“At Whitley? Is that where you’re from?”
I stare at Dare, at the body I love, the eyes that I can fall into, the heart that has held me up… and hidden so many secrets.
He nods like I should know that already, and it’s like the movement is painful for him. He doesn’t want to go to there, to Whitley, but he’s willing to go for me. I see that.
“Your dad wants you to go,” he adds. “Can you do it for him?”
Why would my dad want me to go to England?
Nothing makes sense.
That’s the story of my life.
The ominous feeling cripples me, almost sending me to my knees. I don’t know. I only know… if I don’t find answers, I might lose my sanity and end up just like Finn, back where I started.
The answers are at Whitley.
I exhale, realizing that I’d been holding my breath.
“Ok. I’ll go. But only if Finn comes too.”
Dare agrees immediately.
“Of course. Obviously. He needs my help, too.”
Obviously.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We live a little ways from Hastings. It’s close to Sussex,” Dare tells me, after we land at Heathrow and drive through the country. He speaks of England as though I know anything at all about it. I nod like I do, because so much of what we say is a pretense now. We go through the motions.
Thirty minutes later, our car is still gliding over the winding ribbons of road, but I finally see a rooftop in the distance, spires and towers poking through trees.
Dare stirs, opening his eyes, and I know we’re almost there. Finn is still sleeping, so I nudge him awake, and he rubs at his eyes.
I crane my neck to see. When I do, I’m stunned beyond words, enough that the breath hitches on my lips.
This can’t be my family’s home.
It’s huge, it’s lavish, it’s creepy.
It’s ancient, it’s stone, it’s beautiful.
A tall stone wall stretches in either direction as far as I can see, encircling the property like an ominous security blanket. It’s so tall, so heavy, and for one brief moment, I wonder if it’s meant to keep people out… or to keep them in.
It’s a foolish notion, I know.
As we pull off the road, large wrought iron gates open in front of our car as if by magic, as if they were pushed by unseen hands. Puffs of mist and fog swirl from the ground and through the tree branches, half concealing whatever lies behind the gate.
Even though the grounds are lush and green, there’s something heavy here, something dark. It’s more than the near constant rain, more than the clouds.
Something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I’m filled with a strange dread as the car rolls through the gates, as we continue toward the hidden thing. And while the ‘hidden thing’ is just a house, it feels like so much more, like something ominous and almost threatening.
I catch glimpses of it through the branches as we drive, and each glimpse gives me pause.
A steep, gabled roof.
Columns and spires and moss.
Rain drips from the trees, onto the car, onto the driveway, and everything gleams with a muted light.
It’s wet here, and gray, and the word I keep thinking in my head is gothic.
Gothic.
Despite all the beauty and the extravagance here, it still looks a bit terrifying.
I count the beats as we make our way to the house, and I’ve counted to fifteen before the limousine finally comes to a stop on top of a giant circular driveway made of cobblestone.
The house in front of us is made from stone, and it sprawls out as far as I can see. The windows are dark, in all sizes, in all shapes.
Rolling, manicured lawns, an enormous mansion, lush gardens. Stormy clouds roll behind the massive setting of the house, and one thing is clear. Ominous or not, this estate is lavish, to say the least.
“Is our family rich?” I ask dumbly.
Dare glances at me. “Not in the ways that matter.”