Page 3 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“For how long?” Anger flares in my veins. Of course I have to clean up my father’s mess. It’s always been that way. Hammish invited the woman here, against my explicit recommendation, and now I’m stuck with her.

He hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his vest and gives me a stoney look. He won’t be answering my question. There’s too much menace in his expression for anything but punishment.

Pain floods my body, every nerve ending burning as my father’s power washes over me. His voice is a dangerous whisper in my head.Did you think I wouldn’t find out?

Sweat gathers on my brow as the force of his patriarchal will intensifies. The patriarchs of old never used their power the way my father does. It makes me hate him all the more.

My own sons plot against me, and think they can get away with it.There’s false hurt in his voice. As if he feels anything for us. He did the same thing to his own father, after all, killing him the moment he got a chance. He circles me like a shark.On your knees.

The command is impossible to ignore. My body is no longer my own to control. My knees hit shards of glass as I fall, but I don’t flinch. Pain is nothing new for me.

The look in his dark eyes speaks of vicious things that make my stomach twist. Hammish Roan has always had a temper, but lately it’s been close to the surface, like a shallow grave. I hold his gaze, having learned a long time ago not to show fear or pain in front of him.

“If you even think of stepping out of line, you’ll have another woman’s death on your hands. Is that what you want”–the pointed tip of his cane comes to the middle of my chest, piercing through my shirt and drawing blood–“son?”

The desire to grab his throat and tear him apart overcomes me, but I’m helpless, unable to move from the position he’s put me in. I control what I can, my gaze, focusing on the anatomy sketches nailed to the wall behind him as I take slow breaths.

One day, my father will pay for every one of his crimes, especially for taking my sister away from me. But today is notthat day. Not with a guest in the house. Not with the new moon party just around the corner. But soon.

“Keep her distracted. ” With that, my father jabs his cane into my chest, then removes it with a flourish and a cordial smile, as if he didn’t just maul his own son. “Be sure to change before dinner. We wouldn’t want your bloody shirt to scare away our guest.”

3

Ruby

By the time I drop to the other side of the gate, rust and dirt stain my white gloves like streaks of blood. My dress hasn’t fared much better. There’s a tear up the side of the bodice and tiny cuts in the sleeves. I shove the tattered gloves in my satchel, then smooth loose strands of hair back into my bun. There isn’t anything I can do about the dress. So I square my shoulders and set off.

Twisted branches bow over the drive, and brambles claw at my boots. It’s such a fight to make headway, I don’t notice the break in the dark thicket until a monstrous building looms before me. The steep roof cuts the sky, topped by an iron and stone widow’s walk. Tubular chimneys punch through to the overcast clouds, smoke rising from several. Dozens upon dozens of leaded windows offer relief from the stonework, many shrouded by thick climbing vines.

This isn’t an estate, but a castle. But whereas a castle might have manicured lawns, trimmed hedges, and shapely flowerbeds bursting with color, everything about the landscape at Roan Island is overgrown and leeched of life. From the climbing vines to the trees and shrubs, it’s as if the surrounding land is in league to overtake anything unnatural.

A bird caws from the trees, as if in agreement with my thoughts. Or in warning.

The shiver that races up my spine isn’t only from the cold. Standing here in the oppressive winter woods, under the shadow of a house that feels abandoned, I can’t help thinking that this is exactly the kind of place that could swallow a person. There’s something ominous here. Something hungry.

Not to be deterred, I take a deep breath and start forward. By the time I climb the steps to the entrance, my fingers are numb. I lift the large brass door knocker and rap it twice against the carved wood, then wait, listening for movement beyond the door.

The wind bites through my dress, sending a shiver down my spine as it slips its frigid fingers past the rips in my puffed sleeves.

I knock again. Harder this time. Still no answer. I’m starting to hate this inhospitable island. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but there’s a possibility this whole thing is a trick, an elaborate ruse to poke fun at the mad professor, and I’m just ridiculous enough to fall for it. I really hope that’s not what this is, because I need this grant. Without it, I’ll likely end up in the Crimson Quarter alongside the women my work centers around.

With a huff, I follow the balustrade to the closest window, but it’s too dark to see inside. Returning to the front door, I knock a third time.

After no answer, I test the doorknob. Unlocked. With a push, the heavy door creaks open, betraying my crime to the expansive foyer. The light flows around me, casting a long shadow against the parquet floor.

“Hello?”

My voice is swallowed by the darkness beyond. Maybe this really is the wrong place. I consider turning around, but where can I go? The boatman is gone. And besides, the idea of climbing back over that gate is unbearable.

Thunder cracks, the final word on whether or not I stay. Eerie as it is, the house will at least provide shelter from the storm.

I step inside, my boots tapping against the wooden floor. “Hello? Is anyone here? Mr. Roan?”

A huge circular chandelier dripping with unlit candles hangs over a table with a single lit candelabra. A dim light in the massive foyer. It draws me with its pale warmth, like the comfort of a lighthouse to a lost sailor. If there’s a candle, someone must be here.

“Hello?”

As soon as I step towards the table, the door slams shut. I gasp and spin, hastily backing away from the door until I bump the table. A cold gust plunges me into darkness.

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