Page 5 of Moonlit Thorns

If not for my mother and brother, then for my father. It’s what he would have wanted.

Chapter

Three

ANABELLE

Istop at the iron gates that separate the sprawling estate from the road, and my heart rate picks up as if I’m still on my jog from this morning.

Midnight Manor is surrounded by mystery and folklore and has been since it was built almost two hundred years ago. Like my family’s much more modest estate, Midnight Manor has been in the Voss family since it was erected.

But unlike Oak Haven, it wasn’t built in the classic Antebellum style of most of the landowners at the time. Midnight Manor appears more like a Gothic palace in both size and scale and sits high on a hill with the town of Magnolia Bend far below in the distance.

With one deep breath, I roll down the window, then gather the strength to press the button. Once I do, a man’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Voss.” I grip the steering wheel tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

“Which one?” the voice from the speaker snaps.

Right. Four Mr. Vosses live here. “Asher Voss.”

“Do you have an appointment?” I can hear the condemnation in his voice.

“No, but it’s imperative that I speak with him.”

“You need to leave if you don’t have an appointment.”

My mouth forms a thin line. “I’m not leaving here until I see Asher Voss. Please tell him it’s Anabelle Boudreaux.”

The man in the speaker says nothing for a few beats, and my heart sinks with the thought he’s just disregarding me now. Then finally, “Wait there.”

Nothing happens for almost five minutes, and the tension coils tighter inside me with every second that passes. I debate hitting the button again but decide that I’m more likely to gain entry if I follow his instructions. So I sit in the car, becoming more and more nervous. What will I do if I’m denied the opportunity to speak with Asher Voss?

A loud buzz startles me, and the iron gates slowly part. I quickly shift my vehicle into drive and roll past the gates, holding my breath.

This is the first time I’ve been on the property of Midnight Manor.

As kids, we were always warned not to cross the small river that separates our properties, or we’d face dire consequences. Which makes my father’s death even more puzzling—what was he doing on the other side of the river the day he was killed?

I continue down the long drive flanked by bald cypress trees. Though it’s only late morning, it’s dimmer here than when I drove through the gates. Almost as though the sunlight is being filtered through black gauze. When I come to the end of the drive, the cypress trees fall away, and the manor rises up to greet me. My breath catches in my throat.

Midnight Manor is even more intimidating than I imagined. The structure is built from dark gray stone, and two wings lead in an angle off the main part of the house. At the end of each wing is a tower with a spire that reaches toward the heavens.

I park my car in the circular drive and inhale a deep, calming breath before grabbing my purse and stepping out of the vehicle. The air here feels heavier, as if it’s dense and eats up the sound of my sandals on the stone.

Perched along the top of the manor are stone gargoyles. An ominous feeling of being watched makes all the hair on my arms stand at attention like soldiers. Towering over the front door is a large stained-glass rose window, and before I have a chance to knock, the door appears to open all by itself.

I step back when a tall thin man steps out from behind the door. His warm smile puts me slightly at ease. My best guess would put him to be in his fifties as there’s gray sprinkled in his brown hair.

“Mademoiselle.” He bows, and I’m unsure what to make of the gesture. This is not the welcome I expected.

“Um… hi.”

“I am Marcel Lacour. Pleasure to meet you.”

Despite his very French name, he doesn’t have an accent of any kind.

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