Page 2 of The Sea Witch’s Son (The Villains of Wolf Hollow #1)

Chapter 1

MELODY

Present day…

“You are going to get us killed.”

I shift in the passenger seat and look at my stepfather. He sighs heavily, tearing his gaze from the road ahead to glance at me.

“We don’t have a choice. You know this.”

I do know this. Which is why the dire state of our situation is finally starting to hit me.

“Surely there is somewhere else we could run to. Literally anywhere is better than this place.”

The dread in my gut unfolds into a million furious butterflies as I voice the thought that has been haunting me all day long.

“These people are criminals , Erik. Thieves, rapists, murderers…” I trail off, swallowing the lump in my th roat, “Wolf Hollow doesn’t even have a crime statistic because the law doesn’t apply here.”

He sighs again, “There may not be conventional laws in this town, but there is an order to the way things are run here. Besides, your mother grew up in Wolf Hollow, so it can’t be all that bad.”

“My mother escaped Wolf Hollow.” I correct him, watching the forest around us grow dense with gnarled branches and decaying foliage. The further we get from the main highway, the thicker the trees grow.

The nerves take flight as I watch the familiar skyline fade from my side mirror. The road becomes bumpier, less maintained as we continue along, the occasional call of a crow adding to the tension filling the car.

“Your mother,” Erik sucks in a breath, “Was too bright for this town. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a fresh start.”

I hear the words he doesn’t say. My mother may have been too soft, too kind for this town, but I’m not.

To sacrifice is to survive.

It’s the mentality that has kept me alive up to this point. The same mentality that got us into this situation in the first place.

The irony of it all is my sacrifices weren’t enough to keep my mother from being taken away. All that pain and suffering had simply prolonged the inevitable death of Arielle St. James, a youthful beauty who was stolen from her loving daughter and devoted second husband by the illness as old as time.

Cancer .

Erik, the man who cared for me more than any biological father ever could, had arranged for a beautiful ceremony one week after I said goodbye to her forever. I only got seven days to mourn before we received news that we could no longer afford to live in our family home.

Another seven days and investigators began digging into the case that led us on this dark and gloomy road.

“Are you sure the house is paid off?”

I stare out my window, watching the wilderness fly past. Even the trees have started to curl inwards, as if they too can’t stand the weight of what lies ahead.

“The executor sent over the documents yesterday. The house is completely paid off and all of its possessions were left to you.” Erik tries for a grin, “Arielle was quite the collector. You might find a few treasures in those rooms. Maybe even a fortune.”

I know he’s trying to make the best of the worst situation, so I give him a tight smile. Even before Erik married my mother, he always looked out for me. He’s one of those rare breeds who remain diligent and loyal even when everything goes to shit.

Another sigh comes from the driver’s side, and I catch a glimpse of the heartache flashing across Erik’s face. Two weeks isn’t long enough to accept the death of a loved one, but even if two or six months had passed, I don’t think the hole in our hearts would be any smaller.

Grief fucking sucks. Period.

The canopy of trees finally gives way to a clearing as we round the final curve. My stomach drops as the road suddenly dips down, the car picking up speed as we follow the winding path leading us towards the valley below.

Dusk has fallen by the time we reach the faded sign marking the entrance of Wolf Hollow.

Turn back now. Trespassers will be executed.

“I feel welcomed already.”

I watch as more signs pop up, each one more threatening than the last, “Oh, look. This one has an invitation for decapitation.”

“The commentary is not helping, you know.” Erik checks his phone for the directions and makes a quick left turn, “Stick to the plan and we’ll be fine. Who knows, by the time I secure enough funds to buy a place elsewhere, you might find you want to stay.”

“Unlikely.” I peer through the night sky, barely making out the silhouettes around us, “They really don’t believe in streetlights here.”

“I think you will find the people in Wolf Hollow prefer to linger in the shadows.” Erik glances at his phone again and slows to a stop, “Looks like we made it.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and carefully climb out of the car. Six hours of driving has pins and needles attacking my lower body as I study the house I will soon call my home.

It’s bigger than I expected, the tall arches rising above us in old rickety frames that are in desperate need of a new coat of paint. The front porch is somewhat intact, although the swing stationed by the entrance was not so lucky. Its wooden beams have withered from years of neglect and the lawn is overrun with prickly weeds sprouting from every crack and crevice.

The wide set of the house seems to have caved inward after all these years, the drawn curtains and splintered window frames giving the entire house a desolate and hostile feel.

“Grab your stuff and we’ll take a peek inside.” Erik pops the trunk, reaching in to grab the first of many boxes filling the back of the car, “Hopefully the key still works.”

The ancient stairs groan as we clamber towards the front door, the ancient door knocker so rusty I can’t make out what the shape is supposed to be.

Quiet grunts fill the air as Erik tries to pry the lock open. I shift the box in my arms, suddenly anxious as to what we might find inside.

The lock clicks and the door swings open.

Dust coats my throat when I finally make it inside, the musty air making my nose itch painfully. I look around the front hall that breaks off into a living room, the drapes drawn across the arched windows casting the room in complete darkness.

The high-vaulted ceilings make the shadows seem endless, a vast pit of darkness just waiting to unfold.

Running my hand along the wall, I find the light switch and turn it on.

The shadows are instantly replaced by vintage furniture. The floral pattern of the matching couches long since faded from the grime that has built up over the last thirty years. A simple coffee table stands on top of a hideous rug, it’s surface dull and dusty under the dim lighting.

The floorboards groan beneath my feet as I walk down the hall and peek into the decent-sized kitchen.

“Did you see the grand piano?”

I jump at the sound of Erik’s voice. Wandering back into the living room, I find him setting the last box down on the ground. He catches my eye and nods to where the beautiful instrument sits tucked away in a corner.

My heart flutters at the sight of it, but I quickly push those unwanted feelings aside.

“Are the bedrooms upstairs?” I ask pointedly, ignoring the flash of disappointment that crosses his face.

“Yes. Take your pick and I’ll take whatever’s left.” He gives the piano another glance before turning and walking back outside. I know he’s upset, but I don’t follow him.

Music was my mother’s greatest love until I came along. Then it became a love we shared.

When I was a little girl, Arielle would play the piano and I would sit beside her and watch the mesmerizing movements of her fingertips. She was brilliant beyond compare, a woman blessed with the voice of a siren and the musical inclination of a conductor. Every night we would sing together, testing out new harmonies as though we were destined for the stage.

It was a passion that tied us together, our vocal cords bleeding into each other’s hearts until the day she died .

I lost the ability to sing the day I lost my mother. The cancer stole her health the same way her death stole my voice.

Lifting the box that contains my clothes, I start the uneven trek up the staircase. My footprints smear the dust settled on the wooden slants, the stagnant air making my nose itch again.

At the top of the stairs, I’m met with a narrow hallway. A darkened bathroom stands aloof, its door wide open between the two closed bedroom doors. The harsh separation makes me feel like I’m at a crossroad, forced to choose between two identical doors.

One will hold my new bedroom.

One will hold the memories of my mother’s childhood.

The sound of Erik re-entering the house has me quickly picking the door on the left. Nudging the handle with my elbow, I push my way inside and blink against the darkness.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I take in the shadows around me.

This was her room. I can feel it.

I find the light switch and flick it on, half hoping I’m wrong. A queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room, its frilly white bedsheets almost completely grey, but that’s not what catches my attention.

Arielle’s Chambers

The stencilled letters stand tall and proud, seemingly untouched by the years which have passed. A dry laugh escapes my throat as I soak in the familiar font.

Some things don’t change .

Setting the box down on the bed, I take a look around. A large reading nook takes up a good chunk of the room while a cluttered dresser and nightstand take what’s left.

A reluctant smile hits my face when I spot the ancient silverware set hung up on the wall.

She always did have a thing for forks.

I walk over and check the closet tucked away in the far corner, empty except for a few stray hangers. My nose starts to itch again, so I quickly run back downstairs and grab the box of cleaning supplies.

Setting it down on the bed, I strip off my sweater and grab a faded t-shirt I won’t mind getting dirty.

I wipe down the nightstand, the bed frame, and the windowsill before wandering closer to the ornaments decorating the dresser.

“Melody! Did you take the scissors?”

Setting the cloth down on the dusty surface, I turn and grab the scissors lying on the bed. The scruff of shoes echoes through the room and I freeze, looking down at my socked feet.

Clenching the scissors tightly in my hand, I whirl around, scanning my dead mother’s bedroom for… something.

The blade of the scissors dig into my palms as I drop down and peer under the bed. A few critters catch my eye, but nothing out of the ordinary.

With a pounding heart, I creep towards the closet and throw the doors wide open. Old wire hangers sway with the sudden movement, the rest of the closet still sitting empty .

“Do you have the scissors?” Erik peeks his head through the doorway and immediately smiles, “You found her old bedroom.”

“Yeah.” I blow out a breath, hearing his shoes scrape the wooden planks as he steps inside.

Erik enters the room, taking his time looking around. His eyes linger on the stencilled name above the bed and the creases of his smile start to tighten.

“She always loved naming rooms, didn’t she? Attached a name to each room in case you forgot which one was yours.” He laughs hoarsely, “Such a strange, brilliant woman.”

“Here are the scissors.” Interrupting the trip down memory lane, I quickly hand them over, “Let me go get the rest of my things.”

I turn and walk away from the bundle of grief waiting to unravel me. A long sigh echoes before Erik’s footsteps follow me back downstairs.

“What about a song? Before you retire for the night?” He offers the suggestion quietly, as if the low volume might sway my answer, “I could play for you.”

I keep my back facing him, hiding the way my lips pinch together.

“It’s been a long day, Erik. Maybe another time.”

The empty promise turns into silence that stretches between us, filling the musty air with suffocating emotions. I train my eyes on the wall, refusing to let a single tear slip out .

“Another time then.” He clears his throat, “I checked the pipes, and the plumbing system seems to be in order. The furnace will have to wait until tomorrow, so make sure you close your bedroom window.”

I frown, turning around, “I didn’t open my window.”

“It was open when I walked in there.” Erik shakes his head, “It’s been a long day. Go on up to bed and I’ll carry the rest of the boxes up.”

“But I didn’t… Never mind.”

I sigh, grabbing the closest box and lifting it into my arms. Walking back into the bedroom, I note the dust rag and cleaner are still on the dresser where I left them, as is everything else.

A violent sneeze takes hold, the dust finally getting the best of me. Rubbing my nose with a groan, I inhale deeply and feel the sharp sting of a cold breeze.

I look over and stare at the curtains flapping against the open window. The cool night air trickles in, brushing my skin and sending shivers across my flesh as I pick up the dust rag and look down.

Welcome to Wolf Hollow, Melody.

Written in the thick layer of dust, I stare at the words someone left behind. The words someone left behind for me .

Fear snakes through me as I run over and slam the window shut, making sure to lock the panes and draw the curtains close. My chest heaves as I scan the room again, trying to find the spot I must have missed.

And there it is .

Tucked against the far side of the dresser is a nook that could easily be overlooked if you weren’t looking at it from this angle.

Snatching the closest object, I creep towards the shadowed corner with a candle holder raised above my head. I jump out, ready to strike, only to find the nook empty.

Lowering my weapon, I’m about to give up and go to bed when I see it.

The new scrape running across ancient floorboards. As though someone caught the edge of their shoe on the way out.

Goosebumps break out as I turn and stare at the window I did not open.

Someone was here.

Someone was watching me.