Portraits and Shadows
1822 Words
CHAPTER SIX
Shots rang out in Blackthorn Estate. Kael exploded from the guest suite, his pistol already in his hand, but Lena followed anyway, even when he tried to stop her.
“Lena, stay here.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Before he could argue, Victor appeared at the end of the corridor with his weapon drawn. “The east wing!”
Another scream rang out through the mansion. Margaret.
Kael immediately ran toward the noise. Servants scattered in all directions, panic replacing the perfect discipline that usually ruled the estate. Somewhere downstairs, a crystal vase shattered, followed by the frantic barking of the estate’s guard dogs. The lights remained off, leaving the long corridors dimly illuminated by the red emergency lamps.
“Backup generators should have kicked in by now,” Victor muttered.
“They’re out of order.”
Kael looked at him. “You know that already?”
Victor’s face hardened. “This wasn’t random.”
They reached Isabella Ashcroft’s old bedroom, and Kael immediately noticed that the door was wide open. He clearly remembered shutting it. His grip tightened around his pistol as the realization settled in. Someone had entered while he was away.
Victor pushed the door open with one hand, his weapon sweeping across the room. “Clear.”
Kael stepped inside. The room looked pristine. The piano, the shelves of books, the bed—everything was still exactly where it had been. Everything except the portrait hanging above the fireplace. It was slightly crooked, just enough for Kael to notice.
He crossed the room.
“Don’t touch it,” Victor cautioned.
Kael paid no heed. Slowly, he lowered the heavy frame from the wall. Behind it was an empty cavity. The edges were covered in dust, but the middle was clean. Something had been concealed there, something that was now gone.
His stomach sank.
“The envelope…”
Victor scowled. “What envelope?”
“The one I found.”
“No.”
Kael shook his head. “Another one.”
Someone had beaten them to it.
A weak groan echoed from the hallway.
“Margaret!”
Kael rushed outside and found the elderly housekeeper lying against the wall, one hand pressed against her shoulder. Blood seeped through her uniform, staining the polished wooden floor beneath her. Lena immediately dropped to her knees.
“She’s still alive.”
Victor scanned both ends of the corridor. “No shooter.”
“They’re gone,” Kael said.
Margaret slowly opened her eyes, her breaths shallow and labored.
“They…” She coughed painfully before continuing. “…came for the letter.”
Kael knelt beside her. “Who did?”
She grabbed his sleeve with surprising strength.
“The portrait…”
“I know.”
“They took…” Another cough interrupted her. “…only half.”
Kael frowned. “Half?”
Margaret nodded weakly. “The other half…”
Her eyes shifted toward the fireplace inside Isabella’s room.
“…is still there.”
Before Kael could ask another question, footsteps thundered up the staircase. Damien arrived with six armed guards, his sharp eyes immediately taking in the blood, the broken door, and Margaret’s wound.
“What happened?”
Victor answered first. “Professional intrusion.”
Damien crouched beside Margaret. “Did you see them?”
She nodded once.
“They wore black.”
“Faces?”
“No.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
Damien looked toward the guards. “Seal the estate.”
“They’re already gone,” Kael said, but Damien ignored him.
“No one enters. No one leaves.”
The guards hurried away.
Kael stood, his expression hardening. “They weren’t after money.”
“I know.”
“They weren’t after me either.”
“I know.”
Kael’s voice rose. “They came for something hidden in my mother’s room.”
For the first time that night, Damien hesitated. It lasted only a second, but Kael caught it. So did Victor. Lena quietly helped Margaret sit upright.
The old housekeeper reached into her apron with trembling fingers.
“I kept…” She winced in pain. “…what they couldn’t find.”
She placed a tiny brass key into Kael’s palm. It was old and intricately carved, and engraved on its handle was the same hawk emblem found on Isabella’s journal.
Margaret slowly closed his fingers around it.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Don’t let your father see it.”
Kael looked up. Damien was watching. His expression revealed nothing, but his eyes never left the key.
Kael stared at the brass key resting in his palm. Its worn edges suggested decades of use, yet the hawk engraved on its handle remained remarkably clear. It was the same emblem embossed on Isabella’s journal.
His mother’s mark.
Margaret’s trembling fingers slowly released his hand.
“Hide it…” Her voice was barely audible. “…before anyone asks.”
Kael slipped the key into his pocket without taking his eyes off Damien. His father had seen it. That much was obvious. But for once, Damien said nothing.
“Take Margaret to the medical wing,” Damien ordered calmly.
Two guards carefully lifted the elderly housekeeper onto a stretcher. As they carried her away, she searched for Kael one last time.
“Trust…”
She struggled for breath.
“…the woman who sings.”
Then she lost consciousness.
Lena watched as they disappeared down the corridor.
“What does that mean?”
“No idea,” Kael admitted. “But she wanted me to remember it.”
The estate’s backup generators finally rumbled to life, and warm light flooded the hallway, revealing the full extent of the damage. A shattered window overlooked the eastern gardens, and rain had blown across the polished floor.
Victor crouched beside the broken glass.
“They escaped this way.”
He pointed toward muddy footprints leading into the gardens.
“Only two sets.”
Damien folded his arms. “They came prepared.”
“They also knew exactly where to go,” Victor replied. “They never searched the room.”
Kael frowned. “They walked straight to the portrait.”
The realization hung heavily in the air. Whoever had broken into the estate had known exactly where to look, which meant someone had already told them.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the hallway.
“There was a leak,” Lena said quietly.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward her.
She met each of them without hesitation. “The kidnappers knew I was pregnant. They knew where the journal was. They knew about the hidden compartment.”
She paused, her expression becoming more serious.
“Someone keeps feeding them information.”
Victor’s jaw tightened. “No one inside this estate would betray the family.”
Lena looked directly at him. “How can you be sure?”
Before Victor could answer, Damien spoke.
“Because I’ve spent thirty years choosing who serves me.”
“And people never change?” Lena asked.
Damien didn’t respond.
Kael noticed the silence. For the first time, his father didn’t sound certain.
Across the city, Detective Elias Mercer sat alone in his office. The lights were off except for the desk lamp illuminating Operation Raven. He pinned photographs across a corkboard: Damien Ashcroft, the Serpent Circle emblem, Lena’s apartment, Saint Gabriel Cathedral, and Isabella Ashcroft.
When he stepped back, the pieces still refused to fit.
His phone buzzed.
A text message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
Stop looking at the past. Look inside the estate.
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
Seconds later, a second message arrived.
The first traitor still wears Ashcroft black.
Before he could trace the number, both messages vanished from his phone, deleted remotely.
Someone had extraordinary resources.
Someone who wanted to guide him… or manipulate him.
Back at Blackthorn Estate, Kael returned to Isabella’s bedroom alone and locked the door behind him. The room felt different now. It no longer felt like a memorial. It felt like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
He removed the brass key from his pocket and studied it beneath the bedside lamp.
“There has to be a lock.”
He searched the desk but found nothing. He checked the wardrobe, but there was nothing there either. He searched the shelves of books, yet still found nothing.
His attention eventually drifted toward the white piano.
Margaret had looked at it before mentioning the second half.
Slowly, Kael lifted the piano lid. The strings had long since gathered dust, but tucked beneath them was a small wooden box no larger than a jewelry case. His pulse quickened when he noticed the tiny keyhole in the brass latch.
It was exactly the right size.
Kael inserted the key.
It turned with a soft click.
Inside lay only two items: a faded photograph and a folded sheet of music.
He picked up the photograph first. It showed Isabella sitting at the piano, with a young woman Kael had never seen before standing beside her. Both women were smiling.
Written neatly on the back were six words:
The only sister I ever trusted.
There was no name and no date, only those words.
Kael unfolded the sheet of music. At first glance, it appeared ordinary, but then he noticed that several notes had been circled in red ink.
They weren’t random notes.
They formed a pattern.
Someone had hidden a message inside the melody.
Before he could study it further, a soft knock sounded at the door.
Three gentle taps.
“Lena?”
“No.”
The reply came quietly.
“It’s Margaret.”
Kael rushed to the door and opened it. Margaret stood in the hallway, pale but conscious, her injured shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages.
“The doctor shouldn’t have let you out of bed.”
“I didn’t ask permission.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
When she saw the open wooden box, relief filled her eyes.
“You found it.”
“You knew it was here.”
“I helped Isabella hide it.”
Kael looked at the photograph.
“Who is this woman?”
Margaret’s smile faded.
“The only person still alive who knows the whole truth.”
Kael’s heart skipped a beat.
“Where is she?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then, for the first time in years, she spoke the name aloud.
“Her name is Celeste Moreau.”
Before Kael could ask another question, the bedroom door burst open.
Victor rushed inside, breathing hard.
“Kael…”
His face had gone pale.
“What happened?” Kael demanded.
Victor looked from Kael to Margaret before finally speaking the words neither of them expected.
“Damien is gone.”
The room fell silent.
“He left the estate fifteen minutes ago,” Victor continued. “Alone.”
He swallowed hard before delivering the final revelation.
“And he took Isabella’s journal.”
- Writer
