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T he carriage took Bella all the way to the gates of Hawthorne Hall, as requested. She was relieved she didn’t have to walk home alone in the dark. Emmaline waited for her in the foyer as she slipped in through the front door. The girl appeared to be pacing the length of the front hall, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The moment she saw her relief flooded her youthful face.

“Oh, I’m so glad you made it back, miss.”

Weariness settled through her. She handed off the book to Emmaline, then untied her bonnet and removed it.

“Gerald asked about you,” she said.

“What did you tell him?”

“What you told me. That you were in town. But I don’t think he believed me,” she said, worry creasing her face.

“I’ll deal with him. Did I miss dinner?”

“Edith is ready to serve in the dining room, miss.”

She was glad to hear there was a hot meal waiting for her. She handed off her bonnet and gloves to Emmaline. “There isn’t time for me to dress for dinner. Will you take those items to my room?”

She dipped a curtsy and headed upstairs while Bella made her way to the dining room. The table was set for one—her. As she sat, pulling up her chair, she realized how much she missed her father. A bowl of steaming split pea soup was before her. Gerald entered the room, looking pristine in his black suit with white gloves.

“Welcome home, miss. I trust your visit in town was successful?” He lifted a brow in curious interest.

“Yes, thank you.” She took up her spoon, ready to eat, but found her appetite had waned.

Her father wasn’t there to chatter away about his business or what happened in port or his next trip and what he might find. Though Gerald was there, the silence was isolating and deafening.

“Any word from my father?” she asked.

“None yet, miss.”

It was all the conversation they had while she finished her meal. It gave her time to reflect on all the happenings of the day and, most importantly, Leopold Thornhurst.

He an enigma. Handsome, yes. But she sensed he held closely guarded secrets. Secrets he wasn’t ready to part with—if ever. What was it about him she found hard to resist? Was it his eyes? Pale brown eyes that seemed to see right through to her soul when he looked at her.

Or was it something else? The fact he lived in an enchanted castle crossed her mind. How did he navigate that strange shadowy world every day? For it seemed as though the sun never touched the ground or the spires or towers of the sprawling estate. As though it were permanently cloaked within the gloom.

The floating candelabras with their blue-white flames seemed to have an otherworldly glow. The magical library with its singing and chattering books. The magnificent rose and thorn themed stained-glass window that dominated the center of the room.

When she finished her meal, she headed up to her room, her steps suddenly light with excitement as the thought of the book waiting for her. Emmaline had left it on her dressing table. And though she was weary from the emotions of the day, she found she was unable to resist picking up the book and heading back downstairs to her own library. She still had some energy left to continue her translation. Perhaps when she next visited Leopold, she’d have more to tell him.

Their library was a modest room. Small and compact with shelves on every wall. A fireplace dominated the far wall, its hearth cold and silent. On the mantle, a set of copper candlesticks. She search for a match and, finding one, struck it to light them. They emitted their familiar warm yellow glow. Not the cold blueish glow of Leopold’s.

An oversized leather chair was near the fire with a knitted blanket cast across the back of it. She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the room. She was too tired to find Gerald and ask him to build a fire, nor did she want to do it herself. Instead, she lit more candles around the room, casting it in a pale light. It gave her enough light to see her work. A narrow writing desk was under the one window which hosted antique lace curtains, the only barrier between night pressing against the pane of glass and the room.

She placed the book on the table, sat in the chair and got to work.

Hours later, her eyes gritty, she had a long phrase she translated from the book. She sat back in the chair, her fingers stained with ink as she peered down at the words wondering what they meant.

Shadows stir. The sands of time slip away. Silence forever in the gloaming.

What did it all mean?

As she pondered this, a distant howl shattered the silence. Hot pinpricks danced down the back of her neck as her head snapped up and she stared at the darkened window.

It was unlike any howl she’d heard. Not a wolf. But something… more .

The howl pierced the air again. This time, it sounded closer.

She rose, leaning across the desk to push aside the lace curtain, which was silly because there was nothing to see. Moonlight cast down through the trees in slashes of blue-white, shining across the back of the manor house and alighting on the overgrown garden. Her father was right in that they needed a groundskeeper, but how could they possibly afford it now that his business was in such shambles? Finding coin for that would be a challenge. It made her sad to think of the out-of-control bushes that had taken over the yard.

The howl came again. A mournful sound, as though the creature—a wolf?—lost something dear. Or it was a cry of loneliness in the darkness. Either way, the sound was dreadful and haunting and chilling.

As it pieced the night air once again, she decided it was a wolf. But this time it sounded as though it were closer to the front of the manor. As though it was right outside the gates at the end of their gravel drive. With her heart pounding, she stepped into the hall and stared toward the front door. A coldness settled inside her as she stood there, still as a statue, wondering what was out there.

Gerald heard it, too, for he bounded down the stairs in his nightclothes, his dressing gown flapping behind him. He headed toward the front door as the wail sounded again. As he stomped toward the door, agitation in every step, she hurried to catch up to him. She lunged at him as he reached for the knob and stopped him.

“No, don’t.” Her voice was a fierce whisper.

He startled as she grabbed him. His head snapped to her in surprise, his eyes dark orbs. His face momentarily drained of color, clearly stunned to see her standing there with him. Question creased his face followed by a myriad of other emotions. He wasn’t sure whether to chastise her for still being up or that she had the gall to stop him from opening the front door.

“But miss—”

“Do not open the door,” she said in a terse, determined tone. “It’s too dangerous.”

She couldn't explain why she called it dangerous, but a powerful intuition warned not to open the door. So, she held on tight to Gerald’s arm and then gave him a gentle nudge to push him back.

The wailing continued from the lone wolf which was now joined with a chorus. There must be three or four now. She clung to Gerald as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders for comfort. She shuddered against him with cold fear. It was the closet to the old butler she’d ever been. He smelled like peppermint and old shoe leather.

She wasn’t sure why he thought opening the door was the best idea, but perhaps he thought it nothing more than a feral dog. When silence descended and the yowling stopped, she relaxed her tense muscles and stepped away from him.

But he remained where he was, still peering at the door and then glancing her way. “I did not realize you were still up at this time of night, miss.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

She bit her thumbnail, distracted. “Why were you going outside, Gerald?”

“I thought to scare off whatever was making that bloody noise,” he grumbled.

He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up on the ends. She noticed then the dark circles under his tired eyes. He fought off a yawn.

“Whatever it was, I don’t think it was friendly. Get some rest, Gerald. I need to tidy up the library before I retire.”

“Yes, miss.”

He shuffled up the stairs, taking the steps slowly as he ascended. She waited until he was upstairs before she dashed to the library and snuffed out candles around the room. When she got to the small writing desk, she was about to snuff out the last candle when something caught her eye. She halted as she looked down at the open page. In the pool of faint, flickering candlelight, she noticed something had changed.

The page she’d been translating was different. Altered. The runes were the same shapes, only they were in a different place on the page. As if they had rearranged themselves into a better order. Moved down further. New runes appeared above it. Runes she had not yet translated.

But the strangest thing of all was what appeared in the center of the page—it had not been there before. In fact, she was certain it was not there before.

A rose wrapped in thorns. And it was leaking red ink.