One seemingly ordinary evening, Angeline Vallencourt is ripped from life as she knows it and thrust into a world she doesn’t understand. As a newly turned vampire, the only one she can turn to for help is the vampire who becomes her worst nightmare.
Megan Denham is in the wrong place at the wrong time. After ending up the victim of a robbery-gone-wrong, her life is turned upside down by the strange and beautiful Angeline. If Angeline is telling the truth about who she is, then everything Megan believes about the world is a lie. If Angeline is lying, then she will have to walk away from the first person to set her heart on fire.
When suspicious deaths begin to occur in their small town of Fog Hollow, Angeline and Megan find themselves as unlikely allies, with an even more unlikely attraction.
In the Shadow of Darkness
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In the Shadow of Darkness
© 2020 By Nicole Stiling. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-625-4
This Electronic Original Is Published By
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P.O. Box 249
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First Edition: February 2020
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Credits
Editors: Victoria Villaseñor and Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design by Tammy Seidick
By the Author
Secrets in a Small Town
In the Shadow of Darkness
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you to the entire Bold Strokes Books family. You run the terrifying process of publishing like a well-oiled machine. Thank you for everything.
To my editor, Victoria—you make everything better.
To the family and friends who have supported me and read all of my works—no matter how far outside their usual genre—I couldn’t have done this without you.
To my wife—for her love, patience, and encouragement.
You are the hero of my story.
Chapter One
Lowell, Massachusetts, 1926
Angeline Miles had walked this route every night for the last year and had never been spooked, even on nights when there were no stars in the sky to light her path. But something felt off. She felt like she was being watched. Like someone was following her along Pawtucket Boulevard, weaving in and out of the trees like an illusionist. She stopped, listening for footsteps or rustling as she scanned the road behind her. Nothing.
The rest of the walk home took less time than usual. Her steps were quicker and tighter than normal under the dark November sky. Darkness was falling earlier and earlier these days, and soon Benjamin would insist on picking her up at the machine shop. It had taken so long to convince him that some light secretarial work would be advantageous to her state of mind that Angeline wasn’t going to fight him if he insisted on driving her home once winter had taken its stranglehold on the sun. Though she did enjoy her walks very much. It was her private time to think, to just be.
She tightened her wool coat around her as she quickened her step, the feeling of being watched growing stronger. She felt a tiny tear in the satin lining of the pocket. She’d have to sew that right away. That coat had cost twenty-five dollars and ninety-five cents at Sears, so it had to last for, at the very least, the remainder of her twenties.
Out on the river, there was a man in a canoe drifting near the shore, bundled up like it was the dead of winter instead of late autumn. Angeline strained to see what the man was doing, but it looked like he was fast asleep with a fishing line bobbing lazily along the surface. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was just hearing the sounds of the river.
Like most evenings this time of year, the street was deserted. Angeline walked past Mrs. Dudley’s rooming house and saw the elderly woman leaning over her front porch railing, closing and fastening the shutters.
“Evening, Mrs. Dudley,” Angeline called, and felt a little better at the sound of her own voice in the stillness around her.
“Hello there, Mrs. Miles. Going to be a cold one tonight,” Mrs. Dudley said, rubbing her shoulders for effect.
“Sure is. Feels pretty chilly now if you ask me.” Angeline shivered and waved again on her way past the house. A small part of her wanted to stop, to make conversation, to ask Mrs. Dudley if she could come in for a cup of tea. But that was silly. It was suppertime, it was cold, and Angeline wasn’t about to let a little case of the creeps turn her into a frightened child.
Her house was just around the bend, fifty yards at most. Angeline clutched her pocketbook to her chest and finally felt her anxiety begin to subside when she saw the soft glow of her porch light, beckoning to her in the navy blue darkness.
A cold wind swept by, sending a fresh shiver through her. She broke out into a jog, her pumps chafing her ankles. So close…
It happened so fast Angeline had no idea what had hit her. She felt herself lifted from the ground, an unknown entity gripping her from behind. Before she reached her front steps, her breath was taken from her by a hard blow to her midsection.
“Benj—” she screamed, before she felt a cold hand clamp over her mouth.
“Scream again and I will kill you.”
Strangely, the voice sounded distinctly feminine. She tried kicking her legs against the attacker, but before she understood what was happening, she was on the ground, looking into the thick brush of a maple tree, the woods around her quiet and ominous. She was no longer in front of her house, but in the thicket across the way. They were surrounded by nature on all sides.
“Who are you?” she asked, panic threatening to take over. “What do you want?”
“My name is Kathryn. I was going to drink your blood. I haven’t decided.” She put her hand on her hip, her face expressionless.
Angeline’s eyes widened. The woman was still cloaked in darkness, but she could make out some of her features. Her hair was long and crimson. It flowed down her back like red silk. She wore what looked like a man’s suit, though her frame was slight. She was a sickly shade of pale that made it look like she was glowing against the darkness around her.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but my husband, Benjamin, is close by and he’ll have you locked up for this! Let me go now and I won’t tell him!” Angeline tried to sound confident and in control, but her voice shook with fear.
Kathryn laughed. “Ooh, Benjamin,” she mocked. She pretended to chew on her nails anxiously before she tossed her head back and laughed. “Trust me, Angeline, Benjamin is no match for me. If you manage to drag him into this, know that his death will be on you.”
Angeline tried to scurry backward into a sitting position. Her skirt scrunched up against the back of her thighs. “How do you know my name? If money is what you’re after, I can assure you I don’t have much with me. A few coins, I think. You’re welcome to them,” she said, searching her bag for her wallet.
Kathryn stilled Angeline’s hand with her own. “I don’t want your money. I want you. I think.” She stood, looking down at Angeline with a furrowed brow. “I’ve gone back and forth. I don�
�t like to mix business with pleasure, but I might make an exception in this case.”
“Business? What are you talking about?”
Kathryn sighed. “The business of existing. I usually do my business and move on. But you were ripe for the picking, walking home alone every night. I’ve had my eye on you for some time. Doesn’t seem like a very smart decision, a sweet girl like you, on the streets by yourself. In the dark.”
Angeline stiffened. Even in peril, her independence vowed to make itself known. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been walking places on my own since I was nine years old. I don’t need anyone to chaperone me, Mrs…?”
“Kathryn,” she repeated. “Are you sure about that? A chaperone might have been a good idea,” Kathryn said, gesturing between herself and Angeline.
“Are you going to kill me?” Angeline’s voice sounded small and weak, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to go home, fall into bed, and cry.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been lonely and I could use a friend,” Kathryn said, shrugging as though it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Okay,” Angeline said, clearing her throat. She had no idea what this insane woman was going on about, but maybe if she changed her tactic she could get out of this unscathed. “Then I will be your friend. We can meet up some night to play gin rummy? Or cribbage, if you prefer?”
Kathryn laughed again. “Not that kind of friend. Someone to travel the world with. Someone to confide in. Someone who will understand me. Someone who can relate to me.”
Angeline cocked her head. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
And then Kathryn was on her, a blur of terrifying motion. Angeline heard the soft squish of teeth against flesh before she felt the searing pain in her neck. She tried to swat at the back of Kathryn’s head, to pull her hair, to buck her off. Nothing worked. Before long, the pain melted into a kind of intense pressure, gradually turning into a steady, hard pulse at the side of her neck. She tried to stay conscious. She tried to keep her head above water, but the pull was too strong. It was easier to close her eyes, to let go…
* * *
The sound of scurrying brought her from the depths of the abyss. Leaves crunching. Angeline opened her eyes and turned her head in time to see a raccoon disappear into the thicket. The motion of turning her head nearly caused her to cry out. She was so stiff. How long had she been out there? Angeline tried to lift her head, and it felt like she had slammed it against a metal pole. She rested it against the cool grass and tried to focus. The sky was dark. Where was she? Who was she? No answers came.
Her head began to spin. She couldn’t tell if she was spinning or if it was the world around her, somehow off its axis and spiraling toward a gruesome finish. She squeezed her eyes shut to stave off the nausea, to try to steady herself. It worked for the most part, but the spinning still came in spurts. Maybe this is death. This is what it feels like to die. The thought wasn’t as terrifying as she assumed it would be. The darkness, the loneliness that she felt, threatened to swallow her whole. She tried to take comfort in the onyx blanket that surrounded her.
But no. She couldn’t be dying. When she opened her eyes again, everything was vibrant, detailed. Everything around her was too alive for this to be death. The sounds, the sights, even the taste of dirt and leaves and sap emblazoned within her. She forced herself into a sitting position against a tree. She blinked repeatedly, hoping something, anything, would come back to her.
Slowly, her life began to creep in, tiny bits at a time. Her name was Angeline Vallencourt. Miles, actually. That’s right. Benjamin Miles was her husband. They lived in a small but modern house on Varnum Avenue. Her sister, Stella, was jealous of their automatic Maytag washing machine. Benjamin liked to use a piece of white bread to sop up any leftover gravy from his plate. She didn’t like gravy. She was Mr. Grady’s secretary at the machine shop. She was twenty-six years old.
As she stood, holding on to the base of the tree, the attack came back to her, sudden and jarring. A crazy woman named Kathryn had abducted her and cut her throat. Or something like that. Angeline reached up to her neck to see if she was bleeding. She wasn’t. She felt two small puncture wounds beneath her ear. They didn’t hurt, exactly, but they tingled when she touched them.
She made her way out of the woods in a trancelike state and hobbled down the street, slow and unsteady. She didn’t hurt, exactly, but her bones felt like they were struggling not to disintegrate. She was lucky to be alive, and she kept repeating that phrase in her head as though she were trying to convince herself. Her coat was covered in twigs and leaves and the heel of her left shoe had snapped off. She dug her key out of her pocketbook and entered the foyer. She was home. It looked like home. It smelled like home.
But it didn’t feel like home.
The haunting melody of Irving Kaufman’s “Tonight You Belong to Me” floated out from the parlor. She could hear Benjamin turning the rotary dial on their telephone.
“Benjamin?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Weaker. Lost.
“Oh, thank you anyway, she’s just arrived home.”
Benjamin ran into the foyer, his tie hanging around his neck like an honors stole. “Angeline! Where have you been? I was worried sick!”
“You don’t need to shout, Benjamin,” Angeline said, fighting the urge to cover her ears. “I was attacked and left for dead in the woods over by Clay Pit Brook. I’m lucky the animals didn’t get to me.”
He rushed over to her and wrapped Angeline in a tight hug, though her arms hung at her side. She wanted to hug him back, but her arms just swayed limply. She felt numb.
“Shall I get you a cup of tea? Or something stronger, like coffee? I’ll call the police right away.”
Angeline turned toward the stairs without a word, slowly making her way up to her bedroom. She stared straight ahead, everything that had once been a source of security now cold and unfamiliar. She wanted to turn to Benjamin for comfort but found she couldn’t. He no longer felt like comfort, though she couldn’t interpret exactly why. The face of that woman kept appearing in her peripheral vision, like a demented hologram. She clutched her pocketbook to her chest and ran her fingers over the wound beneath her ear. “Not necessary, Benjamin. My attacker is long gone, I’m certain of it. There’s nothing they could do at this point, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the night in a police station. I’m tired and sore and I think I’d like to be alone for a bit. I’m sure I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain.” They wouldn’t believe a woman had taken her, dragged her away, and left her. Women didn’t do that kind of thing, and Angeline would end up locked away. Better to put the whole thing behind her.
Chapter Two
Fog Hollow, Massachusetts, current day
“Dammit,” Megan Denham said, inspecting the fingernail on her index finger. A chunk of nail had broken off and was hanging on by a thread. She peeled it off and sighed. So much for the forty-dollar gel manicure the salon had advertised as “virtually unbreakable.” She clicked the trigger on the gas nozzle a few more times, trying to eke out every bit of the twenty dollars she had added to her tank. She replaced the nozzle and slid into the front seat of her Escape.
She searched her purse for her keys but came up empty-handed. She looked on the floor, the seat, and on the ground near the open door. Nothing.
“Really?” Megan threw her head back against the headrest. She had a vague memory of placing her keys on the counter when she gave the clerk a twenty-dollar bill. She closed her car door a little harder than she meant to and walked toward the small convenience store. There was a black pickup truck parked out front.
As soon as she walked in, she saw her dolphin-shaped key chain that spelled out Cape Cod sitting in front of the gum display. “Just forgot my keys,” she said to no one in particular. The clerk stared at her wide-eyed. He had both hands up in a gesture of surrender. He looked terrified, but there was no one else at the counter. Megan raised her ey
ebrows.
“Is everything okay?”
“Get on the ground. Now.”
Megan whipped around to see a twentysomething man with shaggy blond hair and unruly facial hair walking up the aisle past the chips and popcorn. He had a pistol in his hand, pointed their way. His hand was trembling slightly.
“Okay. Please don’t shoot.” This isn’t happening. Megan sank slowly to her knees, not wanting to set the shooter off with any sudden movements. She was suddenly thrust into an episode of any crime show, ever, and that sense of unreality threatened to overtake her. She blinked rapidly.
“All the way down.” His voice was gruff and deep.
“Okay.”
Megan sank onto her stomach, her arms splayed above her head like she was flying. She noticed an ant at eye level, heading toward the store exit carrying a pretzel crumb on his back. She envied his freedom.
“Empty the cash register into a plastic bag. And put a few rolls of scratch tickets in there too.”
The clerk, a balding man in an oxford shirt with two pens sticking out of his breast pocket, nodded nervously. “Do you want everything in the safe too?”
“Yeah, empty the safe.”
Megan breathed shallowly, cautiously optimistic that she might make it out of this alive after all. She thought of her aunt making beef barley soup, packing more than Megan could ever possibly eat into a giant Tupperware container. She thought of her cat, Merlin, sprawled out on the back of the couch waiting for her. She knew her cell phone was in her pocket, but she didn’t dare move. Just let the degenerate take the money and get the hell out.
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