Chapter Twenty
ELODIE
The night hung heavy and still, except for the occasional shuffle of hooves or the soft rustling of straw in the corners. The world beyond was a blur of shadow, the darkness pressing close against the high walls of the stables.
I was back at Lilith’s stall, her dark form a constant in the gloom.
There was something almost…comforting about her presence, though I wasn’t sure what it was.
Perhaps the way she seemed to understand the unspoken thoughts I hadn’t quite pieced together myself, or perhaps it was the quiet sense of belonging that started to stir within me whenever I was near her.
The faint smell of damp hay and the rich, earthy scent of horse hair filled the air. The stone floor beneath my boots rang loud in the silence.
Lilith raised her head as I approached, her dark eyes gleaming with intelligence that unnerved me.
Her coat shimmered in the dim light, almost ethereal in the low glow of the lanterns that flickered overhead.
I found myself standing there, one hand pressed against the stall door, my breath coming out in steady clouds.
Her ears twitched like she was listening. My mum had stood here once. She probably rested her hand at the same place I did now. The thought made my chest tighten with her absence.
Lilith snorted softly, as though acknowledging my words, but she offered no answers.
I stepped closer and slowly edged the stall door open. My steps were measured as I carefully slipped inside to the unfamiliar territory, but Lilith did not move, she did not flinch. She simply watched me with those dark, knowing eyes.
I brushed a hand over her blaze, tracing the familiar streak.
She nudged her head into my palm, and a snort escaped me.
Then she turned back to her hay, and I dropped to sit in the straw at her feet, resting my back against the cool wooden wall of the stall.
The soft rhythm of her breathing filled the silence between us.
I couldn’t explain why I felt drawn to this horse.
Maybe because she seemed to like me, while no other animal ever did, or maybe because she had once been my mum’s. Likely both.
I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the peace of the moment sink into my bones.
I thought of the ghost I’d seen, and the orphans who had once lived here but now were nowhere in sight.
Likely, they had grown up and moved away.
Still, it was strange Lilian hadn’t mentioned them once.
I shifted, the straw crinkling beneath me, and my fingers brushed against the wood of the stalls side. Over something rough. My eyes flicked open and landed on a carving etched in the wood.
Uneven lines spelled out two letters:
E.T.
My heart skipped a beat. Esmée Thornbury. I traced the initials with the tip of my finger, the pattern rough and deep, similar to the one left in the greenhouse.
I glanced up at the horse again, something stirring within me that I couldn’t quite explain.
The strange connection I felt made my throat ache.
My mum loved this horse, yet I had no memory of her.
No recollection of their bond. Grief simmered low in my chest, like a warning light I couldn’t shut off.
I hadn’t just lost my mum, I’d lost the version of her I never got to meet. The one who rode horses, lived in a castle, got drunk with her friends, and filled diaries with her thoughts. All the pieces that shaped her into who she was.
The sudden sound of the barn door opening broke my reverie. Footsteps, soft but hasty, entered the stables, and I slowly pushed myself to my feet.
“Dee!” The twins noticed me first, and they halted in their wake. They had helmets in their hands, and I glanced down at my watch. It was past ten at night.
“What are you doing here?” Cecily asked, but immediately continued, giving me no space to answer. “You can join us to the village!”
The harsh reality of the world pressed back in.
“Village?”
“We’re heading down to Thornborough,” Myra replied. “It’s nearby.”
Lilith snorted behind me.
“They have the best hot toddy.” Cecily grinned, rubbing her gloved hands together.
“Come with us.” Myra smiled. “It’s really nice.”
I blinked.
“Yes!” Cecily agreed, too sharp, earning a disapproving neigh from the horses. “You’ve to see Thornborough. And try the hot toddy,” she pressed.
I glanced back at Lilith. She was watching me with the same calm stare I started to think she always wore.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I said slowly. “I don’t even know how to gallop.”
“You don’t need to.” Myra’s smile was warm, as usual. “It’s a short ride.”
“Moonlight and mysterious strangers, if we’re lucky.” Cecily giggled.
“Cecily,” Myra warned, though she was smiling as well.
I bit down on my bottom lip, considering my answer.
Truthfully, I wanted to join them, but my mum’s words kept creeping in.
A night ride with two girls I barely knew hardly ranked as a wise decision.
But as I glanced at Lilith, I realised my mind was already made up.
My mum had her own adventures, her own secrets. So now, I shall have some of my own.
“Alright.” I blew out a shaky breath instead of refusing. The word felt like rebellion on its own.
Cecily sucked in a sharp breath. “Really?” Her grin widened, and I nodded, still slightly unsure of my decision. “It’s going to be so romantic!” she squeaked excitedly, making me flinch and Ghost neigh in what I suspected was disapproval.
But I wouldn’t back out. Not now.
Thornborough sat at the foot of Thornhill, crooked and weather-worn, the kind of place that never quite made it into modern times.
The houses leaned into each other like old gossipers, the windows clouded as the chimneys coughed the last of their smoke into the dark sky.
Ivy strangled most of the brickwork, and signs swung with moaning hinges from the wind.
We led the horses on reins through the cobbled roads, where moss pushed through the cracks like the land was trying to reclaim its own skin.
I couldn’t help but wonder if my mum ever stepped foot here. If she ever looked at these old houses and wondered about their pasts, about who lived in them now. Then I felt silly because of course she did. She once lived not more than ten minutes from here.
We halted on a narrow street, wrapped almost in complete silence, if not for the pub at the far end. Its windows gilded with light, revealing the wooden sign that hung above, swinging lazily. The Grey Maiden, it read with faded, barely readable letters.
Cecily pushed the paint-ridden door open, and Myra and I followed her in.
The heat hit first, thick and dry, laced with the scent of cinnamon, ginger, and firewood. The ceiling hung low over our heads, its beams crooked, while the walls were cluttered with old photographs and curling maps.
To a village this size, the pub was filled with both men and women.
They glanced at us, then returned to their drinks, paying us no mind.
Cecily led us to the counter, and the sound of a violin grew, almost muting the crackling of the fire entirely.
I was expecting to step into a place similar to the Drunken Lion Pub, but the atmosphere was utterly different here.
“Cosy, isn’t it?” Myra asked, right as the bartender—a woman with greying hair—looked up at us.
“What can I get ya’ girls?” she asked, wiping her hands onto her apron.
“Three hot toddies,” Cecily grinned, pulling a small, silky bag from her coat. I reached into my pocket searching for any stray pennies, when Myra stopped me.
“Cecily will get it,” she smiled. “We invited you.”
My throat dried. “Oh. Thanks,” I said as the woman waved us to sit while she prepared our orders.
The twins chose a table in the back, but even there, the seats were all taken.
“Another one of my sheep disappeared,” someone said, and I glanced from the corner of my eye to see two women sitting at a desk behind us. “I tell ya’, it’s the Great Monster. It’s back.”
My brows rose. I glared at the twins but they were giggling about something, paying no attention to what the woman was saying.
“That’s just an ol’ tale, Edith, to scare children,” the other whispered.
I couldn’t see the woman’s face, but I could hear her sigh. “I tell you, it’s back. Eight of my sheep went missing in the last three months. And what did the Monster eat in all those stories, Maisie?”
“Sheep and kids,” the other, Maisie, said, still audibly not convinced.
A log popped loudly in the hearth of the fire, sending a small shiver down my spine. I glanced toward the window, catching the black press of night and my own faint reflection in the glass.
For a second, I had the strange feeling that something was staring back.
Then, three steaming mugs landed on our table, and I blinked. The sensation vanished. I curled my fingers around the warm glass and inhaled the scent of honey and clove. Did this woman really believe those stories I read as well? Her friend was clearly right, there are no such things as Monsters.
But…I couldn’t help but think of the animal bones scattered in the garden. Of the ghost of my mum, and the strange woman in my bathroom. I shouldn’t have seen them either, and yet, I did.
Cecily raised her cup. “Let’s drink,” she said. “To nights like this, and to hot toddies.”
Myra snorted, but joined her sister, and so did I.
“To hot toddies,” we said in unison, then took a sip of the drink. It was hot and rich, sweeter than I expected, like early autumn was trying to claw its way into winter.
Warmth spread across my chest, and after so long my head emptied, even if only momentarily.