Runa tossed and turned on her side of the bed, restlessly searching for a comfortable position to allow her tormented mind a moment’s peace. Chase’s warm body lay beside her, still and calm, breathing in the even pattern indicating deep sleep. She envied his ability to turn off his thoughts and sleep like a stone. For her, sleep had become elusive, always just beyond her grasp.
She hadn’t told Chase about her encounter with the weeping portrait or the phantom quill pen, but she had brought up the sounds she’d heard on the third floor. He’d brushed off her words, reminding her that Everwine Manor was a centuries-old mansion where it was perfectly normal to hear creaking doors and groaning floorboards. Runa insisted the sounds she heard were different, more than just the house settling. She hadn’t been prepared for her husband’s reaction.
Chase’s words still echoed in her mind: “You’ve been acting very strangely, Runa. I don’t think you’re adjusting well to your new life here. Perhaps you should talk to a professional about the issues you’re having.”
She hadn’t spoken another word to him the rest of the night, and they’d both fallen silently into bed. Runa was hurt that Chase had accused her of being unstable and needing to talk to a therapist. It wasn’t that she had anything against therapy; in fact, she’d been down that road before and found it beneficial. What bothered her was that her husband refused to take her seriously.
Runa flopped from her back to her side. Finally giving up on sleep, she rolled out of bed, padded softly to the window, and gazed outside at the swell of the ocean in the distance. The moonlight glittered on the water, causing the surface to glow like a crystal. The ocean spoke to her, singing, beckoning like a siren’s call. Grabbing her jacket, she slipped it over her pajamas, slid her feet into her boots, and quietly headed outside.
She felt herself being pulled like a magnet toward the rose garden. She hadn’t been back since that terrible night with Easton, but since he was away, it felt safe to return.
As she rambled through the maze of flowers, she began to relax. Under the cover of darkness, while the ocean serenaded her in the background, she let her mind spin in circles, giving herself permission to entertain the disconcerting thoughts she tried to suppress in the light of day.
Runa considered the cryptic phrase, “Du er i fare.” Now that she knew the spelling, she was too afraid to google it. Somehow, she understood that the answer would change everything, and she wasn’t ready for that. She replayed the image of the weeping portrait and the quill pen. She thought of the footsteps she’d heard traversing the creaky steps leading to the third floor and Maisie’s admonitions about it being unsafe. She remembered the woman in the portrait, her doppelgänger, wearing the same wedding gown Runa had worn to marry Chase, the one found at Everwine Manor when her own had gone missing.
She revisited the story Tawney had told about her father, his mysterious death, and the fact that Easton had loved her mother. Had he loved her enough to kill his best friend in a fit of jealous rage?
It was all too much. She didn’t know what to do with any of it, and the load felt inordinately heavy for her to bear alone.
Wiping the tears that rolled freely down her cheeks, Runa reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tissue.
After drying her face, she checked her cell phone. There was a notification of a missed call and voice mail from her mother. She must have missed it while she was talking to Chase.
She pressed Play and smiled as she heard Asta’s warm voice, wrapping around her like a bear hug.
“Sweetie, I’m worried about you. I don’t want to alarm you, but I’ve been having visions. I can’t shake the fact that my premonitions are telling me you’re in danger. Please call me tomorrow, Runa. I love you.”
Sighing heavily, Runa dropped the phone back into her pocket. Most of the time she believed her mother’s visions were nothing but a bunch of hocus-pocus, but she’d been having experiences she couldn’t explain. Her logical mind had difficulty with the fact that nothing in her life made sense.
The strange warning dreams, the random blue light that flickered from her hands on a regular basis, and the fact that she could control elements with her mind—there was no logic to any of that. Asta’s auras and premonitions didn’t seem half as farfetched as they once had.
Runa vowed to call her mother the next morning and made her way back toward the house. She was emotionally exhausted, hoping to convince her weary body to sleep.
As she entered the house, she glanced at the turret on the third floor, where a faint, unmistakable light glittered behind the stained glass windows.
Runa watched closely. Was it her imagination, or were two distinct silhouettes peering back at her?