The Deepest Cut

by J. A. Templeton

  “I’ll be just a second,” Ian said, walking straight through the castle wall and opening

  the window. I slipped in and he led me straight toward the servants’ quarters.

  I hated sneaking into the castle again. If I were caught, a breaking-and-entering charge would be the least of my problems. I had no idea if I could explain to my dad, or the cops for that matter, why I had done it. If I said anything about searching for an eighteenth-century journal that belonged to a witch who had cursed the ghost I had fallen in love with, my dad would have me committed on the spot.

  I held on tight to Ian’s hand, but it didn’t stop me from tripping over my own feet while trying to manage the spiral steps in the dark. I had a flashlight in my back pocket, but I was afraid to turn it on in case a passerby saw it. I didn’t want to alert anyone to my presence, especially since the recent break in.

  A part of me wanted to tell Ian to search the basement while I checked out the

  upstairs, but I was scared of splitting up.

  Terrified to turn around and find Laria staring back at me.

  She had gotten under my skin in a big way, and I didn’t know how far she would go in stopping me. Despite the precautions I’d taken with the herbs, the cross necklace, and the holy water, I was still intimated by her after the whole ceiling episode and I always wondered what she would do for an encore.

  “The attic is full,” Ian said, shoving the door open.

  He wasn’t kidding. My stomach knotted seeing boxes stacked on top of boxes. It would take days to go through everything here, and overlooking something as small as a journal would be easy. Thankfully, there was a window that allowed some moonlight in, and I flipped the flashlight on.

  Ian was searching along the floorboards, which reminded me of what I had seen in the vision. The floor hadn’t been wood.

  “I don’t think this is it,” I whispered. “It was a solid floor, kind of like concrete or maybe stone.”

  “Then let’s check the basement,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me back down the stairs.

  We were just a few steps away from the landing when I heard a loud knocking noise.

  We stopped in our tracks. Ian put a finger to his lips and I nodded, my heart thudding hard against my chest.

  I prayed it wasn’t someone at the front door. Oh God, what if it was the police?

  What if someone had seen me break in?

  The knock sounded again, this time from above us; suspiciously close to the room we had just been in.

  From the corner of my eye I saw the sword on the wall shift. I gasped, and moved out of the way, pulling Ian with me. A second later I heard a whoosh as the sword fell to the ground, missing me by inches.

  Ian urged me forward, and I nearly tripped over my feet in my rush to get away.

  The knocking started to intensify, growing louder, more consistent, and all over the place…just like at my house during the séance with Miss Akin and Anne Marie. I wanted to cover my ears, but I forced myself to ignore it as best I could, and focus on the task at hand. We had one shot at this given the family was returning soon.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Ian said softly as we entered the basement.

  I walked down the same hallway from my previous visit and looked into each room, hoping something looked familiar from the vision. I did my best to focus and keep my mind open.

  Glancing into a room full of odds-and-ends furniture and workout equipment, I noticed an old-fashioned chest that sat beneath a window, and it instantly triggered my memory.

  “The chest.” I flipped on the flashlight, looked at Ian. “I think this is it.”

  The sensation that I was on the right track felt stronger the closer I came to the chest. I went down on my knees beside it.

  There was no lock on the clasp. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid. Instantly my heart plummeted. The chest was bulging with various items, many wrapped in tissue paper.

  I immediately started unloading the items, and Ian helped me, carefully setting each aside. “Hey, I meant to ask you something that’s bothered me about the journal and Laria. I was under the impression that servants back in your day didn’t read, especially women.”

  He nodded. “You’re right—many servants didn’t know how to read or write, but my mother felt education was important, and so she had a teacher come in once a week so

  that the servants could learn to read and write.”

  “Your mom sounds like a kind-hearted soul.”

  He grinned. “Yes, she was.”

  I had the chest nearly emptied out when I saw an object that was roughly the same size as the journal I had seen in the vision. “I think this is it,” I said to Ian, whose eyes widened.

  With trembling hands, I picked it up and unwrapped it. My heart raced as I stared down at the brown leather journal that I had seen in my vision. Excitement rippled along my spine.

  A high-pitched scream pierced the quiet, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

  I grinned at Ian. We had done it.

  · · · · ·

  Ian lay beside me on my bed and was fading faster by the second. He had used up so much energy at the castle, and now I brushed my fingers through his soft hair, frustrated that he would be leaving soon. I wanted him to stay with me forever. I was terrified of going back to the way life had been before he’d come rushing into it.

  Lonely, sad, depressing.

  The journal was on my nightstand. I had flipped through it earlier, but finally put it aside when Ian had grown quiet. He’d seemed almost…disinterested. What was he feeling, I wondered? Was he scared about moving on? Did he worry about what waited him on the other side?

  I wound a strand of his hair around my finger. The corners of his mouth curved slightly as he stared at me, but his eyes looked sad. Even more unsettling, the way he watched me made me think that he was trying to memorize my features.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shook his head, took my free hand and brought it to his lips where he softly kissed the backs of my fingers.

  My mouth went dry.

  I sensed there was something he wanted to say. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

  “Will you come tomorrow?” I asked.

  He flickered in and out. “Yes,” he said, before he faded before my eyes.

  I fell back onto the bed and sighed at the ceiling. God help me, but I had fallen head-over-heels in love with a ghost. Ian was as real to me as anyone, but to everyone else he was dead. Fighting back tears, I ran my hands down my face.

  I picked up the leather journal and fought the need to huff it against the wall. Cussing under my breath, I turned to the first yel-lowed page. It smelled musty and old. Holding the journal in my hands, I couldn’t help

  but envision the author of the words, sitting in her small room, scribbling away.

  Laria. It was difficult to remember that the creepy ghost who had been haunting and scaring the hell out of me had at one time been young and innocent. A girl who had fallen for a boy who could never be hers. I still wondered at the extent of her and Ian’s relationship, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to know everything.

  April 11, 1786

  Today I am no longer a scullery maid, spending my days on hands and knees, and working until my hands crack and bleed. Now I am the cook’s assistant, and already I believe she is pleased. Tomorrow I shall work extra hard in the hope that one day I will at-tain the position of lady’s maid. Father told me he is very proud.

  April 18, 1786

  I am so very weary. Never did I realize working as a cook’s assistant would be so tedious. I wake before dawn, and spend the first hour of my morning gathering eggs and hauling milk to the kitchen. The buckets are so heavy, but I try not to complain.

  Cook does not let me help with any of the actual cooking yet, but I feel in time if I prove myself worthy, that she will. The MacKinnon’s sons return from t
heir travels tomorrow, which means all servants have been asked to lend a hand with the preparations. It is quite the celebration since they have been away for years now. I have requested to help serve at dinner. I believe cook is considering this, since she has asked if I have a nice dress to wear. I hope I am chosen!

  April 19, 1786

  I served the family tonight. I was so nervous I nearly spilled the soup all over the eldest son. I remember him as a handsome boy, but never did I dream he would grow to be such a beautiful man. Eyes of blue and hair darker than midnight, he had all the female servants aflutter. Such a charming man! His younger brother is handsome as well, but much more quiet and reserved.

  May 1, 1786

  I LOVE IAN MACKINNON.

  My insides twisted at the bold words staring back at me. I took a deep breath and continued reading.

  I can think of little else but him.

  Indeed, it is difficult to get through

  my duties each day. I yearn to be with him and must be careful to keep my thoughts to myself, for my father would never approve. He would say I have reached too high for my station, but I do not care. I want only to be with Ian.

  I quickly flipped the page.

  May 3, 1786

  Tonight I meet with the others.

  Father would be horrified to know I am involved with such individuals, and yet I am intrigued by what I have learned so far. In fact, I believe the elixir has made a difference with Lady MacKinnon’s cough. Indeed, I hope by helping her she will look at me more favorably, and perhaps one day I shall serve as lady’s maid to her or one of her daughters.

  May 11, 1786

  The past week has been wonderful.

  I have spent an hour of each night with Ian. He reads poetry to me, and I have found him to be a thoughtful and compassionate companion.

  May 21, 1786

  I have not written in some time.

  My duties have kept me busy, and life was wonderful until Margot Murray arrived. I hate that woman with all that I am. Worse still, Ian has not been the same since she walked through the castle doors. Cook says she is here for only a short time, but any time is too long. I must not fear, for surely Ian would not like a woman of such loose moral standing. I heard the reason she is here is because she fell in love with a footman, and her father is desperate to find a wealthy

  suitor for her to marry. Tonight I meet with the others, and Elsa will know what to do.

  May 24, 1786

  The spell did not work. He is as smitten with her as he had been from the start. If there were a way to use her as part of the ceremony, I would do so. Yet I fear due to her status, her absence would not go unnoticed.

  My stomach clenched. Was she talking about a sacrifice when she spoke of the ceremony? Is that what I had seen in my dream?

  Could it be that they actually did kill people?

  And what was this about spells?

  May 28, 1786

  I saw them kiss in the north meadow today. I was out gathering berries when I heard their laughter. She in

  her expensive gown of gold silk. What does he find so fascinating about her?

  She is not so beautiful. I wish she would leave soon. I have heard cook say her parents plan to take her to London for a month, and their departure cannot come soon enough for me.

  As I continued reading, the entries sounded more desperate and talk of “the others”

  more frequent. Even as I read back over the entries, I still couldn’t see where the relationship between Ian and Laria had gone beyond friendship. It sounded more like a crush or flirtation. My heart missed a beat when Laria made mention of a love spell again, and in the margins she listed several herbs and one or two items I couldn’t even pronounce.

  June 2, 1786

  Margot is ill. I cannot imagine what made her sick so suddenly.

  The short entry made the hair on my arms stand on end. Laria had tried poisoning Margot? I could almost envision Laria writing those words, a smug smile on her lips.

  The bedroom light flickered, as did the lamp on my nightstand. The air around me turned colder, a mist developed, and a figure slowly emerged.

  Here we go again, I thought to myself, steadying for Laria’s arrival.

  The journal slipped from my fingers.

  It wasn’t Laria. It was my mom.

  She looked beautiful, younger than I remembered; her skin soft and so smooth. She wore a white flowing gown and looked like an angel.

  “Mom,” I said, the single word little more than a whisper. I stared at her, taking in features I had long forgotten about. Since her death, I had refused to look at pictures of her since it made me too depressed. But the way she looked now reminded me of a picture

  that had been taken shortly after she’d met my dad when they were college students. The picture had been taken at a senior camping trip to Lake Shasta, California. It was my favorite photo—one Dad kept on a shelf in his office.

  “You must not trust Ian MacKinnon, Riley,” she said, her voice intense, almost cold.

  “What?” I said, stunned at what I was hearing. “Ian is my friend.”

  “Hear me well—he is not who he says he is. He is dangerous and you must stay away from him.”

  I opened my mouth and she disappeared, just like that. Gone as fast as she’d come.

  Tears burned my eyes. “Mom?” I said, the single word coming out as a croak.

  Nothing but silence.

  What the hell?

  I bit the inside of my lip until I tasted blood. Why would she come now only to tell me not to trust Ian?

  With anger, sadness and confusion consuming me, I went to my dresser drawer, ripped it open and found the pair of red socks where I kept my razors.

  I thought of the promise I’d made to Shane. Of the promise I’d made to myself, and Ian too. He had told me I was strong…but I didn’t feel strong, especially now.

  I yanked the socks from the drawer, pulled the matchbox out, and tossed the socks aside.

  Just one small cut, I reasoned, walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

  Chapter 22

  Something tickled my nose, and I brushed at it with the back of my hand.

  The tickling continued.

  Slowly opening my eyes, I found myself looking into intense blue eyes, framed by long, thick lashes. My heart gave a jolt. Ian lay beside me, a devilish grin on his handsome face and a feather in his long-fingered hand.

  I smiled as I stared into his amazing eyes—until the memory of my mom’s visit came back with a vengeance. I had cried myself to sleep after she’d appeared and then vanished just as quickly. Too many emotions still raced through me. I couldn’t understand why, after all this time, she had finally come to me…only to drop a bombshell and tell me not to trust Ian. Did I have this all wrong?

  Was Ian really who he said he was or had I fallen in love with a dark spirit?

  Ian’s smile faltered and his hand dropped to the comforter, the feather forgotten.

  “What’s wrong, Riley?”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

  “My mom came to visit.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your mom? Did you have another séance with Miss Akin and Anne Marie?”

  “No, I was reading the journal and my mom appeared before my eyes.”

  He immediately looked skeptical. I didn’t need skepticism right now. It had been a year since I’d seen her and why had she come now? Was it because she felt I was in danger?

  “What did she say?”

  I sat up, brought my knees to my chest.

  He sat up, too, very slowly, watching me closely. I know I couldn’t read his mind, but I could read his face. He was hesitant, unsure of what to say to me.

  The question was why?

  And what about the dream I’d had the other night with the cloaked figures, particularly the figure who had tried to kill me. It had been Ian.

  Perhaps that dream had been a warning from my mother, instead of La
ria trying to brainwash me into believing Ian was fooling me. I was so confused.

  “Riley, do you trust me?” Ian’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact. I’d never seen him look so serious…or worried.

  I wanted to trust him more than I’d ever wanted anything.

  And yet, how could I ignore my mother’s warning? Why else would she come to me now, unless I really was in danger?

  I saw the pain in Ian’s eyes as I hesitated answering him, but I wouldn’t lie. In fact, I knew he could read my thoughts, so he didn’t even need to hear it from me.

  “I swear to you, everything I have said is the honest-to-God truth, Riley. I have no

  need to lie to you. You are my friend, and I tell you now that the spirit you saw was not your mother. I am sure of it.”

  I rolled off the bed, crossed my arms over my chest. “It was my mom, Ian. I saw her with my own eyes!”

  He pressed his palms together and sighed heavily, tapping his index fingers against his lips.

  I thought of the nightmare, of the horror I had felt surrounded by those cloaked figures. I wanted Ian to see exactly what I had seen, to feel what I felt, so I grabbed his hands. “Explain this,” I said, pushing the creepy dream at him.

  When he saw himself cloaked and holding the knife up, ready to plunge it into my chest, he flinched.

  Then his arms were around me, pulling me close. “I swear on my mother’s soul I would never hurt you,” he whispered against my forehead. “Laria is sending you those

  dreams and thoughts in order to turn you against me. That’s what she wants more than anything. I believe it was she who came to you earlier in your mother’s form.”

  Which meant my mom really hadn’t come to me. I wanted to scream my rage from the top of my lungs.

  “I know you want to believe it was her, but you must trust me in this.”

  I knew from experience that Laria would stop at nothing to keep me from helping Ian pass over—even come to me as my mom.

  What a cruel, twisted bitch.

  I settled against him, burying my face in the crook between his shoulder and neck.