Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance

Two hours after I leave the orphanage, I am back in Boston as I wait for the connection to Fairydale via Ipswich. Taking advantage of the hour I have until the next departure, I buy some food since the journey is set to be some five hours.

When I board the train, I take my seat and remove a book from my purse—Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. It’s my first time embarking on such a long journey, so I’d brought along snacks and entertainment to keep me occupied.

But a couple hours later and no matter how much I tell myself I can hold it in, my bladder is demanding instant relief. Certainly, as I watch the hands of my wristwatch move at a snail’s pace, my anxiety skyrockets until all I can hear is the sound of water trickling down…

Releasing a sigh, I tuck my things to the side as I take some tissues from my purse before going in search of the restroom.

The train’s facilities are not exactly sanitary, but I make do. The floor is rattling under my feet from the moving train, the clattering noise clogging my ears and making this not the most comfortable experience.

After I flush, I move to the sink, washing my hands and watching my reflection in the mirror.

The pale skin under my eyes has a blue-ish hue, and you can tell I’ve barely slept a wink in the past couple of days.

Not only have I been worried about this journey into the unknown, but I’ve also been plagued by thoughts about my father—my other family. I want to know them, but at the same time I’m afraid of doing so—scared they are not going to like me.

Wetting my hands, I bring them to my face to freshen up.

Right at that moment, the confined space of the restroom becomes draped in darkness as the train passes through a tunnel. The terrain becomes uneven, making the train rattle even more.

I grab the handle on the wall in an effort to stabilize myself, waiting for the train to get out of the tunnel before I attempt to leave. Holding tight, I squeeze my eyes shut as a screeching noise from the rails erupts in the air, the sound as grating as nails on chalkboard.

Despite the overstimulation of my senses, the feeling of something brushing against my neck is unmistakable, as is the soft, warm air that fans my skin. My breathing intensifies, my body wound tight as I swallow hard.

What starts as the gentlest touch becomes increasingly bolder until I feel a slight pressure right under my pulse point.

My eyes snap open.

Two beams of light stream through the tiny window of the restroom, the rest of the space bathed in darkness.

For a second—one brief second—I almost swear I can make out an outline in the mirror. Yet as I blink once more it’s gone.

It’s gone, and light inundates the room once more as the train makes it out of the tunnel.

The mirror is fogged from my erratic breath, but as I look around, it’s to find myself completely alone.

‘Goodness,’ I exhale, feeling silly for getting so shaken by a simple play of shadows and my overactive imagination.

Regaining my composure, I smooth my palms over my skirt before I open the door and return to my seat.

It must be the nerves. And the fact that I’m being daring for the first time in my life.

Smiling to myself, I pick up the book, losing myself in the story once more. Alas, it seems that Catherine’s rubbing off on me with her silly notions.

I’m so immersed in the story that I barely realize when the train stops, the Ipswich station announced.

Putting the book aside, I look around, noting that everyone is getting up to leave. I frown, but I don’t find it strange since Ipswich is the biggest town on the map in the area. I doubt Fairydale is the final destination for many people.

Shrugging, I bring my attention back to the book.

‘Ma’am?’ A voice starts me not one minute later. Lifting my gaze, it’s to find the conductor before me.

‘Yes?’ I ask, forcing my lips in a smile as is polite, though all I want to do is snap at the man for interrupting me right when General Tinley was about to consent to Catherine and Henry’s marriage.

‘You need to get off. This is the final station,’ he says in a curt tone.

‘What?’ I frown. ‘That can’t be. I’m going to Fairydale,’ I explain as I rummage through my purse for my ticket. Taking it out, I hand it to him.

‘See?’ I point to the itinerary.

‘I’m sorry but there must have been a mistake,’ he blinks as he reads my ticket. ‘There is no railway that passes through Fairydale. Whoever issued this ticket must have made a mistake,’ he says, scratching the back of his head.

‘How can that be when the ticket examiner checked it?’ I ask, outraged.

‘He must have misread the destination. I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is the end of the line.’

That can’t be. The ticket examiner took his time looking at my ticket. I’m sure he couldn’t have missed the name Fairydale in bold letters. But say he had misread it, why would Mr. Vaughan send me a faulty ticket? If he is from Fairydale himself, then he should know there is no railway in the vicinity of the town.

‘What am I to do then? I need to get to Fairydale.’

‘I can’t help you with that ma’am. You could try to find a coach or a driver heading in that direction. Though I should warn you,’ he stops, pursing his lips.

I lift my brows in question.

‘There aren’t many people going to Fairydale these days. And I would encourage you to reconsider, too.’

‘Whyever not?’ I inquire, taken aback by his words.

‘I’m guessing you haven’t heard about the Joker of Ipswich?’

I frown, shaking my head.

‘He was a murderer who liked to mutilate his victims. All women,’ he nods to me in a low voice, pausing as if he’s waiting to see my shocked reaction. When I don’t give him that, looking at him expectantly instead, he clears his throat and continues. ‘He was found a couple years back living in Fairydale with a dozen or so corpses in his house.’

Although what he’s saying is terrible, I don’t see why that would turn Fairydale into an undesirable destination, and I pose the same question to him.

‘But if he’s been caught, then why would people avoid Fairydale?’

‘You see, ma’am, he’s not the first criminal to be caught in that town. It’s like a magnet for bad people,’ he shakes his head. ‘You won’t find too many people who’d want to go there.’

Sister Mary had said it was a haven for millionaires. The conductor is now telling me it’s a haven for criminals. Then again, who said the two don’t necessarily overlap?

‘I see,’ I reply, keeping my features blank.

Dear God, but what have I gotten myself into?

‘Thank you,’ I nod, putting my items in my purse before rising and taking my suitcase from the overhead compartment.

‘Wish you luck ma’am, but if I were you, I’d avoid that place. Especially if you’re alone…’ he trailed off, but the implication was clear.

‘I’ll take that under advisement. Have a good day,’ I incline my head before I make my way through the rows of seats. Stepping out of the train, I take a moment to look around and plan for my next steps. All the while, alarm bells won’t stop ringing inside my head, the light scare from the bathroom making my pulse speed up.

This is what I get for trying to be daring for the first time in my life. I should have stayed behind, comfortable in my—maybe too—cozy life. All the money in the world is not worth the stress of being alone in a foreign place.

As an unaccompanied woman.

Haven’t I read enough stories of young women gone missing? Or heard on the radio about the latest disappearances? The last thing I need is to become an additional statistic, since I doubt anyone would have much incentive in locating an orphan with no living relatives.

The cautious, sensible side of me keeps telling me to purchase another ticket and go back to Boston—back to my non dangerous life.

But there’s also another part of me—one I’ve been stifling all my life. The one that craves adventure, family, and a sense of belonging. A part of me that seeks a purpose I know fully well I will not find in the halls of Saint Russell.

I may be proud of my job and derive satisfaction from being good at it, but it’s not who I am. It’s not my identity. Or, at least, not my entire identity.

I’ve read and dreamed about adventure, yet I’ve never once tried to embark on one for myself. For God’s sake, Worcester to Boston is the farthest I’ve traveled before. Not to mention that all my travels have been strictly business-related. I’ve never taken a trip for myself. And considering I’ve been employed for more than a year now, with my own wages, I could have easily done that.

Yet I hadn’t.

I’d stayed in my little bubble, content to watch the world from afar, read and hear about it from other people, but I’ve never dared to do anything on my own.

That restlessness that’s been hiding away my entire life decides to poke its head right at that moment, propelling me further. One foot in front of the other, I march forward, energized with new confidence and determined to find someone who might tell me how to get to Fairydale.

Instead of poor orphaned Darcy, I’m going to be brave heiress Darcy.

Yet as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find myself reeling when someone bumps into me. Before I can regain my balance, my suitcase is wrenched from my hands.

I’m slow to react and by the time I try to grab my suitcase back, a man with shaggy hair and red eyes gives me a disgusted look, spitting me in the face and pushing me so hard I fall on my back.

Breathing hard, I watch with wide eyes as he’s running away with my suitcase and I’m unable to do anything to stop him. People all around the station are watching, but no one is batting an eye. Some pitiful glances, a few head shakes, but no one even inquires if I am alright.

Blinking back tears of frustration and embarrassment, I attempt to stand up, wobbling a little in the process. My back hurts, and my elbows sting from the contact with the pavement as I’d used them to cushion my fall. When I inspect them, I see skin peeling and a hint of blood.

‘Drat it,’ I mumble, sniffling harshly and biting back a curse that would make the nuns swoon from the blasphemy of it.

At least he didn’t take my purse. It’s the only thing I can tell myself as I rummage for a napkin to wipe the gross saliva off my skin. Yet even that positive thought doesn’t take long as I realize most of my money was at the bottom of the suitcase. Not to mention my clothes, all items I loved and had saved up for months to purchase.

Tears coat my lashes just as my anger mounts.

‘Ugh,’ I grind my teeth, about to kick at the building in front of me but stopping myself at the last second as I realize I would only be hurting myself more.

Not only did I just find out there is no train to Fairydale, but now I’ve also been robbed.

What. A. Marvelous. Start.

I have less than fifty dollars in my purse, and as I look around, I breathe out in relief when my fingers brush against the small jewelry case.

I still have the brooch.

Yet how can I rejoice at such a small thing when I lost almost all my possessions?

If a moment ago my spirits were soaring, now they plummet to such horrifying depths I don’t know how I’m not devolving into a crying mess right at this very moment. It must be all the people watching… I’ve already become the center of attention as I see a few women giggle in a corner while other men are whistling at me and making indecent offers.

If this is how people behave here… Then I’m scared to think that Fairydale will be any better. But I’m not going to let that stop me now that I’ve decided I’m going to push through.

Gritting my teeth, I push my chin up high as I stride inside the train station, heading straight for the information kiosk.

‘Excuse me,’ I knock on the window. A bored woman loudly chewing gum raises a brow at me.

Flustered, I swallow hard as I try to maintain my composure.

‘Could you please tell me how I can get to Fairydale?’ I use my most people-friendly voice in hopes I can get some useful information.

But even that isn’t enough as the woman looks me up and down, her lip twitching in annoyance.

‘Unless you have a car, honey, no,’ she answers, the words rolling off her tongue with off-putting ease.

Just as I’m about to ask another question, she turns with her back to me, effectively ignoring me.

I blink in surprise. Surely, this isn’t how she treats other people when it’s her job to answer questions.

‘Excuse me,’ I clear my throat as I speak louder.

She half-turns, giving me a what more type of look.

‘How can I find a car?’

‘Honey,’ she emphasizes the word. ‘Does this look like a rental place?’

My lips part in shock at her tone.

‘You might have better luck at the main road,’ she says before she ignores me again.

Realizing I won’t get anything out of her, I look around, following the signs and exiting at the main road.

Fifty dollars should get me to Fairydale and still be enough for a ride back in case things don’t work out. That doesn’t ease my frustration at losing over nine hundred dollars, or my most beloved clothes.

Just like that. Gone in the blink of an eye.

Moisture accumulates at the corners of my eyes, and I bring my hand up to wipe the tears away. The last thing I need now is to succumb to my increasingly erratic mood, or show weakness when it’s clear that everyone is desensitized to felonies in this area.

Taking a deep breath, I trudge my way to the main road, thinking to find a cab driver willing to take me into Fairydale. It might run more expensive but I’d be more comfortable than hitchhiking a ride from a random driver.

A long—and rather empty—road stretches in front of me. The sun is high up in the sky, the heat almost unbearable.

I bring my napkin to my forehead as I wipe a few drops of sweat.

I’m wearing a navy blue shirt and a long black skirt, and I know I will boil in these clothes if I have to walk around in this heat to find a cab.

Yet just as I start walking down the street, the shrieking sound of an engine blasts through the air. Not one second later, a black Bentley Continental stops right in front of me. I may not be very knowledgeable when it comes to cars, but I do know this one—and the fact that it’s an extremely expensive brand, usually only seen in movies or on billboards.

I watch curiously as a man in a four-piece suit climbs out of the car. He looks to be in his early fifties, gray hair peppered around his temples.

‘Miss Darcy O’Sullivan?’ He inquires, taking a step towards me.

Instinctively, I take a step back as my brows furrow in confusion.

How could he know who I am?

‘Who are you?’ I snap, my gaze already taking in my surroundings as an escape plan forms in my mind. If he takes one more step towards me, or tries to grab me, I’ll scream. I’ll bash him over the head with my purse, maybe kick him between the legs and then I’ll run as fast as I can.

Nodding to myself, I assume a ready-to-fight stance as I give him a suspicious glare.

‘My apologies,’ the man says, smiling. ‘I’m Mordechai Vaughan, Mr. Pierce’s lawyer. I sent you the letter regarding his passing?’

His tone is soft, almost as if he’s trying to lull me into trusting him. But it does the opposite, because what kind of devilish coincidence is this?

The ticket he sent had a flexible date. He couldn’t have known what day and hour I would arrive—if at all.

‘Prove it,’ I dare him.

He smiles slowly.

‘Of course. Besides the letter, I also sent you a swan brooch and a key,’ he says, confirming the contents of the envelope he sent.

‘Fine,’ I huff. ‘Let’s say you are Mr. Vaughan. How did you know when to come for me? How come you’re here right on time?’ I ask, watching him through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t miss a beat, his facial expressions the same all throughout. He’s sporting a laid-back, easy smile.

‘Sister Anne rang me. She was worried about you,’ he replies. ‘That I got here right on time is a mere coincidence,’ he chuckles. ‘I thought I’d be late.’

I nod slowly. Though his explanation makes sense, I can’t help but feel like something isn’t right.

Yes, Sister Anne would have rang him to make sure I arrived alright, and she would have probably pestered him to come get me. But that doesn’t explain the other issue.

‘There’s no railway going through Fairydale,’ I state in a deadpan voice. ‘Why was the ticket issued to Fairydale?’

‘Oh, was it really?’ He looks genuinely surprised. ‘Must have been a printing mistake. I asked my assistant to get you a ticket to Fairydale. I didn’t mean one straight to the town,’ he chuckles. ‘Everyone knows there’s no train station in Fairydale.’

‘Right,’ I mumble, still assessing him.

He says all the right things, with all the right facial cues. But do I trust the man?

‘Fair enough. But one more thing before I get in the car with you,’ I say with as much confidence as I can muster.

‘Yes?’

‘May I see your official ID. To make sure you are who you say you are.’

‘Of course,’ he readily agrees, moving forward just as his hand goes to the inside of his coat. For a second, the thought that he might be pulling out a gun on me crosses my mind, and my eyes widen as a million scenarios build up in my head—including the urge to duck and dash.

But as he withdraws a fancy leather wallet, sliding his driver’s license from the first slot and handing it to me, I realize Catherine Moreland has nothing on me.

I’m going crazy.

Scanning the contents, I swallow my embarrassment.

The picture matches. The name does, too. As does the Fairydale address.

‘If there is anything else I can do to put your mind at ease…’

‘No.’ My lips tug up in a strained smile. ‘That would be enough, thank you.’

‘Great. We can get going then. The family can’t wait to meet you, Miss O’Sullivan.’

‘You can call me Darcy,’ I murmur as I slide in the backseat of the car.

He doesn’t bat an eye at my choice as he gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

‘I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t bring any luggage?’ He asks a couple minutes later, seemingly trying to make conversation.

Still smarting from my previous experience, I groan out loud at his question.

He raises a brow at me, which I notice in the rearview mirror.

‘I got robbed,’ I sigh. ‘Someone stole my suitcase when I got off the train.’

‘Oh no,’ he suddenly stops the car. ‘We should get back then, see if we can get it back.’

‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘The man is long gone. We would never get it back. Besides, you were saying everything is time-sensitive.’

‘Are you sure? I can make some inquiries…’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I force a smile. ‘There must be a clothing shop in Fairydale for me to buy something to wear, right?’

‘Of course. You’ll see that our small town has everything you need,’ he gives me a warm smile and as he brings up Fairydale his entire countenance transforms.

If before he’d seem a little stiff and polite, now he is more animated.

‘Can you tell me more about it? What’s it like?’

‘Fairydale? The best place you’ll visit,’ he praises enthusiastically.

‘You’ve lived there long?’

‘All my life,’ he nods. ‘It’s small and quiet, all surrounded by a historical atmosphere unmatched anywhere else. In my opinion, of course,’ he adds as he sees me frown.

‘Someone mentioned some criminals?’ I probe carefully, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Oh, that Joker stuff?’ he chuckles. ‘They finally caught the bastard, forgive my language. That he happened to be in Fairydale at that point is a mere coincidence. He wasn’t a local. We are a very tightly knit community where everyone knows everyone. He’d only been renting a place for a few months before they found him.’

‘That is a little more reassuring,’ I give him a genuine smile for the first time as I breathe out relieved.

‘Don’t mind the gossip. Fairydale’s bad reputation is only because of all the arrests happening around. But I always counter it with the fact that at least we have arrests. It means our sheriff is doing his job. What about other places? They boast zero crime not because it’s not happening, but because it goes undetected.’

‘You’re right about that,’ I find myself nodding.

‘I bet you’ll love it. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Including the family?’ I ask softly, hugging my arms around myself in a protective gesture.

‘Of course they do,’ he assures me. ‘August, your half-brother, has been overseeing everything with me, and I know for a fact he’s wanted to meet you for a long time.’

That surprises me.

‘Have they known long about me?’

For the first time, he hesitates, pursing his lips as he takes a deep breath.

‘August knew. Grace and Vicky only found out after Leo died.’

I don’t reply. If they only found out recently, then I’m sure they can’t be very thrilled to have a stranger come and claim some of their money.

Mr. Vaughan continues to speak, singing more praises to the town and assuring me I’ll have a lot to do during my visit.

‘I know it can’t compare to a place like Boston, but our little town has its attractions. We are right by a natural reservation, and there’s a wonderful waterfall by the river. The town itself has many historic buildings. At least fifty percent of them are from the eighteenth century.’

‘Really? That’s impressive,’ I exclaim, excited to visit those.

I’ve always been passionate about old architecture and well, old things in general.

‘The Hales own a manor to rival a castle. It’s up on the hill, you won’t miss it when we enter the town. But there’s the Old Church that was built during the seventeenth century—the oldest one in the town and one of the oldest surviving churches in the country. It’s not open for the public, but it makes for a striking sight.’

I lean forward, enthralled by that piece of information. When I’d heard that Fairydale was a historic town I’d grown excited at the prospect of visiting some real life ruins. Boston boasts a lot of historic buildings, too, but there’s a significant difference between urban architecture and rural one.

‘That sounds so exciting. I can’t wait to see them,’ I quip, my lips tugging up.

‘I gather you like that sort of thing?’

I nod enthusiastically.

‘I teach English, but I’ve always had a soft spot for history,’ I tell him.

‘Any period in particular?’

‘Hmm,’ I tap my finger against my chin as I muse. ‘Early nineteenth century. And I suppose Ancient Mediterranean History? Although I doubt I’ll be able to visit Italy or Greece any time soon,’ I chuckle.

‘Why not? You never know where life will take you,’ he remarks with a knowing smile.

‘You’re right,’ I shrug. ‘I shouldn’t limit myself.’

‘That’s a good mentality. But if you love the early eighteen hundreds, then you might be interested in the plague cemetery at the outskirts of Fairydale. It has some of the most ornate tombs I’ve ever seen,’ he whistles.

‘Plague cemetery?’ I repeat, frowning.

‘A plague hit Fairydale in eighteen-five and wiped out the entire population. Most people who live there right now are descendants of the families that moved in after the plague.’

‘That sounds fascinating,’ I nod, sneaking a glance at my wrist watch and marveling at how quickly the time had passed. We’ve been on the road for almost an hour now, but it feels as if only ten minutes have passed.

‘And there it is,’ he points out at the sign up ahead.

Welcome to Fairydale. Founded in 1805.

‘Why is it named Fairydale?’ I ask. I’d been wondering that from the beginning.

Mr. Vaughan laughs.

‘It’s quite the tale. The mansion on the hill I mentioned? One of the founders of the town built it for his wife. She was nicknamed the fairy by the locals, so the name of the town stuck.’

‘He built her a mansion?’ I smile. ‘That’s quite romantic.’

He nods thoughtfully.

‘It was. Even now the town celebrates them during the Fairy Festival. That’s every 1^st of October.’

I’m about to say something when the car breezes past the Welcome to Fairydale sign.

Turning to the window to watch the scenery, I’m struck by the unexpected gathering of clouds marring the sky. Whereas a second ago the sky was sunny and clear, now it’s gray and downcast.

A sudden rumble in the sky makes me jump in my seat, just before a flash of electricity bleeds into the blackening sky. Like a tree branch descending from heaven, the bluish-white light covers everything in the horizon.

One strike. Two strikes. One after another, like a celestial swan dance, the flickers of electricity move sinuously into the sky, the entire display antithetically bright despite the gloomy background.

‘Damn it,’ Mr. Vaughan curses as he bangs on the steering wheel, and for a second his expression shifts, no longer the easy-going smile from before, now a snarl pulls his features tightly together. When he notices my startled expression something flashes across his face before he’s back to normal, his lips drawn up into a big smile.

‘Just a little thunder storm, Miss Darcy. We’re close to the ocean so we get a lot of these storms all year round.’

I fall back in my seat, staring in shock at the rearview mirror and the sinister expression I’d seen on his face. But my attention is soon taken over by the brewing storm again as thunder cracks into the sky like a finely tuned whip.

There’s a certain melodic quality to the sounds of nature, and despite knowing every loud bang should come across as cacophonous to my ears, the opposite happens. I feel lulled into a sense of comfort—of belonging. Noises erupt around me, yet all I feel is silence.

The wind is ravaging the fields, the grass almost flattened from the force of it. Not a while later and torrid rain accompanies the crushing thunder and blinding lighting. The window of the car is immediately blurred by dripping raindrops, the tapping sounds echoing inside the car.

Just as the rain continues to rage on, the wind intensifies, carrying with it debris and carelessly throwing it around.

Mr. Vaughan suddenly pulls the brakes when a couple sheets of paper cover his entire front view. He’s holding the steering wheel in a death grip as his features tense and relax.

Seeing my previous reaction to his outburst, he’s controlling himself.

‘It’s just a storm,’ I feel compelled to say in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

‘Yes, of course,’ he comments, almost mechanically.

Activating the windshield cleaners, Mr. Vaughan tries to remove the paper, but it’s not budging.

‘I think it’s stuck to the windshield,’ I add softly. The sheets are too wet and have likely adhered to the glass. ‘We might have to go out there and remove them.’

He purses his lips, his gaze flickering in the back to me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to ask me to go out, but as he mumbles something under his breath, he kicks the door open, exiting into the storm.

The moment the door is open, the howling of the wind intensifies. Mr. Vaughan has a hard time keeping himself upright as he battles the force of the storm. He takes one step forward and two back.

It feels like an eternity before he makes it to the front of the car, his hands grasping at the white pieces of paper. But no matter how much he tries to pry them off with his nails, he isn’t making any progress.

When minutes on end pass and he doesn’t succeed, I take pity on him and decide to go out and help him. After all, two people should certainly be more efficient than one. And with him looking so wet and thoroughly disgruntled, I can’t help but feel bad for him.

Pushing my door open, I swing my legs off the seat before jumping out. I expect to feel the cold rain on my skin—I’m actively preparing for it—but as I stand tall in the rain, I feel anything but cold, or wet, or battered by the merciless wind.

At the moment, I blame the phenomenon on my warped perception and my single-minded focus to get this done so we can proceed further. Making my way to Mr. Vaughan, I offer to help.

‘Let me try? I have longer nails,’ I wave my nicely manicured hands. Allison and I go monthly to a salon to get our nails done. My position doesn’t allow for extravagance, so I always get a basic French manicure.

He suddenly turns, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t expected me to come out. But as he looks me up and down, he blinks in confusion.

When he doesn’t reply, I simply move to his side, leaning forward to reach for the windshield as I easily pick one sheet after another.

‘There, they’re coming off,’ I smile back at Mr. Vaughan.

He doesn’t share my amusement, though. A few steps away from me, his hair is all wet, as is his suit and he’s staring at me as if he’s seen an apparition.

‘Is there something wrong?’ I ask, baffled when he simply pins me with a harsh glare, the corners of his mouth down-turned, half-way into a scowl that he’s barely holding back.

‘Mr. Vaughan?’ I move after I’ve picked up all the sheets of paper. Seeing him frozen to the spot, his expression so chilling, I fear something must have happened so I reach for him.

‘Are you alright?’ I barely get to his side as he recoils from my touch, taking a step back and sneering at me.

My eyes widen, and a flare of panic erupts in my chest.

‘I’m quite alright,’ he gruffly states, his countenance changing just as he goes back to the car.

I climb back in as well, a little rattled by his behavior.

Closing the door, Mr. Vaughan doesn’t even glance back at me as he starts the car once more. Yet as I look down at the damp sheets of paper in my hands, I’m surprised to see letters strewn haphazardly on the pages. Each sheet has different letters, and shuffling them around, I manage to assemble them together into a sentence.

‘Miss Darcy,’ Mr. Vaughan suddenly calls my name.

My head whips up, my gaze connecting with his in the rearview mirror. His lips are pulled into a twisted smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Yes?’ I flutter my lashes in confusion.

‘You’re not wet,’ he states in a deadpan voice, a heaviness underlying his words.

I slowly bring my eyes to my body, patting my clothes and my hair and realizing that, indeed, I am not wet.

‘It must have been the direction of the wind,’ I murmur, barely fighting the shock of the discovery. Yet the excuse sounds ludicrous even to my own ears.

‘It must,’ he agrees, though his expression belies his words.

My mouth pulls into a tremulous smile, unsure what else to add since it feels like my own brain is playing tricks on me. But then I stare back to my lap, and to the sheets of paper I’d arranged that spell out three words.

Don’t. Trust. Them.

Looking back up, I’m startled to see Mr. Vaughan watching me covertly, his attention fully on me instead of the road. Caught, he gives me a friendly smile, but one I’m not sure I fully believe anymore.

Dear God, what did I get myself into?