King of Midnight: Rosethorn Valley Fae #1

by Tasha Black

  She had already googled “mold + hallucinations” and found it wasn’t a thing. That left relatively few rational explanations for what she had seen last night.

  Sara wasn’t quite ready to admit that the irrational explanation was the right one. So she was retracing the steps of her average day in Rosethorn Valley and hoping to find some peace in denial.

  And her every morning started with a trip to Le Sucre for a latte. The tiny café shared a parking lot with the post office, right across the street from the little town library, and down the hill from the historical society.

  The bells over the door jingled as she entered.

  “Sara, Sa-a-a-ra,” the barista sang out. “Lattes are brewing in your eyes, oh, oh, oh…”

  She grinned and waved to him. Carl was a huge ‘80s buff. He always sang his little twist on Jefferson Starship to her when she came in. It was kind of his thing to sing to the customers. And even though it seemed like it should be cheesy, it always put a smile on her face.

  “How goes it, my friend?” Carl asked.

  “Everything’s great,” she replied, unable to resist his great mood.

  “The usual, I presume?” he asked.

  “I need an extra drink today,” she told him. “I’m going to see Tabitha.”

  “Ah, the sophisticated Tabitha Barnes,” he said. “Doesn’t she prefer a cappuccino?”

  “She does,” Sara agreed.

  “On it,” Carl said, pushing up his sleeves.

  She looked around the café as Carl worked on the drinks.

  There were pretty paintings by students from the local high school decorating the walls. The little café tables each had a handmade vase with a few wildflowers, supplied by the students at the community arts center.

  Everything seemed light and cheerful, even the other patrons. Sara sensed a bright melody in the gentle buzz of conversation.

  Before long, Carl handed her the warm, fragrant beverages.

  “Summer is coming,” he told her as he swiped her card. “Before you know it, you’ll be asking for iced lattes instead.”

  “That sounds great,” she told him honestly on her way out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Hasta la vista, principessa,” he mis-quoted happily.

  She headed back up the hill to the Morning Star Lodge, the small historical museum that housed the history of Rosethorn Valley.

  Sara’s best friend, Tabitha, worked as a curator at the museum, which was really just a beautiful private residence that had been left to the historical society in someone’s will. It had been designed in the eighteen-hundreds by the renowned local architect William Price, and still had its original terra cotta roof as well as Mercer tile details in the walkway and fireplaces.

  Sara was pretty sure Tabitha was there in a volunteer position. Tabitha had family money, though the friends never talked about it. It allowed her to live her life exactly as she wished. And what Tabitha wished was to be steeped in the magic of the past.

  When she arrived, Sara stuck her own coffee in the crook of her elbow to open one of the big glass doors with her other hand.

  “Welcome to Morning Star Lodge—oh, hello, Sara,” said Tim Sands with a friendly smile.

  Tim was the only full-time employee of the museum. He was young, but always seemed much older than his twenty-something years to Sarah. Though there was nothing about his blond hair, khakis or even his wire frame glasses that seemed out of place for a guy around her own age, there was still something about Tim that reminded Sara of her grandfather.

  “Hello, Sara,” Tabitha called from her desk by one of the big windows.

  She had been bent over something, but when she popped up Sara could see that Tabitha was impeccably dressed as usual. Today, she wore slim fitting pants and a crisp white blouse that contrasted with her shoulder length dark hair, accented by a thick silver chain with a walnut-sized, amber jewel at her collarbone that was probably worth a mortgage payment.

  “Hi Tab,” Sara replied. “What are you working on?”

  “Restoring the amazing arrowhead that little boy found on the school field trip last week,” Tabitha answered happily.

  The museum staff of two had been aflutter about the elementary school field trip from the moment of its conception until the actual fated day. Sara had been secretly terrified that an unseasonal snow or deluge of rain would cancel the plans and send Tim and Tabitha into a tailspin.

  Happily, the trip had gone swimmingly on a picture-perfect late spring day. One student had even found an arrowhead on their trek through the woods. Tabitha told her that she considered the whole thing a triumph, and the museum had even sold four new family memberships as a result.

  “How’s it coming out?” Sara asked.

  “Surprisingly well,” Tabitha said. “We thought at first that the tip was broken off, but once I started working on it, we realized there was actually just a buildup of clay dirt covering the end. It’s one of the best specimens we have now.”

  “Tabitha is just incredibly talented,” Tim said, shaking his head in wonder. “I thought that piece was beyond saving. I almost told the kid to take it home.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Tabitha said with a smile. “He’ll love seeing it here in a frame with his name on it as the discoverer.”

  “He’ll be a member for life,” Tim said with a grin.

  “Here’s hoping,” Sara replied.

  “Coffee,” Tabitha exclaimed, having finally looked up from her specimen long enough to notice what Sarah was carrying.

  “I’m so sorry, Tim, I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a latte,” Sara fibbed, offering him her own coffee.

  “I’m a chamomile man,” Tim said, shaking his head. “You enjoy it.”

  She raised the cup in a mock salute and took a sip. The warmth and the almost instant feeling of satisfied alertness that flooded through her made her very thankful he hadn’t taken her up on the offer.

  “What’s up?” Tabitha asked Sara.

  “Want to take a walk?” Sara asked, not exactly wanting to grill them both, in case she messed up and admitted why she was asking questions.

  “Sure,” Tabitha said. “Are you good, Tim?”

  “I’m good,” Tim replied. “See you in a few.”

  Sara could tell by the way he looked at Tabitha that he was half in love with her.

  She wondered if her friend felt the same. She never pegged her for the office-romance type.

  They headed out the big glass doors and onto the path leading into the woods.

  “So what’s up with you and Tim?” Sara asked, once she was sure they were well out of earshot.

  “Nothing,” Tabitha said. “I mean, we’re great friends, and we work well together, but definitely nothing more. He’s not my type.”

  Sara wondered vaguely what Tabitha’s type was. Tabitha had a string of interesting exes, none of whom had ever seemed to capture her interest half as much as that arrowhead back at the lodge.

  “So why did you come by?” Tabitha asked, fixing Sara in her gaze.

  “What do you know about the mansion on the ridge?” Sara asked, knowing that even that brief description would be enough for Tabitha to know exactly which house she meant.

  “Oh, do you have an interested buyer?” Tabitha asked hopefully.

  “No, but I’m curious,” Sara admitted.

  “Well, most of it you probably know already,” Tabitha said. “It used to be known as Tywyn Castle. An eccentric merchant brought it over, stone by stone, from Wales back in the early 1900s.”

  “That’s why it’s not Pennsylvania bluestone,” Sara said, nodding. “What was the deal with the merchant?”

  “His last name was Maene, but off the top of my head I can’t think of any details,” Tabitha said. “But I’m more into the architecture. Tim may know some more. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, there’s some amazing furniture up there,” Sara hedged. “I was thinking—”

  “Oh
my gosh,” Tabitha exclaimed. “Do you have time to run up there now? I wonder if the owner would consider donating the furnishings to the museum. We could give them a magnificent tax write-off.”

  “I don’t know if they would or not,” Sara said. “I can look into it. But sure, we can go check it out. Want to tell Tim where you’re heading?”

  “I’ll text him,” Tabitha said with a shrug.

  They headed back to the gravel lot and got in Sara’s car.

  “I can never believe how neat your car is,” Tabitha observed as her thumbs moved over her phone screen, presumably telling Tim she was going to scout some furnishings.

  “It’s quite pleasant for a vehicle of such an advanced age,” Sara agreed.

  “That’s not what I meant at all,” Tabitha said, looking a little horrified.

  “Of course not,” Sara reassured her. Tabitha would never make Sara feel bad on purpose for not having as much as she had. “But it’s true. I like this old car, and I have to keep it nice for clients.”

  She patted the gear shift fondly.

  “How’s the condition of the furniture?” Tabitha asked.

  “It’s damp in the house,” Sara admitted. “And I don’t think anyone’s been living there for a long while.”

  She trailed off, thinking about the party she swore she’d seen last night.

  A few minutes later, the engine whined as they headed up the steep beginning of the driveway to the mansion.

  “Why are we really doing this?” Tabitha asked.

  Sara glanced over at her.

  Tabitha was her best friend. If she couldn’t tell Tabitha, there was no one to tell.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. She hated to risk a friendship over what might have been an anxiety attack of some kind.

  “I was here last night showing the house and it hit me that you might be interested,” she said carefully.

  Tabitha nodded and didn’t press for anything more.

  As always, Sara felt a rush of excitement as she pulled into the circular drive next to the house.

  They got out of the car and headed up onto the covered porch together.

  Tabitha looked around with a professional interest as Sara opened the lockbox.

  “My God, even the door,” Tabitha said, shaking her head in admiration.

  Sara’s eyes took a second to adjust to the dim interior as they stepped inside. The old grandfather clock looked down at her disapprovingly, its hands frozen in place, as always. There was no sign that the pendulum had ever moved.

  In the daylight, Sara was beginning to feel very silly. Surely, she had imagined everything yesterday. Maybe the whole thing had been some kind of weird dream after all.

  It made more sense than any possible alternative.

  “Oh Sara, this table is amazing,” Tabitha cried out from the dining room. “Too bad it’s missing a chair.”

  “I think that may be in the conservatory,” Sara called back to her.

  Sara headed to the conservatory, half-jogging in her eagerness.

  And there was the chair, right in front of the mirror where she had left it last night.

  The mirror itself was just as she had left it too, the smooth, glassy surface showing her the room exactly as it was - sunny, spacious, and utterly devoid of remarkable occupants.

  “Wow, there’s the mirror,” Tabitha breathed.

  “Is there a story behind it?” Sara asked hopefully.

  “There’s a whole paragraph about how hard it was to move the mirror in Rosethorn Valley: A History,” Tabitha said, nodding. “The builder offered to install a new mirror but Maene threw a fit and insisted that they find a way to bring this one up the mountain.”

  “It’s amazing that after all that, it’s still in perfect condition,” Sara noted.

  “Almost,” Tabitha corrected, bending down as she examined the bottom corner of the mirror. “You see right here? There’s a small piece missing in the corner. The decorative mounts look like they were designed to cover it, so no one would notice.”

  “Wow,” Sara said. “Good eye.”

  “Still an amazing piece, though,” Tabitha added.

  You have no idea.

  The thought occurred to Sara that maybe Maene had seen something in this mirror, too - something that moved him so much he wanted to transport it to the new world.

  “So what’s the story with this property?” Tabitha asked. “It seems amazing. Why has no one snatched it up?”

  “Someone is trying to,” Sara admitted.

  “Who?” Tabitha asked. “If they plan to restore it, I’d be happy to volunteer my services as a consultant.”

  “It’s a developer,” Sara told her. “He wants to knock it down and put an office building here.”

  Sara watched the blood drain from her friend’s face, like someone had just told her about the loss of a loved one.

  6

  Sara

  Sara got a work call before her conversation with Tabitha could go any farther, and so they went their separate ways - Tabitha back to the museum, and Sara on and off the phone for the rest of the day in hot negotiations with the listing agent of the house on Rabbit Lane.

  Her clients, the Martins, were desperate to get their offer accepted, and it was all Sara could do to stop them from showing their hand and paying over market value.

  By the time the other agent emailed her back a signed agreement, it was well after dark again.

  “Oh Sara, we’re so happy, we can’t even explain it,” Amy half-shouted with joy over the phone when Sara called with the final bit of good news.

  “Tell her about the price,” Al was yelling in the background.

  “Oh, yeah and the price,” Amy said. “Thank you for helping us get a good deal.”

  “My pleasure,” Sara told them with a smile. “I’ll see you in a few days for the home inspection.”

  She hung up feeling professionally satisfied.

  But when she tried to relax, she found her personal stress level higher than ever. She couldn’t tear her thoughts away from the events of last night.

  “It couldn’t have been real,” she told herself as she finished off her mug of peppermint tea.

  But the alternatives were almost less appealing.

  If it wasn’t real, then what did that mean for her sanity?

  She forced herself to take a warm shower and put on some cozy pajamas.

  The moonlight outside her window was so bright it was hard to sleep. She’d pulled the curtains closed, but one of them kept sliding out of place in the tiny puffs of air from the old, drafty window.

  The outline of the mansion on the ridge against the moonlit sky haunted her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening in the old house, even though its windows were dark and still.

  “It wasn’t real,” she whispered to herself as she finally began to drift off.

  At some point, she must have fallen into a dark, dreamless sleep, only to be startled awake what felt like only moments later by a loud ticking sound filling her room.

  Sara sat up and peered into the darkness. She didn’t have a grandfather clock in her bedroom, or anything else that should be ticking.

  She scrambled out of bed and searched the house for the source of the noise. But the sound faded into nothing, and she could find no evidence that she had ever really heard it in the first place.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she murmured to herself as she got dressed.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she continued as she grabbed her car keys from the bowl at the door.

  She looked both ways before crossing Rosethorn Valley Road to get to her car. But it was nearly midnight, so no one else was on the road. They clearly all had better things to do than driving to an empty mansion in the middle of the night to look at a haunted mirror.

  Her little Saab seemed to travel the hillside eagerly tonight to get to the house on the ridge. The woods were still dark all around,
and Sara felt the same pull she had felt last night in the king’s arms.

  She parked hurriedly and ran up the steps to the door, her hands shaking as she tried to open the lockbox. She had no idea what she was hoping to find once she was inside.

  The door swung open and she heard the clock chiming the hour. She ran to the conservatory, not bothering to close the front door behind her.

  The mirror was filled with the misty image of dancing couples once more.

  Sara froze and watched them, unsure how to feel about their presence and what it said for her mental state.

  Everything was so similar to the night before - the masks, the music, the whirls of the crowd.

  She stepped close enough to touch the mirror, and the scent of perfume met her senses once more.

  She turned slowly away from the glass and found herself once again in the ballroom with the others.

  The same couple from last night whirled past.

  This time she ducked slightly and avoided being scraped.

  There was something about all of this, something odd.

  She darted into the crowd, hoping to find the king again.

  There was a lot of distance between Sara and the throne. Last night she’d had the help of Golda, the bird woman to get her there.

  She looked over her shoulder reflexively and saw the bird woman had danced her way over to the spot where Sara had entered last night.

  But tonight, Sara was determined not to be caught.

  Again, a sense of something wrong tickled her mind.

  She watched as the same purplish fairy from last night spun listlessly, her wings lifting slightly as she turned.

  The bird woman’s words replayed in her mind.

  He’s trapped here. He’s being punished.

  Suddenly, Sara could see it all click into place.

  Tonight’s party wasn’t just similar to last night’s.

  It was the same.

  When she looked more closely at the mouths of the masked dancers, she could see that their smiles were forced.

  This wasn’t a party at all.

  It was the same scene being played on a loop, like some kind of torture. And it wasn’t just the king who was trapped here. It was all of them.