Chapter 1 #2
I swear it was our way of preserving our family’s recipes. The only way to learn them was by being taught, building lasting memories to cherish along the years.
The drive to Litchfield, where my uncle lived, was an hour from the airport, and I spent most of the ride staring out the window, getting acquainted with my new environment and taking it all in. The city disappeared quickly, replaced by winding roads and rolling hills that stretched for miles.
The farther we drove, the older the scenery became. I couldn’t help but feel all the history pouring out of the seams of every corner and weathered building we drove by. It was what captivated me the most. All the untold stories and legends beneath the trees, just waiting for me to uncover.
At least I knew I could keep myself busy. The views alone were beautifully haunting, holding secrets that had been wrapped in silence for centuries silence, it felt sacred in the air. The deeper we drove into Litchfield County, the older my surroundings grew.
Particularly the colonial-style homes that stood proudly behind the battered stone walls, sharing their own stories to anyone who’d listen. It was the ancient and mysterious energy that crept deep into my bones that made me smile wide for the first time since I arrived.
I hadn’t considered the history of this place until now. I was too wrapped up with having to be there in the first place.
“See something you like?” Alfred asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Maybe.” I grinned.
However, that feeling was cut short. As soon as we pulled into the wrought-iron gates of what I assumed was my tío’s estate, a strong shift in the air caused my stomach to immediately lock up.
There was this strange heaviness settling over me that had nothing to do with the shadows lurking behind all the landscaping around the property.
The silence wrapped around me like a coffin, except it quickly started whispering to me…
“Run.”
These grounds had a pulse, breathing life into the space around me, making the hair on my arms stand straight at attention. I couldn’t shake the invasive feeling of suddenly being watched, and it wasn’t from the endless cameras surrounding the property, aimed right at us.
My brows pinched together as I wrestled with the irrational thought. It didn’t make sense, yet I couldn’t ignore the certainty settling deep in my bones of how familiar this place felt to me. I’d always been an intuitive person.
My mother constantly reminded me that there were places in the world that carried memories, that the earth remembered everyone who had ever walked upon it. It was part of the circle of life and where we’re meant to be.
“El alma llama.”
“The soul beckons,” she’d say.
I wasn’t sure if that translated correctly into English. Sometimes phrases and words lose their depth when translated from one language to another. I’d been dealing with that my entire life, trying to find meaning in different languages.
Sitting there, I couldn’t shake the feeling that these grounds remembered me. As if they’d recognized me the moment I crossed onto the property, as I’d unknowingly followed an invisible thread, leading me to a place that had been waiting for me long before I ever knew it existed.
What the hell?
Alfred signaled toward the large doors of what appeared to be a 16th-century Gothic-style manor. The high pointed peaks formed a steepled roof, ascending toward the evening sky. Windows upon windows took over the front exterior, reaching three or four stories high.
You couldn’t see where the estate started or ended, and the old-century architecture didn’t help calm my nerves, since it was designed to give off an eerie vibe. The whole point of this place was to scare you off or, at the very least, intimidate you enough to want to leave and never return.
I swallowed hard, my heart speeding up.
I normally wouldn’t walk into a situation or house that every bone in my body warned me against. My family had taught me to respect the evil eye and the energy people and places carried.
Some homes welcomed you with open arms.
This one shoved you right out the door before you could even step inside.
Some would say I was being superstitious. I called it listening to my intuition.
“Are you alright?” Alfred interrupted my thoughts.
Our eyes connected through the rearview mirror.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked.
I ignored his observation, blurting, “This isn’t Tío’s house, is it?”
His eyes glazed over for a moment before he announced, “No, miss, he lives next door.”
“Hmm,” I hummed, trying to reel in my emotions. “So he lives next door to darkness itself? The Graves Academy must pay exceptionally well, huh?”
If my response fazed him, he didn’t show it. “Your uncle is a very important member of society in Connecticut, Miss Belladonna. He plays a prominent role at the Academy as well. Your family would be very proud.”
“Director of international studies?” I baited, smiling. “It doesn’t exactly sound like the kind of position that buys you a mansion next door to one of the most prestigious private universities in the country.”
He didn’t hesitate to continue his spiel.
“The Graves Academy was established in 1662, miss. It’s more than just a private university.
It’s a legacy. One that reaches far beyond the campus gates, especially for those who are fortunate enough to be a part of it.
For nearly four centuries, presidents, judges, billionaires, scholars, and influential families have all passed through those gates.
People don’t come to Graves hoping for success.
They come here because success is expected of them. ”
I scoffed. “You rehearse, Alfred? You sound like a brochure. Are they paying you to say all that? Does that mean your mansion is right next door too?”
He bit back a grin. “We’ll see if you still feel that way by the end of the semester.”
“Is that a threat or a warning?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Some people would argue there isn’t much of a difference, miss.”
I countered, “Are you some people, Alfred?”
He knowingly smiled. “No, I’m just your driver.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He chuckled. “Well then, how about a friend?”
I shook my head again. “That’s not much of a promotion from driver.”
He mockingly goaded. “Give me a week.”
I teased, “You think you’ll earn it by then?”
“No.” His smile faded.
“I think you’ll need it by then.”