by Mia Sheridan
“True.” She paused. “I read up on the Bancroft family. Tragic ending to that story.”
“Tragic beginning too, depending on whose point of view you’re telling it from.”
Tragic beginning? She hadn’t read about that. “What do you mean? I thought Hubert Bancroft made a fortune in fur trading and built this grand house.”
He shook his head, appearing suddenly regretful that he’d brought it up. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he said haltingly, bending and twisting that blade of grass. “There’s probably . . . something online.” He slid his eyes away and his cheekbones tinged pink like a child who was telling a falsehood. But why would he?
She cocked her head. “If there is, I didn’t come across it. I read about his son and the loss of the family fortune that his great-grandfather made from the fur trade.”
He looked down at the blade of grass again, now looped and twisted into some sort of shape. He was quiet for several awkward beats. “He wasn’t only a fur trader, he was also an evangelist.”
“Oh,” Scarlett said. “I didn’t read about that.”
Camden’s brows knit as he stared off behind her. “His mission was to convert all the savages who lived in these parts to Christianity.”
“The . . . savages?” She frowned. “You mean the Native Americans who lived here?”
Camden nodded. “The Serralinos. They were considered heathens, evil-doers, and Hubert Bancroft thought it his Godly duty to save their fallen souls.” He looked at her, his expression grave as though he was recounting something that had happened to people he knew personally. “If they cooperated, they were spared, though enslaved, used as trappers for the furs he sold to enrich himself. If they didn’t, the men were pushed into the canyon and if the fall itself didn’t kill them, the elements or wild animals would. If it was a woman who refused, she was made a whore for Hubert and the other male leaders in his ministry.”
“No,” Scarlett breathed, swallowing thickly. “That’s awful. God, the things people do in the so-called name of religion.”
Camden’s gaze speared her, and something that looked like deep sorrow moved through his eyes. “Yes,” he said. He was quiet for several long moments, his fingers still now, and Scarlett wondered if he’d go on or if that was the end to the tale, so when he began speaking again, it startled her. His fingers began twisting the blade of grass once more.
“One such indigenous woman was named Taluta.” He gave her the ghost of a smile. “The name means red, like yours, but she was named for the color of her hair,” he said glancing at Scarlett’s light brown ponytail. “Anyway, Taluta refused to convert, and apparently violently rejected the advances of one of Hubert’s men. They were able to restrain her, however, and threw her over the canyon cliff, but not before raping and brutalizing her.”
Scarlett blinked at him in horror, rendered mute by the unthinkable hypocrisy of men proclaiming to act in the name of God, when in actuality, they were committing atrocities against people whose only “crime” was to be different than them.
He stared off into the tree line, reciting the story as if from memory. “When they left her, she lay at the bottom of the canyon in a pool of blood and brokenness. Her husband, only just returning from a hunt for their tribe, learned what had happened to his wife. Refusing to allow her to die alone, he donned his horned war garb, painted his face the way a warrior does when he knows he’s heading toward his certain death, and then scaled the canyon wall as far as he could and dropped to the earth, crumpled beside her, his own injuries surely extensive as well.
“But when Bancroft’s men returned the next morning to sate their depraved curiosity, neither one was there. Instead, a red fox, its fur the exact color of Taluta’s unusual auburn hair, with eyes the precise amber shade as hers, darted from the bushes at the top of the canyon and escaped into the forest.”
“They thought she’d turned into a red fox and climbed out of the canyon?”
“That’s what the legend says.”
“And him?”
“They say he still roams the forest, his cold heart full of vengeance. People have reported hearing his war chant carried on the wind and seeing the shadow of a horned dead man searching to avenge the wrongs committed against his love with the sacrificial blood of others.”
“That’s . . . quite a story,” Scarlett said.
“They called it Novaatngar after that,” he murmured. “The canyon. It means, the dark place.”
She repeated the name softly, a chill causing her shoulders to rise and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. And what he’d said about himself was wrong. He was a very good storyteller. He’d moved her, not just with the words that conveyed the tale, but with the emotion he’d infused in the telling.
“Are there any Serralino people still left in these parts?”
He shook his head. “The very last of their tribe died a couple of years ago and took their language with her. An old woman named Narcisa Fernando who lived in a small, one-room house a few miles from here. She was a midwife once, but in her old age, she sold dried herbs and soaps, things like that. She’d catch a ride with a local fisherman who came up this way once a month or so. He’d drop her at the edge of town and then she’d walk to the center, despite a severe limp. When no one had seen her through the winter, the sheriff went to check on her and found her dead in her bed.”
For several moments, Scarlett could only sit in silence, the sadness of the story, and the idea of dying alone in your home and not being discovered through a long winter, both a heavy weight in her gut. Narcisa Fernando’s death was merely lonely, though. The story of what had been done to her people a century before was pure evil. She cringed internally at the specific example of the abomination of things humans did to each other. When she looked over at Camden, he was watching her in that intense, studious way, as though trying to decipher her. Only unlike Haddie, who truly seemed to be able to see into her soul, Camden appeared frustrated that he could not.
She cleared her throat, gave her head a small shake, and glanced over at the back of the house. “The Internet made Hubert Bancroft sound like a hard-working hero. A total success story. But really . . . the man who built this house I’m living in, attempted to convert people he viewed as savages,” she mused aloud. “And he was the true savage. Wow.” She gave her head another disbelieving shake. History really did depend on who was telling the story.
Camden turned his head toward the house as well. “Later, I suppose the house served the same purpose. The attempted conversion of savages.”
“The girl’s school?” she asked. “That’s a harsh way to put it.” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head, picturing Kandi, remembering the good-hearted person Scarlett had known her to be. Full of life . . . vivacious. Yes, she’d made poor choices later but . . .
He paused a beat before removing his gaze from the house and meeting her eyes and offering a small humorless tilt of his lip. “My poor attempt at humor. It was harsh. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No, I’m sorry. I just . . . got prickly because I had a friend who attended Lilith House for a short time.”
He cocked his head to the side. “A friend?”
Scarlett nodded. “Yeah. My friend, Kandace, was sent here not too long before the fire happened and the school closed.” Scarlett stared unseeing at the back of the massive structure, her mind’s eye full of Kandace’s laughing face. She felt her lips tip slightly and then just as quickly fall. “She got into some trouble and was sent here. She ended up running away though and there hasn’t been a sign of her since. It’s like she just disappeared into the ether.” She moved her eyes back to him and stilled at the look on his face. He looked almost . . . stunned. She frowned. “You okay?”
He drew back slightly, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s . . . terrible. I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know you had a personal connection to the place.”
She shrugged. “Well, sort of, I guess. I spoke with her right
before she left for Lilith House, but I never talked to her while she was here. Apparently, they had strict rules on cutting off all outside influences. But when I saw the property up for sale, it immediately caught my attention because of Kandace.”
He pulled his full lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “So,” he said haltingly, “what are your plans for it? It’s a pretty big place for just two people.”
As Scarlett watched him, noted the subtleties of his posture, the way he held his expression, she got the strange sense that this right here was the only reason he’d agreed to the lemonade and cookies. It was this question he’d wanted to ask. It was the only reason he’d stayed—he’d wanted to prod her for information. It made suspicion kick up inside her again, the feeling that this house meant something more to him than he was letting on. And a small piece of her felt—stupidly, she told herself—hurt. His agreeing to spend time with her was due to an agenda. What, she had no idea. And why do you care anyway?
She picked at a piece of chipped paint beside her thigh. Despite her mildly hurt feelings, there was no reason to keep her plans for Lilith House a secret. In fact, if her business was going to succeed, she needed the word to spread as far and wide as possible. She needed to make connections—however casual—with the townsfolk in Farrow. And one of its officials wasn’t a bad place to start. Her hesitation, though, was not only because she was suspicious of this handsome stranger with far too many secrets in his eyes, but because she’d only spoken of her dreams with her mother and Merrilee. She’d only said it out loud to the people she trusted deeply. Saying it now made it feel as though she was giving something sacred to someone she may or may not be stupid to trust. “I . . . uh, I’m a pastry chef. A baker. Before I found this place, I was hoping to someday open my own cake shop—wedding and event cakes mostly—in LA. I unexpectedly came across the sale of Lilith House and my dreams sort of”—she let out a small, nervous laugh—“started spiraling, I guess.” She felt the blush rise in her cheeks and hated that it did. Vulnerability made her nerve endings feel raw. “If I can make it work, it will be perfect for an event venue. It’s only a couple of hours from LA, but provides the feeling of being world’s away. Swept into an earlier era.” She smiled. “There’s a ballroom on the second floor at the back of the house with these wrought iron verandas that are just stunning. Or they will be, with some work. There’s already a communal restroom area for bridal parties to use, even if it does need to be completely re-tiled. The grounds, if brought back to what I imagine was their original splendor, will be perfect for outdoor ceremonies, or simply strolling under the moonlight. Even this gazebo . . . once the broken boards are fixed and it has a fresh coat of paint, I can just see the photographs that might be taken with this as a backdrop.” She picked another chip of paint from the bench. “It needs repairs and remodeling, and refreshing, of course. All the appliances have to be updated. I know I have a lot of work ahead of me. But with an industrial kitchen and—” She stopped, realizing she was starting to spiral again as she always did when she started dreaming of Lilith House’s potential. When she started envisioning the life she might carve out for Haddie and her. Scarlett let out a small laugh and brought her hand to her cheek. “Anyway, my goal is to start the work as soon as possible and wrap it up in a year with a spring opening.” She looked down—away—not wanting to see his reaction, telling herself it didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t even know him. Had no real idea what kind of person he was.
When she peeked up at him, she saw that he was gazing at her thoughtfully. She saw no disapproval in his eyes and she let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing. Camden glanced at the house and then back at her. “Weddings. Parties,” he murmured as though almost speaking to himself. “Those are good things.” He looked back at her. “Maybe it’s exactly what this place needs.”
Scarlett smiled. Yes, she thought. Love. This place needs love. It suddenly seemed so very clear, and the idea bolstered her dreams that much more. It gave her purpose. “I hope so,” she said. “I’m going to do my very best.”
He was quiet for a moment before he said, “That friend in town I mentioned whose father owns the hardware store? He does some remodeling on the side, you know, if you’re looking for bids.” Camden squinted and looked away. His body seemed to have stilled as though he nervously awaited her answer.
“Yeah, that’d be great. Louis gave me the name of someone as well. Carl Dover?”
“He’s good too. Not as good as Mason.”
“I’ll give both of them a call.”
Camden dug in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone with the hand not holding the folded piece of grass. “Give me your number and I’ll text you his. That way you’ll also have mine in case . . . you know . . .”
“Those kids show up with a battering ram?”
Camden laughed, an expression mixed with a note of surprise, and it transformed his face from handsome to devastating. She stood quickly, wiping her hands free of the dust and particles of paint chips that had stuck to her skin and he followed suit. “I should get back to work . . . see if Haddie needs . . .” Her words faded when she glanced over to where her daughter had been, only to see an empty blanket, her pile of books scattered across the vacant spot. Apparently reading had been set aside for more exploring. “Well, I’d better go. By the way, do you know if there’s anything wild I should be concerned about? You know, other than old indigenous zombies?” She gave Camden a wry tilt of her lips. “I’ve been letting Haddie explore the property and she told me she saw a fox and something with horns. I know so little about wild animals so . . .”
Camden squinted at the empty blanket for several beats. “Probably a deer. And yes, there are foxes, a black rat snake or two. All harmless.”
“Unless you’re a rat.”
He smiled again. “Exactly. Well, thank you for the lemonade and cookies. Now I know why they were so good. You’re a professional.”
She let out a laugh on a breath. “At the moment I’m just the unemployed owner of what could very well turn out to be a money pit.” She shot him a smile. “By the way, thank you for the safety that new lock will bring. It was kind of you.”
Camden nodded, handing her the folded blade of grass the way Haddie sometimes handed her an empty gum wrapper. Confused, she automatically took it from him. “Call if you need anything,” he said, only turning his head back toward her, showing her his profile, his jaw rigid. And with that, he strode through the weed-ridden gardens toward the front of the house.
Scarlett looked down at the folded piece of grass held between her thumb and index finger. It wasn’t something he was discarding as she’d originally thought. She brought it closer to her face, marveling at the intricacy of the thing he’d created right in front of her without her even knowing. It was a fox, with tiny feet and tiny ears, it’s snout in perfect proportion to the rest of its body. How in the world had he done it? At all, but much less while simultaneously holding a conversation? And it’s a fox. Scarlett gazed at it for another minute, delight spreading through her. “Taluta,” she whispered, recalling the name from the legend he’d shared with her. She looked up just to see him rounding the house and disappearing out of sight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Haddie dropped a red Skittle on the pine-needle-strewn forest floor, moving slowly and deliberately, creating a trail of colorful breadcrumbs in her wake.
When her mother had mentioned that Templeton the rat was convinced to do things for food, Haddie had suddenly wondered if she could lure the thing in the woods with a sweet treat as well. Maybe this was a way to let it know Haddie wanted to be . . . friends? Was that what she wanted? No . . . not necessarily. She didn’t even understand this thing yet. She just wanted to know what it was. She wanted to understand the creature that had no weight. Curiosity burned brightly inside her, and the flame had only grown bigger since she’d arrived at Lilith House and spotted it. She’d stood at the window in their new attic home the night before and stared
out into the dark forest and she swore she could feel the pull of the thing somehow, but different than she’d ever felt a pull before.
She reached inside her pocket where she had a large-sized package of Skittles Mommy had bought her at the gas station on the drive to Lilith House. Haddie had fallen asleep before she could eat them, and now she was glad for it. They were the perfect lure. Everyone liked Skittles.
A cloud went over the sun, darkening the forest, and an iciness traveled over Haddie’s skin. A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision. She was being watched.
Movement in the other direction caught her eye, something swinging from a tree. She turned quickly but there was nothing there. She let out an exhale.
Just the forest’s bad memory.
There and gone before she could fully understand it.
She stepped forward, dropping another Skittle on the ground, turning slightly so she could head back in the direction of her house. She had walked in a wide arc, moving nearer to her home, hoping that when she came out of the forest, she might turn around and see the thing that followed her.
A loud caw rose up, the fluttering of wings spooking Haddie and causing her to jump. Shadows seemed to move and shift all around her as though there was not just one thing tracking her, but a whole forest full of creatures she had no name for. Ones she couldn’t feel. She hurried forward, walking faster now, dropping Skittles haphazardly. She heard the crunch of pine needles behind her as the thing drew closer, and with her heartbeat thumping, Haddie began to run, abandoning the package of Skittles on a pile of dead leaves.
Scratchy laughter echoed through the forest and the footsteps picked up behind her. Haddie screamed, the shrill sound bouncing from tree to tree and disappearing into the patchy sky above.
Haddie slipped, falling to her knees and letting out a cry of pain and alarm as something sharp punctured her skin. She jumped to her feet and continued running as the scratchy howls of laughter grew higher in pitch. It was pursuing her. It would catch her and eat her alive!
