Enchanted Castle - A Novelette (The Enchanted Castle Series)

  Enchanted Castle - A Novelette

  Enchanted Castle - A Novelette

  Midpoint

  Enchanted Castle

  A Novelette

  By Chrissy Peebles

  Book 1 in The Enchanted Castle Series

  Copyright © 2012 by Chrissy Peebles

  Cover design by: Patrick Griffith

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  Dedications:

  This is dedicated to my wonderful God and Jesus.

  To Alex, Faith, and Matthew

  To Patrick Griffith, my cover artist, who makes me the coolest covers.

  To my editor, Autumn Conley. You rock!

  A special thanks to my critique partner, Jayde Scott. Thank you for your precious time, commitment, and dedication. I couldn’t have done it without you. Your magic fingers make my work sparkle…

  Episode 1

  Sometimes, what seems to be one’s salvation turns out to be one’s doom. When the brochure for Mount Park Manor arrived in our mailbox, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for a fresh start, a place to step away from things and forget about my past. The very next day, I mailed the card back with “Yes” marked in a big red checkmark. About a week or two later, Mom drove me three hours away to take the entrance exam. I was ecstatic when I received the letter telling me I’d been accepted. Two months later, when it was time to leave New Orleans behind, I didn’t cry. I didn’t even look back. I was just relieved to be given a chance at a new life.

  The ten-minute wait for the black limousine that would take me from Glasgow Airport to Mount Park Manor gave me a good picture of what to expect; it was a boring place in the boring Scottish countryside, with lots of boring people around me, but I was prepared to blend right in.

  As we drove out of the gray city, past green fields that stretched for miles on both sides of the road. We were immersed in semidarkness that wasn’t natural for that time of day, at least not where I came from. I heaved a big sigh and sank into the soft leather seats, stretching my tired legs after the nine-hour flight. I closed my eyes and did a quick mental check, making sure I had everything right, going over my cover story as to why I would have left one of the most beautiful cities behind. And, of course, there were all those made-up childhood memories of a loving family I’d never had.

  It was September, a few weeks after the beginning of the new school year, when I arrived at Mount Park Manor, with my suitcase in tow. We’d moved at least twenty times in my young life, so I was used to not possessing much. It didn’t bother me at all, because settling down—in New Orleans, Scotland, or anywhere else—was something I never expected to do. It’s not that I wanted to live a rootless, nomadic life, but it was a necessity. Wherever I went, no one seemed to get me. Heck, my own parents didn’t get me, and they’d always preferred to abandon me with some nanny or at a stuffy boarding school while they traveled the globe. After the last incident at my previous temporary school, I no longer felt a need to be understood. I had a new mantra, The less attention people pay me, the better, and I was becoming really good at blending in.

  The car rolled through the high gates at a leisurely speed. I peered through the rain-stained windows at the imposing building in front of me. I’d assumed we’d be staying in an old house, just a mansion, but as I peered at the four- or five-story building with all those arched windows and tiny towers, I realized I’d be spending the next school year in a magnificent castle. I smiled at the thought of cliques that wouldn’t pay me any attention in such huge, enchanting surroundings, and I hoped I could just blend right in to the ancient woodwork.

  The door creaked as I entered, and I expected hundreds of eyes to gawk at me as soon as I stepped inside. But to my surprise, the hall—a large, open space with a candelabra and a red rug covering most of the marble floor—was entirely empty, devoid of life, but soft voices and short laughter carried over from upstairs. I peered down at the layout map they’d sent with my enrollment papers and headed up the broad staircase.

  My room was situated on the second floor, tenth door to the right. The lights were already on, so I stepped in and stopped midstride, at a loss for words. Whoa! Was the only word that came to mind as I looked around at my accommodations. The place definitely had some gothic vibes going on. For one thing, there was no delicate floral wallpaper—only old Tuscany brick walls, like something out of Dracula’s castle.

  My gaze moved up to the arched stone windows and vaulted ceiling, but only long enough to realize that I was still standing in the doorway, gaping like an idiot. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself, good or bad. I knew gossip would only lead to lots of unwelcome interest in me, so I softly closed the door behind me and set my bags down next to the king-sized antique bed, carved from dark wood, with a matching bedside table. I spun in a circle as I took in the luxurious tapestries hanging from the walls and red and gold drapes adorning the windows.

  While I came from a huge house in New Orleans and was used to the overpriced stuff my parents liked to call antiques, I had never seen such opulence, not even in a museum. Much to my chagrin, I found myself strolling around the room, touching this and that, until I stopped in front of a huge mirror to regard my blonde hair that was falling into my hazel eyes and the dark circles under my eyes; I couldn’t blame them on jetlag, because that under-eye luggage had been there for at least the last few weeks. I ran a hand through my hair and pinched my cheeks to give them a bit of color. Just then, I noticed two black suitcases, situated across the thick rug and fabric wingback chairs on the far right of the room.

  As far as I remembered, I only had one suitcase, and it was certainly not beat up like those two. Am I in the wrong room? I wondered. Frowning, I inched to inspect the name tags.

  Suddenly, the door burst open, and a tall guy walked in.

  Startled, I jumped a step back and pressed my hand against my heart.

  “Whoa! My first day here, and already I’m a lucky guy,” he said with a grin.

  I blinked, stunned and taken aback at the sound of his deep, melodious voice. I cleared my throat as I tried to look away from his impossibly blue eyes, framed by long lashes. He was clad in tight blue jeans and a shirt that hugged his muscles, but what really stood out was the cord necklace he wore around his neck. “I-I’m pretty sure I was assigned this room, so…”

  He ran a hand through his messy black hair and rubbed his half-open eyes, visibly amused. “I dunno. Sounds like a farf
etched explanation. Maybe we’re just supposed to share.”

  “I think you need to find your room,” I said rigidly.

  He walked past me and reached for his suitcases. I heaved a big sigh of relief, thinking he’d be out the door in no time, but to my surprise, the guy just tossed his bags on the bed and starting unzipping them.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I whispered, mortified.

  He ignored my question and continued rummaging through his things. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help but sneak a peek. He seemed to have an affinity for well-worn blue jeans and torso-hugging shirts. “I’m Hunter, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I peered down at the tan skin and the silver ring on his index finger but didn’t touch it. “Zoey…and please get out of my room.”

  “Ain’t happening, beautiful. I’m pretty sure this is my room, and even if it’s not, I was here first.” He threw the cover back on his suitcase, but didn’t zip it up.

  “Ain’t?” I snorted. “Isn’t this school supposed to be for the crème de la crème, the cream of the crop?”

  He peeked up, his eyes twinkling. “Heh. Have you met any of the characters in this place? They searched high and low across the United States to…find us.” He laughed.

  “Yes, because they saw talent in us.” I wasn’t on the honor roll or anything like that, but the teachers and school officials had always said I had potential, that they saw something special in me.

  Hunter snorted. “Talent, huh? My rap sheet is a mile long. Most schools wanna expel me, not enroll me.”

  “Why are you here then?” I asked, trying not to stare into those mesmerizing eyes.

  “I dunno. What do you think?” He laughed softly. “It’s Scotland though. Would you turn down spending your senior year of high school in a place like this? It’s like…freedom.”

  Fair enough, I thought, though it was a bit ironic. He was here for freedom while I was running away from my problems—far away to another country, as if even that could bury the pain.

  Hunter pointed at my neck. “Love the necklace. Hey…wait! You must be that gypsy girl everyone’s talking about. Your mom, Madam Destiny or something, does readings on TV, right? Think she’d do one for me? I need to know whether I’ll pass math this time.”

  I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. Great. He had to bring up my mother. She’s so… The truth is, it was difficult to describe my mom. She wore long, ruffled, flowing skirts, large hoop earrings, beaded jewelry, gold bangle bracelets, and scarves in vibrant and obnoxious colors. She completed the gaudy, hippie street fair costume with a large opal ring to complete the look. Yes, my mother was a typical gypsy, complete with sandals that she even wore in the winter.

  He cleared his throat. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Do you think you could give me a reading?”

  I shook my head grimly. “I’m not like my mom.” I didn’t have a psychic bone in my body, and I didn’t really believe in all of that even think that stuff was for real. It was entertainment, and my mom made a fantastic living off of it. “I don’t believe in that crap. Now, can you please get out?”

  He just sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at me and revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. “Hey, Zoey…” He moistened his lips and cocked his head to the side.

  I peered from his shimmering eyes to his flushed cheeks, and the perfect shape of his lips. My heart began to beat a little bit faster. I had never been around someone so unbelievably hot. I’d read about guys like him in books and seen them in movies, but such chance encounters with hunks never happened to me. This can’t be happening, a guy who looks like that sitting in my bedroom in a freaking castle, I told myself, but I couldn’t let him know how shocked I was. “What?” I said, irritated that the guy would have any effect on me.

  “Am I gonna pass math or what?”

  He was irritating me, so I saw no harm in returning the favor. “Give me your palm, and we’ll see,” I said, trying to sound serious.

  He played along and stretched out his hand.

  “Hmm…” I said, wrinkling my brow, as if I saw anything other than a strong hand that made mine burn with hotness as soon as he touched it. “See the top line in your hand, the one that goes from your middle or index finger toward your pinky?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I’d seen Mom do readings a million times, so it wasn’t that hard to pull off an Oscar-worthy performance. “I need to see where the heart line starts. If it’s under your index finger, it means you’re happy with your love life.”

  He grinned. “Really? I’m anxious to hear this one.”

  I ran my fingers across the lines in his hand, and a cold chill ran through my body. Flashes of light dotted my vision; a loud crack echoed in my ears, a gunshot; Hunter clutched his heart as he collapsed to the ground; I hugged him, weeping, as if I’d known him 100 years. “You killed him,” I shouted up at someone I couldn’t see. “Why? Why did you have to do it?”

  “Zoey?” Hunter said, breaking into my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

  I snapped out of it and peered around the room, confused. Everything was just the same as before, with no trace of blood or gore. “Yeah, I just…” My tongue stuck to the back of my throat, and I was unable to complete the sentence. There was nothing I could tell him anyway. I didn’t want him to think I was crazy, some weird chick with an overactive imagination. I dropped his hand as I felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re fine. You’ll have a happy life, with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence.”

  “What about my love life though? Because I think it’s dramatically improved within the last hour.”

  My cheeks burned, and I didn’t know what to say.

  Fortunately for me, we were interrupted by the door creaking open. A tall lady with her red hair wrapped in a tight bun walked in. “Mr. Connors, please return to your room immediately.”

  I peered at her, taking in all the details, from her frown to the way her hand clasped the door frame, as though she could tear it in tiny pieces any minute. I swallowed hard. “He thinks this is his room.”

  “This is the girls’ section of the castle. Clearly, this room belongs to Zoey Sanders.” She checked her list. “You’re in room 2c. Now, Mr. Connors, please leave.”

  He shot me a smile, then grabbed his suitcases.

  The woman blocked his path. “Shoes, Mr. Connors…now.”

  “She’s just jealous I wasn’t talking to her about my love life,” Hunter whispered in my ear, then grabbed his Nike tennis shoes from under the bed.

  I held back a smile, knowing it wouldn’t help my case if I burst out into laughter.

  “Mr. Connors, you’ll be washing the dishes tonight after supper.”

  “What? No way!” Hunter said. “That’s so not fair.” Of course we’d have to revert to hand-washing and drying the dishes, since the Maytag Man wasn’t around in the Middle Ages to install a dishwasher, but Hunter looked as if he’d been sentenced to being locked up in a dark dungeon with rats biting his toes.

  “Ma’am, it really was an innocent mistake,” I said, trying to plead his case for him. “I mean, who wouldn’t get lost in this huge place?”

  “Miss Sanders, I run this house. Since you choose to question my authority, you’ll be joining Hunter for kitchen duty tonight after supper.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I conceded, my heart thrumming. It wasn’t that dirty dishes were all that exciting, but if I was going to be stuck in the castle kitchen with a guy who looked like that, I’d happily scrub for hours.

  The school matron placed her hands on her hips and glared at Hunter, as if to stop him from saying what he was about to blurt out. “No backtalk, young man, or you’ll be doing the dishes all week.”

  He shot her a lazy smile, and I couldn’t help being turned on by his cockiness.

  I looked up at the woman. “We’re sorry, miss. It won’t happen again,” I said, remembering my mother’s sage advice to refer to
teachers by “miss,” “madam,” or “sir.” I’d considered “sir” briefly, but I thought she might take offense to that.

  The matron heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m letting you off easy because you’re new, but the next time you disobey the rules or take a sassy tongue with me, there will be stiff penalties to pay.”

  Hunter glanced over his shoulder at me with that easygoing grin. “Sorry we started off on the wrong foot—a barefoot, to be exact, but don’t worry. This is gonna be an awesome year. It has to! We’re in Scotland! It was nice meeting you, Zoey.”

  I liked the way he said my name. “Nice meeting you too.”

  “Maybe we can play cards later tonight.”

  “Cards?”

  He winked. “You know…tarot cards.”

  I laughed, wondering how someone could be so good at breaking the ice with a complete stranger. The castle was supposed to be my getaway from the reality back at home. I hoped Hunter and all the gothic charm of the place might be just the distraction I needed from the pain that threatened to consume me every waking hour—and often in my dreams. Fate had thrown me into a real-life castle, into some kind of modern-day, twisted fairytale, but I couldn’t have been happier to escape my own dreadful reality, if only for a year.

  * * *

  The teachers purposely separated me from Hunter during dinner, so I had no way to make any kind of small talk with him until we ended up on kitchen patrol. I swished hot water around a giant pot and scrubbed away, trying to get the stuck-on noodles off. Washing dishes wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but getting to know Hunter a little better was awesome and well worth the greasy water and sticky suds. He blew some bubbles in the air, and I laughed and swatted at them playfully, like I was four years old. He was up to his elbows in suds, singing and swaying to a hit song I’d heard on the radio earlier, and boy, did he have a fantastic voice. I caught on to the lyrics quickly and started to sing with him. I grinned as he smiled widely.