The Night Curse (Book one)

We arrive at Kennith’s home an hour later. It’s a townhouse, three stories high, with black iron metalwork fixed to the windows and door, likening to the bars of a prison cell.

In the centre of town, it must be worth a pretty penny, but I’d expected something more opulent to match his inflated ego. As we march inside, I see that he’s left the splendour for the interiors. Marble floors and crystal chandeliers greet us. At the end of the entrance hall, a winding staircase ascends in polished mahogany. I pause by an oval table standing in the middle of the hallway and see two front rooms flanking on either side. One is wall-to-ceiling forest green, and the other is covered in red wallpaper as rich as rubies. A security guard looks passed us. He’s statuesque, as if part of the furniture, save for the bluntness of his black outfit.

The clatter of shoes from somewhere within the house grows louder. Kennith emerges dressed in a gentleman’s jacket. Tendrils of smoke rise from a fat cigar protruding from his mouth. “Welcome!” he says, the cigar still sitting between his teeth. He sucks his lips around the end, puffing against the cigar along with a waterfall of grey fumes.

“Shall we?” His voice is too casual for the situation at hand. We follow him into the green sitting room and watch as Kennith opens a glass decanter. “Brandy isn’t it, Harlow?”

“I don’t think we’ve got time for a drink,” I declare, my tone as brittle as the ice in his tumbler.

Peter and my father don’t contest. Instead, they stare at Kennith, unblinking, waiting for his reaction.

“My men are the best in the business,” Kennith says cooly. “They’ll find your brother.”

I purse my lips, flummoxed by the statement. “Then why—”

“Frederick wants Harlow to help, Sir,” Peter announces.

Kennith places the lid back on the decanter with a clank and swirls the golden liquor in his glass. “You think Harlow can do something my men cannot?”

My father’s eyes dart between Kennith’s and my own. “I… Harlow and Austin are very close. I think it’s only right that he be involved. It’s his brother. If I were younger, I’d be knocking down those doors by myself.”

Kennith regards my father like a crippled insect and it’s then that I realise how little he truly cares for him. “Indeed.” He sits in an armchair and takes a long drag on his cigar then opens his mouth and lets the smoke escape. A dragon in a suit.

“What happened?” I finally ask.

Peter and Kennith share a silent glance. “Two days ago, I was tipped off by a Freemason Doctor. A Dreamwalker by the name of John Glenn was working the mines there. He’d managed to go unnoticed considering the dark conditions that they work in, and the hours they keep. But then he’d been involved in an accident and upon inspection of his body, his true nature was revealed. John had fought the doctor and escaped. I sent Austin and Peter to search for him straight away.”

Peter perches on an armchair next to Kennith. “We followed the blood until we found him, still in his filthy uniform, hiding inside a factory. He was in and out of consciousness, all Austin did was speed up the inevitable.”

Weeks ago, I’d have felt proud of this admission. My brother the Dream Killer.

Now, my skin crawls with the injustice. John was another Dreamwalker trying to live in hiding. Ultimately exiled and shot down for being different.

Kennith’s gaze turns into slits. The smoke in his mouth stays trapped within his cheeks, only releasing when he asks, “Speaking of Dreamwalkers, what are your findings at Harling Manor?”

“There’s no Dreamwalker,” I speak each word with resounding clarity, hoping they hold up against Kennith’s scrutiny.

“What a shame,” Kennith whines. “Let’s hope you fare better when your brother’s life hangs in the balance.”

A tightness grips my windpipe. My throat bulges with every swallow.

Peter curves his spine into the back of the armchair, squeaking against the leather. “When Austin shot John, a crowd formed on the factory floor. I presume a fellow Dreamwalker or sympathist had seen us as the next night, Austin was kidnapped.”

My father’s face is indignant— his hands quiver as if wounded. Kennith slips his glass into my father’s shaking fingers. “You don’t mind if I take the boy for a tour of my establishment, do you, Frederick?”

Peter motions for my father to sit. He mumbles incoherently under his breath. I want to stay and support him, but Kennith tugs on my elbow, leading me out of the green room, and back into the entrance hall. “Let me show you something that I think will be of interest to you, Harlow.”

Surprise seeps into my expression as Kennith leans against a hidden door, seamless with the walls, and beckons me to follow. Although a part of me doesn’t trust him, I also want to see what secrets lay beyond. I glance over my shoulder to my father chugging down the brandy and disappear into the room. The door seals shut. Candles flicker along the long corridor that’s decorated in portraits. I study the one nearest to me. Its gold frame speaks to nobility but painted on the canvas is a man with unmistakable violet eyes. I scan the portrait opposite, and the next, and the one after that…“They’re all Dreamwalkers,” I gasp.

Kennith watches me intently. I can feel the burn of his concentration. The heat of his scepticism. “Freemasons have killed them all. I know each one by name, know of every slaughter.” Kennith taps against a brass plaque under a portrait and only now do I see the name embossed. The names embossed under them all. “These aren’t people, Harlow. They have inflicted unspeakable horrors and—”

“I want to know,” I interject firmly. Why did they deserve to die?

Kennith lifts a brow and grins. His smile, vampirish in the glowing flames, sends a bead of sweat trickling down the nape of my neck. “Long before you were born, long before King Prospero ruled over England, King William reigned. He was an open-minded ruler and believed that the world, and all its kinds, could live harmoniously. Back then, Dreamwalkers worked alongside the King, as they had done secretly for centuries. King William would seek their council and their influence in times of need, profiting off their skills and in turn the country prospered. Meanwhile, behind William’s back, Dreamwalkers were preparing for an uprising. They’d had enough of taking orders, of feeling like slaves to power. They were only accepted when they fell in line and followed the rules. You see, humans could only be royal. Humans could only reign. Rightly so, yet Dreamwalkers grew greedy. They couldn’t settle for peace.”

Kennith ponders at a portrait of an overweight man, sharp-eyed and draped in finery. “The King’s would-be loyal Advisory, Philip Bridwell, poisoned the King and opened the Palace doors to all Dreamwalkers across the land. It goes without saying what carnage ensued.” Kennith leads me down the corridor, waving to every portrait we pass. “Dreamwalkers stalked the King’s army in their own beds. Some went mad from whatever witchery they inflicted, others remained locked in a coma, left to die from starvation and dehydration. Children were afraid to sleep. The Kingdom was in uproar. But humans rallied and fought for their land in spades. Everyone was willing to help seek them out. Dreamwalkers were forced to flee or go into hiding. Those who didn’t comply were killed by a special rank of covert operatives called, The Freemasons.”

I spy a familiar name on the wall and an impossible likening. Hyacinth Harling.

Pausing here is no coincidence. Kennith wants me to see and to crack.

“This is your lineage—your calling. King Prospero tried to get the Dreamwalkers onside again, tried and failed to get them to work alongside the crown once more. Queen Roselin knows that there is no world where Dreamwalkers and humans coexist. Not happily, anyway, and now they have your brother. Are you willing to fight for him and your country and do what is right?”

I nod my head, taking in every bit of information Kennith has so willingly shared, trying not to stare at Amelia’s grandmother when all I want to do is rescue it from this relegated crypt. I know what he’s doing. He’s poaching me—grooming me. Against my resistance, a dark vine of doubt slithers into my mind, as I remember what they did to my mother. The reason I hated them in the first place. I no longer know what I feel.

“Good because we leave now, and we won’t return until he’s found.”

He heads towards the trap door, and I’m close on his heels when he sharply stops and turns to me. “Oh and just in case you are mistaken, Lady Clementine’s betrothed is willing to keep an open eye out for anything amiss at the Harling residence, considering he’s one of us and all.”

My heart hammers with rising panic. I suppress a shiver as fear spikes through my muscles. Sick, thick and sour, coats the back of my throat. I need to warn Mia, but when. The hunt for my brother Austin is on, and I need to find him before it’s too late.