Of Shadow and Stone

by Michelle Muto

  “Ian. Just call me Ian.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ian.”

  Ian couldn’t help but notice the depth and the clarity of Von Hiller’s dark green eyes. Maybe it was the job. Cops and writers liked details. Von Hiller’s eyes were alert and intelligent, and laugh lines framed his slightly rotund face, which gave him a pleasing, somewhat jovial appearance.

  Yet Ian felt a little uncomfortable as Von Hiller studied him back. At least the laugh lines meant that at some point, this man smiled. Ian had the distinct impression Von Hiller was evaluating him.

  “I hear you enjoy visiting castles,” Von Hiller said. “Tell me, do you prefer ones with history or ones with, ah, shall we say, mysterious reputations?”

  “Can I choose both?” Ian asked.

  “Be careful what you ask for,” Von Hiller said.

  Ian laughed. Von Hiller was already setting the stage for his ghost-hunting visit. “I suppose Declan has told you I’m a writer. I write horror novels and dark thrillers.”

  “Ah! Then I believe you’ve come to the right place, Ian. I hope you’ve brought plenty of notepads. Shadow Wood is a great place for research on all things supernatural.”

  Ian had been thinking mostly of story ideas—small glimmers of truth to weave into fiction, not a real-life wiki on everything monsters. That would be . . . unsettling. All things supernatural? Von Hiller was going a little overboard on the ghost thing. “Well, I had planned on doing some research into local legends and the like, but thought I’d start with the haunting Declan told me about.” Ian took one last sip of ale and put on his coat. “I’ve been to Ilea recently to get a feel for the history. Just something to start the ball rolling.”

  “I believe you’ll find Shadow Wood far more inspirational,” Von Hiller said as he picked up Ian’s suitcase.

  Gathering his duffel bag, Ian followed Von Hiller into the brisk afternoon. He wanted to tell him he didn’t have to carry his luggage—it had wheels—but Von Hiller managed better than anticipated.

  “Ilea,” Von Hiller mused. “One of Scotland’s famous haunted castles. Shadow Wood is a private estate, and therefore, its reputation is far less known. Ilea’s history is child’s play to what you are about to learn.”

  Ian hoped not. Ilea had a violent past. Murders. Hangings. Suicides. In the world of fiction, this would normally mean the most evil of spirits. Ian didn’t mind the idea that ghosts might be real, but if he were ever going to see one, he hoped it’d be of the more harmless variety.

  Von Hiller pulled a key fob from his pocket, and a black Mercedes sedan chirped. He pressed another button and popped the trunk open and loaded Ian’s bags.

  “I hope you enjoy your stay, Ian. Your room has already been prepared.”

  “I appreciate the hospitality. I understand you don’t get many visitors. I’m honored,” Ian said as they got into the car and pulled onto the road.

  Von Hiller shrugged. “We don’t get many outsiders. That’s why Declan sent me instead of having you take a cab. All our invited guests are chauffeured. We like our privacy.”

  “So I’m not the only guest? Is it an exclusive resort?”

  “I suppose one would say it is.” Von Hiller paused. “You’ll find Shadow Wood different from anywhere you’ve ever been. There are things few have ever seen.”

  Ian didn’t mention that for him, Ilea hadn’t lived up to the rep, which was fine, considering the castle’s dark past. A few other tourists had claimed to have heard, seen, or felt something during their stay, but Ian had not. He wondered if there were other guests currently at Shadow Wood and, if so, what they might have seen. “So you are saying that this haunting business is the real deal?”

  At last, Ian saw the man genuinely smile, which made him feel more at ease. Von Hiller’s eyes almost sparkled. “Very real indeed. But there’s a lot more to the story than just the woman’s ghost.”

  “I don’t mind saying that this would be a first—the ghost. I’ve never actually seen one outside my—or Declan’s—imagination. And a story behind the story? I’m intrigued!” If Declan hadn’t been so convincing, Ian would have written the whole thing off to old Scotch, old castles, and a widower’s desire to see a ghost, preferably his lost true love.

  “Shadow Wood will not disappoint you, then!” Von Hiller declared.

  “This ghost must be pretty special.”

  “We think she’s very special. So you have never seen a ghost, even though you write about them? Interesting. Have you visited any of the old graveyards?”

  “No, I haven’t. Not this trip, anyway. I have a theory on ghosts and graveyards. If you were dead, would you want to hang around your corpse?”

  “I suppose not,” Von Hiller agreed.

  “When I die, they might as well put ‘I’m not here right now’ on my headstone,” Ian added. “Because without a body to tie me down, traveling would be a lot easier. All the inspections and security involved these days? Nope. I’d never hang around a box of bones.”

  This brought out a small laugh from Von Hiller. Ian was glad to see that the ice between them had been broken, even if momentarily. Maybe the guy needed to warm up to people first. He just looked so concerned. About what, Ian couldn’t begin to guess.

  Ian stared out the window. Scotland’s landscape was breathtakingly beautiful. Here, the sweeping fields of lush green had started to give way to segments of forest with canopies of pine, birch, and oak. “What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Of course!” Von Hiller said with continued zest. “And I believe in more than just ghosts.”

  While Ian didn’t judge those who said they believed in the supernatural, he often had reservations about anyone who seemed overzealous. Ghosts, spirits, angels, demons? Sure. He might be able to wrap his head around that. Zombies and Bigfoot? Not so much.

  “And you’ve seen such things at Shadow Wood? You believe Shadow Wood is haunted?”

  “Inhabited,” Von Hiller corrected. “We call it inhabited. There’s a difference. It’s like a . . . sanctuary.”

  Sanctuary? Declan had told him that he’d have plenty of fodder for future books. Did Von Hiller mean Shadow Wood was a sanctuary for ghosts? Or other . . . things? Ian decided to go the ghost-only route. “How many ghosts haunt—I mean, how many ghosts inhabit Shadow Wood?”

  “Only one. The woman. You’ll see her soon enough.” Von Hiller leaned closer, winked, and half whispered, “I think you’ll agree she’s exceptionally beautiful.”

  Ian laughed. “That’s always a plus. Way better than bumping into hideous, scary ones.”

  Von Hiller chuckled and nodded. “I’m glad you decided to take Declan up on his offer. You’ve got a delightfully amusing way with words.”

  “Yeah, well, occupational hazard,” Ian said with a grin.

  They turned left off the main road and headed up a long, private drive. Massive tree limbs draped over the road, blocking most of the late afternoon sun. Many of the trees were reluctant to drop their fall foliage, leaving parts of the wooded area covered in eerie darkness.

  A streak of gunmetal gray emerged from the edge of the woods, racing along in the same direction as the car. It slipped in and out of the shadows and trees before vanishing into the underbrush. Ian strained to find it again, but it was gone.

  Von Hiller followed his glance into the woods. “Dangerous place to be after dark.”

  “Dangerous?” Huh. How dangerous? Wild animal dangerous or vacant mine shaft dangerous? Maybe most of the ghosts haunted the woods instead of the castle. Like banshees. Now there was an interesting story idea!

  Ian contemplated a story in which a beautiful banshee was destined to warn a young man of Irish descent about deaths before they happened. True, Declan had a ghost and not a banshee, but Ian still decided to make a note about the banshee story once he was settled in his room. “Do you mean bears or wolves or something?” he asked.

  “There are more than wolves out there, Ian. Many of our gues
ts come here to hunt—mostly after nightfall.” Von Hiller sounded sad and distant, as if recalling an unpleasant memory. At least now Ian knew Von Hiller probably meant crazy drunk, gun-toting hunter dangerous, and probably more than deer and wolves were in the woods. Did Scotland have wild boar? But hunting at night? Really?

  “What do they hunt?”

  “Local game. Deer, mostly,” Von Hiller said.

  The Mercedes approached the end of the wooded area and headed up a stone drive flanked by open fields. Shadow Wood loomed in the distance. It was a brown sandstone castle of considerable size with steep roofs and pointed round towers, or keeps, on each side. Iron gates stood before them with a vast section of stone wall on either side of two tall pedestals.

  On each pedestal sat an extravagantly carved gargoyle. Half-open wings were spread out alongside their human-demon bodies. Their heads were almost skeletal, with grotesque pointed teeth jutting from huge mouths. They sat crouched overtop the pillars with powerfully built arms in front of muscular legs. Claws the size of scythes protruded from long, bony fingertips. Both statues stared forward, their flinty eyes giving the impression they watched all who dared to enter.

  Ian had seen his fair share of gargoyles. They all appeared menacing in some way. But he’d never seen ones like these. “They’re magnificent.”

  “Declan would agree with you. He has an intense fondness for them.”

  Von Hiller slowed the Mercedes to a stop in front of the gate. Ian looked around for an attendant to show up on the other side. If Von Hiller had a remote, Ian didn’t see it. Instead, he sat there, waiting.

  With an earth-rumbling rattle, the gates started to open. Once the gates came to a complete rest, Von Hiller continued through them.

  A chill coiled around Ian’s spine, and he turned to look at the gargoyles. He blinked and looked again. They were now facing the inside of the property. It had to be some sort of trick or one hell of a deterrent.

  “Very clever! Cameras?” Ian asked. While he’d come to see ghosts, he didn’t believe gargoyles could reanimate themselves.

  “No, no cameras,” Von Hiller said. “We don’t need them. Here, we have our own kind of security—a much more effective one.”

  When Ian glanced back once more at the gargoyles, they were gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Michael

  Michael Owens pulled his red Porsche 911 Carrera S into the parking garage. Slamming the door behind him, he made his way to the elevator and mashed the button for his floor.

  How could she? How could Kate just walk away, throw away their relationship like that? Hadn’t he paid enough? This was his life, his career at stake here! Christ, just one little mistake.

  He regretted it, sure. At least in part. He had to admit to himself that sex with someone new had been exciting. And damn, she was good. Very good. But it was only that once. What was he expected to do? He’d been a midlist actor for years. No matter how he’d tried, he’d never been able to break out until Dark Fall. Wasn’t he entitled to sample some of the benefits of making it into the big leagues?

  Besides, he loved Kate. God help him, he loved her more than he’d loved any woman. The fling really had been just about the sex. Okay, and he was flattered that the young starlet, who’d been twenty at best, had found him so appealing. The older Michael got, the younger he liked his women. He’d been drinking, and she’d been getting friendlier as the party progressed.

  Stepping off the elevator, he tried Kate’s cell again. It went to voice mail. He doubted she’d already gone to sleep. He knew her habits better than anyone. Kate always needed to unwind after a shoot.

  “Kate, be reasonable. Please! What do you want me to say? I was drunk. She came on to me. I don’t know what I was thinking, except that I was missing you.” He paused, fumbling for the right words to help her understand. “I’m sorry.”

  He stopped himself from saying the rest. That Kate had been gone, doing some promotional work. That he’d been drinking, not a ton, but enough, and he just got caught up in the moment.

  The girl had been relentless. At first, it was just the flirting. She’d enticed him to dance with her and had driven him half crazy. When she’d led him off to a secluded room and locked the door before stripping for him, he just couldn’t help himself.

  If he hadn’t been drinking, he might have realized that she just wanted her few minutes of fame. He closed his eyes against the memory. “I love you, Kate. Just you. No one else. I swear.”

  He was in love with Kate, but he wasn’t blind. Kate just didn’t understand. He wasn’t the only one doing a little bed hopping. For all he knew, half of Hollywood had open relationships as long as they were kept quiet. She could do worse than him.

  If he’d been away and Kate had been the one to have a fling, he wouldn’t have been nearly as unreasonable. Well, as long as he didn’t know the guy, and it was just some bit part actor. If he’d just been more careful, this all wouldn’t have gotten to the press. It wouldn’t have hurt Kate the way it had.

  The press. All they cared about was their goddamn stories.

  Michael switched the phone to his other ear while he fished out the keys from his pocket.

  “I’m begging you, Kate! Honey, please! You know you mean the world to me. Call me. Let’s work this out. I’ll make it up to you.”

  He ended the call and let himself into his high-rise condo.

  He hadn’t lied on the message. She really did mean the world to him. And he needed her. Kate was a strong woman, confident and self-reliant. He had no doubt that this was probably a blow to her ego and her reputation. Kate was also a hot commodity. Michael wasn’t blind to that or the fact that he was twelve years older than her—that every hot guy out in Hollywood, married or not, including pretty boy Graham Benedict, would probably love to score with her. But Kate didn’t do one-nighters, which was why Kate was holding his one-nighter over his head. Now, because of some stupid gold digger and a hack of a journalist, his career was tanking. He didn’t blame Kate so much as the media—how they’d made him look. They didn’t give a rat’s ass whose life they ruined. And right now, that life, that career was his. He wouldn’t let them take it or Kate away from him.

  He’d have to show her she could still talk to him. That if things got tough, he’d be there for her.

  Michael turned the phone over in his hand. She couldn’t stay mad at him forever. He’d do anything to get her back. Anything. He looked up the number for a local florist and ordered three dozen roses.

  Then Michael Owens made one more call.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kate

  The castle was old, maybe four or five hundred years or so, Kate thought. Maybe as much as a thousand. She had no idea why her dreams of this place seemed so real—that she could recall, even after waking, the delicate scent of the flowers in the vases, the warmth of the Persian rugs beneath her feet, the cool air that brushed against her skin. All her senses were heightened. But the weirdest part was that she could see right through herself. It was as though she were a ghost.

  Despite being here, in some faraway castle, Kate was acutely aware she had fallen asleep on the sofa back home, and that part of her—the more corporeal part—was in Vancouver with her toast still sitting on the end table alongside a cup of tea that had undoubtedly grown cold.

  As Kate walked down a stretch of hallway, she reasoned that her subconscious had created such vivid details as its own form of acting—a way to escape reality. Or maybe it was the excitement of being someplace she wasn’t expected, someplace dangerous, perhaps?

  But her time spent at this castle was always temporary. The key was to enjoy it while she could, to take in every sight and sound, commit every touch to memory.

  The castle was not vacant. From time to time in past visits, she had heard voices, but she had always managed to step into the shadows or take cover in an empty room or corridor. The owner, whom she had yet to encounter, had flawless if somewhat eclectic taste. Exquisitely
tooled antique mahogany furniture, fine china vases overflowing with beautiful flowers, original oils on the walls.

  She’d been visiting—or, more appropriately, dreaming—of the castle off and on for nearly three weeks. Last week she’d come across a magnificent library with tall bookcases complete with ladders. An antique sofa covered in a patterned damask graced a spot beneath the windows. The shelves were full of old leathery books. Some of them had made her fingers tingle when she touched their spines or opened their covers. She had browsed through a few, turning the yellowed, musty pages with care, taking in the feel of the parchment on her fingers. The contents were mostly in Latin, but some of the books on the lower shelves were curiously blank.

  This time, Kate found herself in front of a suit of armor standing solitary vigil at the end of a desolate hallway. Feeling a bit foolish, Kate lifted the faceplate and peeked inside. Such childlike behavior seemed acceptable—as long as no one saw her. At the castle, she felt free to explore as she wished.

  Here, wherever here might be, it was early evening, and the sun created long shadows through leaded arched windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Outside, glistening autumn trees dotted the castle grounds. Other than a forest in the distance, Kate could make out no discernible landscape that might tell her where she was. Inside, the clues were a little more obvious. Her best guess, based on the furnishings and architectural style, was someplace in the United Kingdom.

  It was a far cry from home and life as she knew it. No stalkers, fans, movie sets. No parties, paparazzi, or journalists. None of that existed here. Not even Michael. The castle was a new challenge—something fresh and enticing.

  She continued her exploration, stopping only when she came to a spacious sitting room. The carpet beneath her bare feet offered warmth, and she scrunched her toes into the thick, woolen fibers. Maybe this time she wouldn’t hide when she heard voices. On previous visits, she’d wanted only to avoid people and get a sense of the place. But now Kate wanted to take this adventure further, to learn more. Interact more.