Chapter 5
Petra’s bedroom suite was on the second floor, facing the gardens.
The space was lovely in an understated way compared to the rest of the castle.
It featured a four-poster bed with blue damask hangings and an antique wardrobe that was stunning in its workmanship.
A writing desk was positioned near the window where she could look out over the grounds.
She’d unpacked the small roller bag she’d brought with her from London, hanging her few outfits in the massive wardrobe where they looked a little lost. Three days’ worth of clothes.
That was all she’d packed, thinking this would be a quick trip to sign papers and get the lay of the land before she decided what to do.
No matter what, she was now a very rich woman, and had decided to quit her job.
The work had been satisfying, but a recent change in her direct supervisor had made the working atmosphere rather annoying lately.
The money that was coming to her allowed her the freedom to leave, and she’d taken it without a second thought.
Now she was planning to fight dark mages. How the bloody hell had that happened?
Petra laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.
The sound echoed oddly in the large room.
She changed into her pajamas, which consisted of worn flannel bottoms and an oversized t-shirt she’d gotten for free when attending a library conference.
Not exactly the attire befitting a castle heiress, but comfort trumped appearances when you were potentially about to be murdered in your sleep.
She moved to the window, intending to close the heavy curtains for the night. The gardens below were dark, illuminated only by strategically placed lights along the main paths. The wilder section where she’d met Seth was invisible in the darkness.
Then something moved near the tree line. A flash of golden fur caught in the moonlight.
The jackal. Seth.
He was down there, keeping watch just as he’d promised. As she stared, the animal looked up toward her window. Even from this distance, she could see his eyes reflecting luminously at her.
Petra’s breath caught. Something about seeing him there, knowing he was standing guard, made her feel safer than she had since arriving at this cursed place. She unlatched the window and pushed it open a few inches, letting in the cool night air.
If he could hear half as well in jackal form as he claimed, he’d hear if anyone tried to break into her room and strangle her. The thought should have seemed ridiculous. Instead, it was deeply reassuring to know he was out there. Just in case.
The jackal’s ears perked forward, acknowledging her. Then he settled into a sitting position, his attention fixed on the castle. Watching. Protecting.
Petra stepped back from the window and surveyed her bedroom door. It had a lock, which was good. She turned the old-fashioned key and heard the satisfying click of the bolt sliding home. Then she eyed the heavy wooden dresser against the wall.
It took some effort to shift the furniture. The dresser was solid oak and probably weighed more than she did. She pushed and shoved, her feet slipping on the carpet until finally the thing scraped across the floor and lodged itself firmly against the door.
There. Let Herr Müller or anyone else try to get in now.
Petra surveyed her handiwork with grim satisfaction. The dresser wouldn’t stop a determined person with magic at their disposal, but it would slow down anyone trying to enter the old-fashioned way. And it would definitely make noise if someone tried to force the door.
She climbed into the enormous bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. The mattress was ridiculously comfortable, the kind of luxury she’d never experienced in her little flat with its IKEA bed frame and foam topper. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed it.
Right now, she just felt small and vulnerable, and completely out of her depth.
Magic was real. Shifters existed. Dark mages were coming back to reclaim their workshop in a matter of days. And she, Petra Haas, who’d spent her entire adult life cataloging medieval manuscripts and avoiding confrontation with her passive-aggressive neighbor, had decided to fight them.
She must be utterly mad.
Petra stared up at the bed’s canopy, her mind churning through everything Seth had told her. The Venifucus. Elspeth the Destroyer. Silver weapons and gold protection. Her own family’s tiny spark of magic, which seemed like enough to sense danger but not enough to defend against it.
It certainly hadn’t been enough to save her parents.
That thought hit hard. Her mother had sensed something terrible was going to happen.
It was obvious from the way she had sent that text message with instructions, and love, and promises to watch over Petra from heaven.
If her mother had possessed proper magic, like the mages Seth described, could she have prevented the accident?
Petra felt tears prick her eyes. She blinked them away angrily. Her parents were gone. She couldn’t change that. All she could do was make sure their legacy, their gentle magic and good intentions, didn’t get swallowed up by whatever evil her distant cousin had been involved in.
She reached for the small gold locket she always wore.
Inside was a photo of her parents on their wedding day, young and happy and whole.
On the other side was a similar photo of her mother’s parents, Petra’s Oma and Opa.
She looked at them for a long moment, then pressed the locket closed and held it between her palms.
“Oma,” she whispered into the darkness. “If you’re listening, I could really use some guidance right about now.”
Her grandmother had taught her about the Mother of All when Petra was young. Not the Christian God her father’s family attended church for on holidays, but something older. A deity who existed in the growing and the dying, in the magic that hummed beneath the surface of the world.
Petra had never been particularly devout.
The prayers had faded as she grew older, become more practical, more focused on the tangible world of books and research and provable facts.
Now, lying in bed in a castle she’d inherited from a man who’d dealt in weapons and dark magic, those half-remembered prayers felt like the only real thing she had to hold onto.
“Mother of All,” she whispered, the words coming easier than she’d expected. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I should trust Seth or run as far and fast as I can. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for what’s coming.”
The room was silent except for the whisper of wind through the open window.
“Please,” Petra continued, her voice breaking slightly. “Send me a sign. Help me know I’m not making a terrible mistake. Help me understand what I’m supposed to do with all of this.”
She waited, but of course there was no answer. No voice from heaven, no dramatic revelation. Just the same darkness and uncertainty she’d felt since arriving.
Petra closed her eyes, still clutching the locket.
She thought about her mother’s knowing, her grandmother’s quiet faith, and the tiny magic that had run thin but true through the women in her family.
If they were watching somehow, she hoped they’d understand why she’d chosen to stay.
Why she couldn’t walk away and let evil continue in this place.
Sleep pulled at her, exhaustion from the long day finally catching up. As she drifted off, she thought she felt a gentle touch on her forehead, like her Oma’s hand when Petra had been small and frightened of thunderstorms.
“You are braver than you know, little one,” a voice whispered. Or maybe she imagined it. “Trust your heart. Trust your knowing. The path will reveal itself.”
Petra’s last conscious thought was of the jackal outside her window, standing guard in the darkness. Then she slept.
And dreamed…
She was walking through a garden, but not the manicured grounds of the castle. This garden was wild and ancient, full of plants she didn’t recognize. The air smelled of earth and growing things and something else, something indefinable that made her think of her grandmother’s kitchen.
“There you are, schatje.”
Petra turned. Her Oma stood beneath an apple tree, looking exactly as she had before the cancer took her. Her features soft and smiling, with her platinum hair in its customary curly style and her floral apron slightly dusted with flour.
“Oma?” Petra’s voice came out small, childlike. “How are you here? Where are we?” Even in her dream, Petra knew this wasn’t right. Her Oma was gone.
“This is the space between. Where the living and the dead can meet when needed.” Her grandmother beckoned her closer. “Come. Sit with me. We have much to discuss.”
Petra moved forward as if pulled by invisible strings. She found herself sitting on a chair she didn’t remember seeing before, her grandmother’s warm hand clasping hers.
“You’ve found yourself in quite the situation,” Oma said, her light blue eyes twinkling with familiar humor. “My granddaughter, inheriting a castle. Who would have thought?”
“It’s not funny,” Petra protested. “Oma, there are people who do dark magic. Terrible things. And they’re coming back and I don’t know what to do.”
“You do know,” her grandmother said firmly. “You’ve always known, Petra. You just need to trust yourself.”
“But I’m not strong enough. I don’t have real magic. I can barely sense things, and even then I’m not sure if I’m right or just being paranoid.”
“Strength comes in many forms.” Oma patted her hand. “Your mother had the sight, yes. I had the knowing. You have both, though you’ve spent years trying to explain them away with logic and reason. It’s time to stop doubting yourself.”
“What about Seth?” Petra asked. “Can I trust him? Is he what he says he is?”
Her grandmother smiled. “What does your knowing tell you?”