A Vow Of Hate

by James, Lylah

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Julianna

  One week later

  The flowers have started to bloom and the garden smelled like spring and fresh blossoms. Yesterday, I planted new ranunculus seeds but had to wait almost three months before they started to flower.

  I had always preferred gardenias and ranunculus over roses. They were not as popular or as well-known as roses, but just as beautiful and meaningful. I rubbed my fingers over the petal of the pink rose, feeling its softness under my fingertips.

  The beautiful scent of the roses expanded across the garden as I walked down the path, toward my favorite place. I tucked my thick book under my arm and bypassed the green labyrinth on my way to the Victorian styled gazebo. It sat right next to a little lake and I found myself there more times than I could count. This spot was eerily quiet and lonely, but peaceful.

  The domed wrought iron and carved marble made the gazebo. I settled on the bench, opening my book to where I left off this morning. I had read Wuthering Heights more times than I could count and had probably memorized every single line, but it was still one of my favorite classics of English literature. Followed by any work of Jane Austen and Edgar Allan Poe.

  Like my love for ancient castles and tragic love stories, I adored anything historical and classic. Sometimes, I wondered if maybe I was born in the wrong era.

  I was so lost in Heathcliff and Catherine, I didn’t hear someone approaching me.

  “Mrs. Spencer.” The voice was gentle, but I still jumped and slammed my book closed. My hand went to my black veil, to make sure it was in place, before I turned toward the voice.

  The butler, Stephen, gave me a slight bow in acknowledgement. Stephen had to be in his early sixties and his family, for over six generations, had been this castle’s butler. “Emily has asked me to find you, with a message. She says the cake is ready.”

  I scrambled to my feet. “What? It’s been an hour already?”

  “Apparently so.” Stephen smiled. “She’s excited to have someone with the same passion for baking.”

  I walked down the stairs of the gazebo and stood next to Stephen, who presented me with his elbow. I gave him a questioning look.

  “Humor me, Mrs. Spencer,” he said. “The path here is rough. Allow me to help you.”

  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was taking a dig at my weak legs and my limp, but it was the complete opposite. He was only trying to be considerate.

  “You’re a sweetheart, Stephen.” I curled my fingers around the crook of his elbow and allowed him to guide me through the garden. “Didn’t I tell you and Emily to call me Julianna?”

  “It’s not appropriate.”

  “Well, I’m not comfortable with being called Mrs. Spencer.” Though I was now Killian’s wife, I just didn’t want any reminder of him or our already doomed marriage.

  Killian left the Isle the night of our wedding. That was the last time I had seen him or heard from him. All the guests, as well as my father and William Spencer had left the next morning.

  He just… left me here. On my own. In this unknown place, without any thought that I probably wanted to return home too?

  Nope. He simply didn’t care.

  Killian just walked away without a second glance.

  Now, I was stuck. Well, not exactly trapped… I could easily call for a boat to come and get me…

  So, maybe I was still here due to mild curiosity. This place just had so much history, so many stories to tell. I had been overwhelmed with the need to learn everything. My curiosity had been unmatched for the last seven days. I had explored most of the castle and the terrain.

  And I had even walked through the garden’s labyrinth… only to end up getting lost in there for hours.

  “We don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Stephen said, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Then, please, call me Julianna.”

  Stephen slowed down, looking a lot thoughtful and a bit uneasy. “It goes against all my traditions…

  “I’m not a traditional Spencer bride,” I cut in.

  He laughed, the corner of eyes wrinkling. “Now, that’s quite true. You broke all the traditions, and honestly, I think that’s exactly what we needed.”

  “So, Julianna?” I asked, almost hopeful.

  He nodded. “Julianna.”

  “Yes!” I did a little hop, which only made Stephen laugh louder.

  By the time we got to the kitchen, my legs were shaking, but I was in a considerably more pleasant mood.

  “Emily,” I said, looking at the older woman who was bent over the table, transferring the baked cake over to the decorating rack. “Stephen has agreed to call me Julianna. Therefore, you have to call me by my first name as well.”

  “Oh, has he now?” she mumbled, taking a quick peek at her husband, who shrugged and backpedaled slowly.

  “I’ll leave you two ladies alone. Have fun.”

  And then he was gone.

  Emily was a much older and plump version of Selene, who had to leave with my father – the day after my wedding. The lost of her companionship hurt, but Emily and Stephen helped fill the void.

  “There you go. All yours to decorate, Julianna.” She gestured toward the two-layered chocolate cake. I smiled when Emily called me by my first name.

  I wanted to be more than Mrs. Spencer, Killian’s bride. I wanted to be Julianna, a person not a vessel for Killian, or a walking womb on lease.

  For the next thirty minutes, Emily and I went back and forth, decorating the cake together. The last time I had baked anything was before… the accident.

  But when Emily had found out we shared a passion for baking, she urged me to join her. I couldn’t exactly say no to the older woman; she was so damn convincing.

  Once the cake was done, we popped it in the fridge. That would be our dessert for tonight. “Why don’t you rest up until dinner is ready?” Emily suggested.

  I nodded and left the kitchen and her to do what she was best at.

  This was the perfect time for me to continue to explore the castle.

  Three hours after dinner, I found myself in the small library on the East swing, which was now my side of the castle.

  I had longed finished Wuthering Heights and was now of my second collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. Two days ago, I had found the leather-bound edition on one of the shelves.

  A shift to my left had me sitting upright on the chair; my attention snapped to the intruder. My heart had practically catapulted to my throat, only for me to find a young girl sitting cross-legged on top of the table next to me.

  Was this who I thought it was?

  Emily told me she had a granddaughter who lived here, but apparently, she didn’t like meeting new people, so I never saw the girl.

  She wore ripped jeans and a flashy pink sweater, her black hair piled into a messy bun atop her head. She had a septum piercing and looked completely nonchalant and at ease for someone who had just sneaked up on me.

  “How did you get in here?” I questioned, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

  She pursed her lips. “I have my ways.”

  “How long have you been watching me?”

  “A week.”

  My eyebrows pulled up in surprise. “Then why have you never made your presence known?”

  She shoved a hand into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a packet of gum. The girl popped a slice in her mouth before offering me a piece, but I shook my head.

  “Well, I’m not a people person,” she started. “I was making sure you were safe before I approached you.”

  “And what made you finally approach me?”

  “The book.” She nodded at my hand, where I was still holding the Edgar Allan Poe’s collection. “Can I borrow it?”

  “You like poetry?” I asked, smiling.

  “I do, but I haven’t read this collection yet. I didn’t know we had it in this library.”

  I rubbed my fingers over the smooth sur
face of the book. “How old are you?” I asked, finding myself wanting to talk to her.

  “Fourteen.”

  So young, so full of life. I wondered what that would feel like.

  “I could give you the book, but you haven’t even introduced yourself to me yet. What’s your name?”

  She rolled her eyes, like a typical sassy fourteen-year-old. “Mirai. It means the future in Japanese.”

  “That’s a pretty name. I’m Julianna,” I introduced myself.

  She waved a hand, as if to disregard my introduction. “Oh, I know. Killian Spencer’s wife. The girl who hides behind her veil. The new mistress of this haunted castle. Oh yes, I know who you are.”

  “You’re smart,” I deadpanned.

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” she said, popping her gum in such an obnoxious way that it should have annoyed me but I was definitely intrigued by this girl.

  Or maybe I had just been lonely for so long… that I just craved companionship, or simply just someone to talk to.

  I closed the book and placed it on the coffee table in front of me, tapping my fingers on top of the cover. “How long have you been living in this castle?”

  “Almost a decade. My mother is a drug addict and could care less about me. My grandma, Emily, is my guardian.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize or maybe give her my condolences, but I saw the look on her face and I realized that this girl didn’t want any pity. No one could understand that better than me.

  Pity was ugly to people like us, a poison without its remedy. We only wanted people to understand us.

  I looked at Mirai and only saw a younger version of myself. “So, you must know a few stories about this place?”

  Mirai quirked up an eyebrow. “I know a lot of stories.”

  I grinned, although it was hidden behind my black veil. “First question, is this place really haunted?”

  “Yup,” she popped the p and nodded at the same time. “Definitely. Arabella’s ghost roams these halls.”

  Curious, I leaned forward. “Arabella?” I asked.

  “Marchioness of Wingintam. The wife of the first Marquees of this castle,” Mirai explained patiently. “They were the first couple to settle here.”

  “They are the tragic love story I’ve heard about?” I had been dying to know about this couple since I heard of Isle Rosa-Maria, but both Emily and Stephen had been disinterested in my questions and barely gave me any good answers.

  “Yup. And there are three others. Before you, only four couples have lived in this castle and each story ended tragically.” Mirai paused, looking thoughtful before she nodded to herself and continued. “The last couple lived here in 1914, just before world war one. The man died in battle and the wife soon succumbed to a heart sickness, and she ended up passing away two weeks after her husband’s death. She was pregnant at the time.”

  I gaped at her, my jaw slack. “You’re saying, this castle has been deserted for over a hundred years?”

  Her lips curved into an infectious smile. “Well, not exactly! Housekeepers and butlers have been keeping this place polished and liveable. My grandma, and her mom and her mom’s mom… they were all the housekeepers of this place. They practically kept this place alive.”

  “That’s interesting,” I mumbled. “Back to Marchioness Arabella. Wasn’t it called Isle Wingintam? Why did the Marquees change the name to Rosa-Maria?”

  Mirai clucked her tongue at me, smirking. “Now you’re asking the good questions.”

  I let out a small laugh at the wicked look on her face. She was a little gossiper, this one, and I was eating up every little detail of this story.

  We both leaned forward, as if we were sharing a secret. “No one knows why the Marquees changed the name to Rosa-Maria. No one knows the meaning behind the name, what it was or who it was. But there are… rumors.”

  I quirked an eyebrow, waiting.

  “Before Arabella, the Marquees was in love with another lady. He had a short affair, but sadly, he was betrothed to Arabella and once they married, the lady left the Marquees and that’s when he decided to settle on the Isle. Far away from his lover’s memories. So, rumors say that Rosa-Maria was his lover.”

  She sat back, rubbing her chin with her fingers. “But it’s all rumors. No one knows the truth.”

  My stomach fluttered but there was pang of pain in my chest. An ache that wasn’t there before, but it was just an echo of my own heartbreak. “If what you say is true… it must have been painful for Arabella. Living in the shadows of her husband’s lover.”

  I knew exactly what that felt like.

  “They say that she was madly in love with him, but poor Arabella only ended up with rejection and misery. She passed away without her husband’s love or devotion. But it’s more tragic than that. A tale of unrequited love, heartbreak, jealousy and death.”

  I settled back into my chair, smiling and delightfully intrigued. “We have all night.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Julianna

  “Gracelynn, no!” She tried to grab my arm, pulling at it. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Let me go!”

  “Julianna, slow down. You’re going to kill us!” she cried. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

  “I’m going slow.” I grinned, keeping my foot on the accelerator.

  She clutched her chest, her face red. “Julianna, stop! Please. You’re going too fast.”

  I laughed, glancing at her before looking back at the road.

  “You’re drunk,” she accused, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I was? I didn’t know…

  There was a dull throb at the back of my head, like a low hum. Confused, I blinked hard once and then… pitch-black darkness.

  The scene faded away and we were now driving down a lonely, dark road. My heart hammered in my chest.

  The car was unstable under my hands; I could feel myself losing my grip, but for some reason, I didn’t lift my foot off the accelerator. My foot was glued to it.

  My lips parted and I let out a silent scream. Stop, I told myself. Slow down.

  My lungs squeezed and I seemed to gasp for breath, my hands clammy and shaking.

  “I’m scared,” Gracelynn whispered.

  “Me too,” I said.

  I heard her screams first.

  I remembered my body flying airborne when the car flipped – then silence. I crashed into a void before landing back in the present. With the stench of blood strong in my nostrils and searing pain coursing through my body.

  So much agony.

  I couldn’t feel my legs. There was an insistent pain in the back of my head and my ears were ringing. There was an echo, but I didn’t know where it came from. Blood rushed between my ears and my head was heavy, as my body dangled upside down.

  My skin burned.

  Agony licked through my veins. Every cell in my body felt like they had been crushed under a ghost weight.

  I can’t breathe.

  I don’t want to die.

  I can’t breathe…

  It hurts.

  I… can’t… breathe…

  My eyes blinked open and the first thing I saw was her face.

  Her bloodied, mangled face – her empty eyes wide open.

  My body startled awake and I sat up straight, my ears ringing with screams. Loud and anguished. I shook, whimpering until I realized they were my screams. My jaw snapped close and my lips trembled with the effort to hold back my cries. My bedsheets were twisted around my ankles, sweat soaking through my nightgown.

  The terror of my nightmare paralyzed me with fear and confusion. My face and neck felt like they had been scratched raw and my skin was aflame, burning and sensitive. I knew it was only the ghostly echo of my own past pain. I remembered it so vividly and I could still feel it on my flesh and in my bones.

  My chest tightened.

  My heart hurt but it was almost like a physical discomfort. Something tangible squeezing the fragile organ.

/>   My body had long grown accustomed to pain. I had lived with it long enough that it was now familiar; we were best friends, after all. Pain and me – we came together, bonded by my tormenting past and the sins I bore on my flesh.

  I wiped away the sweat on my forehead, settling back against my pillows, but my body was still shaking. My recurrent nightmare had left a bitter taste on my tongue and bile rose in my throat before I swallowed it down, with great difficulty.

  This interpretation of the accident made no sense to me.

  I only remembered what happened before the accident, but anything after that? My mind drew blanks.

  I remembered making the plans to sneak out, to go to the party. I knew I was the one driving the car, but I didn’t remember why or how the accident happened. My memories were all jumbled up. Every time I dreamed of the accident, it was always somewhat of a different version until it left me senselessly confused.

  What was exactly real… and what was just my imagination?

  My father said I hit a deer and that I must have panicked. Apparently, I had been driving too fast, way over the speed limit… and when I hit the deer, I didn’t brake and ended up swerving, which made the car flip over.

  I rubbed a hand over my face. There was a giant blank space in my memories and I was so lost. I wanted to remember exactly what happened that night, but after two years of nothingness, I had eventually given up.

  Because at the end of the day, the accident was still my fault.

  I decided to sneak out and convinced my sister to come with me.

  And I was driving, while being intoxicated.

  There was no justification. It didn’t matter what version of the accident I tried to fill the void with, I killed my sister.

  This was the only reality that mattered.

  One week later

  “Boo.”

  I yelped and almost dropped the book I was reading. Rolling my eyes, I peeked over my shoulder to see Mirai sneaking up on me, yet again. She was grinning while obnoxiously chewing on another piece of gum. Today, she had twin braids pulled up into double buns atop her head. She wore a neon sweater and black jeans shorts.