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“They’re coming,” says a raspy voice.

I tremble as I turn my gaze to my captor.

I’m surprised to find a beautiful woman with ghostly lavender eyes staring at me instead of the horrid soldier that I envisioned.

I’m taken aback by the appearance of her blue skin and bright pink hair hidden beneath the cloak.

There’s a faraway look in her eyes, her appearance almost rippling.

I’ve lost my mind, I think in my panicked state. In my fear of the captain, I’ve now conjured visions of a stranger with blue skin. Brilliant.

“They’re coming,” she repeats in a somber voice, her grip tightening once more as if she knew I was doubting her existence.

“Who’s coming?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“When the mist rises and this land is drenched in blood, nothing will stop the darkness from descending,” she continues, as if not hearing my question.

“What blood? What darkness?” I ask, confused. “We already have the Drakhul.”

The woman’s stare turns desperate, as if wishing for me to understand. “There are worse things than the Drakhul that exist, child,” she says quickly. “Once the price is paid, they’ll come, and nothing will stop them this time.”

Then she releases me from her grasp, and she vanishes.

I glance to the spot where she was just standing, baffled. The coolness that surrounded me no longer lingers, but the strange warning echoes in my mind.

“Maeva! What are you doing?” Cara calls out, interrupting my thoughts.

She’s several yards ahead of me now, and I have to sprint to catch up.

“Did you… not… see the… woman… that passed us?” I ask, breathless from the jog.

Cara tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows.

“No one passed us, Maeva,” Cara replies. “We’re the only ones on this trail.”

I feel the color drain from my face.

She didn’t see her.

Perhaps I really have lost my mind.

“Maeva, are you okay?” Cara asks, worry lacing her brow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Perhaps I have.

“So, you really didn’t see anyone?” I ask.

“No,” she replies firmly. “ You just stopped walking, but I didn’t realize it until I couldn’t hear your footsteps.”

So, not only am I the only one to have seen her, but I am the only one of us to whom she delivered her ominous warning.

Either she’s a spirit messing with me or I’m going crazy .

“Maeva—”

I snap my attention back to Cara. “I’m fine,” I say, smiling weakly. “Forget I said anything. I must’ve imagined it.”

Sure… because you always imagine a woman with lavender eyes telling you that “They are coming.”

I’m just exhausted… That’s the only explanation for what just happened.

There wasn’t a strange woman or a weird warning.

“Truly, Cara,” I say, almost laughing. “I’m fine. I just need sleep.”

Though she still looks concerned, she drops the topic as we continue our journey home.

She tells me about a bit of gossip that she heard in the market this morning.

I try to pay attention, but I just can’t shake the emotions from the encounter with the woman.

I want to forget about it all, but my mind keeps drifting back to some of her words that cause chills to crawl down my spine:

“There are worse things than the Drakhul that exist…”

“Hey! Give that back!”

“No way! It’s mine.”

“Mama, how much longer until supper is ready?”

“Boys! What did I tell you about…”

Sounds of chaos waft out from inside the home of the Cales.

I wish I could say this isn’t a daily occurrence, but alas, it’s to be expected when there are nine people under one roof.

It’s a madhouse in the best sense of the word.

The two-story house is a beautiful wooden design that’s stained white with a multitude of tiny windows so that every person has a view of the rolling hills that surround us on the outskirts of the village.

Everything surrounding the Cales’ property appears rotten or dead, yet the beautiful white home stands in the center of it all, appearing as a haven for all those who pass by.

It’s a true show of who they are as a people—a beacon to all those in need.

Rolph and Amelia Cale built this house with their bare hands before they ever conceived their children .

While the house is a simple design, they built their home large enough to accommodate the family that they hoped to have in the future.

“We knew from the start of our union that we desired to have multiple children, so why not make sure we could house a whole gaggle of them?” Rolph always remarks.

Amelia usually nods her head in agreement with her husband.

They truly love one another and each of their children dearly—including me.

“Ow! Mama, he pulled my hair!?”

“I did not! She started it! She was in my?—”

“I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it!”

Cara and I giggle as we approach the front entrance.

From the sounds of it, the twins, Aidan and Cillian, are doing what typical fifteen-year-old boys do—picking on Deidre, their younger sister by two years.

They tease her relentlessly, but Deidre usually ignores them, which only encourages them in their aggravation.

Though they have a talent for infuriating the rest of the siblings, they both have sensitive hearts and are very protective of their sisters.

It has become a routine for us to stand outside the entrance, listening to their antics before entering what we call “the war zone.” We each lean on the door, attempting to stifle our amusement.

The front door is a lovely lavender color, which Amelia insisted that Rolph paint as soon as the home was completed.

Rolph, being the romantic man that he is, made sure that it was just the right shade for his bride.

Years ago, I asked Amelia why they chose to paint the door lavender.

I found it quite odd as I had never seen a lavender door before…

or at least I was pretty sure I hadn’t. She replied, “Simple. The first thing anyone sees of your home is usually the front entrance. I want everyone that comes to our home to know they are welcome here. I know it might seem silly because it’s just a door.

However, for me, it’s a way to show a glimpse into the hearts of who we are as people.

” I believe that was the moment I truly realized the kind of people my adopted family were—kind, loving, and welcoming.

“Home, sweet home,” I whisper to Cara .

“Do you think we should go in and relieve Mama?” she asks.

I look at her conspiratorially.

“I believe that’d be wise before twin-mageddon starts again,” I reply.

We laugh as we open the door and enter the fray.

The entryway corridor is lined with hooks holding cloaks, boots stacked neatly in a row, and satchels on the opposite side with their own hanging hooks.

Even though Amelia loves having a large family, one thing she can not stand is for the house to resemble a pig sty.

I’m placing my satchel on its respective hook when I hear the tiny pitter-patter of feet. I look just in time to see Aine before she flings one of her little arms around my leg, while she wraps the other around Cara.

“Maeva! Cara!” she squeals in delight at our arrival.

“Hello to you too, my little doll,” Cara coos affectionately.

I might be biased, but I think Aine is the cutest seven-year-old I’ve ever seen with her big, blue eyes and auburn curls.

She usually wears some sort of frilly dress, which truly makes her look like a little doll.

Eventually, she releases our legs and grabs each of our hands, guiding us deeper into the home.

“You’re never going to believe it! I lost another tooth today,” she exclaims.

She smiles wide enough for us to see that there is indeed a new gap in her mouth where her front tooth had been previously. Cara and I take turns gushing over her, which makes Aine beam with pride at her latest accomplishment.

As we are pulled toward the kitchen, a booming voice calls from over our shoulders. “Well, look what the kelpie dragged in! Two of my favorite, hard-working girls.”

We turn to see Rolph carrying a squirming five-year-old Fion toward the dining room, while simultaneously beaming at us.

Rolph—like Cara—has bright eyes, auburn hair, and is the same height as his eldest daughter.

Rolph is also devilishly handsome, with a heart of gold, which is probably one of the many reasons Amelia fell for him all those years ago .

“Down! Put me down,” Fion squeals in protest.

“Will you behave if I sit you down?” Rolph asks Fion.

Fion is the youngest of the siblings. He’s also the most rambunctious. He has dark brown hair with green eyes, and a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He’s adorable, and he wields that knowledge like a weapon to get what he desires—which is usually extra dessert.

Fion flutters his eyes at his father. “Yes, Papa. I promise,” he says sweetly.

Rolph chuckles as he sets the squirming boy down. “Alright then, off you go,” Rolph beams.

Fion immediately takes off. True to his word, he sits down at his seat at the long family table. Closing the distance, Rolph wraps up Cara in one of his infamous bear hugs.

“Hello, my angel,” he coos.

“Hi, Papa!” Cara replies.

Once Cara pulls away, it is my turn. Rolph smiles and pulls me in, squeezing me just tight enough for it to feel comforting.

I smile against his shoulder. Rolph might not be my father by blood, but he is the closest thing I’ve had.

Not once has he or his family ever made me feel that I wasn’t welcome in their home.

I will always be grateful for that and for being accepted as one of their own.

“Hello, Darling Flower,” he whispers.

It’s the nickname that both he and Amelia started calling me when they found out that I enjoyed working with flowers.

“Hi, Rolph,” I say warmly, pulling away from his embrace.

I have neither been able to call him Papa nor call Amelia Mama. They’ve never pressured me into calling them any particular title.

“You may call us whatever you like, Maeva. We never want to replace the family you have somewhere out there… but if you ever decided to call us Mama and Papa, we would gladly accept that role in your life,” Amelia once told me.

It’s nothing personal.

I obviously had parents at some point in my life. Whether or not they wanted me, I feel like it’s not fair to them if I were to call Rolph and Amelia by their titles—though in my heart, they are the closest thing I’ve ever had to that.

“We were just about to head into the kitchen to help Amelia finish up dinner,” I say.

“No need, Darling Flower,” Amelia says, rounding the corner with her arms full of serving dishes. “I’m just about done. Why don’t you two get washed up? It will be ready by the time you’re finished.”

Amelia is a vivacious, curvy, and beautiful woman of five feet with deep chestnut brown curls and green eyes. Tonight she wears a cream colored A-line dress that accentuates her figure. Whatever she lacks vertically, she makes up for with her larger than life attitude and loving heart.

Cara and I nod and make our way up the staircase.

“This is perfect timing, because I can show you the surprise I got for you,” Cara exclaims.

Cara’s “surprises” usually are meant to come from a well-intentioned place, but typically end in some sort of comical disaster.

“Well, this should be entertaining.”