Darkle [M]

[Bee Bear]

.: Please don't post in this thread :.

This is my very first attempt at NaNoWriMo. I'm so nervous!

I won't always be finishing my chapters in the right order so sometimes my posts here will come particularly fast or particularly slow, but for the most part I'll try to stay consistent.



.: List of Contents :.


Prologue (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1712914&viewfull=1#post1712914)
Chapter 1~ Gina's Chore (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1713623&viewfull=1#post1713623)
Chapter 2~ Farewell ... (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1714999&viewfull=1#post1714999)
Chapter 3 ~ ... and Goodbye (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1715015&viewfull=1#post1715015)
Chapter 4 ~ Corrosion of the Unsung (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1717030&viewfull=1#post1717030)
Chapter 5 ~ Dame and Dragon (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1719525&viewfull=1#post1719525)
Chapter 6 ~ Ink (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1719527&viewfull=1#post1719527)
Chapter 7 ~ History's Student (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=50739&p=1719760&viewfull=1#post1719760)

[Bee Bear]

In a dark chamber that seemed to only reflect the blackness of his soul, Klaus waited. His labored breathing cut like a knife through the absolute silence, a loose, wet rasping that bore no discernible rhythm. It was the sound of a man not long of this world.

Emotion wasn't something Klaus welcomed or experienced often. He detested it. Hundreds of years ago he had deliberately worked to rid himself of the weakness and felt all the much stronger for the loss of it. And yet, although he could almost detect the coppery taste of victory on his tongue, there was a niggling – an itching – just beneath the surface of his rotten skin. He knew exactly what it was, and vowed to eliminate it.

Impatience.

The only remedy was to wait. Wait there in his tomb of death just as he had for more than three hundred years. Compared to three centuries of near ceaseless agony a few more days and nights would be nothing at all. That was what he had to tell himself.

He closed his blind, colorless eyes, sat back and sent his bitter mind adrift. Dimly he could recall his earlier days. The memories were indistinct and garbled, so fragmented he couldn't even be sure if they were genuine, yet one single feeling was present in all of them; the warmth of sunlight shining down on his face. He rarely allowed himself the luxury of nostalgia – it made his present condition all the more difficult to bear. Yet it helped to pass the time and calmed some of his restlessness.

Hours dragged by.

A shift in the air, the scrape of a shoe over rough stone and the smell of Life drifted to where he sat unmoving on his bony throne. His hunger instantly sprang to life, clawing at his throat and reminding him how long it had been since he last fed.

But this one was not for eating.

The Thief was young and valuable. He still carried the intoxicating aroma of a human in his flesh, making it possible for him to move undetected amongst them. Only an extraordinary few would know him for what he really was.

“Master.” His voice came from far below Klaus; he was kneeling as he'd been taught. “I have brought news.”

The itching returned unbidden.

“My spies have informed me of a development.” The Thief's words were dripping with excitement and Klaus fought down a sudden rush of disgust at his servant's obvious lack of self control. The young ones were all so easily agitated.

“Do not test me, boy. Speak your part.”

At the command from his master the Thief fought down a shudder. It was as if Death himself was at his ear, whispering softly of his impending demise. This ominous feeling was always present in the company of Klaus and the Thief was infinitely relieved that he had good tidings to share.

“I beg your forgiveness, sire,” he muttered submissively, hastening to add, “It is as you predicted. The lawyer has tried to conceal her actions but we were able to ascertain the identity of the beneficiary of the will.”

The itching escalated to an unbearable crawling.

“Everything is to go to a woman named Helena Copperwhite. She is twenty-three years old, was raised in an orphanage since the age of seven – ”

The demon in his putrid blood came to life.

“ – and her description matches that of the pictures we have of the girl.”

It raced through his veins, seeking an outlet and burning with dark elation.

“I can say with confidence, my King, that this woman is the Burner heir you have been searching for.”
Klaus threw back his head and roared his triumph.

The long wait was finally over.

[Bee Bear]

The road up to the Burner property ended in a slight rise. From the top of it I could see for miles around.

The glen to my right could almost be described as ethereal. In the gentle light of the afternoon sun it was much more than simply beautiful – it was bewitching. I could easily believe that magic lived there in the deep shadows of the swaying willow trees and the gurgling brook running through the shallow dips and loops of the hills. Or in the master of the scene itself where it sat so solidly in the center of it all.

A lone house occupied the crown of the tallest rise, nestled in a circular copse of thick bushes and huge trees. The rustic looking farmhouse style building was three stories tall and had an unsurpassed view of the surrounding terrain. Even from a distance its walls, black shingled roof and small, narrow windows looked to be in bad need of maintenance.

As a home it wasn't very appealing. Squat and broad and functional, there was nothing artistic in its design. It was made of a pitted Grey stone darkened almost to black in some spots by time and moss. On the other hand, the garden which had been allowed to grow freely certainly didn't disappoint. If the building itself was a rugged workman's boot, the garden was a ballet slipper.

From a distance all I could could see was the soft pastels of wild flowers and the vivid green of healthy moss. It was very clearly overgrown yet all the more lovely for it. Closer to where I stood on the side of the country road, thick brush covered the already limited open space between the white oaks that surrounded the property. The already narrow driveway leading to the house itself had almost been overrun by it.

A stiff breeze rose to ruffle at my hair, playing with the loose tendrils and tugging mischievously at the rest, seemingly determined to free them from their braid. I tucked what I could behind my ears in an effort to salvage some dignity despite my already travel-worn appearance, but they promptly sprang free again to tickle my face. It was a battle already lost, anyhow. The drive over from Newport was a long one and I'd had to hit the road immediately after my early morning shift at the restaurant. As a result my feet were aching and I smelled of stale coffee.

On the other hand, I reminded myself, I'm certainly not here to impress anyone.

Sweeping down from the east another gust of wind carried the unmistakable tang of rainfall with it. Though the clouds remained distant, tinged only here and there with the purple and peacock-blue colors of a bruise, later that evening it would probably rain.

I locked my ancient little Golf - sitting so forlornly beside what I assumed was Gina Waters' sparkling silver BMW - slung my handbag over my shoulder and set off into the deep shade of the trees. Silence enveloped me, deep and dark as midnight's hour. Some twenty feet down the driveway and already the sky was blotted out by the dense, gently swaying tree limbs. There, nine feet wide and at least twice my height stood the gate. Its wrought iron bars were twisted and twined in such intricate ways I never would have thought possible. From one angle a particular flowing loop resembled the arch of a swan's neck and in the next it looked more like part of a lion's mane. It was fascinating and disorientating at the same time. I didn't know much about antiques but hazarding a guess I'd say that they must have been at least a few hundred years old, same as the house itself. Despite that it was in a remarkably good condition.

I stepped closer and frowned. At first I thought it was because of all the undergrowth that I couldn't see it, but it seemed that its sides weren't connected to any fences at all. It stood alone. That seemed pretty strange to me. What was the point of having a gate when you didn't have walls? Of course there needed to be more than a few pieces of steel barring access to the driveway if you were going to keep people off your land. Especially out there in the middle of the countryside. It would be the simplest thing in the world to simply walk around the gate and continue on to the house through the foliage, dense as it was.

A chain held the gates closed but someone - Waters, most likely - had loosened them enough for a person to slip through. Not wanting to trudge off the track and into the dirt I ducked underneath the silvery chain and continued on my way. Despite the deep shade it was warmer out of the wind. The soft soles of my boots made almost no imprint in the hard-packed ground. I walked at a brisk pace for a few minutes with the strange feeling that I would never reach the other side. I saw nothing except rough bark and thick leaves and again I was struck by how otherworldly everything was.

I scoffed. My childhood as I remembered it hadn't held so many whimsical ideas.

So it's true what they say – you do get weirder with age, I thought with a shake of my head.

Finally the end came in sight and the light around me grew brighter. Just inside the embrace of the trees the dirt ground gave way to red brick cobblestones. The countless back and forth of the property's inhabitants had worn them smooth and most were cracked down the middle. Like everything else on the Burner property it was in desperate need of some TLC and I felt my spirits sink further.

Stepping out underneath the sky once more I was surprised to find that fat water droplets had already started to fall. Though it hadn't turned into a real downpour yet I was nevertheless dismayed – the drive back wouldn't be a pleasant one.

It was a short sprint to the house from the cover of the trees but when I reached the shallow front porch my disheveled hair had gone from lank to damp and curly around my ears. Stomping my shoes free of water I looked around; the glazed red tiles of the floor obviously hadn't been swept recently, covered in dust and old leaves as they were. Cobwebs laced every corner, almost all of them occupied.

Miss Gina Waters, the woman I was there to see, rose from a sturdy lawn chair placed beside the front door to shake my hand. “I see you found it easily enough,” she said, her Southern accent barely perceptible. This was our second meeting, the first being four days earlier at the reading of my mother's will in Newport. She was much taller than me and wore a very nicely tailored black pants suit with a peach silk blouse, cinched at the waist to accentuate her slim build. Her raven black hair was pulled back into a bun so severe it stretched at her handsome features. She didn't smile.

“Your directions were very easy to follow,” I replied politely, tugging at my own dark denim jacket. I didn't remind her that despite the many intervening years I'd once lived there and recognized most of region well enough to find my way around.

I wanted to say it, though. I wanted to ask her about the state of the house and why it was so obvious that no one had been looking after it.

She didn't give me time, though. “As you can see, the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” the lawyer said, stepping through the open front door as she spoke. I followed. “So we're going to have to keep this brief.” We entered the foyer, a large rectangular room with three doors leading off in separate directions as well as a wooden staircase up to the second floor which dominated the space with it's bulk.

“Of course,” I murmured absentmindedly. “This shouldn't take long.” Now that I was inside my attention was thoroughly captured by the entrance hall and the memories it summoned. It was bare of any furniture but the hardwood floor and paneled walls were so rich in color and texture that it filled the space with warmth, dusty as it was. The staircase with its steps that were just a little bit too steep was where I'd fallen at the age of five and broken one of my collarbones. Being here brought the memory back clear as day, despite the fact that I'd nearly forgotten all about it.

“The two upper stories are in very poor shape but I've had a contractor come in and he says they are structurally sound, in spite of appearances.” Waters explained as we walked, glancing down briefly at a clipboard in her hand.

The living room was larger than my entire flat back home. It, at least, wasn't completely bereft of furnishings. An empty bookshelf, an ancient and threadbare loveseat, a tatty rug and a heavily water-stained coffee table sat clustered around a giant stone fireplace built into the north wall. It was wider than I was tall and contained a pile of ashes in the grate, cold and unused for quite some time. Three narrow windows placed high off the floor looked out onto the dark, turbulent sky. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the glass was growing steadily more consistent and I could hear the wind pick up.

“As I understand it … ” Waters spoke from behind me and I turned quickly, a little startled. “… this is where she spent most of her days.” I'd been lost in my own thoughts and memories and was surprised to find that her eyes seemed to soften slightly as she looked in from the hall.

I nodded my understanding.

Clearly neither of us wanted to talk about the thing we weren't talking about, so we left it there moved on.

Out of the living room again, down a long hallway and past the empty dining room, we arrived at the kitchen. Waters fumbled at the wall until she found the switch for the lights and flicked them to banished the gloom.

My stomach gave a little leap.

It was as big as I remembered it. The low-ceilinged room was rectangularly shaped and almost as long as the entire house. One entire side was given over to a long row of cabinets topped by creamy marble and in the middle of the tiled floor a wooden table – big and sturdy and made to bear the weight of a huge feast – sat flanked by a dozen chairs. A huge, ancient fridge almost as tall as the ceiling stood against the far wall beside a stove that seemed to come out of the dark ages. I could almost smell the bread my grandmother used to bake in it. More cabinets lined the walls and there were two sinks made from some kind of cream colored stone, made to match the counter tops.

The two windows and glass back door were dirty and allowed almost no light in, but they were placed in such a way that regardless of the time of day, sunlight would always be streaming in from outside to warm the otherwise cold, open space.

“The stove doesn't work, I'm told,” Waters' voice echoed strangely. “But there's a microwave in one of the cabinets.”

“Great ...”

My tour continued. The ground floor had two bathrooms, neither of them functional. On the second floor was a shower and bath combination which had running water at least, but not hot. There was also two empty bedrooms, a small library, a study, and what appeared to have once been a gym. The third floor was the shabbiest of them all, with peeling wallpaper and a layer of dust at least half an inch thick in places. Our footprints in it marked our progress though the house.

It was on the third floor that we found the unmade bed tucked away in a minuscule corner bedroom overlooking the front courtyard. The white sheets on the bed itself were positively ancient and the walls had once been painted a bright yellow, I recalled. They'd faded to an ugly shade of gray. A pine wardrobe stood open by the single window – an unusually large piece of furniture for such a small room – and inside we could see a heap of clothes bundled up in the racks in total disarray. There were children's clothes mixed in with that of a grown woman.

“This was my room,” I said, my first words since we ascended the second set of stairs. “She was sleeping in here?”

Waters' face was severe and she wouldn't look at me. “She was going through a difficult time near the end,” was all she said.

“Is that why she let the house go to hell like this?” I asked. My voice was harsher than I'd meant for it to be. I was breaking our unspoken rule not to talk about certain things but I didn't particularly care.

The lawyer didn't answer, anyway.

We headed back downstairs to the kitchen where I had to sign some paperwork before I could leave. She went back to being all business and I clammed up like I always did where my mother was involved.

Gina Waters had been my mother Charlotte's lawyer and now she was mine. In all honesty I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I in my mind I saw it as much the same as inheriting the house.
It had been in the family for a long time and it certainly wasn't perfect, but it would do. I could learn to work with it.

[Bee Bear]

“You'll be back,” Amy said with conviction as she handed me the very last box. I took it with a crooked grin and stuffed it into the back of the already overflowing back seat with a fair bit of effort. The entire car was filled to bursting with my clothes, bedding, books, cleaning supplies and a few basic cooking utensils.

“I give it two weeks tops before you come crawling in here begging me to take you back.” She helped me squeeze the back door closed and nudged my side with her elbow. “I know you can't resist my famous noodles and three cheese sauce.”

I weakly made a few fake puking sounds and laughed a little nervously. My stomach was a-flutter with butterflies and food couldn't be further from my mind. “You know I'll be back but it definitely won't be for your cooking.” My dear eccentric friend Amy Holiday could never be mistaken for anything other than an appalling cook and she knew it. But what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm and a superb knowledge of good takeout joints. “I'll come over for a haircut in a few weeks,” I assured her as I turned to lean against the Golf, one hand self-consciously touching my messy ponytail. “You know I don't trust anyone else with this mess.” She smiled smugly. In addition to being a menace in the kitchen, Amy was a top notch hairdresser and the only person I'd ever met who knew how to make my lank hair look interesting.

“And you're going to visit me,” I told her in a tone that didn't leave much room for argument. “As soon as I'm settled I want you to come check out the place and tell me how shit it is, that I've made a giant mistake by not selling it, blah blah blah ...”

I probably sounded as scared as I felt because she didn't try to make a joke out of protesting like she usually did. “You know I will, sweetheart,” she said and pulled me into a quick, tight hug. For such a small thing she was remarkably strong and one of her hugs always left you feeling very loved and ever so slightly bruised. I held on for as long as I dared before pulling back and raising my hands in front of me as if to ward her off. “Whoa there, sunshine,” I sniffed and turned away to open the driver's door and quickly get in. “Dangerous territory.” I immediately closed it behind me so there was no temptation to take one more look around the apartment or linger with Amy for the long, sappy goodbye we wanted to avoid.

Since my visit to the Burner house three weeks ago we'd had many conversations about the day I'd be leaving the cramped little apartment we shared. One thing we'd promised ourselves was that there would be absolutely no tears. We're grown ups, damn it, we'd said. And there was always Skype.

I was ready to go – everything was packed, the rest of my stuff was already in a moving van out in the countryside on the way to my new home I wanted to get there and settle in before it got too dark.

Safe with a hunk of metal and glass between us we said our quick goodbyes. She didn't cry – that would have ruined her perfect makeup – and simply reminded me to keep my can of pepper spray on me at all times. Then she blew me a kiss and waved while I irritably sniffed a few more times and started the car. I pulled out into the early morning traffic and … that was it. I was on my way.

Getting out of the city and dealing with traffic took up most of my concentration for the first few hours and it was easy to stay focused on just driving. But as soon as I hit the open road my mind was freed up to think about all kids of dangerous things.

For example; how much work waited for me at the house. How remote it was. How dangerous it would be for a woman to live in a place like that all on her own.

I also thought about the fact that it was where I was born - where I lived until I was seven years old. The place where six generations of my family had lived and loved and died. And after sixteen years I finally had the means and the will to go back to save it from turning into a derelict, unrecognizable shadow of itself.

And oh boy, did I have the means.

Something else I didn't like to think about was the reading of my mother's will. It scared and excited me at the same time in ways that made me feel oddly uncomfortable. So until I needed to deal with it I was putting it firmly out of my mind in favor of stuff that was much easier to deal with, like navigating and singing along to the radio.

Morning turned into afternoon and I gradually neared my destination. Tendell, the only town within miles of my new home eventually came in sight but I didn't drive straight through it. I had everything I needed for the night, anyway. If I had time I'd go tomorrow.

I took a slightly longer route to skirt around its quiet, sleepy fringes and drove down a few pretty back lanes instead. This wasn't the way I was supposed to be going but I was a little ahead of schedule and there was time for this one thing, I decided.

I had to stop and check my map a few times but I eventually found it. The old town cemetery was situated at the end of a pitted dirt road, its rusty red gate and fence overrun with vines and tall grass. I'd never been there before – not that I could remember, anyway. My grandmother had been cremated and her ashes scattered on the Burner property and my father … I didn't know where he'd been laid to rest. I made a mental note to ask Waters.

I parked outside the gate and got out. The wind was blowing forlornly through the deathly quiet piece of land and I drew my jacket tighter around myself to ward off its cold bite. There wasn't a living soul in sight but it didn't scare me to be alone. I couldn't imagine that if such things existed, any ghost would want to linger in such an ugly place.

I systematically searched through the cracked tombstones and faded markers, passing many weeping angels with missing wings or faces as I did. It depressed me to see so many forgotten, neglected graves. It made me feel my own mortality all too keenly.

This was where many of my family members were burred according to what I'd been told. We had a rather large plot all to ourselves. I wasn't interested in anyone else, though. I'd only come for her.

I found my mother's grave in the far right corner of the cemetery. Hers was topped with a new but plain marble gravestone. It read;



Here lies Charlotte Burner
Beloved mother, wife and daughter
1962 – 2013


I knelt beside it, touched my palm to the cold stone and bowed my head. This was the closest I'd been to my mother since the day she sent me away and I finally had the chance to ask the question I'd carried with me for sixteen years.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I whispered.

I'd have given anything for her to be able to answer.

[Bee Bear]

The man who's face I didn't know held my hand too tightly. I think he was afraid I would run. I wanted to run.

As the morning sunlight bore down on us I felt the stone path grow warm beneath my bare feet. I had lost my shoes somewhere. Absentmindedly I wriggled my naked toes; studying the sprinkling of tiny red dots all the way from my heels up to my ankles.

“Lena,” the man spoke. I glanced up at him, but couldn't see his eyes through the sun's glare reflecting off his large square glasses. I didn't like this man. He was taking me away and I didn't want that.

“Aren't you going to say goodbye?” he asked me.

I went back to scrutinizing my feet, this time with even more intensely. “No,” I told my toes.

“Helena!”

The curt bark of my name made me involuntarily tighten the muscles in my shoulders.

“You will listen to Mr Crow,” she commanded, her voice as cold as I could ever remember it being. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, mama,” I mumbled.

“Eyes up! Back straight!”

The man squeezed my hand a little tighter.

I did as my mother told me.

She sat on the stone steps of our front porch, her limp right arm cradled protectively against her body. It was encased in thick white bandages from her wrist to her elbow. Here and there haphazard spots of red had seeped through the cloth. I forced my mind to forget how it had gotten hurt.

I didn't want to remember.

She wasn't looking at me. Her attention was focused to the side, past the driveway and through the garden where the skipping-stone trail ran into the trees.

“What's your name?” she asked.

I had been asked that question before and knew what she expected.

“My name is Helena Burner and I am the daughter of a great clan.” I dutifully recited.

She didn't look at me.

“And what are you not?”

“Weak,” I answered.

“Speak up!” she snapped. “What are you not?”

“I'm not weak, mama!” I yelled.

“That's right.” Satisfied, her tone softened a little. “Don't ever forget that, Helena.”

She didn't look at me.

The angle of her face revealed the full extent of the bruises to her head. They were dark blue and covered her fair skin from her jawline down to her neck and collarbone. I didn't want to remember how that had happened either.

“Mrs Burner,” the man spoke. “Charlotte … This is all …very sudden. Are you sure –”

“I am.” Her tone was harsh and steady.“I think it's time you were on your way.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He sounded sad, I thought. “Come along, Lena. We've got a long drive ahead of us.”

“But …I … ” I didn't know how to finish the sentence. I didn't know how to tell him that I wasn't supposed to leave.

“You'll like it there, I promise,” he continued, trying to sound encouraging. “There are lots of other little girls your age. You'll all be friends in no time.”

My mother stood then, tall and unbent despite her injuries. There were spots of red in her golden hair, too.

She didn't look at me.

“Goodbye,” was all she said as she turned and headed into the cool shade of the house.
I didn't speak. I couldn't.

The man tugged at my hand and led me towards his car. He opened one of the back doors and helped me inside. My eyes were burning, making it hard to see through the bright sunlight and I nearly tripped over the plush leather seats.

“Helena.” It was spoken so softly that I almost didn't hear. I leaned out of the car, new hope blooming in my chest and making my heart skip a beat. My mother stood against the frame of the front door, one hand on the dark wood.

But she did not look at me.

“I hope …” she began, slowly and thoughtfully. “I hope that you don't ever forgive me for this.”

[Bee Bear]

Four hours later I was up to my elbows in cobwebs and dust. My nose was itching from all the particles in the air and my back ached from carrying boxes and bags from my car up to the second floor, but it sure as hell felt better than sitting at a graveside mourning the loss of something I never really had to begin with.

I had arrived 'home' not long after my visit to the cemetery – it was just a ten minute drive, in fact. I'd opened the beautiful but useless gate with my new set of keys and through sheer force of habit closed and locked it again behind me. Then down the long driveway and into the scruffy courtyard with the dense ring of trees surrounding it. I was looking at everything with new eyes. During my previous visit everything had been about the appalling state of things – how badly things had deteriorated, how strange it felt to be back. But this time my focus was on everything I would need to do to fix it. What needed immediate attention, what could wait and what I wanted to change completely. It felt nice, actually. I pulled a notebook out of my purse and scribbled a quick to-do list before I went inside and got started on getting it liveable for the night.

I began in the kitchen.

The contents of the box labeled “cooking stuff” could fit into a single shelf in one of the cabinets so I chose the one closest to the fridge – which worked, thankfully, and was in desperate need of a good scrubbing - and set to work. It was a filthy, sweaty job and all the spiders I found were big enough to devour a small cat if they tried. They scurried away before the merciless onslaught of my soapy sponge attack. I also had a bunch of other cleaning agents, a feather duster, mop and broom. After I unpacked the box with my food and some appliances I dusted and swept the entire ground floor. It was only when I was done that I realized I didn't have a bucket so I couldn't use the mop. Just getting rid of all the dust made a huge difference, though. It looked and felt so much warmer, resembling a home more than a crypt.

I moved upstairs to the second floor and continued my fiercely frenzied assault on all things dirty. The hallway took quite some time and the only working bathroom in the house even more so. It was full dark when I finished scrubbing the toilet and I gave up on the moving van arriving with the rest of my things before nightfall. They probably decided to stop on the side road to sleep rather than drive through the night. I'd been told to expect that – it was a long drive for such a slow vehicle.

I didn't mind all that much about my couch, table, chairs and so on, but it meant that the only bed in the house was the one my mother had been sleeping on. I steadfastly refused to use it so I had to make other plans. The room I'd chosen for myself was the one that had belonged to my grandmother when she was still alive. It was on the third floor – the most derelict part of the house. That area was far from ready and I didn't have the energy to do it that night so I'd have to make some kind of arrangement for myself in the living room.

There was a tiny loveseat in there that appeared to have once been a light shade of beige, but it seemed too cramped and the springs were sticking through the upholstery in some places. From the looks of it I wouldn't be surprised if it had rats living in it or something. I'd definitely be throwing it out as soon as possible.

I pushed it all the way across the floor and up against the wall opposite to the fireplace. The rug was dusty but thick and would make a good base for my makeshift bed. I covered it up with one of the blankets I had with me in the car and tossed a pillow on it, then I was ready. I stood back for a second and eyed the fireplace, considering if it was worth it to go to the trouble of trying to light a fire. I decided not too – I didn't feel like going out looking for wood and I had a feeling that the chimney was probably blocked up from disuse.

It was past midnight when I was finally ready to settle down and rest. I'd made myself a bowl of noodles in the microwave and taken a quick, freezing cold shower upstairs. When I headed back down to the living room turning off lights as I went I could feel the little girl in me growing antsy. I was in a dark, silent old house with the nearest other soul probably a good three miles away in town. I couldn't get over how quiet it was. I'd been living in the city for so long that the sudden lack of traffic and people's voices was very noticeable and very eery.

I climbed on my little bed with a tired groan and tossed half of the blanket over me to protect my pajama clad self against the slight chill in the air. The only light in the room came from a candle sitting on the floor beside me and the illumination of my laptop when I started it up. There was a shortage of power outlets in the house meaning that I couldn't charge it yet, so I only kept it on for long enough to send Amy a quick email telling her how I was doing.

I was bone weary and sore from the day's trials. I'd been up since before sunrise and by rights it should have been easy to fall asleep.

It wasn't.

I tossed and turned for hours. My hips, shoulders and elbows suffered the most since I could feel the hardwood floor through my blanket and rug. No matter which position I tried there was always something hurting.

Above and beyond that I was still buzzing with excitement. The butterflies I'd had in my belly since that morning when I woke up was still there and showed no sign of lessening. I supposed some part of me was still in shock at the turn of events that had brought me back to the Burner house.

I eventually gave up on trying to drift off to sleep when pale, early morning light started to creep in through the grimy windows. I sat up and scratched at the back of my neck. My face felt puffy and my eyes had grit in them – it definitely wasn't one of my finest moments. I dragged myself upstairs to the bathroom and somehow managed to get lost twice before I found it.

It was after I'd gotten dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and was brushing my teeth that I heard a loud, thunderous horn in the distance. “Crud!” I quickly spat out the toothpaste and shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers. I took the stairs three at a time and burst out of the front door with my keys in hand. The run up the driveway helped get rid of the last of my drowsiness and by the time I reached the gate and unlocked it for the waiting moving van I was wide awake and ready for the day ahead.

[Bee Bear]

The two movers were grumpy and slow to get to work after a long night on the road. Looking at their puffy eyes and pale faces it appeared that they needed a good night's sleep more than I did, so I didn't complain when it took them a while to get themselves in gear. I explained to them where I needed all the large furniture to go like the bed, headboard, chest of drawers, couches and tables – the stuff I wouldn't be able to move on my own – and went to get some coffee brewing.

While I waited for it to percolate I raided my food supply and slapped together a large plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches for them. I served them breakfast and coffee at the kitchen table and left them to finish while I went outside to take a walk around the courtyard. It was turning out to be a nice day. The sky was clear and a crisp, light blue color. No clouds in sight. I decided that I'd go take a walk through the huge garden later after the movers left and I'd gotten my stuff arranged into some kind of order.

Looking at it I could almost imagine that to get the garden back into shape would take more work than the house itself. Nature had been allowed to have its way with it for years, it seemed. There wasn't any hint of the neat, perfectly manicured garden filled with thriving rose bushes and colorful flower beds I could remember playing in as a little girl.

Behind the house was a huge stretch of grass – once beautifully manicured lawn - taller than my knees. It was encroaching on the back porch and was riddled with thick bushes and weeds. As a city girl I had no experience with gardening at all, but even if I did I'd never be able to maintain a yard of that size on my own. I didn't even have a lawn mower. I made a mental note to look for a gardening service I could hire in town whenever I found a chance to head out.

Two hours later I was waving goodbye to the workers – who's names I never caught – and telling my growling stomach to calm down. It didn't have to wait much longer - with them gone I was finally free to enjoy my own breakfast. While I sat in the living room on my newly unpacked bright purple couch I scribbled in my notebook and sipped on some coffee. The to-do list I was compiling was growing rather alarmingly long and I was wondering if I'd need to get in more than just a gardening team to help me. The house truly was in a state – there was water damage upstairs, furniture that needed to be thrown in the trash and I hadn't even been in the attic or basement. Who knew what waited for me there?

There was also the issue of rats.

I'd found a lot of droppings while I was cleaning yesterday and somehow I didn't think a simple trap behind the fridge would get rid of them all.

“Hello! Anyone home?”

I hopped in my eat. The sandwich I had halfway raised to my mouth slipped from my fingers and I had to scramble to catch the coffee I almost knocked off the arm of the couch. The voice had come from inside the house and friendly as it sounded it was still a bit of a shock.

I jumped up and jogged quietly over to peek out of the living room door and into the long hallway. Light was streaming in through the open front door, framing two people standing in the foyer and turning their figures into dark, shapeless splotches. They definitely weren't the movers who'd returned because the voice which had called belonged to a woman.

“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed and I saw one of them turn towards me. The cheerfulness in her tone would have been reassuring if I wasn't for the fact that she was very clearly trespassing. Where I came from it wasn't really socially acceptable to simply walk into a stranger's house. “Sorry dear, but the gate was open so we thought we'd pop in and say hello!”

“We?” a deeper, male voice asked. It came from the taller of the two and sounded vaguely amused.

“Yes we, Alexander,” the woman said briskly. By this time I had stepped out into the hall and was approaching with just a hint of caution. I was holding my coffee cup in one hand and wondering if it would be an effective enough weapon if I threw it in someone's eyes. Perhaps I was being a tiny bit too suspicious, but I was a city girl – taught to distrust anyone and everyone, even little old ladies.

The same kind of little old lady which my mysterious female intruder appeared to be.

I was by no means a tall woman but once I joined them in the foyer and was finally able to see them clearly I couldn't help but notice that I positively dwarfed her. The lady was tiny and rail thin with fine, sharp features. She wore a pale pink dress with a matching jacket and hat, making her look rather like a bird attending a fancy dress party. She was using a discreet wooden cane to walk and was being supported on her other side by her companion's arm.

He was her total opposite in every single way I possibly imagine. Tall, burly and imposing where she was small and dainty. He seemed to be around my age, maybe a little older, and had long brown hair pulled back into thick ponytail. A large, sharp nose dominated his long face.

They were certainly an unlikely pair.

“Dear?” the lady asked and I snapped my attention back to her.

I realized that they were looking at me like they were mildly concerned for my sanity – and it was no wonder. I still hadn't said a word. “Oh!” I snapped out of it and lowered my coffee cup a few inches to make it look a little less threatening. “Hello there … uh …”

“Are you in the habit of leaving your front gate wide open?” the man asked, still with that hint of amusement.

“I'm … no, I'm not ...” I stuttered a little and at last regained my composure fully. “It's not really of much use. That gate's about as effective at keeping people out as a sieve is as a bowl.”

“Don't grill her, Alexander,” the elder of the two said, smiling graciously at me. She reached up and patted one of my shoulders. “Don't you mind him, honey, he doesn't know when to leave his policeman side at home.” She moved her hand down to grasp my right and gave it a gentle but firm shake. “My name is Alice. Alice Greenway. And this is my son Alexander.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I said automatically and shook both of their hands.

“I heard through the grapevine that Charlotte's daughter was moving back in here,” Alice continued with a curious little smile. “So I had this one -” She motioned at Alexander. “ – drive me over as soon as I felt was socially acceptable. It really is wonderful to see you again all grown up ...”

“I'm sorry?” I asked, confused. The mention of my mother's name had given me an unpleasant pull in my chest. “Have we met?”

“Why, yes dear, your grandmother and I were fast friends back in the day. I used to come over every Saturday afternoon for tea.”

“It's no wonder she can't remember, mother, that was almost twenty years ago.”

I decided that Alexander – an officer? - had an air about him which I didn't entirely like. Something about his stance and the expression on his face was just too relaxed, too familiar. I could almost call him cocky. The skin of his arms exposed by the simple blue t-shirt he wore was completely covered in colorful tattoos. Although I wasn't against tattoos at all, I found that in this case they put me off. I could see the horned head of a black dragon resting on the back of his left hand and it looked entirely too similar to another dragon I'd known.

“You would remember though, wouldn't you, Alexander?” Alice asked her son with a sly look in his direction. “He had a crush on you when you were little,” she informed me with relish. “Used to come over with me to visit you every chance he got.”

I chuckled a little uncomfortably and he smirked, unconcerned.

“May I offer you something to drink?” I asked to smooth over the moment.

[Bee Bear]

The shop door locked with a firm and satisfyingly secure click. Next were the blinds, rattling down to completely block out the dirty yellow flood of the streetlights. Clay doused us in the warm golden glow produced by a solitary lamp on the till counter when he switched off the overheads. He knew how much I enjoyed the cool darkness.

He was up to something and I was quite sure I liked it.

In the gloom I watched him move around; returning a book to its shelf here, straightening a chair there. All the tattooing equipment was already cleaned and in its place, tucked away neat and tidy and ready for tomorrow's use.

The lack of light didn't hamper Clay in his movements. He knew the nooks and crannies of the shop better than those of his own flat. The Highland Tattoo Parlor was his real home.

He must finally have decided that he'd made me wait for long enough because he turned to me and I saw a glint of teeth, bright against his olive skin. “Don't you look comfortable,” he purred and I felt a delicious tightening in the muscles of my lower belly.

I was draped over a leather couch in the back of the shop, a discreet, out of the way spot I'd been lounging in for the last few hours while I watched him finish his day's work.

It was an act we put on often so I happily played along – the teasing itself was almost as much fun as the actual end result. Nonchalantly I raised her arms above my head and stretched, arching my back off the couch and groaning softly in a way I knew made his heart beat just that little bit faster. “I had to get comfy, I said, giving him a crooked grin. “You took your sweet old time wrapping things up. As a matter of fact, I was just about to leave and find someone else to warm my bed tonight … ”

He took a step closer, smile widening. “Is that so?” he asked idly.

“Oh, yeah,” I joked. “I was thinking that blonde guy from my building looks like he might have some potential.”

“You don't say …” That didn't ruffle him. He came to stand in front of the couch, bent at the waist with his hands resting on his knees. Our faces were inches apart when he asked; “And what qualifies as potential in your book, Lena?”

It was beyond my comprehension how he still managed to get me so worked up even after more than a year together using only his close proximity and that low, raspy voice. Despite the slight quiver in my limbs I waved offhandedly, hopefully managing to make it look airy and unaffected. “Strong thighs and nice long hair,” I answered. “For gripping, you see?”

I would probably have gone on with the lying game but Clay completely derailed my train of thought by closing the last gap between us and ghosting his lips across mine. Breathing took a back burner as he tasted with me, working his way from one corner of my mouth to the other. His touch was so light it might almost have been my imagination. Then, sensing my growing need he used the tip of his tongue to gently part my lips. I eagerly allowed him entrance. He tasted of strong coffee. My fingers snaked up and around his neck to tangle in his unruly black curls – which, incidentally, was just the perfect length to provide a good handhold – and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. His back must have been killing him, bent as he was in that position, but he didn't complain.

At some point when he pulled back slightly to give us both some much needed oxygen my focus expanded out from my tingling lips towards the rest of my body, where I found to my delight that one of his hands had already slipped underneath my t-shirt and was resting in the dip of my waist. I shivered deliciously when he scraped his fingernails over my ribs, pulling the fabric of my top up with them. His heavy breath whispered across my skin and I shivered again.

He chuckled throatily. "It's almost a shame …" he said, tracing a winding trail with his finger from my bellybutton all the way up to the underside of my bra.

"What?" I asked in an uncharacteristically husky voice, eyes half closed.

"This," he said, and then he was crouched on top of me, positioned between my legs. With my skirt hiked up around my thighs he had easy access every part of me. One of his long-fingered hands gripped my left leg and bent it back to press it tight against his side. He lowered his head and kissed the inside of my knee; "And this," he whispered. He kissed my thigh. "And this – " He moved higher. " – and this … "

I let my body relax completely and squeezed my eyes shut at the feather-light touch of his mouth.

“And this.” With that he struck – quick as a snake – and blew an incredibly loud, wet raspberry on my belly.

I squealed in surprise at the ticklish sensation, a sound which turned into hysterical laughter an he blew another and another. I squirmed and tried to get his mouth away from me using the fingers tangled in his hair. “You scoundrel!” I panted, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. The arousal he'd been building had dissipated in a heartbeat, leaving me gasping for air and red in the face. “What are you doing?” There was mirth as well as indignation in my voice.

He was looking up at me with those soft, dark eyes I always found myself drowning in. And although he was smiling there was a serious tone to his next words. “It's a shame that you haven't let me mark this perfect skin yet.”

I slid my hands down so they were resting on his shoulders and traced the tattoo of a roaring dragon on the side his his neck with one of my thumbs. It wasn't the first time we'd had a conversion about that particular subject. “I've told you before,” I said, serious as well. “When I have something so precious that I want to keep for the rest of my life, I'll let you do it.”

“Then why don't you just take my name and get it over with?” Clay asked, a cocky twist to his lips. He knew full well what he was asking … and what he wasn't.

I only chuckled and pulled him closer so we could finish what we started.

[Bee Bear]

It had been a week since I broke up with Clay. Eighteen months into our relationship – a relationship I assumed was going pretty damn well, considering all the times he kinda-sorta proposed to me – I found out that he wasn't willing to give long distance dating a go. I needed to move hundreds of miles away and he needed to stay in the city to run his tattoo parlor – according to him there was no way to get around that. I begged and pleaded, suggested ways we could make it work while he just shook his head and turned silent.

The last thing I wanted to do was give up – I wanted to fight tooth and nail for us. But he made the decision for me.

I hadn't really had time to come to terms with losing him. He was such an important part of my life that it still felt like I was missing a vital piece of myself – something I needed to help maintain me my balance in a world that was constantly turning and twisting and shaking on its axis.

As with all the other difficult things I was dealing with lately, my solution was to keep busy and squash them into the furthest, darkest parts of my mind where they wouldn't bother me.

It worked in theory.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you, dear,” Alice smiled.

I led them into the kitchen, babbling as I walked. “Excuse the mess. I got here yesterday afternoon and most of my stuff only just now arrived. Haven't had a chance to give it a proper cleaning or unpack much of anything …”

Alexander pulled a seat out for his mother at the kitchen table and made himself comfortable leaning against its edge. I was pretty sure he watched me as I scurried around putting water in the kettle and rummaging in boxes for tea. I usually only drank coffee but I was sure I had some Earl Grey somewhere …

“As I understand it,” Alice said, looking around the room, “This house has been going downhill for a while. Your mother's health had been deteriorating near the end and I suppose cleaning wasn't high on her list of priorities.”

I was taken aback by her lack of discretion. Everyone else I'd spoken to about my mother and the state she was in before her death had been so carefully tactful it was almost sickening. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not.

“I guess not ...” I responded with my back to them while I prepared a teapot and some mugs. “Sorry, I'm afraid I don't have any cream ...”

“That's not particularly scary, is it?” Alexander asked in a dry, droll voice he probably thought sounded sophisticated. I hated that he was already grating on me as much as he was. We'd only met – or rather, reacquainted ourselves – a few minutes ago. It usually took me at least an hour before most people got on my nerves as thoroughly as he was.

I gave an ugly snort of suppressed laughter at my own internal joke and didn't care if he thought I was amused by his remark. Alice chuckled.

By that time I was finishing up with the tea by pouring some boiling water in a teapot and carrying it over to the table so the bags could soak for a while. I washed out a few mugs and arranged them on a tray with a bowl of sugar. I was rather impressed with myself that I'd managed to find everything I needed. Everything except proper teacups and saucers, that is. But ah well.

Alice was talking a mile a minute while I set up and continued without pause when I sat down and served us. While she sipped her tea she told me that not only had she been a great friend of my late grandmother, Florence Burner, but also knew my mother. It made sense since back in the day when everyone was still alive my parents and I had lived here with my grandmother. Alice herself was a businesswoman and used to own one of the largest clothing stores in town, she said. She was retired now, though, and having some hip trouble. “Remember to take your calcium supplements, honey, you don't want what I have.”

Hence her need to have her son drive her around whenever she managed to twist his arm. It was a Saturday so he was off from work and didn't have an excuse to get out of it. Alexander rolled his eyes at that. I thought it was endearing how the two bickered back and forth and although I still didn't really care for him, Alice was growing on me.

Among one of the many things I found out as the lady in pink talked was that Alexander was indeed a police officer. A lieutenant, in fact. He handed me a card with his cell number and told me that I should call it if I ever needed a helping hand. I couldn't tell if he was flirting or being friendly. Possibly neither.

Alice also gave me her number as well as directions to her house. Apparently she was my closest neighbor, her little cottage being just two miles down the road. “A stone's throw, really,” she assured me. “You should come over for dinner as soon as you're settled. It's just me all alone up there … He never visits.”

I made a sympathetic sound and promised that I'd swing by some time.

“Don't let her fool you,” Alexander told me with a wink. “She's good at the nice old lady act but underneath it she's actually a cruel, cranky old witch. She can't wait to her claws into fresh meat. Isn't that right, mother?”

“Hush, you,” Alice smiled at her son and patted the back of one of his hands. “Let's not drag all of our family secrets out into the open just yet.”

That gave me my first real smile of the day and I decided that this neighborly thing wasn't all that bad. I planned to take Alice up on her offer.

They left not too long after.

Alice gave me a peck on the cheek before she settled in on the passenger side of her son's rugged looking Ford pickup truck. I felt my face heat a little. Alexander probably saw because he flashed me a wicked grin before he also got in and started the engine.

My stomach gave one of its familiar little kicks.

That grin.

It made me realize why I'd taken such an instant dislike to Alexander.

He was too much like Clay. They shared the same smile, the same build and the same cockiness.

“Definitely one to stay away from, Lena,” I muttered to myself as I watched them drive away.

[Bee Bear]

It was a long day.

A long day that stretched on well into the night. But by the time I was done and ready to rest I was pretty damn proud of myself. Exhausted too, yes, but pleased with the progress I'd made with the house in just a little over a day.

I didn't have a lot of furniture and what I did have was mostly in boxes. Working my way upwards through the house I unpacked every single one. The kitchen was still mostly cavernous and empty – I estimated it would take me years to collect enough stuff to fill up all those shelves – since my pots, pans and appliances only took up three shelves by the stove - the same broken stove I took an hour to scrub until it was so sparkling clean I could see my face in it. The fridge held my dwindling supply of food as well as a vaguely funky smell.

My books – mostly Stephen King novels with a few Mark Twain classics and recipe books – went in the library. It was another room I'd take forever to properly fill out, though a few of my mother's books remained in the shelves and made it look slightly more lived in. I gave their titles a quick glance while I dusted, but nothing particularly interesting jumped out of me. Going through them would be another day's project.

In the living room I could display some of my cheap little knick knacks and I even found hooks where I could hang my favorite paintings. I preferred landscapes with stormy skies and impossibly green grass and that definitely showed in my modest collection. Amy called them tacky and cliché, but I thought they were melancholy and gave off a spooky feeling of mystery which I liked.

With the largest and – in my opinion – most beautiful of them hanging above the fireplace I arranged my eclectic assortment of couches and lounge chairs in a rough semi circle around it. I didn't really like things to be too neat. It felt stuffy and formal. So it worked out fine that there wasn't much room for the tv in the seating area. In afterthought I set it up in a corner of the room next to the fireplace – it was useless, anyway, until I could get someone in to install a satellite dish since all I picked up when I turned it on was static.

On the other side of the room I had a rather nice fake antique table made of some kind of dark, glistening wood and a matching chair. I set my laptop up on top of it next to a pale green glass lamp. Getting power to it was a bit of an issue but I eventually managed to lay out an electrical extension from where the tv stood and all along one wall.

I did my best to bring some color into the second floor bathroom but it was made difficult by the lack of space. Calling it cramped was an understatement. Its single round window was awkwardly squeezed in next to the shower and bath combination, making it impossible to install a curtain rod above it. Thankfully once I laid them out on the counter and tiny shelves all my lotions, candles, shampoos and makeup made it look slightly less sterile, though. And my bright orange towels provided a violent splash of color that I thought looked quite nice against the plain white tiles of the walls and floor.

All in all, a productive day. I also got a lot of much needed cleaning done. The first floor was mostly presentable by my – admittedly low – standards and I'd gotten a solid start on the second floor. I still hadn't made a dent in the third, having barely even stepped foot in it since the day Gina Waters gave me the tour. There was also the attic and basement to check out. I vaguely remembered them from when I was little but they'd always been places I was warned not to go into so I wasn't really even sure of where to access them. I jotted; “Basement and attic, how're they looking?” down in my notebook and threw it down on my bedside table.

I was in bed, finally, in my new bedroom on the second floor. It had once been my grandmother's and still bore some small traces of her presence. For example the tall pine wardrobe which took up most of one wall had been hers. Before I squeezed all my clothes in it was empty but for the smell of dust and a faint hint of lily of the valley. There was also a huge and wonderfully thick, pale yellow carpet which covered most of the room and made it look almost like there was sunshine coming out of the floor. I was pretty sure that I got my love for bright colors from my grandmother.

Although she died when I was seven she always was and always would be my greatest role model. I could still see her clearly in my mind's eye – as tall as my mother with wild, curly red hair streaked with silver. Her eyes were as green as the most precious emeralds and any smile would crinkle their corners into deep crow's feet. I was proud to have inherited them.

I was told that she became a widow at a very young age, just like my mother. There was even talk of a curse in the Burner family – a curse that killed our women's husbands long before their time. I didn't believe it and Florence, my grandmother, certainly didn't either. I could remember her laughing about it when my curious, little girl self brought it up.

She didn't stand for nonsense like that.

Another thing I admired about her was the way she cooked. The kitchen had been her domain and one of my earliest and fondest memories was of watching her practically dance around the kitchen tending to pots, kneading bread and adding seasoning to dishes with a deft and flamboyant flick of her wrist – a tactic she frequently employed to get me to laugh. It never failed.
For as long as I could remember I wanted to be just like her.

When I finished high school I worked any job – ranging from menial to downright disgusting – I could get to put myself through culinary school. I managed it for two years until mounting debts forced me to drop out. Not only that, I'd been offered a position where I could work full time in a large, thriving restaurant. I couldn't pass it up – the pay was good and being a head waitress was easy compared to some of the stuff I'd had to do to scrape by in the past.

It seemed like so long ago since I worked there when in fact I'd just done my last shift four days ago. And there I was in a new house, a new town and with enough money in the bank to pay for ten thousand culinary courses.

I rolled onto my side, turned off the lamp and tried to stomp out the excitement that thought stirred in me so I could drift off. Despite my exhaustion it took what felt like an age before my buzzing thoughts finally calmed. When sleep took me it did so completely and I immediately slipped into a dream.

[Bee Bear]

The smell of cinnamon filled my nose. I didn't particularly like cinnamon but in this case I enjoyed it's muskiness. It made me think of Anna-Maria. Anna-Maria with her broad hands and weird sayings. She was the best boss I ever had and she never even batted an eyelash when I came to her in tears saying that I had to quit my job as a waitress at her restaurant. In the space of an hour she had me spilling the entire story of my turbulent childhood, my mother's death and my subsequent inheritance of her impressive estate.

I missed The Swan. I missed Anna-Maria. She'd have given me some simple, straightforward advice which would suddenly fix all of my problems.

I looked around, vaguely wondering if she'd be around somewhere.

But there was no one in sight. The room I stood in was endless and featureless. The walls were so far apart that I couldn't even see them, but the ceiling was low and made up of white tiles interspersed with hanging lamps that gave off a bright orange light. It was the roof of the kitchen where I used to work – Anna-Maria's kitchen.

“Hello?” I called, hoping that she'd suddenly appear. I smiled and stepped forward only to realize that the floor was a little slippery. I nearly lost my balance, looked down and saw that my bare feet were covered in white dust up to my ankles. I was standing on flour – the entire giant kitchen floor was covered in a thick dusting of pure baking flour. I laughed in delight and started to run.

I kicked up a billowing white cloud with every one of my footfalls, skidding and sliding as I went. Soon my legs were entirely covered and I was giggling like a little girl. I picked up speed and it felt like I was floating.

A hint of something unpleasant was creeping into the back of my mind, though.

There was a cold feeling to the air – as if someone had opened a huge freezer. I came to a stop and gave a violent shiver that jolted me so hard it hurt, then another and another and another until I was shaking like a leaf. I bent over double, clutching my chest and moaning in pain. The spot just to the right of my heart was freezing and burning at the same time and the cloud of flour I'd stirred up was still floating around me, slowly closing in.

I felt trapped.

It entered my lungs and made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

I fell heavily to my knees and saved myself from smashing my face by throwing up my hands and catching myself on them, wheezing desperately. I needed air. I needed help. I couldn't see anything – darkness was edging into my vision and I could barely keep myself from collapsing completely.

Where at first there had been soft, spongy flour underneath my palms there was now something hot and sticky – slippery. I forced my eyes open and saw only red.

Blood.

Moonlight.

I looked up.

She was staring down at me.

Charlotte.

I had never seen her look so tall – so imposing and so impossibly angry.

Blood was dripping from the fingertips of her right hand, plopping down to join the pool I was sprawled in. Her face was bloody and bruised, swollen almost beyond recognition. But I knew her. I would always recognize that flowing mane of golden hair and her sharp blue eyes which seemed to pin me to the floor.

“You fool,” she hissed and I felt her anger like a dagger through my flesh. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. She bent forward to look into my face, shaking with fury, and the necklace she wore around her neck slipped forward to dangle in front of me.

She raised her good hand to strike me and screamed; “You fool!”

Darkness overcame me.