Spellbound

Original Edition: Forty-Four

I parked my car in front of city hall and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The sky was spitting snow, and I was thankful I'd added the faux fur shawl to my outfit at the last second. I brushed the front of my emerald green formal dress, the satin cool and smooth under my fingertips. The skirt swished around my ankles as I began to walk down the streets of Spelling. It had been a tradition to stroll the square with Hazel on Winter Spirits day before everything started at the hotel, and I wanted to keep that up, even if it all seemed wrong.

I nervously twirled a dark-blonde curl around my finger as I walked, holding my breath in apprehension; I could only hope that I'd see Soren sometime tonight. Surely, he wouldn't miss out on the festival and his one night to break free from the confines of the spell that bound him to the property. He had to look forward to this night above all others and know this was our one chance to bed the rules that kept us apart.

My black sequined and lace masquerade mask hung from my index finger and swung against my leg, and I pulled the stole tighter around my bare shoulders. I smiled at the town citizens as I walked, most of them dressed to the nines and ready for the dance. Music in the distance hummed through the night air, a waltz. I couldn't stop the corner of my mouth from pulling up.

Hazel would have loved this sort of thing. It was mysterious, elegant, and a little bit sexy. I wish I had been the one to think of it.

There was always something mystical about tonight—the one night when my ancestors' spell gave two men a very small taste of freedom. I'm sure it was meant to be another way to torture them. Let them see firsthand all the things they were missing and snatch it away again. My early family line was not comprised of compassionate women, and after what she did to me, it turned out that tradition was alive and well in Raven.

I tied my mask around my face, thankful for the small bit of anonymity it gave me. Like the Hyde brothers roaming the streets of Spelling, I too was out of place on this magical evening.

The sound of steady footsteps came from behind me, echoing off the brick storefronts. I twirled around, the fabric of the dress rustling with the movement. A chill ran down my spine when I found nobody there; in fact, I was the only person on the sidewalk. I picked up my pace and concentrated on the clicking of my heels against the cement—each swift step was echoed by that of another.

I turned a corner, hoping to lose my invisible stalker. "Get it together, Gem," I told myself. But when I looked down the shadowed street, lined with gas lamps, I knew my imagination was going to get the best of me. The creepy mansion that had been the home of Gerald Spelling, the town's founder and a wealthy sea merchant, loomed in the distance. This street had always reminded me of some seedy dark alley where Jack the Ripper took the lives of his victims.

My heart pounded and my breath blew out of my mouth in plumes of fog. I was coming up on the locked gates of the estate and would reach a dead end if I didn't change course. The pillars that held up the wrought iron fencing were adorned with stone gargoyles who sneered at me as I jogged past them. River rock alcoves housed concrete benches that were meant to give pedestrians a reprieve from the sun on a hot day, but tonight, they did nothing but creep me out. They were hiding places for the things that go bump in the night.

No sooner did I have the thought than an arm snaked around my waist and a hand clasped to my mouth.

"What exactly are you running from, sweetheart?" The words were spoken with a breathy, deep cadence, and I knew exactly who had me in their clutches.

I turned around to face my captor and instantly breathed in the scent of saffron and sandalwood, and when I lifted my eyes, the gaze I met was striking electric blue, the gaze I'd been so desperately missing for the past six weeks.