“If anyone’s home, they know we’re here now,” she whispered.
Danny’s suddenly grave expression would’ve been comical before the Sundering. Kids his age usually didn’t take things very seriously outside of whatever form of entertainment they preferred, and Danny had always been laidback and fun-loving.
He reached down and drew that massive bowie knife.
Adalynn stared at Danny’s knife—it seemed just a step or two down from a sword. She hated the thought that he’d ever be put in a situation to have to use it, but if it could protect him…
“If anyone comes at you, Danny, you use that. You understand?”
Danny swallowed and nodded.
She turned toward the door and clenched her teeth against another bout of dizziness before grasping the handle. She didn’t know what awaited beyond, and that scared the hell out of her, but they needed this place—Danny needed this place.
Depressing the latch, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
For a few moments, a wave of disorientation swept over Adalynn, but she couldn’t attribute it to her illness. Crossing that threshold had been like traveling back in time—that was the only way to explain the stark contrast between the exterior and interior of this home.
They were standing in a foyer that would’ve been the epitome of wealth and décor a century before—the floor was dark, polished wood, arranged in a pattern of circles-inside-squares, and the paneled wainscoting on the walls was made of even darker wood. The high ceiling was pure white with intricate, symmetrical patterns across it, culminating in a huge medallion at the center from which hung a crystal chandelier. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor, which had a railed loft overlooking the foyer. There was a large doorway on either side before the stairs and another set after, and straight ahead—beneath the loft—an arched, open entry led to a large sitting room. Despite the dim light, the elegant carved wood and patterned upholstery of the furniture was apparent.
And all of it was immaculate.
“Is this for real?” Danny asked.
It was amazing, Adalynn couldn’t deny that—it was nothing like the dusty rooms she swore she’d seen when she looked in from outside. But it convinced her even more that someone was living here. There was no way this place could be in this pristine condition without someone taking care of it.
For a place this size? It probably takes a team of people to keep it looking like this.
Movement at the upper edge of Adalynn’s vision called her gaze up to the loft, but there was nothing to be seen save the same gloom and shadows clinging to everything else in the place.
Dread coalesced deep in her stomach.
They needed to leave. It would be better to spend the night in the woods and avoid any potential trouble here. She didn’t want to be in a situation in which they’d be forced to use their knives—there was too high a chance of one of them winding up hurt or dead.
Something unexpected came on the heels of those thoughts. The longer she stared at the darkness above them, the clearer that something grew—it was music, music unlike any she’d ever heard.
I’m not hearing it, though. I’m…feeling it.
Adalynn furrowed her brow, focusing on the muted, ethereal song. She couldn’t make out the individual notes, couldn’t quite make out the melody, but there was something comforting about it. Something soothing. Something right.
She shook her head sharply, producing another jolt of agony. The song was in her head, and this was not the time or place to focus on it. The part of her life during which she’d composed her own music was long gone now, gone forever; all that mattered was getting out of this place before something bad happened.
As she turned toward her brother, she whispered, “Danny, we should—”
But Danny was already walking deeper into the house.
Damnit.
“Danny!”
Chapter Two
With a growl, Merrick slammed the book closed, flattened his palms on his desk, and shoved himself to his feet.
He’d been annoyed when the tingling sensation in the back of his skull—warning him that two people had crossed the ward at the front gate—had interrupted his concentration a few minutes earlier. That initial irritation had only intensified when he’d heard footsteps on the porch as the trespassers slowly circled the house; the relative quiet of the manor and his heightened senses had made the soft thumps audible from inside his study.
But irritation had flared into anger when he heard glass break down in the foyer. Apparently, merely willing someone to leave could not make it so despite the immensity of the power at his command.
Visitors—whether invited or not—had always been rare here. That had been one of the reasons he’d chosen this location. That it was situated along an ancient ley line was a bonus; he’d been more interested in its remoteness. Before the moon had shattered, most of his uninvited callers had taken one look at the manor and left, understanding the message Merrick had intended the exterior to convey—this is not a place for you; leave.
Apparently, that message was lost on modern humans. Between these two and the group of teenaged vandals who’d wandered onto his property in a drunken stupor a few years ago, he’d well surpassed his tolerance for trespassers.
He strode toward the door leading out of the study, keeping his steps silent despite his anger. He’d never thought highly of humans, and this was more evidence justifying that opinion.
Whatever the situation was in the wider world—the plight of humanity was not Merrick’s—it did not afford these people the right to come onto his land and break into his home. Avoiding interaction with humans had been impossible during his long life; though he rarely needed to eat, he still required food and supplies, and he had little interest in living in a shack in the middle of the woods without a single modern convenience. But he only dealt with humans on his own terms.
Electric tendrils of magic flowed over his skin as he opened the door and walked across the loft. The power thrumming through him was enough to annihilate any mortal he chose to turn it upon—that would be the quickest, easiest way to resolve this matter. If these humans had come with good intentions, they would’ve knocked on his door. They would’ve implored him for aid.
He still wouldn’t have trusted them, but at least his irritation wouldn’t have escalated into fury.
The energy gathering in his hands was raw and bristling—two scintillating spheres of chaos wrenched from the magical energies underpinning the universe—and it felt good to have that magic flowing through him in such a pure state. When the moon had broken—an event the humans had aptly dubbed the Sundering on the few radio broadcasts still operational in the days afterward—Merrick’s power had been vastly amplified, but there’d been no reason to use it like this before now.
Merrick halted when the intruders, who were standing just inside the doorway below, came into view. Neither of them was looking toward the loft; their attention was directed elsewhere, their eyes wide and jaws slack.
One was a child, a boy too young to even sport hair on his face, and the other was a female. They both held knives, the boy’s comically large in his hand.
The woman turned her face toward Merrick.