Chapter 3 #2
I placed my hands on my hips. “Oh, God. Did we drink water infested with bacteria from a rotting corpse?”
She paled. “Ugh! No, that’s a horrible thought.”
Without another word, I waded into the creek, the frigid water numbing my legs. Emily hesitated, but with a groan of reluctance, she followed.
Dragging the soaked man and woman from the stream took an eternity.
The term “dead weight” existed for a reason.
Their clothes were waterlogged, their limbs stiff, making the process agonizing.
But we finally laid them side by side a few yards from the water’s edge.
I gathered small stones and placed them over their eyes—a silent offering of respect for the dead.
That grim task done, I exhaled and turned toward the overturned carriage. “Maybe there’s something useful inside. They certainly don’t need it anymore.”
“Good idea,” Emily muttered, rubbing her arms as if trying to shake off the chill.
We trekked back to the wreckage and began sorting through the sodden goods.
Despite the damage, we uncovered valuable supplies—leather pouches filled with much-needed food, utensils, a knife, bowls, and tin cups.
We pulled everything onto the creek bank, sorting what we could use from what was ruined.
Then—a loud crack. A branch broke in the distance.
I stiffened. My breath caught in my throat.
Balthazar.
Had he finally found us?
“Be quiet, Emily,” I whispered, my pulse hammering. “Someone or something is out there.”
We crouched low in the water, our eyes sweeping the forest. The horses stood motionless in the stream, ears flicking, sensing the tension.
If we needed to run, we could reach them in seconds.
Then—movement. A small figure peeked out from behind a tree.
A child. A tiny girl.
“Oh!” I breathed, lowering my guard. “I didn’t think to look for survivors.” Without waiting for Emily’s input, I rose and started toward the trees.
“Wait, Olivia! What if it’s a trap?” Emily hissed, scurrying behind me.
I ignored her and kept moving.
The child ducked behind the tree as we approached.
“Sweetie,” I called gently, “we won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”
I stepped around the trunk and found her crouching near a small bush, her tiny frame half-hidden in the undergrowth.
“Honest,” I said, extending my hand. “Emily and I just want to help.”
The little girl hesitated before standing. She took a few tentative steps toward me, her pale face unreadable, hovering between fear and sorrow. Then she lifted her gaze, and my breath hitched.
Her eyes.
Huge, dark, and achingly familiar.
I staggered back. Those were Roman’s eyes.
My pulse pounded as I took in the rest of her features—dark, tousled hair, child-sized Patrician cheekbones, a jawline too refined for a child her age. She looked like she could be his child.
No. That was impossible.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The little girl ducked her head, peering at me through lashes impossibly long for someone so young.
“I’m Olivia,” I said, my throat tight. “And this is Emily. Can you tell me your name?”
She hesitated before speaking, her voice high and lilting. “I’m Rosie.”
Rosie.
My stomach twisted.
“What a beautiful name,” I murmured, crouching closer. “How old are you, Rosie?”
She held up five fingers.
Five.
I felt the ground shift beneath me. My mind whirled.
“You’re five,” I echoed. “Where are your parents?”
Rosie’s chin trembled. She lifted a chubby hand and pointed toward the stream, her little voice barely above a whisper.
“They died.”
A lump formed in my throat. I prayed she hadn’t seen us haul her parents from the water.
“What happened, sweetheart?” I asked gently. “Did the horses spook?”
Rosie shrugged, clasping her hands at her hips as she twisted back and forth, her small frame shifting in the cold air.
“Do you think anyone’s looking for her?” Emily whispered behind me.
I scanned the endless stretch of wilderness—the skeletal trees, the untouched snow, the gray sky pressing down like a leaden weight—but nothing. No one.
“Look around, Em. There’s no one for miles,” I murmured. “We haven’t seen another soul in days. Let’s take care of her.”
Emily’s breath hitched. “Are you insane?” she hissed. “Balthazar is hunting us. We’re barely surviving as it is. You want to drag a child into this?”
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her a few steps away, lowering my voice. “Keep your voice down. She could hear you.”
Emily’s expression twisted in frustration. “You can’t honestly believe taking her with us is a good idea. She’s a child, Olivia. A helpless one. You want to put her in harm’s way?”
I exhaled sharply. “Can’t you see? It could be a sign.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Look at her, Emily. She looks like Roman. Maybe fate put her in our path because I lost my child. Maybe I’m meant to protect her.”
Emily scoffed, throwing up her hands. “Don’t be ridiculous. She needs real care, not to be hauled on horseback by two women who can barely care for themselves.”
“But we have more food now. You saw the supplies her parents had—that’ll last us a good while. And she needs to eat too. What are we supposed to do, take their food and leave her to fend for herself?” I gestured toward Rosie. “She’s five, Emily. Five.”
Emily clenched her jaw, her silence stretching between us like a chasm. Then, with an angry exhale, she agreed, “Fine. But if she slows us down or something happens to us because of her, I’ll be the first to say I told you so.”
“I know you’re scared,” I said, softening my voice. “But nothing’s going to happen to her—or us. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”
Emily let out an exasperated huff, but I ignored her, turning back to Rosie—
Except… she was gone.
Panic shot through me. My stomach lurched.
“Rosie?” My voice raised. “Rosie, where are you?”
No answer.
A horse whinnied behind me.
I whipped around, expecting to see Balthazar emerging from the trees, dread clawing at my ribs—
But it was Rosie.
She stood by one of the horses, small hands pressed gently against its muzzle.
Relief nearly buckled my knees. “Oh, thank God,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my pounding heart.
She turned her solemn eyes toward me, unbothered by my near panic.
I knelt beside her. “Sweetheart, guess what? Emily and I are going to take you with us.”
Her tiny fingers curled into the horse’s mane. For the first time, her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close.
And just like that, fate sealed itself.
***
We traveled for another week, with Rosie perched in front of or behind me on my horse, Daisy.
Despite everything she had been through, Rosie was a remarkably even-tempered child, never complaining, never fussing.
She was a ray of light against the relentless cold, laughing at how snowflakes landed on her mittens, sticking out her tongue to catch them, and singing soft little songs to the horses.
Eight days after finding her parents’ lifeless bodies, we finally reached the majestic Catskill Mountains.
“We did it, Emily!” I breathed, my chest swelling with relief. “We found them.”
Emily let out a shaky exhale. “Thank goodness.”
Guiding our horses onto a narrow trail that snaked up the mountainside, we pressed forward. The climb was steep, the air crisp, but we found it as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
A stately old house tucked within a grove of trees.
I whispered a silent prayer of thanks to whoever—or whatever—might be listening.
The setting sun painted the sky orange, peach, and deep violet streaks. Soon, darkness would settle over the mountains.
The house stood like a relic of another time, its massive wooden frame perched atop a stone foundation.
A large wraparound deck stretched along the front, and two gigantic stone chimneys rose along one side.
Greenish shingles clung to the roof, aged and weathered by the elements.
Enormous boulders dotted the landscape, adding to the house’s rugged, almost mystical presence.
I nudged Daisy closer, my pulse quickening.
“This looks just like the house John James described,” I murmured. “I think this is it.”
Emily remained in her saddle, eyeing the house warily.
I slid off Daisy’s back. “Stay here. I’m going to check for occupants. It doesn’t look like anyone’s here—the windows are all boarded up.”
Reaching for the weapons strapped to my thighs, I drew my gun and dagger, their familiarity grounding me.
If this were the place we had been searching for… I had no idea what we might find inside.
“What are you doing?” Emily’s voice was higher than usual, edged with nervousness.
I shot her a look. “Protecting myself. What do you think?”
I strode toward the entrance, ignoring how my heart hammered against my ribs. I raised a fist and pounded on the door.
“Is anyone there? Hello?”
Silence.
I gripped the doorknob. It turned easily beneath my hand.
With a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
A chilling creak echoed through the empty foyer as the last of the daylight filtered in, casting long, eerie shadows across the parquet floor.
Dust swirled in the fading light, and cobwebs draped like gossamer curtains from the chandelier, the walls, and the heavy wooden banisters.
The grand staircase split into two at the top, each flight disappearing into darkness.
For a brief moment, I could almost picture an actress sweeping down the steps, a martini in hand, the house alive with voices and music. But that was long ago.
Now, the air was thick with abandonment.
A shiver crawled up my spine.
This couldn’t be the place. It looked like no one had been here for decades.
Suddenly, the door groaned behind me. I jolted, a cry escaping before I could stop it.
“It’s just us, Olivia,” Emily whispered from the threshold, Rosie clinging to her hand. “We didn’t feel safe sitting out there alone.”
They stepped into the foyer, their footsteps barely making a sound against the dust-laden floorboards.
Emily’s gaze lifted, and she let out a breath. “My gosh, look at that staircase! And that chandelier—there must be hundreds of crystals.”
“Right?” I murmured, still shaken. “This place was once a masterpiece.”
I swallowed my worry and glanced up the stairs. I needed to know if there were anything—or anyone—inside.
“I’m going to check upstairs,” I said, leveling my voice. “You wait down here. If you hear anything strange, get outside as fast as possible. Understood?”
Emily hesitated before nodding. “Understood.”
I ascended the steps, each groan and creak beneath my weight sending me a fresh jolt of unease.
At the first landing, I paused, scanning both directions.
Left or right?
My gut pulled me toward the right-hand stairs. Steeling myself, I continued upward.
When I reached the top, I froze.
A shadow loomed at the end of the dim hallway.
Framed by the pale light of a small window, a tall, muscular man stood motionless, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling above him, swaying slightly in the draft.
His eyes locked onto mine—dark, piercing, unreadable.
A presence like steel and shadow, radiating quiet power.
My pulse pounded in my throat.
It could only be Eyan Malik.