Welcome to Castle Cove: A Design Your Destiny Novel

by Kory M. Shrum

  “I’m so sorry I scared you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” His wide blue eyes slide over the open cabinets, and drawers. “Are you okay?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to think.

  “Are you—”

  “Just give me a minute,” I tell him. He falls silent.

  He didn’t do this then. And really, now that I think about it, of course he didn’t. What burglar would sneak in, open some drawers and then stand outside and call in. And this guy looks as freaked as I am.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, sucking in another breath. I’m suddenly glad that at least I’m dressed and presentable. Imagine doing this conversation in a towel. “I think someone is playing a prank on me.”

  John the driver fingers the broken chain. “Or not. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  His eyes are shamelessly roving my body now. I squirm under the inspection. I gesture at the cabinets, urging that gaze away. “This must’ve happened while I was blow drying my hair. I clearly didn’t hear them.”

  “I don’t smell anything. Human or paranormal. Maybe you have a poltergeist.” John offers. “I know someone you can call for that.”

  “A poltergeist,” I repeat, searching his face for the joke.

  “We can send him over tonight if you want.”

  Not joking then. He actually thinks my apartment is haunted.

  He turns over his tanned wrist and checks the time. “We don’t want to be late. Are you ready?”

  Choice 54

  Leave with the driver now and solve this mystery later

  Nope. Time to get the hell out of Castle Cove

  Leave with the driver now and solve this mystery later

  “Can you just stay here?” I ask. “I need to grab my wallet and phone. Give me a sec.”

  He smiles, revealing boyish dimples in his right cheek. It gives me a wave of bravery, at least enough to dart into my bedroom, grab a small black clutch, and meet him back in the living room.

  He waits on the landing patiently as I lock up—to what point, I have no idea—and then leads me to the street below. He is sure to reach the car before I do and opens the door to the backseat.

  “In you go,” he says, flashing more dimple.

  The backseat is leather and warm. The inside of the car is lit up by lights running along the ceiling. I can feel the heat blowing against my bare legs from some unseen vent.

  He leaves the partition down, which allows more light from the street to filter inside.

  When John is behind the wheel, he angles the mirror, so I can see his face and gives me one last dashing smile. “All right back there? Nice and comfy?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say and find the smile comes easier now. It’s either John’s warm personality, or having the chance to step outside my apartment for the evening after so much weirdness…

  “No ghosts in here,” he assures me. “It’s warded.”

  I smile, thinking he’s made a joke.

  I think of my apartment. I replay the weird kitchen scene again and again, but nothing comes to me. I can’t make sense of it. So I’d better just put it out of my mind for now and focus on the night ahead.

  God, I’m never going to be able to sleep again.

  Vampires…ghosts. I sigh and catch John looking at me in the rearview.

  He doesn’t force a fake smile. Instead, his voice is full of concern when he says, “Are you thinking about your apartment?”

  “I just don’t understand it,” I say. “When I get home tonight, I can’t just pretend like it didn’t happen. But what do I do? Do I call the police? Do you have ghostbusters in town?”

  “Not exactly,” he says. “It may make you feel better though, to have someone come and check the apartment over. Or we can contact my friend Jim. The one who banishes ghosts.”

  He is probably right. But still. I’m not sure I’ll feel completely safe sleeping there alone for a long time.

  And why am I telling this guy my business anyway? “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem.”

  His smile returns, broad and generous. “I don’t mind. Castle Cove is pretty weird sometimes.”

  I snort. “I’m starting to get that.”

  “How long have you been in the cove?”

  “A week.”

  “A week!” He laughs heartily now. “You have no idea. Still, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t meant to be.”

  Is he talking about Fate? God? Destiny? Or as my mother likes to say, everything happens for a reason.

  “How long have you been in the cove?” I ask, trying out the town’s nickname on my tongue. I like it.

  “Eighteen years this June. Here we are. See? No ghosts.”

  I lean toward the window and look up at the gleaming sign. Labyrinth glows in a soft electric blue, coloring its stone exterior in a spectral light. A muscular man stands behind a velvet rope, the kind one might see in a movie theater corralling those in queue.

  A troll, I think. He must be a troll.

  The back door opens and there is John, hand offered palm up.

  I take it, and allow him to pull me out of the back of the car. He steps me up onto the curb and introduces me to the doorman.

  “Mr. Benedict’s VIP,” he informs him. The muscle behind the sunglasses—why is he wearing sunglasses at night—gives a polite nod and begins unhooking the velvet rope.

  John kisses the back of my hand. “Have a good evening.”

  “Wait, let me tip you,” I say, digging in my clutch for the $20 bill I know I have.

  John laughs, waving me off. “Mr. Benedict has already taken care of it. Just go inside, order yourself a drink, and he’ll find you at the bar. It shouldn’t be long.”

  My heart starts pounding in my chest and John only laughs harder.

  “He won’t bite, unless you ask him to,” John says with a wink. “The same goes for me, by the way.”

  Is every man in this town a shameless flirt?

  Before I can respond to the flirtation, he’s walking around the front of the black sedan and disappearing inside. I realize the doorman has been holding up the rope this entire time. I blurt an apology.

  He only nods again—is he mute?

  I thank him and step inside, hovering in the darkness long enough to let my eyes adjust. Spots from the blue Labyrinth sign dance in my field of vision until the soft candlelight slowly replaces it. Once the room finally comes into view, I find the bar along the left wall.

  All the walls are stone, with medieval candelabras serving as the main light source, including three huge candlelight chandeliers above. Plush red carpets and furnishings can be found in almost every nook and cranny. The crowd isn’t thick yet. I guess it’s too early.

  The dance floor sits beneath a DJ booth. The music is a string quartet version of a rock song I can’t quite place. Apart from the dance floor, the bar and all the dark corners ready for intimate conversations, there is one other thing I notice.

  An archway. And above the archway, a sign written in the same font as the outside Labyrinth had been. Except this sign is in red.

  Enter, if you dare.

  The neon letter d blinks on and off, sometimes reading Enter, if you are.

  I slip onto a leather barstool and try catch the bartender’s attention. He’s a young man, slender, with black hair slicked back. Not one curl out of place. His dress shirt is crisp and perfectly white beneath a black vest, and the sleeves are buttoned at the cuff, with silver skulls for cufflinks.

  “Good evening,” he says. “Are you Mr. Benedict’s guest?”

  “I am,” I say, surprised.

  “He recommends a house red or white, whichever the lady prefers. Note all drinks are on the house tonight. Mr. Benedict insists.”

  I begin to question what sort of man orders for a woman he has never met, yet I can’t help but be impressed. He sent a car. He notified his employees of my arrival and he’s doing his best to make me feel welcome and accommodated. And he’s plying me w
ith free booze. Is this an excellent level of service or does he plan to murder me and bury my body beside the parking lot out back?

  Stop it, I chide myself. I’ve let this town get to me, making me question everyone and everything in it.

  This is a business date. That’s it. And if Ethan Benedict was some kind of monster and wanted to drain me dry and dismember me, he didn’t have to lure me here to do it.

  “A glass of the house red, please,” I say, and force a smile, a tad embarrassed by my long pause.

  The bartender pours the red wine, a rich crimson into a tall and wide wine glass. He places the drink on a black napkin and slides it across the bar.

  “Enjoy. Mr. Benedict will be right with you.”

  I take a sip and warmth rushes over me. Immediately, all the muscles in my back go soft. Either this is very good wine, or the bartender has spiked my drink with something else.

  I can’t ask because he’s moved down the bar to service another patron—a busty blonde in a leopard print dress. It fits her tighter than my winter gloves.

  I’m not four sips in when I feel an electric presence slide up beside me.

  “How’s the wine?” a melodic voice asks. It’s the sort of voice that slides along the skin, licking up the side of your neck before curling its tongue around the inside of your ear.

  I’m blushing before I even turn around.

  I pivot on the stool, still holding the wine glass, and find a man in a sharp dark suit—black-on-black—and no tie. Just an open collar showing the skin stretching over his collarbones.

  The smell of him is subtle, but impossible to miss. The cologne—or the wine—makes my head swim more.

  “It’s amazing,” I say, finding my voice. I lift the glass slightly. “Probably the best I’ve ever had.”

  He smiles, a reserved smile of quiet accomplishment. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  He gestures to the rest of the room around him with a wave of his hand, the other still casually tucked into the front pocket of his slacks. “And the rest? How did I do? Give me your assessment as a professional.”

  I look around the room again, taking in the candlelight, the erotic music. I note the quiet laughter in dark corners.

  I say, “You’ve done a great job of blending intimacy with intrigue. It’s comfortable, cozy, and would appeal to a range of clientele.” I point at the dance floor. “Those looking for energetic fun.” I point to the furniture nestled in dark corners. “And those looking for conversation or something more. It’s clear you know who your clients are and what they want.”

  Another soft smile touches his lips. “Something more.”

  “I only have one question,” I say, hoping my steady voice is an effective mask for my warm face and pounding heart. Of course, I can always blame the wine, can’t I?

  He leans against the bar, surveying my face more closely. “Which is?”

  “What is that?” I point my wine glass, now nearly empty, toward the sign I saw before sitting at the bar.

  He follows my gaze. “That’s the entrance to my labyrinth.”

  “An actual labyrinth?”

  “An actual labyrinth,” he says with a smile.

  “What’s inside?”

  His considers my face for a long time. So long that I feel like it’s going to catch fire and melt if he looks any harder.

  “The experience is different for everyone. It depends on what they are looking for. Whatever it is, they will find it in there.”

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t name your club Heart’s Desire,” I say.

  He grins at that. “Spoken like a marketer. Would you like to go inside and see for yourself? I can escort you, so you do not get lost.”

  I finish my drink in two swallows.

  No doubt this is just a game, maybe more flirtation—and yet my pulse quickens, and my flesh crawls every time I read Enter if you dare.

  If I dare…

  Mr. Benedict must sense my hesitation. “Or we can have another drink in my office, discuss business. I am open to whichever you prefer.”

  Choice 55

  Go inside the labyrinth

  Have another drink

  Go inside the labyrinth

  The allure of the red sign is just too much to pass up. “As long as you don’t let me get lost in there.”

  I place the empty glass on the bar and thank the bartender. I also leave a generous tip. He tries to refuse. But I had expected to pay for overpriced drinks and a cover charge. If I’m not, it is only fair that the money enters the bar’s ecosystem somehow.

  “Don’t be insulted, Antonio,” Ethan tells him. “The lady is pleased with your service.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, sir,” he says. But Antonio doesn’t look glad. He looks like he wants to spit on me and screw Ethan. Possibly at the same time.

  “Shall we?” Ethan gestures toward the glowing sign.

  A few eyes follow me across the room toward the labyrinth. Or maybe they are staring at Ethan, and I am just in the way.

  With one hand on my lower back, he urges me through the archway into the darkness.

  I try to keep my breath steady and manage all right. But if he can hear my heart, he’ll know how frightened I am. It’s pounding so hard that all I can hear is the whoosh of blood in my ears.

  On the other side of the stone archway is a room, also made of stone. When a door closes behind us, I whirl.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Ethan whispers gently. “It is only to give us some privacy.”

  I feel his hand, warm and steady on my back.

  “Wait,” I say, breathless. My heart pounds in my throat. “Just wait. I need to be sure I understand this.”

  “You may ask anything you want.”

  “How does this work? Do you walk through a maze? You find a garden in the center? What is happening here?”

  He looks like he might not answer me. Then he says, “You will concentrate on what you want, whatever the object of your desire may be. Some want wealth. Otherwise immortality or love. You must decide. And then it will show you the way to that desire.”

  “How?” I insist. Because I’m not going into this maze until I understand.

  “It will change you or the circumstances. It will give you the ending you desire.”

  “The ending I desire?” I ask. My voice is pitched too high.

  “You must only tell it what you want,” he explains, his breath warm against my face. I realize how close he is now. “What do you want?”

  Choice 56

  Romance

  Truth

  A long, happy, human life

  Romance with a hot soul-eater

  I nervously push my hair behind my ear. “What if what I want is you?”

  Ethan smiles, reaches up and places one slender hand on the rough stone behind my head. I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me, but he closes his eyes and murmurs something. It looks like he is willing the door behind me to open with magic.

  It seems to work.

  The wall slides to the right, disappearing to reveal a dim passage. A blue light hangs eye-level in the air about four feet ahead. It dances, urging us forward.

  “It is a will-o’-wisp,” Ethan explains. “Follow it.”

  I step nervously into the narrow passage, feeling Ethan’s warmth behind me. The blue light floats ahead, leading us deeper into the stone maze.

  Every ten or twenty feet, I notice a door. Wooden and thick like someone one might see in a medieval castle. I count at least twenty of these doors as the will-o’-wisp continues to urge us forward.

  I don’t dare ask what is going on behind them. I think I hear moans as I pass. Shadows moving in the lights seeping through the cracks. If this is the place people come to fulfill their desires, I can only imagine what is happening in there.

  “Did you make this place?” I ask him, wondering when the labyrinth may end.

  “I did,” he says. “It is solely a product of my own imagination.”

 
The will-o’-wisp stops, dancing its vibrant blue outside a closed door.

  Ethan holds it open until I step inside.

  The door closes with a hard clank behind us.

  It’s a beautiful bedchamber. The four-poster bed is carved from oak wood, showing naked creatures embracing in erotic poses, breasts and genitals exposed. Thick red tapestries hang amongst the candlelight.

  “Should I guess what you want?” Ethan asks, stepping around me into the room. He stands by the bed, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

  I glance at the bed and then back at his grinning face.

  “I must ask your permission,” he says. “You must want this. I will not take it from you. And you must understand that you can’t take it back, once it’s done.”

  Choice 57

  Hell yes, I want it

  No. I want to make another choice

  Hell yes, I want it.

  “I want you.”

  The words are barely out of my mouth before he falls on me.

  He wrenches the dress from my shoulder, exposing the long line of bare skin. His hand slides down my back, over my hips and hoists me up by the back of my thighs.

  He carries me to the bed, the weight of him collapsing over me as I hit the mound of pillows. I don’t have time to wonder where this bed came from, and how this candlelit bedchamber sprung up from my wish alone.

  He kisses my neck, then licks it. A few playful bites until he’s suckling the lobe. I’m writhing beneath him.

  When he bites into my neck, the sting is sweet, and it only makes the ache between my legs deepen.

  I’m hanging onto him as if I might drown without him.

  He pulls back, lips bloodied. His eyes aren’t the dark, sensual brown I admired earlier. Now they’re golden fire.

  I should be afraid. I should run from this place screaming.