I had longed finished Wuthering Heights and was now of my second collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. Two days ago, I had found the leather-bound edition on one of the shelves.
A shift to my left had me sitting upright on the chair; my attention snapped to the intruder. My heart had practically catapulted to my throat, only for me to find a young girl sitting cross-legged on top of the table next to me.
Was this who I thought it was?
Emily told me she had a granddaughter who lived here, but apparently, she didn’t like meeting new people, so I never saw the girl.
She wore ripped jeans and a flashy pink sweater, her black hair piled into a messy bun atop her head. She had a septum piercing and looked completely nonchalant and at ease for someone who had just sneaked up on me.
“How did you get in here?” I questioned, eyeing the girl suspiciously.
She pursed her lips. “I have my ways.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“A week.”
My eyebrows pulled up in surprise. “Then why have you never made your presence known?”
She shoved a hand into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a packet of gum. The girl popped a slice in her mouth before offering me a piece, but I shook my head.
“Well, I’m not a people person,” she started. “I was making sure you were safe before I approached you.”
“And what made you finally approach me?”
“The book.” She nodded at my hand, where I was still holding the Edgar Allan Poe’s collection. “Can I borrow it?”
“You like poetry?” I asked, smiling.
“I do, but I haven’t read this collection yet. I didn’t know we had it in this library.”
I rubbed my fingers over the smooth surface of the book. “How old are you?” I asked, finding myself wanting to talk to her.
“Fourteen.”
So young, so full of life. I wondered what that would feel like.
“I could give you the book, but you haven’t even introduced yourself to me yet. What’s your name?”
She rolled her eyes, like a typical sassy fourteen-year-old. “Mirai. It means the future in Japanese.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Julianna,” I introduced myself.
She waved a hand, as if to disregard my introduction. “Oh, I know. Killian Spencer’s wife. The girl who hides behind her veil. The new mistress of this haunted castle. Oh yes, I know who you are.”
“You’re smart,” I deadpanned.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” she said, popping her gum in such an obnoxious way that it should have annoyed me but I was definitely intrigued by this girl.
Or maybe I had just been lonely for so long… that I just craved companionship, or simply just someone to talk to.
I closed the book and placed it on the coffee table in front of me, tapping my fingers on top of the cover. “How long have you been living in this castle?”
“Almost a decade. My mother is a drug addict and could care less about me. My grandma, Emily, is my guardian.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize or maybe give her my condolences, but I saw the look on her face and I realized that this girl didn’t want any pity. No one could understand that better than me.
Pity was ugly to people like us, a poison without its remedy. We only wanted people to understand us.
I looked at Mirai and only saw a younger version of myself. “So, you must know a few stories about this place?”
Mirai quirked up an eyebrow. “I know a lot of stories.”
I grinned, although it was hidden behind my black veil. “First question, is this place really haunted?”
“Yup,” she popped the p and nodded at the same time. “Definitely. Arabella’s ghost roams these halls.”
Curious, I leaned forward. “Arabella?” I asked.
“Marchioness of Wingintam. The wife of the first Marquees of this castle,” Mirai explained patiently. “They were the first couple to settle here.”
“They are the tragic love story I’ve heard about?” I had been dying to know about this couple since I heard of Isle Rosa-Maria, but both Emily and Stephen had been disinterested in my questions and barely gave me any good answers.
“Yup. And there are three others. Before you, only four couples have lived in this castle and each story ended tragically.” Mirai paused, looking thoughtful before she nodded to herself and continued. “The last couple lived here in 1914, just before world war one. The man died in battle and the wife soon succumbed to a heart sickness, and she ended up passing away two weeks after her husband’s death. She was pregnant at the time.”
I gaped at her, my jaw slack. “You’re saying, this castle has been deserted for over a hundred years?”
Her lips curved into an infectious smile. “Well, not exactly! Housekeepers and butlers have been keeping this place polished and liveable. My grandma, and her mom and her mom’s mom… they were all the housekeepers of this place. They practically kept this place alive.”