Evanescent
Gabriella Lepore
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing
Evanescent
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Text Copyright © 2013 Gabriella Lepore
All rights reserved
Published by
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.
Algonquin, IL 60102
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Edited by:
S.J. Davis
For Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing
Cover Design by:
Khelsey Jackson
Formatting by:
Jason G. Anderson for Polgarus Studio
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
For Elsie, Elizabeth and Diana… and all my other unseen helpers!
Prologue
July 1825
Of all the sounds Felix Cavara had heard in his seventeen years, the screech of Margo Bates’ laughter was by far the worst. He thought, as he lay helpless on her kitchen floor, that if he were to survive, her laughter may very well haunt him forever.
Or perhaps it would be his own mistakes that would haunt him forever. Just the thought made him sick to his stomach. Then again, that was probably the poison.
Felix forced his eyes open, blinking through his speckled vision. He watched as Margo’s tattered shoes paced jubilantly back and forth, and then his eyes landed on the motionless body of Loki Ballatyne across the room.
Eleven years old, Felix thought mournfully. I should have done more to protect him. I should have sent him home at sunset, as I promised I would.
Felix rolled onto his side, meeting the gaze of his other companion. “Alistair,” he rasped, his throat burning.
Alistair Wesson stared vacantly ahead, his azure eyes glassy and bloodshot. “What has she done to us?” he murmured.
Felix couldn’t bring himself to reply. How could he? What could he possibly say? That it was all over for them? That at seventeen years old, at the very start of their lives, it would all be ending here, in Margo Bates’ kitchen?
No, Felix decided, scowling. I’d sooner say nothing at all. A strategy he thought he’d never use.
“Stay awake, Alistair,” Felix answered instead. “Hold on a little while longer. Someone will come for us.”
“I can’t, Felix. Forgive me, I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You must try.”
Come on, Felix reproached himself. Do something. Think of something. All these years of schemes gone awry, and yet you can’t muster a single way to save yourself now? Is this really how it all ends? Do I not deserve something more spectacular than this? Something with fireworks?
He seethed over how he’d come to end up there, in Margo’s home, with poison flowing through his veins. Was this revenge for all the times he’d taunted her? Called her a witch and thrown stones at her windows, or stolen apples from her tree? Or was it simply revenge on his father? On Alistair and Loki’s fathers too, for that matter. And perhaps on the entire Cynon Valley. A lesson to them all: her vengeance would be ruthless.
What kind of fool accepts a drink from a witch? Felix scolded himself. A poisoned fool, that’s who. In his mind, he couldn’t help but recollect the wary look in Alistair’s eyes as Felix and Loki had swigged back the cool lemonade. And the reluctant way that Alistair had brought the cup to his own lips…
Fuelled by fresh rage, Felix let his temper fly. “Vile, evil, bitter old hag,” he spat. “My father will see to it that you are slain for this!”
Margo cackled deliriously, hunched forward in sheer glee. “Let it be so,” she hissed. “Hear this, boy.” She bent down and grasped Felix’s face between her bony fingers, yanking his gaze to hers. “The cure to your ailment lies within me. If I am to die, you shall never be saved. So, let your father do his worst, for it will make my retribution all the more poetic.”
Felix jerked his head away. “Oh, the poetry is not lost on me. I will die happily in the knowledge that I’ve taken you with me. And hurry it along, because death will be sweet release from another second in your company.”
“No, no, no,” Margo murmured, her tongue slithering out of her mouth as she spoke. “You are mistaken. Death is too good for a conceited swine like you. No, no, no. My gift to you is quite the opposite. You shall not die, but instead be cursed with something far more permanent. Eternal life.” She threw back her head and screeched in rapture. “The blood of a dragon flows through your veins. Indeed, you are boys no more!”
“Our fathers will find us,” Alistair croaked, his voice weak and trembling. “And when they do, they will—”
“They will find you dead,” Margo cut him off. “For fourteen days no breath will pass your lips, no pulse will beat inside,” she sneered. “But when the blood of the dragon reaches your heart you shall return, altered forever, though never to alter again.” She licked her shrivelled lips, salivating in excitement.
This time Felix had no response. He had no words, no strength, and no hope. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The oak beams began to blur.
With his last ounce of strength, Felix pushed the strands of dark hair from his butter-coloured eyes and turned to Alistair.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
Alistair nodded. “Goodbye, Felix,” he whispered.
Felix closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Alistair.”
Chapter One
Fireworks
Present Day
Bronwen Snow lay in bed, watching the bedroom drapes billow in the night breeze. She rolled onto her side, slipping her hands beneath her pillow and letting the cool night air brush over her skin.
Beyond the window, an eruption of fireworks sliced through the velvet sky, exploding in multi-coloured sparks before fizzling away in a trail of smoke and embers. The next blast of fireworks came, faster and more earth shattering than the last. In the distance, the silhouettes of hillside tree tops lit up as though they’d been captured in a momentary snap shot, then were gone as quickly as they’d appeared. The faint sound of cheering floated through the valley, marking the start of a new year.
A bed creaked in the room next door, followed by the thud of feet hitting the floorboards. The bedroom door opened with a groan, and, seconds later, footsteps pattered down the staircase.
Ada’s awake? Bronwen frowned. Her grandmother was usually fast asleep by this time of night. Midnight, she realised, judging by the faraway celebrations.
Another round of rockets shot into the sky, exploding in a fountain of colour.
Bronwen flinched. She hated fireworks. As a child they’d made her nervous, and even now, at sixteen years old, she wished for the comfort of her grandmother holding her hand and reminding her that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Don’t be so pathetic, she thought, almost laughing at herself. Just go to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying her hardest to block out the rest of the world.
But it was an impossible wish. Try as she might, she couldn’t escape it. The fireworks, the celebrations, the dawn of a new year… it was all out there. Not for her,
though. Her world was here, inside the four walls of her bedroom. Outside of that, she doubted there was a part for her to play at all.
Ada’s footsteps drummed back up the staircase and came to a stop outside Bronwen’s bedroom. To her surprise, the door creaked open and the hallway light cast a triangle across the butterscotch carpet.
Ada stepped into the room. Her silvery hair was scraped up into a bun, and a croquet shawl was draped over her floor-length nightgown.
“Bronwen,” Ada whispered.
“What’s wrong?” She sat up with a jolt. “Should I call the doctor?” There was a time when it had been Ada’s job to worry and fuss—for the past sixteen years, in fact—but lately it seemed that their roles had reversed.
“I’m not ill,” Ada assured, her pale face suggesting otherwise. “It’s you, Bronwen. There’s something you need to know.”
Bronwen frowned at her in confusion.
“It’s not safe for you here anymore, Bronwen.”
“What are you talking about?” She furrowed her brow. “I’m going to call the doctor.” She moved to stand up, but Ada took hold of her hands.
“It’s you,” Ada murmured. Her hazel eyes seemed to glaze over as she spoke. “It’s coming for you.”
“Okay, you’re scaring me now.” Bronwen pulled free of her grandmother’s grasp. “I think you need to lay down–”
“I dreamed it,” Ada carried on. “I’ve foreseen it. And it will be tonight.”
Ada’s talk of dreams and visions came as nothing new to Bronwen. All her life she’d heard about her grandmother’s gift of premonition. And she’d seen, first hand, how frighteningly accurate the predictions could be. The only difference was that the visions had never involved her before.
“Take this,” Ada said, thrusting a small white envelope into Bronwen’s hands. “Now, gather your things. There’s not much time.”
“Where do you expect me to go?” Bronwen spluttered, glancing briefly at the envelope in her grasp.
“To the castle. His name is Felix Cavara. He is the one. Give him this,” Ada added, touching the envelope. “Everything is explained inside.”
The old red stone castle was nestled in the Cynon Hills, high above the cottage in the valley below. Although everybody knew the castle had been abandoned long ago, rumours of strange goings-on and mysterious disappearances in the hills had been spreading through the town for generations. The hills had become off limits; no one dared venture too close. Bronwen figured most of it was superstitious small-town gossip—but even so, she had no intention of going there.
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I’m not going to the castle, Ada. No way.”
“You have to go,” Ada pleaded with her. “If there was any other way…” she trailed off. “Do you trust me?”
Bronwen stared at her grandmother in the moonlit room. She winced. It was an unfair question. How could she answer that when she knew the answer would be yes?
“Think about what you’re saying,” she tried instead. “You want me to go to the castle? At midnight?” She waited for it to sink in—and for Ada to come to her senses.
But she didn’t. Her grandmother simply stared at her, imploring and unyielding.
“Get dressed,” Ada said quietly. And without another word, she hurried from the room.
In a daze, Bronwen crawled out of bed. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a winter-grey cardigan. Moments later, Ada returned carrying a worn duffel bag. She began heaping clothes into the bag before rushing back into the hallway, beckoning for Bronwen to follow her.
As Bronwen stumbled obediently behind, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror. Long autumn-brown hair tumbled down her back, and a stream of freckles swept across the bridge of her nose. At the angle she stood, a glint of moonlight caught in her lime-green eyes, making them appear translucent and bottomless. It was as though she were glimpsing through a window into the depth of the ocean. She shivered, haunted by the sight of her own reflection; she almost didn’t recognise it.
“Bronwen!” Ada called in a hushed voice. “Quickly.”
Jolted out of her trance, Bronwen trailed behind Ada, following her down the narrow staircase and through the dark cottage. They crept into the kitchen, the previous evening’s aroma of candle smoke and cinnamon still lingering in the air. Ada unbolted the back door and they stepped out into the moonlit garden.
A tall fence circled the neat lawn, closing off their little home from the vast hills beyond. Some way off, high in the distance, the turrets of the castle crept out above the tree tops.
“Go,” Ada urged. “Remember, his name is Felix Cavara.”
“I can’t do this!” Bronwen cried, shrinking back against the cottage door. “It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t even know what I’m running from!”
“Please, don’t ask,” Ada begged. “Just trust me.” Her gaze darted frantically across the lawn, aware of even the slightest shift in the breeze.
“But you have to tell me at least something!”
“It follows you,” Ada mumbled vaguely. “It’s been hunting you, and it’s finally coming for you.”
A bolt of fireworks lit up the sky, and the faint sound of cheering rippled through the night like the wail of a siren.
“What can I do?” Bronwen stuttered.
“The only thing you can do,” Ada replied, “is run.”
****
Bronwen raced uphill through the tangle of trees and overgrown bracken. There was no path to follow and no light to guide her way, but she ran higher and higher into the hills, desperately trying not to think about where she was heading.
In her grasp was the white envelope, crumpled into a ball in her clenched fist. She ran, at the mercy of Ada’s parting words.
It’s coming for you.
Although how could what she was running from be any worse than what she was running to?
She thought back to the whispers about the castle—the stories her classmates had passed around in lessons. About people disappearing without a trace, about human bones being found in the hills. And hadn’t Jenny Sullivan heard screams at night?
Hadn’t I heard screams at night? Bronwen wondered. She was almost sure she had. Oh great, now it’ll be my screams they talk about at school. Why am I listening to Ada, anyway? she berated herself. Because… I trust her, she accepted. It had only ever been the two of them. Ada had raised her from a baby, and had never steered her wrong before.
So Bronwen kept running, because trust was blind.
Just when she thought that her lungs would burst and her legs would crumble beneath her, the trees began to part and the ground levelled. Here the undergrowth seemed flatter somehow, as though it had been trampled down.
As Bronwen picked up the vague trail, the curve of the castle walls came into view. It was just as intimidating as she’d feared it would be, and held its imposing presence like something straight out of gothic Romania. The red stone walls seemed black without the daylight cast upon them, causing an illusion as to where the castle ended and the night began.
Ahead, a sturdy drawbridge was suspended over a sloping ditch, granting access to a towering door.
Bronwen stumbled to the bridge and collapsed against the cold iron rails. Her heart hammered in her chest. She fought to catch her breath, unnerved by the foreignness of the air.
I must be out of my mind, she thought. Her eyes travelled up the harsh castle walls. What am I doing? Suddenly, a dream didn’t seem that reliable after all. But what option did she have? Turn back?
She glanced over her shoulder. The knotted evergreen pines seemed to be caging her in, blocking her escape. There was no turning back.
With a deep breath, she stepped onto the drawbridge, cringing as the supporting chains clanged beneath her weight. Gingerly she walked on, gritting her teeth each time her foot slipped through a gap in the planked floor.
By the time she reached the door, she was trembling so fiercely that she could
scarcely stand. Solid oak was the only thing separating her from what lay within. A line of iron bolts ran along the doorframe, and a round brass knocker lay dormant on the wood.
Bronwen lifted the doorknocker and dropped it, letting it fall back onto the oak with a heavy thud.
Disturbed by the noise, a jackdaw took to the sky. It let out a piercing screech that cut through the silent night like a shot.
With her heart in her throat, Bronwen knocked again.
This time, only eerie silence followed.
This is it, she thought. Either I go in, or I go home. She cast a glance over her shoulder again. If she ran all the way home, she could be back in bed by sunrise and forget this ever happened. If she made it home alive, that was. Her stomach knotted. She couldn’t help but remind herself that whatever it was that had Ada so afraid would still be out there. She shot one last remorseful look to the dark woodland behind her, and then pressed her palms against the door. It lurched open, scraping the stone floor as it dragged ajar.
Bronwen stepped through the gap, emerging into a circular courtyard aglow with a dull orange blush. To the left there was a narrow stone staircase leading to an upper level that circled around in a neat loop, enclosed by balcony railings.
“Hello?” Bronwen managed a weak call.
The wind whistled around the courtyard and through the railings of the expansive balcony above.
“Hello?” she tried again.
Nothing. In fact, if it wasn’t for the scattering of burning oil lamps that were fixed to the walls and flickering in the breeze, the castle would have seemed completely forsaken.
Bronwen took another cautious step forward.
“Stop right there!” a low voice came from above. “Don’t come any closer.”
Bronwen’s gaze shot upwards, but the balcony that looped overhead was stock-still.
“Who’s there?” she cried.