A few nights before, Braeden had invited her to join the dinner party, and she had said that she wasn’t quite ready, but now he posed the question to her again.
‘Ready to go in?’ he asked softly.
‘I am,’ she said, and they stepped into the room together.
Serafina had spent all the Christmases of her life in the darkness of the basement. When she stepped into the grand room, it glowed with the soft light of hundreds of candles, bathing everyone’s faces and their smiles in a golden hue. The women’s silver-threaded dresses seemed to scintillate in the light of the Christmas tree. Everything in the room had been decorated with holly and mistletoe and poinsettias. Stockings hung on the mantels of the crackling fireplaces.
A score of foresters had used a wagon and a team of Belgian draft horses to pull the massive, thirty-five-foot Fraser fir tree up to Biltmore’s front door. Then a crew of men, including her pa, had worked together with ropes, pulleys and poles to erect the giant tree in the Banquet Hall. There, it had been decorated over days on end by servants and guests alike, who’d stood on ladders, adorning it with velvet ribbons, sparkling orbs and splendorous ornaments until its glow filled the entire room. Now beneath the tree lay a heap of Christmas presents for the children of the estate workers: dolls and balls, horns and chimes, trains and bicycles, harps and drums, wagons and pocket knives, and other toys of all kinds.
Serafina and Braeden made their way over to the Christmas tree and stood beside it. They watched with a smile as Mr Vanderbilt called for everyone’s attention and quieted the room. ‘Good evening, everyone, good evening. Merry Christmas to you all!’
‘Merry Christmas!’ everyone shouted in return.
‘As you all know,’ Mr Vanderbilt continued, ‘here at Biltmore, we pride ourselves on staying up to date with the latest advancements in science and technology. And tonight, on Christmas 1899, I would like to introduce to you what may in fact be the coming new century’s most important invention.’
With a mischievous look in his eyes, he waved in a dozen smiling maids, including Essie, carrying baskets full of candy canes, which they handed out to all the children and adults in attendance. But they weren’t just normal all-white candy canes like they had all seen before. They were striped with a magnificent red spiral that brought loud cheers and laughter of delight from everyone in the room.
As the night slipped on, the servants laid out all sorts of food: ham and roast turkey, dressing and cranberries, and much more – all the bounty of the estate. For dessert they had plum pudding and fancy cakes, ice cream from the estate’s dairies and apple tarts from the estate’s orchards.
Soon, Mr Vanderbilt persuaded Mr Olmsted to collect the children around the fireplace and read them a poem that began ‘’Twas the Night Before Christmas’.
Serafina and Braeden gathered with the other children and listened to the poem with rapt attention.
She loved the part that said ‘when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse’. She had felt that way many times as she prowled through Biltmore at night. And she also loved the line ‘The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow . . .’ The author of the poem had finally found a way to use daytime words to capture night-time beauty.
Halfway through the story, she looked over and saw her pa gazing at her. She remembered how he had found her in the forest when she was little. All he’d ever wanted in his life was to have a family, for her to be his daughter, and tonight he was filled with a happiness and a relief she had never seen in him before.
She rose and walked over to him. ‘At least there wasn’t any salad tonight, Pa,’ she said.
‘And none of them forks to learn on, thank goodness,’ he said, winking at her, and took her into his arms.
A few moments later, she overheard Mr Vanderbilt, Mr Olmsted and the chief forester, Mr Schenck, gathered around the fireplace talking about the Biltmore School of Forestry that they’d set up. Her pa told her that it was the first school like it in all of America, to share the knowledge of rebuilding and managing forests. From what she could tell, it sounded like the men of Biltmore were hatching grand plans for the future.
‘Thank you so much, Frederick,’ Mr Vanderbilt said warmly to Mr Olmsted. ‘What a delightful Christmas present it was to go out to Squatter’s Clearing with you this morning and see all the work you’ve been doing. I must say, you’re very good at keeping a secret! I had no idea that you and the crews had made such good progress. You’ve planted the entire clearing! It’s marvellous!’
‘You’re welcome, George,’ Mr Olmsted said, smiling broadly beneath his grey beard. The deceit she’d seen in Mr Olmsted’s eyes days before was the surprise Christmas present that he’d been planning for his old friend.
And, seeing his smiling face, she realised now that the seriousness she’d sensed in Mr Olmsted since his arrival wasn’t some nefarious plan, but an elderly man’s awareness that he only had so much more time on this earth to finish his work. He was determined to make good on his promise to Mr Vanderbilt to build him a property and a forest that people would cherish for generations to come. The expression she saw in the wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth was the realisation that he had probably come to his favourite place on earth for the last time in his life, that this would be his last Christmas at Biltmore, and one of his last years in a world he so dearly loved.
As Serafina stepped away from the men by the fireplace, Mrs Vanderbilt came over to her, and with a smile handed her a small, wrapped present with a red bow.
‘You forgot to open yours, Serafina,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said gently.
‘For me?’ Serafina said in surprise. She tore away the wrapping paper and lifted the lid on a small wooden box. Inside, she found a finely painted porcelain miniature of a beautiful spotted jaguar. It was one of Biltmore’s very own cats.
‘Thank you, Mrs Vanderbilt,’ she said, looking up at her as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘I’ll be very careful with it.’
‘It’s just my way of saying thank you for everything you’ve done,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said.
Hoping she wasn’t being too forward, Serafina asked, ‘How have you been feeling, Mrs Vanderbilt?’
‘You needn’t worry about me,’ Mrs Vanderbilt said, touching her gently on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to be all right.’ But even as she said the words, Serafina sensed that there was something that Mrs Vanderbilt wasn’t saying.
At the end of the evening, Serafina stood with Braeden by the Christmas tree. She could feel that everything was good and right between them.
‘Merry Christmas, Braeden,’ Serafina said.
‘Merry Christmas to you as well, Serafina,’ Braeden said. ‘I’m glad we’re finally home.’
After a few seconds, her curiosity got the best of her, and she asked him the question that was on her mind.
‘You know what you did for Gidean and Kess . . .’ she began. ‘Has it always been that way?’
‘I’ve loved animals all my life,’ he said, ‘but . . . I don’t know . . . When I was little, I found a meadowlark with a broken leg. I fed it and took care of it, and a few days later its leg healed and the bird flew off. I just thought that was how it was supposed to work . . . But when I helped the peregrine falcon and then Gidean, I began to realise . . . that maybe I was different. Kess’s wing should not have healed.’
‘But it did,’ Serafina said, looking at him. ‘I need to ask you something else, Braeden. Do you think it might work on people?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
She paused and then finally asked the real question she wanted to ask. ‘Do you think you could help your aunt Edith?’
‘I don’t think that’s something I can heal,’ he said.
‘I understand,’ Serafina said glumly, lowering her head.
But then Braeden smiled. ‘My uncle just told me that my aunt isn’t ill. She’s with child.’
Serafina looked at him in surprise. A wave of shock
and relief passed through Serafina. Mrs Vanderbilt was going to be all right – more than all right. She was going to have a baby! That was such tremendous news.
But even as Serafina smiled, she could see that Braeden was thinking about her earlier question, about everything that had happened with Rowena and Gidean and the falcon.
‘Honestly,’ Braeden said, ‘I don’t truly understand what power I have.’
Serafina smiled. ‘None of us do.’
Serafina lay on the front balcony of the Louis XV Room of Biltmore House, swishing her tail and looking out across the open grass of the esplanade as the moon rose, casting its silver light over the tops of the distant trees. No one could see her there, for she was as black as the night itself. The daytime folk were in the house behind her, sleeping soundly in their beds.
Serafina could see the silhouette of the wolves passing through the moon’s light on a distant hill. They were returning. And in the spring the songbirds would come, just as they had for a million years. The dark spell on the forest had been broken. The Twisted Staff was gone.
A beautiful green luna moth fluttered by with its long tails streaming behind. She watched as it flew up past the balcony, then headed for the gardens. It was late in the year for luna moths, but all the creatures were coming home.
In the room behind her, Mrs Vanderbilt and the baby within her lay sleeping. Serafina could sense their calm and steady heartbeats. She did not know why her mistress had decided to sleep this evening in the room they planned on turning into the nursery. It was as if she and her baby were eager for their meeting day to come.
Serafina gazed out across the lawn of the esplanade to the hilltops, looking for unusual shapes in the mist, or a silhouette among the trees, or the silent passing of an owl.
She watched and she listened. She was the black sentinel in the night.
She did not know when, or in what form, but she knew that one day more demons would come.
She vowed to be watchful.
She vowed to be ready.
For the night was her domain and hers alone.
Just a few days before, she had thought that she had to decide between one path or the other, between the forest and the house, between the mountains and the gardens.
But now she knew she did not have to decide whether she was a creature of the night or the day, whether she was catamount or human, wild or tame. She was all these things. She could be whatever she wished to be. Like the peregrine falcon that flies both night and day, she would do whatever she wished to do. The C.R.C. and the Guardian. The human and the panther. She was all these things and more.
But just as she felt a dark and lovely peacefulness finally beginning to flow into her soul she saw a black-cloaked figure moving through the trees in the distance. She couldn’t make out the identity of the figure, couldn’t even be sure it was entirely human, but, whatever it was, it stopped, and turned, and looked at her with glowing eyes.
Serafina’s heart pounded in her powerful chest as she stared back at the figure. She could feel her muscles beginning to bunch beneath her and her lungs filling with air.
As she rose to her four feet, she glanced behind her to make sure Mrs Vanderbilt was still safe in the bedroom.
But when Serafina turned back to look at the figure in the distance once more, the figure was gone.
An Invitation to Biltmore
If you’d like to see and experience Serafina’s world, I invite you and your family to visit Biltmore Estate, a wonderful real-life place nestled in the forested mountains of Asheville, North Carolina. My family and I live nearby and have been exploring it for years.
This story is fictional, but I’ve done my best to describe the house and other historical details accurately. When you visit Biltmore, you’ll see the sunlit Winter Garden, the magnificent Grand Staircase, Mr Vanderbilt’s spectacular library, and all the other main rooms featured in the book. You’ll walk through the estate just as Serafina, Braeden and Lady Rowena did. If you come at Christmastime, you’ll be awed by the giant Christmas tree in the grand Banquet Hall. And if you know which one of Biltmore’s 250 rooms to check you may even spot a certain owl on the fireplace mantel.
I can also assure you from personal experience that the darkened attics, hidden doors and secret passages described in the book are real. These aren’t for visitors (they are hidden doors after all!), but you may be able to spot one or two!
Here and there in the story, I have used artistic licence for reasons of pacing (I figured you didn’t want to read an encyclopedia), but in general I’ve tried to stay true to the spirit and detail of the house.
If you enjoy the outdoors, you should explore the forests and mountains that surround Asheville. You can venture up past the Craggy Gardens to the tallest mountain in the Eastern U.S. just as Serafina did during her journey. You can see the same waterfalls and swim in the same rivers.
Many of the characters depicted in the story were real-life people, including George and Edith Vanderbilt, the housekeeper Emily Rand King and Frederick Law Olmsted, the father of landscape architecture in America. Even Cedric the St Bernard was real.
My goal in depicting Mr Olmsted the way I did, including showing him planting trees, was to capture the spirit of his and George Vanderbilt’s original vision for rebuilding and protecting the forest surrounding Biltmore, which would go on to become the birthplace of forest conservation in America. The conversation I depicted between the two men was inspired by Olmsted’s personal letters. But I did use artistic licence to bring him back to Biltmore for a visit in 1899, a few years after he retired. Given more room, I would have also liked to have described the roles of Gifford Pinchot, Carl Schenck and others. Years later, after George Vanderbilt passed away unexpectedly, his wife Edith fulfilled his vision for the forest by selling the vast majority of their forested land to the government so that it would be protected by the public trust. It became what is today the Pisgah National Forest, one of America’s first and finest national forests.
Whenever I see the unique beauty of Biltmore House and its surrounding gardens and trees, I can’t help but marvel at the vision and power of the human spirit when it aspires to good purpose.
Acknowledgements
First, I would like to thank you, the readers, for helping to spread the word about Serafina and the Black Cloak. It is because of your support on Book 1 that I was provided the opportunity to continue with Serafina’s story.
My deep thanks go to Laura Schreiber and Emily Meehan, my editors at Disney-Hyperion, for their insight into storytelling and their commitment to the Serafina series. And thank you to the rest of the wonderful team at Disney Hyperion in New York and LA.
Thank you to my beta readers, including the middle grade students and teachers of Carolina Day School, the ladies of the LLL Book Club and all my other beta readers.
I would also like to thank the freelance editors who provided invaluable feedback on the manuscript, including Jodie Renner, Sam Severn, Jenny Bowman, Kira Freed, Sheila Trask, Dianne Purdie, John Harten, Misty Stiles and others.
Thank you to Dr Bridget Anderson, an expert in turn-of-the-century Southern mountain dialect. Having always enjoyed the different way people speak in our diverse country, I appreciate her assistance, helping me to honour the traditions of Southern mountain talk.
Thank you to my Serafina home team in Asheville, including Scott Fowler and Lydia Carrington at Brucemont Communications, Robin McCollough for helping to spread the word, Paul Bonesteel and the talented team at Bonesteel Films, and everyone else in Asheville who helped make the book a success.
Thank you to Deborah Sloan and M. J. Rose for helping me to get the word out. And thank you to my agent Bill Contardi and my foreign-rights agent Marianne Merola at Brandt & Hochman in New York. And thank you to Egmont UK and my other foreign publishers.
I would also like to thank all the kind and supportive folks at Barnes & Noble in Asheville and throughout the southeastern region, and Malaprop’s
Bookstore, and all the other bookstores throughout the country who have believed in me, supported me, and been such gracious hosts. And thank you to all the teachers and librarians throughout the country who have used Serafina and the Black Cloak in their classrooms, who work tirelessly every day to inspire reading in young people.
Thank you to my friends Dini Pickering, Chase Pickering and Ryan Cecil, fourth and fifth generation family members of George Vanderbilt. I am honoured by your support and encouragement. And thank you to all the staff members and management at Biltmore Company, especially Ellen Rickman, Tim Rosebrock and Kathleen Mosher.
Finally, I would like to thank my family, including my two brothers and my Jankowski in-laws, but most especially my wife and three daughters, who not only inspired this story, but helped create it, develop it and bring it to the world. In the words of W. H. Auden, you are my working week and my Sunday rest, my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
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