Chapter 12: The Locked Garden
1182 Words
The night air outside the Mirror Hall felt different. Too quiet. Too sharp. As if the house itself had stopped breathing. Charles kept a firm hold on my wrist until we reached the main staircase, only letting go when I tugged slightly.
You are shaking, he said.
I crossed my arms. I am not.
He gave me that look again that said he knew better. I hated how he could read me so easily-and at the same time, part of me felt strangely comforted by it. Still, I pulled away.
What was in there? I asked.
He hesitated. That alone unsettled me. Charles always had an answer. Always had control. Seeing even a c***k in that composure made the danger feel more real.
This house reacts to certain people, he said. To certain blood.
Blood. The very word rang inside my head like a warning.
Before I could ask him more, a faint noise wafted in through the hall. Metal against metal. A creak. Almost like an old gate swinging open.
Charles stiffened again. His eyes narrowed, peering into the gloom.
Stay here, he said.
I raised my chin. No
He stared at me for a long moment. The tension crackled between us again, thick enough to feel. He finally exhaled, not quite a sigh, more like reluctant acceptance.
Fine. But stay behind me.
We walked down the corridor, heading toward the west wing. The lights were dimmer here, the shadows longer. There were so many areas on this estate I had never seen, and this place felt older than the rest of the house. The wallpaper peeled slightly at the corners and the air was colder, as if the rooms had remained untouched for decades.
The sound repeated. A metallic creak. Then a soft whisper of wind.
We followed it to a tall, wooden door with an iron latch. Ivy crawled across the frame as if trying to hide it from view.
What is this place? I asked softly.
Charles laid his hand on the latch. The Locked Garden.
The name itself engendered curiosity within me. Why locked? And why did it feel like something inside called us closer?
Charles pushed the door open.
A cold gust of wind whipped past us, heavy with the scent of earth and roses, and something darker. Beyond, the garden lay in moonlight, enclosed by old stone walls. Vines curled along them, long-forgotten statues stood cracked and moss-covered, and the ground shimmered faintly, as though dew glowed silver beneath the moon.
It is beautiful, I whispered.
Charles remained tense, his eyes scanning its shadows as if expecting something to leap out.
It has not been opened in years, he said.
Then why is it open now?
His jaw clenched. That is what I plan on finding out.
We stepped inside together. The garden felt too alive, the vines shifting gently in the wind, petals trembling without being touched. A stone fountain stood in the center, dry but strangely luminous.
As we drew closer, I saw that something was carved into the basin. A name. My breath caught when I read it aloud.
Elara.
Charles froze.
You know who that is, I said.
His silence confirmed it.
Tell me.
He hesitated again. The moonlight showed the tension in his shoulders, a rare flash of vulnerability in his eyes. Finally, he spoke.
Elara was my sister, and I never knew she had two names.
My heart stopped. I remembered the cold presence in the Mirror Hall, the shadowy flicker, the cracked glass, the reflection that smiled without me.
I swallowed hard. What happened to her?
He leaned in towards the fountain until his fingertips grazed the carved letters.
She vanished inside this garden. The same night your sister disappeared.
Shock pinned me. Connected. They were connected.
But how?
Charles went on in a hoarse whisper. There are ancient legends about Blackstone. Tales of a binding. A curse. I never believed them. Until Elara was taken.
What kind of curse? I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
His eyes lingered on mine, heavy and dark. Some say the estate demands something of each generation: a bloodline sacrifice, a chosen one.
The ground shifted beneath our feet. A soft ripple, almost as of breathing soil.
Before any of us could react, a sudden, sharp cry echoed from the far side of the garden.
A girl’s cry.
I clutched Charles’s arm. That sounded like my sister.
He didn't waste a second. He pulled me behind him and sprinted in the direction of the sound. We ran past the thorny hedges, past the old statues whose stone eyes seemed to follow us. Another cry pierced the air. Closer this time.
Presently we came to a huge stone arch, smothered in creepers. The entrance beneath it was a narrow passageway of dense bushes. The cries were louder.
My lungs constricted. Fear clawed at my throat.
Charles pushed ahead, ripping vines out of his path.
The path opened into a clearing.
I saw her.
A girl in a pale dress sat on the ground hugging her knees, her long hair concealing her face. She was shaking uncontrollably.
My sister, I whispered, stepping forward.
Charles clutched at my arm. Wait.
But I could not wait. I rushed to her and dropped to my knees beside her.
Katie?
She lifted her face.
It was not Katie.
Her eyes were black, not dark, but black, empty and consuming. Her skin was too pale, her expression blank. She stared right at me, without blinking, without recognition.
A cold dread seized my spine.
Who are you? I whispered.
Her mouth opened slowly. No breath. No warmth. Just a quiet, hollow sound.
You came back.
Charles jerked me away so quickly that I stumbled.
Not human, he hissed. Do not touch her.
The girl jerked to her feet as if being pulled upwards by some invisible string, her head tilting, eyes still fixed on us.
The garden lights dimmed, the shadows lengthened, and statues appeared to lean closer.
The girl came forward.
One slow, deliberate movement.
Then another.
Charles stepped in front of me, concealing my entire body.
Run, he whispered.
His voice was deadly serious. No hesitation, no softness.
The girl broke into a sprint.
Charles pushed me back toward the garden entrance.
Now. Move.
We ran, whipped by the branches. The earth rumbled again and I heard the girl behind us, her footsteps rapid, her breathing coarse and wrong.
Charles reached the main gate and pushed it open. I sprinted through. He followed and slammed it shut, just as the pale girl lunged forward.
Her fingers curled around the bars, her face pressed against them.
Her voice scraped through the night.
You came back.
I stumbled backward, shaking. Charles pulled me into his arms for a moment, grounding me, his heartbeat loud and steady against my ear.
That was not Katie, I whispered.
No, he said, and she is not the only one trapped inside that garden.
His tone conveyed one message.
The garden had taken something from him. And now it wanted something from me, too.
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