Page 64 of She is the Darke

It was a professionally sketched picture of her in a dress that looked eerily like the Marie Antoinette costume with the full skirts.

The drawing had the same eyebrow shape, same cheekbones, same curl to her hair, same long neck. Her eyes stared vacantly, like the woman was dead. She reached out to touch the drawing and a shock of electricity travelled through her fingertip, up her arm.

Pain seared through her head and visions flashed across her mind, one by one, almost too fast for her to comprehend. Callum, with long hair. Laughing. His face melted away until only his skull remained, and then he morphed into something terrifying. She gasped and opened her eyes just before she could tell what he was, but the imprint of those ice blue eyes stayed burned into her mind, fading slowly.

This book was bad.

It was bad mojo, bad deeds, it held instructions to evil things.

That picture was of her. This book was very old but that was her. Vacant eyes, looking right at her.

Help him.A whisper echoed through the room.

No, no, no. She backed up and tripped over the chair, nearly toppled over before she righted herself. Stacia rushed from the room. She left her shoes and pens and notebook behind and left that damn book on the table.

“I can’t,” she said breathlessly to Burt as she went flying past him for the exit.

She couldn’t draw a full breath into her burning lungs.

Help him? That was some motherfuckin’ ghost shit in there, and she was out. No, no, hell nope. Help him who? Long-haired melty-faced Callum?

She didn’t remember how she got back to her hotel room. She didn’t remember walking there, or crossing streets. Had shewalked in front of moving traffic? Heck if she knew! All she could think about were those vacant eyes. Something bad had happened. Something bad was happening. Right?

She was at the library, and then the cold metal of her room door handle was in her grasp, just like that. She tried it, but the door was locked, of course. She always locked it.

Fumbling, she found her keys in the bottom of her purse. Her hands shook badly as she tried and failed and tried again to unlock it.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked from the mouth of the hallway. She was wearing a French maid’s outfit today. Concern welled in her bright green eyes.

“I’m. I’m, I’m I’m f-fi-fi-fi, I have to go.”

She pushed open the door and closed it behind her, rested her back against the door for two breaths before she turned on the light.

There was a teal velvet box sitting directly in the center of the bed.

Was it a gift from Callum? No one was supposed to come into her room. She scanned the room quickly, then moved to the bed and opened the lid of the box.

Inside were neatly stacked and perfectly cut newspaper clippings.

She fingered past the first one and saw the engagements section that had been missing from the library newspapers. There was a handwritten note in beneath it.

Were you looking for these?

She flipped it over, but there was no signature on the front or back to tell her who had set these in here.

The bed squeaked as she sank down onto it. The engagement announcement was that of Cal Ashbrock and Iris Wulfebound. Iris. Liam had said that name. Said she didn’t look like her, butLiam was wrong. There was an old black and white photo of a man and a woman—Callum and Stacia, but she knew better now.

That was Cal and Iris, centuries ago.

The tear fell before she even registered that she was crying.

The next picture was of the groundbreaking ceremony. A scuffed old sepia picture of Cal and Alexia Ashbrock, as well as their cousin Liam and a dozen others, drew another tear.

“Alex?” she murmured, knowing the woman would hear her.

“Yes?” Alex asked from the other side of the door.

Stacia sniffed, and looked up as she opened the door. She held up the picture. “Is this you?”

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