Page 5 of The Retreat

I can’t believe I don’t even know his name. That’s what happens when I’m stupidly drooling over his general dreaminess.

“Yeah. Does he do it to everyone?”

She shrugs, but I see her wistful gaze land on him outside. “If he’s driving past and sees an out-of-towner, he’ll stop to offer them accommodation.”

“So he’s not a serial killer?”

“Heck, no.” But her glance slides away, like she’s hiding something.

“But?”

She huffs out a sigh, like I’m bothering her. “There are rumors about Arcania being haunted. Stuff that kids scare each other about at campfires on the beach around here and have for decades. Probably nothing.”

Once again, I get the feeling she’s leaving something out, so I pin her with the killer stare I used on Mom’s latest boyfriend when he accidentally on purpose caressed my boob, and the final straw that drove me to run away. “Tell me.”

Her gaze flickers to Harlan again before she looks back at me. “Some say the Medvilles run a cult out there. That once people arrive at Arcania, they never want to leave.”

“Maybe it’s a great place to work and live?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Honestly? If Harlan offered me a place to stay, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

Discounting her crush, I say, “So everyone around here knows his family?”

She shoots me a ‘duh’ look. “They’re the richest family for hundreds of miles around here, so yeah, we know them.”

Reassured I’m not at risk of being abducted into some nefarious house for runaways, I nod. “Thanks. Can I use your restroom?”

“Yeah. It’s out the back.”

As I head toward the side door, I feel Harlan watching me through the cafe’s front window. My back tingles, like someone has run their fingers down my spine, and I give a little shake.

Lack of sleep is making me dramatic. With my limited funds, I can’t afford to be choosy about where I stay and here’s a nice guy who checks out, whose parents run a B&B, offering me a place for the night. And with a little luck, I can wangle a job working on their organic farm, too.

I’d be a fool to turn him down.

Chapter3

Lucy

The moment I lay eyes on Arcania, I second-guess my decision to come. What am I hoping to find? An explanation why my mom had their logo tattooed on her foot and some nebulous link to a past I know nothing about?

It’s ludicrous.

But it’s also a distraction from my relentless grief. I’ve barely eaten the last two weeks, losing myself in the newest paranormal novels from my towering to be read pile and blasting music to detract from the oppressive silence.

That’s the thing I miss most with Mom gone. She hated leaving the house, so when I got home from work she’d talk nonstop; often about inane stuff, anything from the latest reality TV dramas to an online chat forum for agoraphobes like her. I tuned her out sometimes because that’s the thing about working in a library: I love the silence. I prefer it. So Mom’s chatter got to me at times. Which means I lamented her loss a hundred times harder over the last few weeks when the quiet made me yearn for her even more.

The sun dips behind the house—more a mansion, with fifteen windows on each level across two floors—casting a mauve tinge over the whitewashed walls and turning the green trim a muddy brown. It’s not as glamorous as it appears online, probably the result of some expensive photo doctoring software. In fact, an air of menace clings to the mansion at sunset, and as a soft breeze lifts the hair off the nape of my neck and trepidation tiptoes down my spine, I wonder if it’s too late to leave.

As if sensing my reluctance to enter, a woman appears on a path to the right and waves. Casting a last wistful glance over my shoulder at the taxi that is almost out of view now, I clutch my satchel and wheel my suitcase toward her.

She moves fast, and with her feet hidden beneath a long white tunic that skims the ground, she gives the appearance of floating. My steps drag and when she reaches me, she flings her arms wide.

“Welcome to Arcania. You must be Lucy Phillips? We’ve been expecting you.”

She speaks as fast as she moves, the words tumbling out of her mouth in excitement. “I’m Cora Medville, the owner of this little slice of heaven. I’m so happy you’re here.”

I wish I could say the same, but my doubts are overwhelming. What am I hoping to find? What will I do if I discover the truth about Mom’s past? And the kicker, how will I survive with no internet for seven days?

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