The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall

by Lauren Smith

  …

  “Jane.” Bastian’s voice was a low, gentle whisper in her ear.

  She stirred, and her lashes fluttered up.

  “Was I asleep?” she murmured. She was reclined on the couch, and Bastian was sitting on the edge, one hand braced on the back of the couch by her head as he leaned over. Worried lines marred his brow.

  “Yes, I just came to fetch you. It’s nearly two in the morning. You must be tired. Let me take you to your room.” He brushed stray tendrils of her hair back and stroked her cheek with his the back of his knuckles. The intimate touch warmed her inside, and she leaned into the caress before she caught herself. He made it so easy to forget that things between them wouldn’t work out. Still, she kept kissing him, getting closer and closer to him, when she knew she shouldn’t.

  “Are the police gone?” she asked.

  Bastian’s gaze strayed to the fire, weariness carving age in his youthful face.

  “Yes. The last detective just left. I convinced them they didn’t need to see you. The anthropologist confirmed the age of the bones and there’s no suspicion of foul play by anyone alive. They will continue their examination of the bones to determine the cause of death. The good news is they won’t have to come back, and the bones will stay away from us and Stormclyffe.”

  She sat up, bringing herself closer to him. “Thank goodness.” The tension coiled tight in her was finally released and exhaustion turned her limbs to lead. Her mouth stretched with a yawn, which made him smile.

  “I think I need to get you into bed.” After his words sank in they both stared at each other before he chuckled, his cheeks turning red. He hastily corrected himself. “Let me take you to your bed, so you can sleep.”

  “Thanks.” She let him help her up, trying not to dwell on the idea of him sharing her bed again. Last night had been good, too good. God knows how good it would be if they ever had sex. The thought had her body heating and her face flushing. Making love with Bastian would break her into a thousand pieces and remake her. She doubted she’d survive the pleasure of it.

  They were close to the door when she remembered Richard’s journal.

  “Wait! I have to get the diary.” She turned back but the couch was empty. There was no sign of the diary.

  “Jane?”

  She spun to face him, her heart beating rapidly. “Bastian, I was reading the journal. There was an entry about the murdered doves. My vision was right! The diary was right here.” She ran her fingers over the couch, but no journal was lodged beneath the cushions.

  “You’re sure it was here?” Bastian’s tone was tinged with skepticism.

  “Yes. I swear.” She frowned at him, annoyed that he wouldn’t believe her.

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “That little book has the strangest propensity to wander off and turn up in the most unusual places. I’m sure it will show up again when it wishes to be found.” His lips twitched.

  “It’s not funny. It was here. You have to believe me.”

  He curled an arm around her waist and brushed a kiss against her temple. “I do, Jane. We’ll find it in the morning.”

  He walked her to her room and left her there at the threshold.

  “You aren’t staying with me?” Her question came out a whisper and she hated how weak she sounded.

  With a quick shake of his head he replied. “No. I can’t. Don’t you see, Jane? I allowed myself to get close to you, to entertain a hope that we might be something more, and you suffered a vision in the dovecote that led to a body in my garden.”

  “I had the visions long before I met you,” she reminded him softly, hurt that he would use that against her. Just like Tim had.

  “I know, but if I start to believe you, then I have to believe our getting close could lead to more things, Jane. Dangerous things. I don’t want you at any more risk than you have to be. I wanted…” He trailed off, cleared his throat. “What I want is not what I can have right now, which means I will bid you good night.” He spun on his heel and left.

  She wanted to call him back, ask him to stay with her, but she was already falling too far for him. Instead, she watched him stride down the hall, his body moving with the sleek grace of a panther, and it made her ache deep inside. Another cold night alone was all she had to look forward to, that and the nightmares that would surely come.

  …

  Research proved a fruitless endeavor the day after the body had been discovered. Jane couldn’t think clearly. After three hours of staring at the record books in front of her she hadn’t read a thing. With a sigh, she shoved her chair back. Frustration made her skin prickle with irritation. The only thing she wanted to read was the journal.

  It was missing. She and Bastian had sifted through the books and papers in every single room they could think of. Yet there was no sign of it. The one piece of history that held the clues to her research and the mystery of Isabelle’s death had vanished. Jane needed a break. There wouldn’t be any more productivity, not with the mood she was in.

  “Jane.” Bastian’s voice made her look up from her notes.

  There was no one there. Had she imagined it? Surely that was it. She was missing him and her brain had supplied his voice. She had been avoiding him most of the day since she was mortified after last night’s rejection.

  As thoughts of him started to cloud her mind, she cocked her head to the side to study the most peculiar sight. A silvery nimbus-like shape near the doorway of the library caught her attention. The shock of seeing it froze her in place.

  “Jane…” The voice this time wasn’t Bastian’s, but it was a man’s voice. Her skin rippled with goose bumps. “Come to me, Jane.” The hypnotic pull of his voice drew her to her feet like a marionette on strings. She drifted toward the door, completely out of control, her sense of awareness of this time and place slipping away as another time took hold of her. Shadows stretched across the floor, touching her feet, coiling up around her legs like serpents. Her mouth parted, a scream almost escaping her lips before she was silenced.

  Her nightgown whipped about her ankles like the panicked flapping of a dying bird. There wasn’t time. She had to escape before the evil claimed her. Richard was asleep in bed, their baby son in his crib next to the bed. It was all lost to her. She had to get out, get out before she died. The great oak door crashed open as she threw her body against it. Rain lashed her body as she fled into the night and the storm. Rocks cut her feet, and yet she kept running. Run! Run! the voice in her head screeched, shrilling like a banshee crying out her doom.

  She reached the cliffs and froze, her toes digging into the rocky ledge, her arms cartwheeling as she tried to keep from falling off the cliff. Once her balance was regained, she forced herself back a step to safety.

  “You little whore!” A feminine shriek burst her eardrums, and someone’s hands dug into her back, shoving her.

  Lightning streaked across the sky, and she fell.

  Chapter Twelve

  “My lord!” Randolph appeared in the doorway of Bastian’s study, gasping and red-faced. One of his hands was clutching his chest.

  “What?” Bastian jumped to his feet in an instant and ran to meet his butler.

  “It’s Miss Seyton. She’s headed for the north tower. I tried to stop her, but she was too strong. She was muttering about shadows.”

  The north tower? What was Jane doing? She could get hurt up there. The stairs were mostly rotted wood that hadn’t been replaced or repaired in a century. He’d kept it locked up until last week to keep any workmen from getting hurt.

  “Damn!” he bellowed and took off running, leaving Randolph behind.

  She was talking about shadows? His grandmother’s warning echoed in his head. “Beware the shadows…” His boots slapped the stone stairs as he reached the doorway to the north tower. It was wide open, the weathered wood covered in cobwebs on one side as he sprinted past. Gripping the edges of the narrow stone wall, he prayed the creaking steps wouldn’t collapse beneath him.r />
  “Jane!”

  Two more flights. He couldn’t get his feet to move fast enough. When he passed through the doorway at the top of the stairs, he slid to a halt.

  She was a few feet away, standing between the gray stone turrets on the ledge. Her arms were open and her head tilted back. Her arms suddenly dropped to her sides, and his breath hitched when she looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Jane…get down from the ledge.” He tried to keep his voice smooth and calm. “Please.” He crept toward her, hoping it wouldn’t catch her off guard and make her fall. As he got closer, his heart pounded in his chest as he saw her eyes.

  They were red and glowing like the flames of a distant fire.

  “She’s coming.” Jane’s voice seemed merged with another woman’s voice.

  “Who?” He was so close, if she just stepped off the ledge toward him, he could catch her.

  “The heart of evil.” That same early eerie, dual voice rippled over his skin with an almost tangible touch. She started to lean away from him when the wind rose up enough to push her off the ledge. He shouted and dove for her.

  His fingers dug into her sweater, snagging her just in time. With a violent tug, he brought her flying back into him. They stumbled, and he grunted as they slammed hard into the floor. She was limp in his arms, her eyes closed and breathing shallow. For a few precious seconds, he fought to regain his breath. He cupped her face and lifted it up so he could see her. She blinked a few times, her eyes a little glassy.

  “Are you all right, Jane?” He held her tight, afraid to lose her after what he’d just witnessed. She had nearly fallen to her death. The significance of that wasn’t lost on him. Little tremors shook him, and he hoped she couldn’t feel his hands shaking.

  “Bastian, why are we on the roof?” She glanced about, eyes wide, lips trembling.

  “You came up here on your own. Randolph saw you and said you were muttering about shadows. He came and got me straightaway. I got here just in time to catch you before you fell.”

  Before Jane could respond, Randolph appeared in the open stairwell doorway.

  “My lord!” His wheezing breaths announced he’d run the entire way.

  “She’s fine. I’ve got her.”

  The old butler sagged with relief. “Thank heavens.”

  “Bastian, I was dreaming, I think. I was Isabelle, and I was fleeing the castle and heading toward the cliffs.” She licked her lips nervously. “Something was urging me to run. I didn’t have any control.” The last few words that left her mouth wavered as she fought off emotions.

  “Easy love, it’s over now.” He wanted to ease her fears and never feel her heart beating so frantically against his again, unless it was from wild lovemaking.

  “Is it really? What if this keeps happening until I eventually jump?”

  Bastian shook his head. “I won’t let that happen. If I have to keep you with me every second of the day to protect you, I will.” His voice was a low growl. He prayed that she would believe him.

  “You can’t promise that,” she argued.

  “I can.” He lifted her away from him so he could sit up.

  “But you said you had to stay away from me to keep me safe.”

  He exhaled a slow breath. “Apparently I was wrong. You’re a target whether I’m near you or not. I can’t afford to let anything happen to you. You should leave now. Go back home to Charleston and never look back.” He meant it. Part of him wanted to have an excuse to be near her but he hated that the cost was her life being in danger, more so than he’d ever imagined. It wasn’t just the fear of an accident like his father’s death. There was more to this, something far more sinister and otherworldly. How could he even begin to protect her against something like that?

  Her fear-tinged stare roamed over the turrets, then back to Bastian. “I’m not leaving. I think Isabelle was murdered. Something was chasing and pushed her off the cliff. We have to find out what, or who, it was.”

  “Then we’ll need to find Richard’s journal.” If there was an answer that hadn’t been erased by the passage of time, that journal might hold the key to the mystery. He caught Jane’s hands and they both stood.

  “Why don’t you both rest before dinner?” Randolph suggested.

  After the terror of seeing Jane almost die, Bastian had to admit, rest seemed like a good idea. His own heart was still pounding violently.

  The three of them began the long descent from the north tower. When they arrived at Jane’s room, she hesitated, her gaze shifting as she studied the room as though she expected to be attacked.

  “I’m right across the hall if you need me. I’ll watch over you and wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

  She looked so uneasy that it made an invisible fist crush his heart. He curled his hands around her waist and brought her close for a lingering, comforting kiss.

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured and drew back. She slid into her room and closed the door.

  Bastian remained there a few minutes longer, debating whether he should stay with her or return to his own room. Surely she would be fine, she was only a few feet away if she needed him. He turned his back on her and entered his room.

  He didn’t jump this time when he saw Richard’s journal lying open on his bed. He didn’t dwell on it or how it got there. There was little point in questioning the diary’s ability to appear and disappear at will. Instead, he focused on the answers he and Jane needed. If Isabelle had been murdered, it changed everything.

  There was no date at the top of the journal, and it was much later than the other entries Richard had written.

  It began with nightmares. For the last three nights, Isabelle has woken me and Edward with her guttural screams. Each time I did my best to comfort her, but I know it is not enough. Her eyes are haunted and ringed with purple bruises from lack of sleep. She is terrified to close her eyes. Before the screaming starts, she whispers about shadows and “that creature” which she cannot cast out. After each incident, I questioned her, but she cannot recall what she’s dreamed.

  Samuel, my old gardener has taken to following her about whenever she goes out on the grounds. I thanked him. He will watch over her when I cannot. Isabelle’s condition frightens me. There is nothing so terrifying in the world than to watch an invisible monster attack someone you love. How do I slay her dragon if I cannot see it? I am afraid she is close to breaking…

  …

  The lines on the page scrawled off as though the writer had been interrupted. Bastian fingered the pages of the journal, wondering what had made Richard stop writing. One thing was clear.

  The past was repeating itself. Whatever dark force that held Stormclyffe in thrall had fixated on Jane like it had Isabelle. Richard’s words carved themselves into his chest.

  How do I slay her dragon if I cannot see it?

  What was the dragon? A mental condition created by stress and influenced by Isabelle’s own madness, or was the answer something far more sinister and otherworldly? He didn’t want to acknowledge that, but too much had happened for him to deny something beyond his understanding was happening in his home. Seeing Jane standing on the edge of the turrets had forced him to acknowledge that something dark lived within his home and wanted to hurt him and those he cared about.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he was oddly relieved to see his mother’s number. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks.

  “Bastian?” His mother’s voice came through the phone clearly.

  “Mother, how are you?” he asked.

  “Fine, fine. How are the renovations coming?” Her question was ordinary, but he detected a strain to her tone he hadn’t heard before.

  “Mother, what is it?” The fine hairs on the back of his neck lifted from an invisible wind.

  “I was taking a nap this afternoon and had a most peculiar dream. There was a woman with dark hair. You were holding her close and kissing her.”

  Normally he wo
uld have blanched at his mother dreaming of him in a romantic setting with a woman, but something about her voice still unsettled him.

  “What else did you dream about?”

  His mother’s soft sigh made his chest tighten. “She’s real isn’t she? The woman? You care about her.” That last part wasn’t a question.

  “I…do. Against all rationality, I care about her.” Admitting it aloud felt strangely freeing and yet frightening. He couldn’t take what he said back.

  “Be careful, sweetheart.”

  “What is it?” he prompted.

  “I saw this woman wreathed in darkness and consumed by shadows. She’s in danger, Bastian. Watch over her. You need to get yourself and her away from that awful place.” His mother’s warning was an echo of his own instincts, but they were so close to solving the mystery of the place.

  He had to stay. The compulsion to be at Stormclyffe overrode logic. He had to restore the castle, fix it. They had to mend what once was broken. There would be no rest, no safety until it was done. He knew this to be true deep within his bones. Neither he nor Jane could back out now, not until they saw this through.

  “I will keep her safe, Mother.” A flicker of nerves made him hesitate briefly. “Christmas is a few months away, I would like for you to meet her.”

  His mother was silent a long moment. “How long have you known her?”

  This time Bastian laughed. “A handful of days.” How could he explain it? The magnetic pull, the sense that he’d always known her. From the moment she’d turned around in the red drawing room with Isabelle’s portrait behind her, he’d been struck by that startling likeness. Seeing her seemed to have roused him from a hundred years of enchanted sleep.

  “Your father asked me to marry him three minutes after he met me.” His mother’s words cut into his thoughts.

  “What? I didn’t know that.” Bastian smiled.