CLARA
I pick up speed, dodging low-hanging branches and thick underbrush. My lungs hurt from my panting breaths, my heart racing as I keep pushing my body forward.
I don’t answer. Obviously. Answering would defeat the purpose of running away.
It wasn’t my idea to marry into the Mafia.
Heck, I’m not even sure how I got here—running through the Black Forest in the middle of the night.
I know one thing, though. I am not going through with this wedding.
I’ve read enough about organized crime to not want to have any part of it, even if it’s that of a hapless, cloistered wife.
My husband-to-be and his goons have picked up my trail fast—too fast. If I can hear them calling for me, then they might be able to see my phone’s flashlight.
But there’s no way I can turn it off. Very little light makes it past the tall firs and spruces surrounding me, even during the day.
But at night? It’s like falling into a black hole.
I need to see where I’m going, or I’ll trip over the first root or fallen log in my path.
I come to a stop before a stream, the air suddenly thick with the intoxicating sweetness of black elderberry.
It’s everywhere I look. Locals call it the witch tree, and, well, I could use some magic right about now.
Because what am I even doing? Delivering myself like a meal to a wild boar as if I’m Uber Eats?
I’m bleeding enough from little cuts and scrapes that I must be a beacon to predators.
Well, I can’t stay here. The shouts are only getting closer, and if I let myself be caught now, then all of this was for nothing.
Determined, I step into the stream, cringing when the cold water infiltrates my boots.
That’s going to get unpleasant real fast. I need to get somewhere safe and dry and warm.
But where? I’m in the middle of the wilderness.
No matter how far I run, my boots squishing with every step, the shouting seems to come closer. I need to hide.
Ironically, just as I have the thought, I get to a clearing, the moonlight shining through unobstructed, illuminating everything it touches. There is no way Marco and his men won’t catch me here—I’m completely exposed. I need to move.
There’s nothing special on one side of the clearing; just more forest and darkness.
But the other side… The trees are dead there, their skeletal remains reaching up toward the sky.
And above them, on a modest hill, a forlorn, decaying castle.
I don’t see any lights or any other sign of life.
Though it’s pretty darn late, so if there is someone there, they might be asleep.
I don’t have time to dawdle. I make up my mind in an instant, sprinting across the clearing and toward the looming structure on the hill. My heart is in my throat the entire time I’m exposed, just waiting for someone to shout, “Aha, there she is!”
By some miracle, I make it to the bottom of the hill without being seen. Then it’s time to climb the hill.
“You are like a porcelain doll, Clara,” I mutter, imitating my fiancé’s smooth accent.
I huff and puff, following the overgrown trail leading to the castle. When’s the last time someone pruned here? These thorns make it look like I’m surrounded by razor wire.
“Hair like starlight. Eyes like bluebells. Blah blah blah.”
Okay, I need a plan. And dry feet. Maybe I can find a blanket in the castle that isn’t covered in… On second thought, I’ll refrain from planning. I always wanted to learn to live in the moment. No time like the present.
After what feels like forever, I reach an iron gate topped with lethal-looking spikes. It has to be three times my height.
“There’s no way I can scale this,” I mumble to myself as I look at the gate’s imposing height. “There has to be another way in…”
I brace a hand against the iron bars, turning my head to see which way I should go next.
Though I haven’t heard them in a while, Marco and his men could be here any second.
Suddenly, I lose my balance, my body tipping forward as the gate opens with a screech of rusted hinges.
I yelp, catching myself just as I’m about to faceplant into the worn cobblestones.
That was way too close! Why was the gate just unlocked like this? No chains, no padlock? Weird.
I walk into the courtyard, my steps tentative, my bottom lip between my teeth.
Lots of crumbling stone around me, along with stubborn weeds.
The castle itself looms above me like an ancient grave marker.
The stone is dark, covered in moss in places, and the towers are overgrown with ivy.
Rapunzel could climb down herself, no problem.
I jump when a shutter clatters above me, drawing my gaze to a beautiful stained-glass window.
Is someone there? Is that why the gate wasn’t locked? Well, I don’t have the luxury of turning back now, so it doesn’t matter. I cross the courtyard and head to the tall double doors, praying they’re not where my luck runs out.
But I’m pleasantly surprised when the door swings inward easily, the hinges well-oiled. Maybe someone is maintaining this place after all, and I will find blankets that aren’t covered in rat excrement.
Instead of a foyer or mudroom, or whatever big old castles have, I find an inner courtyard, well-lit by the moon above.
Or is this an atrium? I’m not sure I know the difference.
Nature has taken over here as well, wild roses crawling up columns and perfuming the air with sensual notes.
It has an odd kind of beauty to it, one that I can appreciate. A bit lonely, a bit forlorn.
I skirt the edges of the inner garden, walking past unrecognizable statues, until I finally find another, smaller door. And this one seems to actually lead inside.
Though I’m relieved that I don’t smell any mildew or urine, there are definite signs of someone being here.
Maybe not today, maybe not even this year, but if this castle were as abandoned as it appeared from the outside, I imagine there would’ve been cobwebs everywhere.
And where there are cobwebs, there are spiders.
Shuddering, I reach for my phone to turn the flashlight back on. I blink at the screen. No signal? Am I so far away from civilization that there’s no cellphone tower coverage? Guess I won’t be Ubering out of here after breakfast.
The beam of my flashlight nearly blinds me, even though it’s pointed away from me. It’s just so dark here. And cold. And I can’t put the sensation of wet socks out of my mind either.
The flagstone floors are a bit uneven and worn but look clean enough. I turn in a circle, aiming the beam at the walls. More stone. Gorgeous faded tapestries. In fact, I’ve seen museums less fancy than this. It’s a miracle no one has pilfered everything, with everything just being unlocked and all.
I decide on a direction and carefully step forward. A part of me wants to call out, see if anyone’s here, and would respond. But the bigger part of me is chickenshit. This looks like the kind of place that has ghosts, and I have zero interest in waking them up.
The first worn wood door I find leads to a narrow staircase with small vertical openings in the stone—archery holes, right? This must be one of the turrets. I guess I could climb it and see if Marco and his security are still hot on my trail. I haven’t heard their shouts in a while now.
I head up, careful not to trip over any uneven steps. At the top, I’m stopped by a hatch door.
“Ugh. I really hope I’m not about to be showered by decades of dust and even more unsavory things,” I grumble.
Mercifully, I emerge at the top of the turret with my airways intact, relieved to find it in a palatable state. Are spiders allergic to this castle?
Muffled shouts snap me out of my train of thought, and I anxiously tap on my screen, shutting the flashlight off. As my heart tries to beat its way out of my ribcage, I peek out over the ledge, taking in the view.
The turret is—unsurprisingly—facing the Black Forest, the canopies gleaming like dark silver in the moonlight.
But it’s also facing the meadow I found myself in not long ago, and that’s where I see my pursuers.
I can’t tell what they’re saying, but they seem to be looking around, deciding where to go.
And I wager that, like me, they’re going to find this castle the safest bet.
Except they’re not even looking this way. Are they blind or something? How can you miss this thing? It’s perched on a hill and sticking out like a sore thumb.
Sure enough, they turn their backs and head the other way, voices raised again. I let loose a hysterical giggle, covering my mouth with my hand to muffle it. I might just get away!
Feeling a million times lighter, I head back down the turret, determined to explore my new safe haven. Maybe my luck is finally turning?