8. Beneath the Surface #4
I slam my palm on the desk. “Stop. Lying. To. Me.” The chandelier above us gives a little shudder.
“You’ve been looking for something since you walked through that door.
Those little glances at dinner. The questions about the structure of the house.
And now I find you going through my personal documents at three in the morning?
” I sweep my arm across the desk and papers scatter to the floor between us.
“What are you actually doing here, Maeve? And so help me God, if you lie to me one more time, you won’t make it to morning. ”
She straightens, a flash of the courtroom warrior replacing the flustered woman of moments ago. “I told you—I’m concerned about you. About your attachment to this place.”
“Bullshit.” The word hangs between us, stark and undeniable. “Try again.”
Something shifts in her expression, calculation, resignation, and determination cycling in quick succession. She sets down the papers she’s been clutching and meets my gaze directly.
“Fine. You want honesty? I’m trying to help you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Her voice drops, eyes darting briefly to the corners of the room. “This house isn’t what you think it is.”
“And you know better than I do? You who’ve spent all of twelve hours here?”
“I know what Lyle Garrow told me,” she snaps, something almost like fear flickering behind her professional facade. “About the history here. About the people who’ve disappeared over the years. About the… incidents.”
My blood runs cold. How much does she know? How much has Garrow told her about the sanctuary, about the Watcher, about the generations of Merricks who’ve protected the vulnerable?
“What exactly did Garrow tell you?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice level.
Maeve’s shoulders drop. She rubs her temple with two fingers, eyes closing briefly before meeting mine again.
“Garrowcornered me outside the courthouse three weeks ago. Started with concern about you living in what he called a ‘death trap waiting to collapse.’ Then came the offer, a ‘community preservation consultation’ with a five-figure retainer if I could persuade you to let the town take over the property.”
The word “bribe” sits in my mouth like something sour. My hands curl into fists, nails pressing into my palms. “He bought you,” I whisper. Then louder, my voice cracking with it: “He fucking bought you to manipulate me.”
Maeve’s lips tighten. “He offered compensation for professional services,” she says, the words crisp and rehearsed.
“I declined initially. Then the files appeared on my desk, police reports, witness statements. Detailed accounts of tenants who arrived full of hope and simply…” Her voice catches.
She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and glassy in the dim light.
“There’s something in these walls, Elara.
The town elders know it. They’ve been burying the evidence for decades. ”
A laugh comes out of me before I can stop it. “You believed him?” My voice is shaking. “Some small-town bureaucrat waving files around, and you took his word over the cousin who’s known you since we were in cribs.”
“I believed the documentation he showed me.” Her voice hardens.
“Police reports. Missing persons cases. Structural assessments declaring parts of this house are unsafe for habitation.” She takes a step towards me, the floorboards creaking beneath her weight.
“Whatever you think you’ve found here—whatever connection you feel to this crumbling pile of wood and stone—it’s not worth your safety. ”
I grip the edge of the desk, my voice dropping to a whisper. “How. Fucking. Long?” I lean forward until I can see her pupils contract. “While you were sending me Christmas cards? While you were standing next to me at my parents’ funeral? I want to know exactly when you decided to sell me out.”
“This isn’t about—”
My voice fractures between rage and heartbreak. “How. Long.” Each word drops like a stone between us, and I hate that even now, some childish part of me hopes she’ll have an explanation that lets me forgive her.
She looked away, a flush creeping up her neck. “Since you inherited the property. Garrow reached out the day after the will was transferred.”
The betrayal hits me like a physical blow. All these months of Maeve’s “concerned” phone calls, her questions about my plans for the estate, her offers to help with the legal paperwork, all of it orchestrated in partnership with Garrow.
“Get out.” My voice shakes with fury I barely recognize. “Pack your things and get out of my fucking house.”
“Elara, be reasonable—”
“Reasonable!?” I shout, and the laugh that follows is brittle and sharp. “Was it reasonable to plot with a stranger against your own cousin? Was it reasonable to break into my library in the middle of the night to search for…what, exactly? Evidence that would justify forcing me out?”
“I was trying to protect you!” She steps forward, hands outstretched in a placating gesture that only fuels my anger. “From a town with dangerous secrets. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“And you do?” I fire back, stepping closer until we’re inches apart. “What else aren’t you telling me, Maeve? What exactly did Garrow promise you in exchange for delivering my property to him?”
She recoils as if slapped, colour draining from her face. “This isn’t about money.”
“Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you sold me out to the highest bidder.” My voice rises, filling the library with an echo of my rage. “How much am I worth to you, Maeve? How much does family loyalty cost these days?”
She gathers her robe around herself like armour, her expression hardening. “You’re not thinking clearly. This place is affecting your judgment. Tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down—”
“There is no tomorrow,” I cut her off. “Not for you in this house. I want you gone at first light.”
We stare at each other across the battlefield of scattered documents, cousins turned adversaries by secrets neither fully understands. Finally, Maeve nods once, a sharp gesture of acceptance if not agreement.
“You’re making a mistake,” she says quietly. “Whatever you think this house is protecting you from, it’s not worth the risk.”
“That’s not your call to make.” I step aside, clearing her path to the door. “It never was.”
She lingers at the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.
Her face softens for just a moment, something like genuine concern breaking through her professional mask.
“Be careful, Elara. Whatever Garrow is hiding, whatever he’s so desperate to control, it’s dangerous enough that he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to get this property.
” Her voice drops almost to a whisper. “I agreed to help because I thought I was protecting you. I’m still not convinced I was wrong. ”
And then she’s gone, her footsteps fading quietly down the hall.
I’m left alone in the library, surrounded by the mess of her betrayal.
My hands won’t stop shaking — adrenaline, fury, and something else underneath it all.
The memory of building sandcastles with her at my parents’ lake house.
Borrowing her lip gloss before prom. Her voice on the phone the night Mom died.
I press my palms flat on the desk and try to hold two things at once: Maeve lied to me. And Maeve might be trying to save me.
I start gathering the papers, hands shaking so badly I tear a corner off one.
My breath is coming in short, ragged bursts as I shove everything back into folders.
What was she looking for? What does Garrow think is hidden in these pages that would be enough to take this place from me?
I slam a drawer shut hard enough to rattle the whole desk.
Part of me wants to burn every last document to ash just so no one else can touch them.
Sleep is impossible after that. I pace the library until dawn breaks, questions churning like storm clouds in my mind.
As first light filters through the windows, I hear Maeve moving around upstairs, the decisive sounds of packing, of departure.
I don’t go to see her off. The slam of the front door an hour later tells me everything I need to know.
It’s only when I finally return to my bedroom, exhausted and emotionally drained, that I notice it, a slip of paper that wasn’t there before, its corner visible beneath my door. I crouch to retrieve it, unfolding the small square with trembling fingers.
The handwriting is unfamiliar, elegant, precise, reminiscent of the journals in the watchtower, but somehow different. The words are centred on the page, their meaning clear and chilling:
“They will come for you soon. Trust no one who fears this house.”
I clutch the note to my chest, sinking onto the edge of my bed as the full weight of the night’s revelations crashes over me. Maeve’s betrayal. Garrow’s desperation. And somewhere within these walls, a guardian who sees everything, including threats I haven’t yet recognized.