by Tasha Black
She sighed longingly as she passed her own house. It was a lovely, lumpy stone and stucco townhouse from the 1830s, one of half a dozen attached homes originally built for the workers at the Old Mill. It had steep stairs, small rooms, and low, beamed ceilings and she loved it irrationally.
On clear nights, she could even see the mansion from her bedroom window, something that had captured her imagination when she first moved into the house.
“You’re going to see the mansion tonight,” she muttered to herself. “Whether you want to or not.”
The engine of her little Saab whined a little as she set off up the private drive that led to the mansion.
The property was one of a handful in the area that still owned its original acreage. The drive led through a dark expanse of trees and foliage that was decidedly unkempt.
Sara kept her eyes on the drive, uninterested in any unseen eyes shining out at her from the trees. She knew there was plenty of wildlife in the woods all around the property. It was beautiful in the daytime, but it could be a little unsettling at night.
Alone.
With no one else in sight in any direction.
“Don’t let your imagination get away from you,” she advised herself.
But it was easier said than done. The darkness was growing palpable, and she swore she sensed movement where she knew there was none.
At last she reached the peak of the ridge and pulled into the circular drive.
She climbed out, wishing she had her phone so she could at least use the flashlight mode.
The massive house loomed over her, but somehow instead of being frightened, she was absolutely compelled to go in.
She jogged up the stone steps to the covered porch and felt around in the darkness of the doorway for the lockbox that hung around the brass knob.
Her fingers slid over the buttons and she tried entering the combo blind.
The box clicked and released.
She snatched the keys before they could fall out.
The right one slid into the lock seemingly of its own accord.
Not for the first time, Sara wondered vaguely if this house was meant to be hers.
But that was a ridiculous idea. She couldn’t afford it even at the listed price, let alone with the cost of repairs and upkeep. Buying it was just a pipe dream.
The door opened for her, silently this time, and she stepped into the foyer.
The clouds outside parted. A splash of moonlight glowed on the black and white tiles - just enough to light her way to the dining room.
Her phone wasn’t on the mantel where she’d thought it might be.
She turned toward the conservatory, retracing her steps from earlier.
An unexpected sound broke the silence, startling her.
It echoed off the walls of the mostly empty house. Not exactly a bang or a crash.
It was a more of a tick.
She froze in place, listening. There was no way anyone else could be showing the house this late.
There was another tick and it occurred to her that there was a grandfather clock in the center hall. Of course, those hands had been stilled ever since her first visit to the house.
She tiptoed back to the entry, the ticking growing louder and faster.
Sure enough, the old clock had come to life. The hands spun around and around the face as the pendulum swung wildly.
A chime rang out as hour began to sound.
Sara’s heart slammed in her chest as the sound of the clock reverberated through her.
It rang again.
She ran for the conservatory, remembering at last that her phone must still be on the windowsill from when she had removed the drop cloth from the piano.
The clock kept sounding, each ring impossibly louder than the last as she moved away from it.
She found her phone, exactly where she’d suspected.
She grabbed it, slipping it into her jacket pocket, and spun around to head back to the front door.
Her own movement in the floor to ceiling mirror caught her eye.
No.
It wasn’t her own movement.
The clock chimed for the tenth time, the eleventh?
Sara froze, gazing into the mirror.
She was standing on the opposite wall of an empty room.
But the room reflected in the mirror wasn’t empty.
In the reflection, much brighter than the darkened mansion around her, misty figures danced and whirled. They all wore ancient-looking ballgowns and suits with stiff, frilled collars.
And although they wore masks, Sara could see that there was something off about the figures, but she couldn’t quite place it - almost like they weren’t really human at all.
But what, then?
She moved closer, trying to get a better view, but realized that her own reflection was missing from the glass.
Obviously, it wasn’t a mirror after all. Her first thought was that must be some sort of screen or monitor.
But there was no other technology like that anywhere in the house, and it looked so real.
As the clock rang out the final chime of midnight, Sara reached out her hand to touch the surface.
It was cold and solid, like normal glass.
But she swore she could hear the laughter, taste the scent of strange spices and overripe fruit.
Her own reflection appeared in the glass now, with the dancers behind her.
She gasped and slowly, slowly turned around to face the room where she stood.
The lights flickered to life, and the mysterious dancers whirled all around her, close enough to touch.
It was real.
It was all real.
***
Thanks for reading this sample of King of Midnight!
What happens when Sara comes face-to-face with the cruel King of Midnight, only to find he awakens feelings inside her she never knew existed? And how will he deal with the fallout when her newfound talents land him on the wrong side of the veil, along with a bunch of hungry fae monsters that don’t want to go back?
Grab the rest of the story right now to find out!
https://www.tashablack.com/kingofmidnight.html
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About the Author
Tasha Black lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves reading anything she can get her hands on, writing paranormal romance, and sipping pumpkin spice lattes.
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