Page 313 of Castings & Curses

“Bella—”

I search for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I didn’t even hear her leave. I turn to Nola. “You didn’t see her go?” She shrugs.

I glance around again. “Bella!” I call for her, but the croaky sound of my voice gets lost in the fresh wind blowing through the leaves of the nearby forest.

A dizzy spell takes over me and I lean back against the car. Nola comes out and forces me in. I think I’ve lost too much blood. The car starts, engines rev, Nola drives us out of here.

Before darkness takes a hold of me, I glimpse sapphire gems twinkling in the sun beams caressing the underbrush. Bella. Why did you leave?

EPILOGUE

It’s beentwo weeks since the events Nola and I dubbed “the nightmare from Hell” happened. My face is healing nicely, but I’ll be stuck with a grim souvenir.

The news has been awfully quiet. I would have thought that the death of a zillionaire asshole would make the front page, but it’s gone weirdly unnoticed. There won’t be any sequel though, as I recall glimpsing the head of said asshole impaled on one of the torches. The vision still gives me goosebumps, and not the good kind. Then again, he was a warlock. Who’s to know what kind of magic he or any of his demoniac followers could do from beyond the grave? Nope. Not thinking about that. Thank you, but no thanks.

I’d rather think about Bella, though my memories are so tinted with all the dread and gore and pain, I sometimes fear it’s all been a dream. A nightmare… No, my time with her was amazing. The magical house, the sex, her eyes… They must exist. But I’ve checked all the maps since I’ve come home. I cannot find a trace of her place. Makes sense, though. Nobody can find it. Nobody but me, apparently. I’m still searching.

“Are you sure you don’t remember any road or highway sign?” I ask Nola from the living-room. “You must have seen something when we got out of there.”

She appears from the kitchen, a half-eaten slice of buttered bread in hand. “I swear. I was too eager to leave that nightmare of a place. I only remember going over some hills, then passing Lincoln on our way to Nottingham and the hospital, but we’d been driving for a while already.”

I search the map once again. My eyes keep looking up at the Lincolnshire Wolds and their remaining patches of dense forests.Over some hills. The rest of the county is flat enough, but the Wolds are the hilliest hills around, and their woods are ideal to hide mansions and manors. Which one, though?

I rack my brain for a hint. I clearly remember Bella talking about a village outside her neck of the woods. She used a peculiar term to describe it. Mucky. No village is mucky anymore, except where there are farms, and even then. I zoom in on Google Maps. Lincoln, the Wolds, Louth. And South of Louth…

Muckton. The mucky village. Right next to a beautiful patch of preserved old forest.

I grab the keys to our newly acquired Porsche.

* * *

The forest is truly magical.So peaceful. So dense. I call for the manor in my head. It brought me forth once when I needed a shelter. Maybe it’ll open the path now that I need to find her. My Bella.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. Sudden anxiety takes over me as I wonder if she’s okay. Did she make it back? Was she wounded, after all? Is she still alive?

“Bella!” I hear myself screaming. A bird takes flight, cawing its annoyance at my disruption of the peace. The undergrowth to my right quiver and I startle. I suck in a deep breath, focusing my thoughts on the manor, its outline, the porch, the double doors leading to the checkered entrance, the inviting antechamber, the marble great hall, the delightful kitchen. And the room. My room. Our room. The bed where we made love. Her skin glowing in the dawning sun beams. Her eyes. Cerulean pools calling me. I’d drown in them without a second thought. I know I’d be safe.

I open my eyes and step forward. Something is pulling me, guiding me. My love for her, my need for her, my desire. Or maybe it’s the house. Or maybe it’s her.

Or maybe it’s the fucking Persian cat jumping out of the bushes.

“Tomkitty! My favorite guide! Go on, show me the way.”

I follow the feline through the thick branches and bushes, over stones and roots and small hillocks. I wonder if the curse has been lifted. She was still a beast even after Gwideon’s head had flown over the altar. I like her beast. I love her in whatever form. Fuck. I love her so fucking much. My legs pick up the pace. Sheer urgency drives my steps now. I should have come sooner. I should have never left.

The brushes give way to the meadow I was seeking, and ahead, Bella’s manor.

Derelict.

The stonework is crumbling, the paint is peeling off the wooden porch, the windows on the first floor are broken, and the oak doors are ajar and dismantled. The house looks as though it’s been abandoned for decades. The garden is overgrown with weeds, and the roses have died.

“Bella!” I scream again as I run ahead of the cat.

Mold runs down the walls from the ceiling inside the entrance corridor, and the wood panels are in shreds. The checkered tiles are all broken and askew. I glimpse inside the antechamber as I run for the great hall. The shelves have crumpled, the chesterfield sofa displays its bowels, the coffee table lies in bits on the floor.

The great hall is in utter disrepair, statues and colonnades scattered on the floor. The crystal chandelier lies shattered in the center of the room.

“Bella!” Panic has taken over me now.

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