But that still doesn’t add up. She’d be here, too.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he offers a question of his own. “Do you not like it?”
I shrug. “It would make an interesting Airbnb. A little gothic for my tastes.”
“My castle has stood for seven hundred years. I've fully modernized it.” He tilts his head to the gargoyles mounted around the fireplace. “But my favorite fixtures remain.”
Now that I look closer, the gargoyles look like dragon heads. “Those guys? Do they have names?” I’m being cheeky but this conversation is too surreal.
I don’t expect him to answer seriously, but he does, pronouncing two words in a rich, rolling language I don’t understand. “Tragesh and Tradell. Roughly translates to Fire Breath and Fire Tongue.”
“What language is that?” I ask, fascinated despite myself. “I don't recognize it, but I feel like I’ve heard it before.”
He tilts his dark head. “Don't you remember, Tabitha? I spoke it to you when we first met.”
So I have met this guy. That explains the deja vu, but not why I don’t remember him. I would remember being this attracted to someone. “When was that?” I take a few more steps into the room towards him. “Was it in a past life? Because I’m getting a really intense vibe here.” I point my finger back and forth between us. My mom would say it’s rude to point. She’d also despair about me bringing up any mention of my psychic gifts to a handsome man in a ten thousand dollar suit.
“Perhaps.” He doesn’t look weirded out. He seems to be considering my question carefully. “Do you believe in past lives?”
I shrug. I don’t want to get into my mystical beliefs right now.
“Regardless, the meeting of which I speak happened some years ago,” he says. “Ten years ago to be exact.”
Ten years ago, I was a model getting ready for fashion week. He’s probably some douchebag dude-bro I met at a party, either a model or a designer, or one of the wealthy patrons.
So much for a magical connection. This isn’t fate. It’s probably kidnapping. This guy is a wannabe James Bond villain and has pulled me into his crazy fantasies.
I need to see his face, his full face. “Do you wear your sunglasses at night?” I ask in a snide tone and regret it when he says, “They are a precaution. But I will remove them when the time is right.”
Gah, I should’ve thought before I spoke. He might have eye issues or photosensitivity. “That was rude. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re wrong, Tabitha. Everything about me is your business. As you are mine.”
And now we’re right back to creepy stalker territory.
I’ve walked fully into the bedroom. The door to the hall is a few feet to my right. As much as I want to figure this guy out, my best bet is to get out of here. Get to safety. Run in the red boots and leave the rest of the gorgeous clothes in the closet behind.
To cover up my fluster and my decision, I keep up with the small talk. I point to the bed. “Where did you get that tapestry? I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Is it vintage or a remake?”
His head turns. Before he starts talking, I scramble out the door.
A long stone hall greets me. There’s a suit of armor. “There goes your four-star rating,” I mutter, racing past it. I tug on its arm as I pass. It would be great if it could fall into the middle of the hall and block the way, but it’s secured somehow. I can’t bring myself to rip down the tapestries lining the rest of the hall. If they are original, they have to be over a hundred years old.
I skid around a corner. More long stone hallway, studded with a few heavy wooden doors. I’m in the bedroom wing of this castle. Must find a staircase. Another hall, another row of doors. In desperation, I try a few of the latches, but they’re locked. The windows lining the hall are the same old, thickened glass and banded with lead. Even if I could get one open or break one, there’s nothing but sky and a long drop down a sheer stone wall to greet me. This place really is a castle out of a horror movie.
“Negative ten stars. Do not recommend.” I leave the bank of windows and rush on. The boots are heavy to be running in. They clomp over the carpet. I should’ve grabbed a pair of sneakers.
I finally find a staircase leading down … to a heavy wooden door that’s locked. I pound on it, but these doors are a foot thick. I’d need to go all Leatherface on it with a chainsaw.
“Looking for this?” The man stands on top of the stone stairs. He slowly descends, holding up a huge iron key.