PROLOGUE
Miles, twelve years ago
Rubble lay scattered across the entranceway. My fingers traced cracks in the cold stone walls as I padded along the corridor.
Centuries ago, lavish silk tapestries would have draped from the ceiling while servants bustled about, cooking and cleaning. Now, moonlight shone through holes where the roof had caved in, illuminating the remnants of the once magnificent family estate on top of Castle Hill on Conquista, the idyllic Caribbean island that I now called home.
At the end of the hallway was a wooden door. It was smaller than the others, and also charred black, but somehow had remained intact. With a strong heave, the rusty hinges gave way, squealing in protest. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart thudding. Not that I needed to worry. The many ‘Warning: Danger!’ and ‘Under Repair’ signs decorating the barbed wire fence outside would keep everyone away. Almost everyone.
Behind the door lay a steep wooden staircase. I tested each step carefully. The room smelt damp and earthy. Although slightly stale, it was not entirely unpleasant. I ducked under a low rafter and widened the beam of my head torch. Empty shelves lined the walls, and the remains of a wooden barrel lay smashed at the bottom of the stairs. A wine cellar. Unfortunately, I was several hundred years late to score decent loot but, if I were lucky, I’d find a trinket to prove my daring escapade. Suddenly, the door slammed shut above me.
“Damn!”
It was just the wind. Alexa would laugh at my jittery nerves. I pictured my younger sister’s eager face, thirsty for stories of pirates and swash-buckling adventures. Logan would’ve just rolled his eyes and returned to playing video games with his mates. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath.
The torch beam danced across the room, glinting off the odd broken bottle. The underground room was larger than I’d originally thought, extending behind the stairs to form a long, narrow rectangle. On the farthest wall, the light seemed to scatter and disintegrate, as if I was peering into a cloudy abyss. Goose bumps rose on my forearms. Although it had been calm outside, the faint howling of wind seeped through the walls. I staggered towards the stairs, but the ground pitched beneath me and I stumbled.
Someone giggled behind me. I spun around. The torch beam flicked erratically across the ceiling, causing shadows to loom then disappear. Discordant piano notes lingered on the edge of my hearing, then faded. My ragged breath sounded harsh in the following silence.
“You’re just imagining things…” I started for the stairs again, but the floor continued to pitch and roll. I fell to my knees, pain jolting through my right kneecap. “The air… it’s bad…” The realisation came too late as the far wall raced towards me. Desperately, I held my breath. Struggling to focus, I crawled for the stairs as the walls closed around me. Time to get out of here… Time to… Time… My torch flickered out and everything went black.
Chapter 1
Alexa, the present day
The eyes in the gilt-framed portrait followed me, judging me, but I couldn’t meet their gaze. I knew the painting well; the Duke of Burnside was extravagantly dressed in an emerald silk doublet, white stockings, and a neatly knotted white necktie, the curls of his wig falling about his shoulders. Pointy chin thrust high, he stood with his hand resting on the back of the chair, upon which Lady Mary was perched. His wife clutched the gold-embroidered shawl draped around her shoulders, her pale gown pooling around her ankles. The artist had captured the light perfectly, using it to accentuate her haughty cheekbones and slight figure. It was unnervingly lifelike, as if the lord and lady would step into the world at any moment expecting to be served. Unlike most, they had changed the course of history, creating ripples through time still felt today.
“Did you know his father was beheaded?” Samuel asked. His wispy grey comb-over was oddly juxtaposed against his worn leather biker jacket. I’d been six when my family moved to the beautiful Caribbean island of Conquista from England, and the museum director still wore the same black jacket as he did then. And that had been sixteen years ago.
Samuel took my silence as an invitation to continue. “Yes, the second Duke of Burnside. Beheaded for treason, no less. Although we’ll have to keep wondering how his only son, the third Duke of Burnside—our Lord Edward Scott here—” he gestured at the painting with a wrinkled hand, “both kept his title and came to live here in Port Settler of all places. He undoubtedly played a key role in keeping Conquista a British colony, as did Captain Thomas Griffin, a privateer the Duke of Burnside employed to protect Conquista. Unfortunately, Captain Griffin was killed in combat against Richard Larsworth, a notorious English privateer-turned-pirate captain.” He tapped the engraved information plaque below a glass cube displaying a beaten-up antique compass in a stained wooden casing, which presumably belonged to Captain Griffin. “He died on the 11th of September, 1696, off the coast of Antigua.”
I scribbled furiously in my notepad, not trusting my voice to remain steady. Four weeks into my new job as assistant curator at the Port Settler Museum, my boss and I had already fallen into an easy rhythm; in the hour before the museum opened on a Monday, we perused a different exhibit while he spouted bizarre facts between grunting orders. Last week, we explored the Hibiscus Room, which documented the culture of Conquista’s indigenous tribe and the persecution they had suffered through the past several hundred years of western settlement; the week before it was the sombre Liberty Room, dedicated to the slavery that had occurred on Conquista and throughout the Caribbean. This week, it was the Conch Room, filled with old nautical instruments, miniature ship replicas, ornate framed maps, and a 35-centimetre long queen conch shell on a pedestal by the double-door entrance. It had always been one of my favourite exhibits—except for that ghoulish portrait.
“You took photography classes in college, didn’t you?”
I nodded, surprise momentarily swamping my growing uneasiness. He must have actually read my CV, and not just hired me because Dad was a semi-retired history professor. In an attempt to continue my father’s legacy, I’d left Conquista four years ago to study history at the College of Charleston in South Carolina, but switched to arts management. And now I was back, swamped by the painful memories from which I’d tried to escape.
“I thought we could hang recent photos of the ruins here, next to this portrait,” he continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “If you feel confident taking them.”
“Sure,” I lied, carefully printing the task along the bottom line of my page. The ruins on Castle Hill were a linchpin in Conquista’s history, and the inspiration behind many local ghost stories. The crumbling mansion had been under renovation since I could remember, but the cost was a point of contention between the public and the council, especially with the upcoming elections. I doubt it had changed much since the last time I visited two years ago.
Samuel shifted awkwardly. “I thought you might want to… remember this week, but if it’s too much…”
I was already shaking my head. Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as he appeared. “It’ll be good. Great.”
“Excellent. Remind me to give you a key to the gate before you go.” Samuel pivoted, remarkably agile for someone his age. The brooding stares of the Duke and Duchess of Burnside followed us all the way out, making my nape tingle.
I fled to the safety of my office, but it was not the sanctuary I’d hoped for. A small bouquet sat in the middle of my desk amid stacks of photocopies and reference books, a cheerful assortment of yellow bells, white butterfly jasmine, and another with scarlet petals. At least it wasn’t roses, I thought as I read the attached card.
Hey new girl,
Here’s a little something to brighten your day!
—Jeremy Barnett
“Do you like them?” Jeremy appeared at the door as if he had been waiting to pounce, his eyes big and hopeful. My stomach somersaulted. I couldn’t let this continue much longer. Love, as portrayed in the movies, seemed frivolous and fantastical. No-one had ever stirred any sentiments even close to desire, including the arts major I’d dated for five months during my first year of university. Especially not him. Not that I minded: anyone would no doubt leave, and I already knew what it felt like to have someone disappear from your life. So I’d graduated still a virgin, and Jeremy was definitely not going to be the one who changed that.
“Yes, thank you, Jeremy. I’m glad I have a good friend at work,” I said, not overly optimistic that he’d recognise the hint. He didn’t. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Cringing, I ploughed on. “I mean, I just want to keep things professional, you know, since I’ve just started?”
Jeremy’s face fell. “Oh, okay.”
“Sorry, I have to… rope off the indigenous flora exhibit before that school group arrives. But I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” With an awkward smile, I bolted for the door, wondering why on earth I’d decided to return home.
Despite being the start of fall in America, when I left work on Friday afternoon, the Caribbean sun was unacceptably warm and bright, as if the world didn’t care what happened twelve years ago today. After dodging an invitation for after-work drinks from Jeremy, I scuttled towards the bus stop. At least it was a good excuse: Sorry, I need to get home for a family dinner to commiserate the death of my eldest brother… Jeremy’s horrified expression was oddly satisfying, as if Miles was still here protecting me.
The bus ride home was painfully slow, but I dreaded when it would end. There was no big memorial today, unlike the tenth anniversary two years ago. Until then, everyone used to gather each year on top of Castle Hill and watch the sunset, lighting candles in remembrance of a sixteen-year-old boy who’d mysteriously disappeared. It was the closest thing we’d ever had to a funeral, until the annual speeches and wreath-laying, with the macabre backdrop of the ruins silhouetted against a starry sky, became too much for my parents. For the past two years, it was just a sombre family dinner of Miles’ favourite roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
The bus wound its way north from the city centre and crested the limestone bluff. As we climbed, the jagged, forest-clad peak of Mt Saros appeared to the east, and Raid Island appeared in the rear window, lying low, protective, on the western rim of the harbour. A cruise ship had just left port, dwarfing the hundreds of sailboats dotting the sea, probably en route west to Puerto Rico, or further to Jamaica. The familiar smoothness of the little wooden seahorse dangling around my neck was a welcome comfort. Miles had carved the seahorse for my fifth birthday, and the black paint had nearly worn off.
I yanked the cord above me a stop early and the bell dinged obediently. I’d always enjoyed the extra walk along the cliff tops even in the heat, watching the sea birds soar on the late afternoon thermals. Today I stopped at the deserted picnic area above the bluff, prolonging my arrival home. After meticulously inspecting the low bench for bird crap, I stretched full-length and breathed in the fresh sea air.
“Alexa!”
Opening one eye, I watched the dark-haired figure jogging towards me. The backpack slung over his shoulder clinked suspiciously. “I thought I’d find you here.” My remaining brother dumped the pack and extracted two beers with a flourish. “Figured you could use one of these.” No wonder he was always broke, despite being three years older with no student loan. At least he was renting his own place.
I grabbed the beer. “Puffing like a steam engine, are we? You should work on that, otherwise all those girls you chase might pass you over for a better-looking man.”
Logan snorted. “The apocalypse would come first!” He took a swig, then wrinkled his nose. “They were cold when I left home.” After a pause, Logan leaned over and bumped my shoulder with a fist. “We all miss him, you know.”
“I know,” I sighed. “Do you think he’s out there somewhere?”
“Yeah, he’s out there… Maybe he turned into one of the ghosts who haunt the Castle Hill ruins!”
I took a half-hearted swing at him, which he easily dodged. “Not funny.” Despite myself, a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“To Miles!” Logan raised his beer, toasting the wide horizon. “May he forever haunt the imaginations of brave children who dare follow in his footsteps!”
“To Miles,” I echoed. I sipped my beer, mindlessly twisting my necklace one way then another. The hardest thing was not knowing. I’d always hated that word. He had ‘disappeared’. He wasn’t a bloody magician. The alternative was too permanent, but the police eventually stamped ‘MISSING—PRESUMED DEAD’ in big red letters on his file. That little seahorse was the only thing I had to fill the void he left. Logan’s voice sucked me back to the present.
“Come, everyone’ll be wondering where we are.” Logan took my empty bottle and chucked it in the trash. “Last one home is a three-eyed, polka-dotted octopus!” He knew I couldn’t resist and I raced after him, laughing like I was ten years old again. Like before. If only we could turn back time.
Logan was already inside when I slowed to a jog as I passed the lichen-covered steering wheel of a sailing ship from a by-gone age, mounted in the rock garden by our gate. I swept my hair out of my eyes, cursing the overgrown pixie haircut. Logan’s motorbike was parked in the driveway, vivid red against the clean white facade of the house. His chucks, however, were carelessly deposited in the centre of the doormat. Sighing, I tucked them into the shoe rack beside my own trainers.
Mum intercepted me in the hallway and hugged me tightly. “I’m so glad you came home, Alexa.”
“It’s alright, Mum. I’ll always come back.” I squeezed her in return.
“You’ll need to help me keep the peace tonight. You know how Charles and Logan can get when forced to be in the same room.”
“I know. I’ll keep Dad talking about his latest discoveries, or perhaps our family tree. It’ll be fine, promise.” I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, even though my stomach felt like a sickening whirlpool with empty nothingness in the centre of the vortex.
My stomach growled as I ventured into the kitchen. Nana Sage, dad’s mother, had the classic grandmotherly gift of cooking simple, yet heart-warming meals. She had only joined my parents from England a few years ago after she broke her hip, but I’d already left for college. It was a win-win situation; we were no longer subject to Mum’s experimental cooking, while Nana Sage was no longer lonely and could bake to her heart’s content. Tonight, there were three salads, honeyed carrots, and garlic roast potatoes to accompany the roast beef.
“Gee, you’ve really outdone yourself tonight!” I said, giving her a hug. She felt frailer than ever, like her bones would crumple to dust if I squeezed any harder.
“Oh, you know me. I love any opportunity to throw a wild party.” She winked, and I immediately relaxed. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.
Logan chose that moment to walk in. “Wild party? Count me in.” He kissed Nana Sage gently on both cheeks. “I’m sure you get more beautiful every time I see you!”
“Why does everyone keep reminding me I’m not getting any younger?”
“Don’t worry, you’re ageing like fine wine.” Logan grinned impishly.
Nana Sage turned her eyes towards heaven. “Save your charm for the poor young lasses you chase.”
“A bit of flattery never hurt anyone. And I have plenty of charm to spare, thank you,” Logan said, looking hurt.
“How old are you, Alexa?” Nana Sage turned to me. “Twenty-three? You must be ready to settle with a nice young chap. My son spent an hour talking with Samuel this afternoon, discussing some new history-altering discovery. Samuel said you and Jeremy were already thick as thieves.”
I cringed inwardly, wondering how often Dad and Samuel talked about me. Despite being the capital of Conquista, Port Settler felt incredibly small-town after Charleston, especially with the way gossip spread.
“She’s twenty-two, actually,” Logan answered first. “And still doesn’t know how to have fun.”
“Three years younger than you, but at least three years more mature,” I muttered.
“Finished college summa cum laude and employed at twenty-two! You definitely take after Charles!” Nana Sage cackled gleefully.
Logan rolled his eyes. “So is Jeremy your long-lost Prince Charming? Yes, Mum already told me. You know I’d be happy to knock some sense into him, if you need me to. He doesn’t really seem like your Mr Perfect. Not that anyone ever could be.”
I shot him a withering look. “I can look after myself. Where’s Dad?” I asked, making a non-subtle attempt to steer the conversation away from my lacklustre love-life.
“In his study. Tell him his dinner’s nearly ready, would you?” Mum answered, dumping some freshly cut parsley in the sink before giving me a brief hug.
Dad was hunched over his desk as usual, peering at scans of old documents through his half-moon glasses. “Alexa! Excellent timing. Come look at this. A lovely widow delivered a box of bits and bobs today. Said it was tucked away in her attic, gathering dust.” He shook his head. “Turns out, it’s a goldmine!”
