Dark Castle by Shanna Handel
16
Santo
I creepalong the wall of the foyer, gun in hand. The front door is solid wood, but there’re windows beside it. I stretch up, peering out. Nothing. I’ve got to go out there. If there’s a threat, I will find it, and I will extinguish it.
Nothing will prevent me from protecting her.
I turn the doorknob, opening it without a sound. Before I move forward, I stop and listen. Nothing but the wind in the trees, the birds singing from their branches.
I step out and pull the door closed.
My back against the stone railing, I move down the stairs, my eyes trained to seek each direction in turn. To my north, the forest, to my west the meadow we crossed to get here, behind it, the hill we stood on. Behind me to the south and to the east, the ocean.
My eyes scan back to the north, to the forest. I catch something out of place, what looks like the side of a metal barrel hidden amongst the tree trunks. Was that there before? Could that be where the sound came from?
I creep toward the tree line, my shoulders tense, the barrel of my gun held at eye level. My brain had immediately told me the noise was gunfire but playing it back in my head, was it?
Moving closer to the barrel, I smell the faint white curl of smoke before I see it. I peer down into the metal tub, finding what looks like burnt up firecrackers. It wasn’t gunshots.
It was firecrackers. But why?
To draw me out of the castle.
Leaving Willow alone.
It’s a trap.
Shit.
And I fell for it.
I turn back toward the castle, my heart racing. Everything in me wants to run back inside, to go straight to the pantry. But what if someone’s watching me? I’d lead them right to her.
No.
Better to stay out here and assess the situation through the windows. I creep back toward the front of the castle. I start with the foyer window. Nothing but a long wooden table and faded red and gold carpet runner. The hall is empty.
Pulling my gun close to my chest, I hustle back down the stairs, holding my breath. I head for the two oblong windows that run down either side of the fireplace. The top of my head just reaches the bottom of the window.
My heart pauses its work, fully missing a beat.
There she is.
I can breathe again.
Her golden hair neatly hangs over one shoulder, and her posture is perfect as ever as she perches on the edge of one of the tapestry chairs. Her eyes are wide, her pouty lips forming that little o they sometimes make. Her eyes are curious, but not alarmed.
What’s she looking at?
I move further along the castle wall in the direction she gazes. The fireplace blocks my view and I move on to the other window.
It’s not a what that captivates her attention.
It’s a who.
There’s a woman standing in front of the window with her back toward me. Her long blonde hair flows over the back of a goldenrod-colored crushed velvet dress from another time. Her posture is much like Willow’s.
It’s almost as if Willow’s looking at her reflection in the mirror and I’m standing behind her.
Who is this woman, and what does she want with my Willow?
She appears to be alone and unarmed. I want to be with Willow. I’ll go inside and show myself, my gun hidden. Reaching behind me, I tuck the gun into the back of my belt, putting the tail of my shirt over it.
“Hello.” I open the castle door, announcing my presence. “I see we have a guest.”
I move into the room with my natural swagger, the one Willow calls my panther slide. She’s got me all wrong, thinking I’m always calm and cool; underneath I’m always wound tight, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. I smile, but my hand hovers at my waist, ready to grab my gun if this woman breathes wrong.
From the back I’d thought this woman looked like Willow, but I’m not prepared for her cornflower blue eyes as they reach mine. They’re hauntingly similar to Posie’s. She gives a laugh that sounds like the tinkling of silver bells. “Santo. Finally we meet.”
I give her a nod, tearing my gaze away and locking onto Willow. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Willow stands from her chair on shaky legs, her thin fingers gesturing toward the woman. Her voice is equal parts shock and awe. “Meet my mother. Prue Rosa.”
Her mother? How long had it been since the girls last saw her? When Posie was three? So what would that be? Almost ten years. This has to be a shock. I slide an arm around Willow’s shoulders and stare at her, studying her face. Is she okay?
Willow reads the questions in my eyes, giving me a nod. “I’m okay,” she whispers.
She’s okay. Giving Willow a squeeze, I turn my attention to her mother. “We enjoyed your little fireworks show. Interrupted our dessert, but it was nice. Really. But…ah…you know, you could have just knocked if you wanted to see your daughter after all these years.”
The tinkling bell of a laugh fills the room again, smile lines appearing on either side of her thin face. “Well, aren’t you charming!”
She speaks in a friendly enough manner, but something about her sets me on edge. I turn to Willow. “How much have you told her?”
“She’s told her enough to know that Demi Meralo is up to her old tricks,” Prue answers for Willow. “The dark witch and her black magic are up to no good. I mean, sure, Tano was handy with the tools and was a beast in the bedroom, but—”
A clearing of Willow’s throat stops her mother’s outpouring of memories. “Mom, um…how well do you know Demi?”
“I know her well enough to know that she’s obsessed with Tano—your father—Stefano she calls him. She’d do anything to keep him. Pathetic.” But there’s an icy edge of jealousy in her tone. “Come. Let’s go outside and talk. I could use a little fresh air.”
We follow her toward the kitchen, my hand pressed protectively into Willow’s lower back.
Prue stops just long enough to glance over her shoulder and catch my eye. “I’ve been hiding in the basement ever since your boys started staking out my castle. But their timing was nothing short of perfect. It was time for me to find the girls.”
I feel my brows raise. “This is your castle?” We pass through the kitchen to a dusty old dining room. The long table is covered with a white sheet. The wall at the end of the room is all glass windows and doors, overlooking the ocean.
“Mmmhmm.” Prue turns her attention to the massive glass doors that open out onto a sprawling stone terrace. “Welcome to the Rosa castle. It’s been in my family for generations. I was more of the gypsy type, living off the land, roaming around.” She gives Willow a look that should be loving, but just feels fucking creepy. “Once you girls were old enough to care for Posie,” her bell-like laughter peals out, “I knew it was time for me to return to my castle. I still roam from time to time. Sometimes I’m gone for months on end. That’s probably why your people thought the place was abandoned. Silly boys.”
I bristle. Men. My peopleare men. Men willing to lay down their lives for the Russo name. “Men,” I say evenly.
We step out onto the terrace. Mesmerized by the incredible view, we’re drawn to the stone railing. A few feet below where I stand is a hill of grass, rolling down to the edge of the forest. But just a few feet to the right, the grass gives way to smoky, craggy juts of rock that tumble down into the crashing violent waves of the dark sea.
“It feels like we’re floating in the clouds,” Willow murmurs. She holds the rail, leaning forward. The wind blows her hair back from her shoulders.
I want to grab Willow’s arm, to pull her back to safety, but that’s ridiculous. She can’t fall. The stone wall wraps around the entire terrace, shapes cut from it to form what looks like spindles of a stair railing.
Prue laughs, a peal of bells. “Men. Boys. What’s the difference. They are all the weaker sex, aren’t they?”
A pissed off answer rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. “Is that so?”
“This,” Prue turns to me and smiles as she waves her hand out over the terrace, “is where we’re going to fight Demi. She needs to know she can’t touch the Rosa women.” Her gaze locks on mine as her hand turns, her open palm flattening in the air, the center of it facing my chest. The gesture is familiar. Where have I seen this before?
And I remember…
The night was pouring with rain. Demi and her entourage had pulled up to our castle, her long line of black sedans parked like soldiers. She was angry with the Russos. Still angry with Vincent for helping her husband cover up his death. She demanded our uncle’s castle as payment.
When Aldo denied her, Demi raised her hand like Prue holds hers now, and with a bolt of lightning, she blew my brother back from the castle wall. He still bears the jagged scar running across his chest.
I smile back. Slowly, I move my hand behind my waist, going for my gun. “I can help.”
“Oh, honey. We won’t be needing your help.” With the flash of a wicked smile and the sound of bells, she releases her energy into a beam of light that rushes toward me. I want to move, to run, to get my gun and shoot her, but the light—it somehow holds me in place, my feet cemented to the stone floor.
I see the horror in Willow’s eyes, her mouth forming the scream, Nooooo!She goes to run to me. I know she’s calling my name now, but I can’t hear her. A bursting flash of fire strikes me dead center in the chest. The power of it lifts me off my feet, my back bending as I’m lifted over the wall.
The power holds me there in the air for one dreadful moment, then releases me. It’s a free fall, my breath rising into my throat and closing it. I go to call out to Willow, but my jaw slackens as I brace for the impact.
But you can’t prepare yourself for impact like this. The ground comes rushing toward me and I hit, pain exploding over my entire body, the air rushing from my lungs.
Everything goes black.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but my first thought when I open my eyes is…am I dead?
The back of my head feels like it’s split in two, my mouth so dry that I choke as I try to swallow. I force myself to breathe, to will the air back into my body. The air burns like fire as it tears through my tight chest.
Pain rips through my body, telling me I’m alive.
Flat on my back, I survey the damage while I wait for my breathing to return to normal. I move my arms, my legs. Everything seems to be working. The fall knocked the wind out of me. I’ll have a few bruises. Nothing fatal.
I never should have left her when I heard the gunshots.