was going to get out of here.

  He stopped beside her and raised the candle. Her hand wasn’t visible—her arm ended at her wrist, her fingers and palm sunk deep into a thick black fog that blanketed the door.

  Melissa screamed, cradling her hand against her belly as she stumbled back. She didn’t stop until she reached the altar. Her hand was still there. She gasped in relief and stared at her trembling fingers.

  “This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.” Melissa made a fist, then released it.

  Tristan was still at the door. Holding the candle aloft, he examined the darkness that covered the door.

  “You’re su
re it won’t hurt her?” he said, looking to his left.

  Melissa sank down on the floor, back against the altar, and focused on her breathing. There had to be an explanation.

  This place was getting to her the way it had to everyone else, the power of suggestion making her see things that weren’t really there.

  “I just need to go outside, get some sunshine. It’s a creepy old church and I’m human. It’s a natural reaction. That’s all this is.”

  “Careful.” Tristan took a seat beside her. “People will think you’re crazy if you talk to yourself. Trust me. I know.”

  “For a minute I couldn’t see my hand. It was like there was something coating the door, and my hand was in it.”

  “That is what happened, Melissa.”

  “No, it’s not, because that isn’t possible.”

  He cupped her cheek, smiling softly, but she jerked her head away. She didn’t want or need his pity. He was the one who was crazy.

  “I’m leaving.” She grabbed a candle and marched to the door. She shoved her hand out…

  …and it sank wrist-deep into the darkness. Her skin tickled as if there were bugs on her.

  Melissa stumbled back, dropped to her knees and dry-heaved.

  “Melissa!” Tristan was at her side, one arm under her while the other hand smoothed her hair back from her face.

  “I can’t stand it,” she gasped. “I can’t stand slimy things on my skin. It reminds me of…reminds me of the maggots.”

  “Come on, come away from the door.”

  Tristan lifted her to her feet and half dragged her back to the front of the church.

  She curled against him, shaking and sobbing. Tristan’s hands were warm and strong on her back. After what felt like a long time, Melissa was able to take a breath without gagging.

  Tristan was watching her with a pitying expression.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  She looked from Tristan to the door. “I should be able to open that door.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “No.”

  “Because…because of a ghost.”

  Tristan focused on the darkness, then shook his head. “Jacques is sure it isn’t a ghost. This is something else.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, then cupped her cheek. “If you let yourself believe that ghosts are possible—not real, not even probable, just possible. If you do that, then the world is a very different place.”

  “I can’t. Tristan, I can’t believe that. If it’s true…” Melissa closed her eyes, the tears that had filled them spilling down her cheeks. “If death doesn’t end suffering, then the world is too cruel a place.”

  “The world is cruel.”

  “Yes, it is cruel, and so much of the time people’s pain and suffering ends only at death. I can’t…I can’t live in a world where that suffering continues without end.”

  Tristan leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t think about it,” he whispered. “If you do, you’ll go mad, the way I did. You think I don’t hate the fact that my brother is stuck here? I would change places with him if I could. I would wander the earth for all of time if it meant he could rest.”

  Melissa couldn’t hold it together anymore. She clung to Tristan, sobbing. Tristan held her, stroking her hair, whispering things in French that she didn’t really understand, but it didn’t matter. They were words meant to comfort, but there was no comfort for this.

  Tristan stopped stroking her hair. “What?” He paused. “No. She’s happier this way.”

  After a pause, he eased her away from his body so he could see her face.

  “Melissa?”

  “Don’t tell me anything else.”

  “I’m sorry, but my brother says that I need to do a séance.”

  “A séance? Please tell me you’re joking.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “If all this is true, the last thing I want is to see the ghosts.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anything right now.”

  “There’s something I should say. I wanted you to believe. I didn’t want you to look at me as if I were insane.” He turned his head away, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “When I learned the truth, it destroyed me. It destroyed the life I had, but still I wanted you to believe—because if you did you would not think I was insane. It was selfish, and now that you are starting to believe I only wish that you didn’t.”

  Melissa kissed his cheek, his clenched jaw. “I’m so sorry I made you feel bad.”

  He focused on her, a lopsided smile curving his lips. “Trust me. Let me do the séance.”

  Melissa closed her eyes, nodded once.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest as Tristan took the candles from the altar and set them in a large circle, then placed three in the center.

  “Come. Sit inside, face these candles.”

  She took a seat inside the outer ring of candles. Watching him prepare calmed her. Human rituals were something she found interesting—comforting, even. They were a universal truth, even if their expression was different in each culture.

  “How did you learn to do this?” she asked.

  “Trial and error. I told you I went a bit mad after I started seeing Jacques’ ghost.”

  “You are the strongest person I ever met.”

  “Me?” He raised a brow and shook his head as he too took a seat.

  “If I were here by myself, trying to figure out if it was real or if I’d lost my mind…that would have driven me mad.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m here.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  Melissa had assumed that the Ivory Coast was her darkest hour. She’d gone through it alone—suffering and surviving by herself. It was hard to think about it, worse when she was trapped in her nightmares that were really memories. Now she realized there were worse things. The pain she’d been in, the horror of her injury and the uncertainty of survival were life altering, but hadn’t been her darkest hour.

  This was.

  She’s wasn’t hurt, wasn’t dying, but she was facing the end of the world as she knew it. After this she would be different, in a more profound way than an injured arm and a lifelong fear of bugs.

  And in her darkest hour she was not alone. Tristan was here with her. He was the light in the dark. He was strong when she could not be. He’d suffered alone so she didn’t have to.

  “Tristan.”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  His gaze jerked up to hers. “Melissa?”

  “I love you. I don’t care that I’ve only known you a week. You’re smart and aggressive and strong and funny. Since I met you, I’ve felt more alive than I have in a very long time. Even when I thought you were crazy, I wanted you. I was going to help you.” She laughed and shrugged. “I was going to show you that ghosts weren’t real.” Her lip trembled, but she forced the words out. “I’m probably not making any sense, and I don’t expect you to feel anything for me, but I just wanted you to know that.”

  She licked her lip and took a deep breath. “I thought that I’d already been through the scariest, worst part of my life. This is worse, and scarier, but this time I’m not alone. And not only am I not alone, but I’m here with you.” She looked down into the candle flames. “That’s it.”

  Tristan was quiet. He took her hands in his, turning them palm up. She kept her gaze on the candle flames as he started to whisper.

  He was speaking low and fast. She didn’t catch everything he said, but it seemed to be a mixture of prayers, psalms and invocations. The flames were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen, and the more she focused on them the larger they got.

  “Bonjour, Melissa.”

  She looked to the left. A thin young man with short black hair stood there. He waved.

  “Uh, hi.”

  “I�
�m Jacques.”

  “You look like Tristan. I could be hallucinating. My mind could easily have created you, based on a general idea of what Tristan’s sibling would look like.”

  “That’s true,” Tristan said.

  Melissa realized he too was looking at Jacques. “You can see him?” she asked.

  “Yes, same as before.”

  “You’ve been here the whole time?” she asked Jacques.

  He shrugged. “I go where Tristan goes.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, trying to reconcile the idea that the man she saw, who appeared completely normal and alive, was actually a ghost. “Hey, wait. Were you here when we were…”

  “Non. Once I knew my brother was going to stop acting like a stupid virgin around you, I left.”

  “Thank you, Jacques,” Tristan snarled.

  Melissa giggled. She couldn’t help it. They sounded just like siblings—death clearly hadn’t changed their relationship.

  “This is surreal,” she said.

  “I know the feeling.” Tristan rubbed her palm with his thumb.

  “Are you like your brother’s spirit guide to the ghost world?” she asked Jacques.

  “I don’t think so. It’s my fault he sees the ghosts. He saw me, and then he could see them all. I didn’t think that would happen.”

  “Why are you a ghost? Is everyone a ghost?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Our grandparents are not here. I looked, but couldn’t find them.”

  “What happened when you died?”

  “Don’t ask him that,” Tristan said, voice harsh.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t really know,” Jacques answered, ignoring his brother. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew I would go to hell, but I couldn’t…” He shook his head. “I just wanted to go home, and then I was. I was in Tristan’s kitchen. It was home.”

  Melissa bit the inside of her cheek to hold back tears. Tristan bowed his head. Now it was her turn to offer comfort. She switched the position of their hands and rubbed his palm.

  “But how do people become ghosts? Who is a ghost? Is there a way to stop it from happening? Should it be stopped?” Now that she’d accepted the idea, she wanted more information. She wanted a solution.