by Kim Faulks
The torch, raised high, burned bright. The clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone path rang in my ears long before I spied the outline of the rider. The dark shape grew larger as I stared down from my window. Then in a blink, he was gone.
There was only silence. Cold air wrapped around me. I gripped the jacket, wrenching the leather to my face and inhaled, as thought my father’s scent could work as a talisman to ward off trouble. A faint blast tore through the house. I flinched at the sound and waited. Heavy steps echoed along the landing moments later. I wrenched my head toward the door, catching a glimpse of candlelight along the bottom of the door. Then the glow was gone again.
I counted the seconds. A hinge squealed. I followed the sound. Muffled voices from the hall called me away from the window. The choked cry seemed to pierce my chest. My hand brushed my bedpost as I stumbled for the door. The doorknob rattled until the handle slipped and the door swung inwards.
“Hansel?” Candlelight drew my eye. The whites of Marcus’s eyes glowed against his dark skin. Our servant boy raised the lantern, and in those eyes, I saw something I’d lived with for a long time—fear.
Footsteps answered my call, filling the air with thunder. I spied a dash of yellow as the light from the lantern cut through the darkness.
“What’s going on?”
Hansel strode from his room, spearing his shirt into jodhpurs. “Nothing. Get back in your room.”
Then my brother was gone, swallowed by the night. The flickering light chased him and Marcus as they raced down the stairs. My feet refused to move, while the silence closed in. I reached for the banister with a shaking hand and started down the steps.
This house was no stranger to me. I knew every creak and every crack. The big house sighed like an old man and whispered like a child. Come find me. I turned left at the bottom, and hurried through along the hall toward the front door, passing the library, the music room, and my father’s study before my steps slowed at the sound of a voice.
“I’m so sorry, Madam. I’m so sorry for your loss.” A male voice echoed through the foyer.
A scream tore through the foyer, followed by heavy thud. The chilling sound stole my breath. I brushed the wall with trembling fingers as I rounded the corner.
Bathed in the glow of a lantern, a bare foot shot out from underneath a midnight gown. The flowing skirt filled the wide foyer, but my eyes were caught on the pale sole. Lace bedclothes peeked out from underneath my mother’s dressing gown. Her hunched form jerked and shuddered. A moan tore from my mother’s lips at the touch of the stranger’s hand on her head.
The sound was faintly familiar, forlorn and weak, drawing me closer. I shook my head, the slow motion dragging the stranger’s attention upward. His sad eyes held me, whispering things I didn’t want to know.
“Mother?”
The recumbent form stilled. Chocolate hair spilled around her shoulders as she turned her head. Her face was near perfect, high cheekbones and sculptured lips. My mother was far more beautiful than any woman should be.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I forced the words past a tight throat, even though a small part of me already knew.
Hansel moved toward me, arms outstretched. Tears glistened in his eyes and shone against his cheek. I cowered from his touch. I knew how cruel and dangerous he could be, but his tears were real. “It’s Father. He... he....”
My mother swallowed a sniffle and lifted her head as she lay on the ground and answered. “Your father’s been murdered.”
How will Gretel survive after the death of her father?
What sick and sinister plans does her brother have in store?
The truth will shock you.
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