5. Sebastian

5

Sebastian

I heard the telltale sound of hands working at a lock. Then the hulking wooden gate swung open with a loud, grating creak, as if it hadn’t been opened for decades.

“Please follow me,” the watchman said, still eyeing me with unvarnished suspicion.

As I stepped into Alderwood, a jolt of surprise ricocheted through me. I’d imagined thatched-roof huts, dirt paths, and firepits everywhere, but instead I was greeted by a picturesque scene that seemed to have jumped straight out of a medieval French village.

Quaint homes lined the cobblestone streets, their wooden frames and stone facades adorned with ivy and climbing flowers. Giggling children in colorful old-fashioned clothing played on the streets, seemingly without a care in the world, and the adults around them looked happy too, their smiles only briefly faltering when they registered the stranger in their midst. It was a far cry from the dark, gloomy scenes I’d originally pictured.

The town was also far bigger than I imagined. The main road was so long that I couldn’t even see the end of it from where I was standing right now.

“How many people live here?” I asked.

“Hm, let me think,” the watchman said, lips twisting. “Your government sends a census-taker up here every few years, but the last one was quite a while ago. If I remember correctly, it was somewhere around twelve hundred souls. Perhaps more now, given that several years have passed since then.”

My brows shot up. “That many people? I thought it was only half that. Or even less.”

“Many of those numbers are children, of course. But it’s still more than you expected, eh?” The watchman smiled. “Outsiders are always surprised to learn this.”

I forced a smile in return. It was important that I stay on the good side of these people for the time being, or else they’d realize I was a total fucking snake in the grass. That wouldn’t do, given my plans.

“I suppose most of us have no way of knowing what it’s really like up here, given how secluded it is,” I said smoothly.

“True. But it’s nice, no?” the man replied, gesturing around us.

I nodded, taking another look at the buildings as we passed. It was nice here, but beneath the town’s enchanting exterior lurked a sinister undercurrent. All you had to do was look a little closer for that to become apparent.

Small twig and straw effigies hung from doorways, swaying gently in the breeze, and animal bones were scattered beside garden paths, arranged in strange patterns. The contrast between the town’s charming beauty and the macabre symbols was jarring. It made it seem as if the place was a living entity, pretty and innocent on the outside but harboring shadowy secrets within.

“The governor lives over there,” the man said, pointing toward a narrow double-story home with a thriving rose garden at the front. It was identical to every other house lining the street.

My brows rose with surprise yet again. “There?”

“Yes.”

“Are all the houses the same size?” I asked.

The watchman nodded. “Mostly,” he replied. “Some are bigger, for those with many children, but most are about the same.”

“Where I come from, the leaders tend to live in very big houses compared to everyone else.”

He gave me a tight smile. “We don’t do things like that here,” he said, turning down the garden path that led to Trudeau’s front door. “Here, we are equals, no matter our position in the community.”

He rapped on the weathered wooden door three times. It swung open to reveal a tall, imposing figure with dark hair touched by streaks of silver at the temples.

Augustus Trudeau. The man I’d thought about killing every single day for the last twenty years.

“My, my… Sebastian Thorne. What an unexpected turn of events,” he said, staring at me with piercing blue eyes. “Please, come in.”

I’d never actually seen his face before, but I recognized his voice from twenty years ago. The sound sent an immediate bolt of anger hurtling through my system.

“Thank you,” I said curtly, following him inside.

He gestured to his right. “When I heard you were here, I put the kettle on to boil right away,” he said. His voice was smooth with an undertone of sinister charm. “I’d be honored if you would try our signature blend of tea.”

As he awaited my reply, he turned his head over his shoulder to look at me, lips drawn in what I could only assume was meant to be a friendly smile to mask the disdain he truly felt for me.

I returned the fake smile and nodded. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

I already knew exactly what the signature tea blend was made of, and I’d prepared accordingly.

My mother’s notes had mentioned a type of tea the Covenant used to get the truth out of people. It was usually given to errant children and teens who refused to admit to their wrongdoings, but it was occasionally used on adults too. She’d written that it was made from the dried leaves of plants the Covenant referred to as moonshade and whisperwort.

Jesse helped me figure out the modern names of the plants. He was smart as hell and an excellent researcher—he’d only failed the bar so many times because his nerves always got the better of him during exams—and he’d quickly tracked down an ecological pharmacologist who informed him that the plants were most likely nightshade variants known to the modern world as Scopolia and Black Henbane.

Those plants could be used to create something called scopolamine, which was an active component in so-called truth serums. It worked by creating a slightly altered state of consciousness due to its psychoactive properties, and those who took it often experienced drowsiness followed by a distinct desire to speak every single word on their mind.

Thankfully, there were antidotes, and given my family’s ownership of multiple hospitals on the East Coast, it wasn’t difficult for me to find a pharmacist willing to prescribe me some. I’d slipped a few tablets into my pocket before the hike up here, knowing there was a high likelihood that I’d be given the truth tea if I made it into Alderwood today.

Trudeau gestured for me to take a seat at a small wooden table. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, still smiling pleasantly.

When he returned, I noticed he was only holding one cup. The man couldn’t possibly make it any more fucking obvious that he was trying to drug me.

“Here you are,” he said, sliding the steaming mug over to me. In his other hand, he held a plate of pie with a dollop of cream on the side, along with a spoon. “You can also try this,” he added. “Blueberry and wild raisin pie, made by my daughter. I don’t think you’ll find anything like it on the outside.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”

I took a few sips of the special tea. It reminded me of unripe grapefruit, sharp and tangy on my tongue. To rid myself of the nasty taste, I picked up the spoon and took a quick bite of the pie mixed with the cream. It was heavenly.

“This is delicious,” I said, scooping up another piece. “Best pie I’ve ever tasted.”

Trudeau smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell my daughter you said that.”

“The cream is really good too.”

“Freshly churned by our dairy workers. We have several cows on our farmstead down in the valley. They also produce delicious cheese and butter.”

I took another bite of pie and swallowed. “How do you keep it all cold? Icebox?”

He let out a short bark of laughter and shook his head. “No. Every home in our village has a refrigeration unit.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes.” His sharp eyes bored into mine. “Does it surprise you that we don’t live as if it’s the Middle Ages in every single respect?”

“Honestly… yes. I thought you didn’t use electricity here. Apart from the boundary fence.”

He leaned back. “It’s very rare that we adopt outsider technology and equipment, but sometimes we have to admit that you people got something right,” he said with a laconic smile. “Every ten years, the elders convene for a week-long meeting on outsider technology, during which we discuss what we might want to bring in to improve the lives of our citizens. We don’t use electricity for the most part, as you suspected, but we decided long ago that refrigeration was too important to pass up, for the health and wellbeing of our people.”

“I see.” I nodded slowly. “What other outsider technologies have you adopted?”

“The answer to that question really depends on how far back you want to travel in time,” he said, stroking his dark beard. “But if you’re talking about more modern things, we don’t have televisions, computers, cameras, or gaming systems like most outsiders do. We only adopt things that make life undeniably safer and healthier for all our citizens. There are some exceptions, though.”

I furrowed my brows. “Such as?”

“Some of our members are allowed to drive cars, and we own a couple of them. It makes it much easier to travel to outsider towns and transport the farm goods that we trade or sell there,” Trudeau replied. “I also own a satellite phone so that outsiders can contact me—or the other elders—via calls or messages in urgent situations regarding our shared business. We don’t like it so much, but unfortunately, it has become essential for dealing with the outside world. And we must deal with it on occasion, in order to live and thrive up here. After all, we cannot produce absolutely everything here. Outside trade is necessary for survival. Always has been.”

“I understand.” I cocked my head. “How do you get electricity out here, anyway? It’s hard to imagine someone like you calling up the power company and asking them to come out and connect you.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I can imagine how it must all seem very strange to you. But your government approached us several years ago, asking if they could use some of our land for solar panels. We don’t use that part of the land ourselves, so we allowed it in return for a portion of the electricity it produces. It creates more than enough for us, so we never need to pay anyone, and the rest is fed into the outsider grid to meet the state’s demands.”

“I see,” I replied. “Sounds like a good deal.”

“Yes.” Another smile. “We’ve worked things out quite well.”

I knew exactly why Trudeau was happily engaging in this odd form of small talk with me. He was biding his time, waiting for the truth tea to take effect, before the friendly fa?ade dropped.

Then the interrogation would begin.

Of course, unbeknownst to him, I’d quickly popped one of the antidote pills while he was in the kitchen preparing the tea, so his truth serum wasn’t going to do jack shit. Still, I’d need to fake some drowsiness quite soon, so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

“I have to say,” he said, tilting his head as he studied my face. “You look exactly like your father when he was younger. I don’t see Miranda in you at all.”

“You’ve met my father?”

Trudeau’s upper lip curled, ever so slightly. “Of course I have.”

My mind flashed back to the media smear campaign and public furor against the Covenant that my father had used his money and connections to stir up after my mother’s murder. That, along with the number of times Trudeau and his associates were dragged into police or FBI interviews, meant he’d probably encountered my father on more than one occasion.

“Right,” I muttered. I placed a hand on my forehead and faked a yawn. “Oof, that hike took it out of me. I’m exhausted.”

A gleam appeared in Trudeau’s eyes. My ploy had worked. He thought the truth tea was finally taking effect.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better in a while. You just need to sit back and relax. Drink some more tea and eat some more pie,” he said, nodding toward my plate and cup.

I smothered another fake yawn with one hand and nodded. “Gladly.”

“Anyway, back to the subject of your father…” Trudeau trailed off and narrowed his eyes at me. “Is that why you’re here? To lay more blame upon our feet for what happened to your mother? Just like he did?”

“Not at all.” I lifted a conciliatory palm. “I’m not like that.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I swear.”

A cold, mirthless smile curved up Trudeau’s lips. “You can swear all you want, to whichever false god you want, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” he said. “I know exactly what you outsiders say about us. That we’re cultists. Sorcerers. Baby-killers. Cannibals. We commune with the Devil.”

“Well, is any of that true?” I asked, cocking my head.

“We’re called the Covenant, Sebastian.” His cold smile stretched wider. “Not the Coven.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Trudeau, that doesn’t really answer the question, does it?”

A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “The answer is no. We aren’t a cult, and we don’t kill babies or eat people. We certainly don’t commune with the Devil. But even before what happened to your mother, we were always the scapegoats in this area. Whenever a child went missing in a nearby town, we were blamed. But it was never us. We don’t harm children, and we certainly don’t abduct them.”

I noticed he specifically said the Covenant didn’t harm or abduct children. He didn’t say anything about adults.

“Now,” he went on, leaning back again. “Tell me. If you aren’t here to stir up trouble with more false accusations about Miranda, what are you doing here?”

As he spoke the word ‘false’, something flickered in his eyes; a hint of knowing. I knew then and there that I was right about him. The bastard knew exactly what happened to my mother, but he wouldn’t admit it unless his hand was forced.

I intended to do just that, very soon.

For now… patience.

I inhaled deeply, psyching myself up for the lies I was about to tell. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to spill such utter fucking bullshit, given how much I wanted to leap across this table and tear Trudeau’s throat out, but it needed to be done if my plan was to succeed.

“I know this will sound strange to you, so I ask that you hear me out,” I began. “I believe you’re innocent, and I want to prove it once and for all.”

Trudeau stared at me, naked shock flickering in his eyes. Then he tipped his head back and let out several hollow barks of laughter. “Oh, my,” he said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that.”

“It’s not a joke.”

He straightened up again, and the faux mirth disappeared from his cold blue eyes. “My associates and I have stood accused of that crime for twenty years. We were never charged, of course, but public sentiment has always found us guilty anyway,” he said. “Your father was our biggest accuser, for obvious reasons. Now you expect me to believe you come here with good intentions? To prove our innocence? You must think I’m a very stupid, na?ve man. You outsiders always do.”

“I don’t think that at all.”

“Please, have some more tea.” He waved a hand at my cup, clearly believing I hadn’t ingested enough of his truth serum. “Then you can explain your reasoning to me. I’m sure it will provide me with a good laugh, if nothing else.”

I took a big gulp of tea and rubbed my forehead again, blinking rapidly to make it appear as if I were struggling to keep my eyes open from the drowsiness I was meant to be experiencing right now.

“As I said, I knew it would sound strange to you at first,” I said. “But my mother’s murder has haunted me for decades. I’ll be blunt—I used to believe you were responsible, and I hated you for it. But over the years, I’ve realized a lot doesn’t add up about that theory.”

“Such as?” Trudeau said, suspicion still flickering in his eyes.

I sighed and looked down at the table. “I was there the night she was taken, as I’m sure you know. I heard her talking to you and your associate at the door.”

“I’m aware. I heard all about your witness testimony,” he said stiffly. “The police really thought they could nail me with it.”

I looked up again. “I was only eight back then, and I was terrified. All I knew was that she went somewhere with you that night, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“You greatly misinterpreted the things you heard that evening, Sebastian,” he replied. “It wasn’t what it seemed. Not at all.”

“I realized that a while ago,” I said, nodding slowly. “I assumed she was killed by the last people she was seen with—you and Jean-Pierre Leclerc. But she wasn’t found for six days after she went missing, and the coroner couldn’t determine her exact day of death due to the condition of the body. Only an approximation. So it could have been someone else she encountered in those days.”

He bristled. “Exactly.”

“The more I looked into it, the more I realized other things didn’t add up,” I went on. “For example, the symbols carved into her body were unlike anything the investigators found here in Alderwood.”

Trudeau waved a hand. “I’m aware of all that,” he said. “Believe me, no one knows the case better than I do, given what we were put through up here. There are many good reasons that the investigators failed to lay any charges against us in the end.”

“Right. Well, here’s what I’ve been thinking for a while now,” I said. “My mother spent a lot of time here in Alderwood during the last six months of her life, because of her research. Everyone knew about it.”

“Yes, she was here quite often. Once, she even stayed for a whole month, when you were away at your first summer camp,” Trudeau cut in. “She was an honored guest. Everyone enjoyed her presence.”

I raised my brows and went on. “In those months, she also spent a lot of time in Pinecrest Falls and back at our home in New York City. I believe someone she encountered in one of those places wanted her gone, for whatever reason, and they decided to frame the most obvious suspects for what they did. As you said, the Covenant have always been scapegoats for everything.”

“This has always been blindingly obvious to me too. We were the easiest targets for framing,” Trudeau said, voice laced with derision. He tipped his head. “But what does any of this have to do with your decision to come here today?”

I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye. “I’d like to ask you for the same deal you made with my mother years ago, when she approached you about her research.”

“What do you mean? What deal ?”

“With your permission, I’d like to be able to stay here in your village and retrace her footsteps, in a sense,” I said. “If I can experience what her life was like in those last few weeks or months, I believe I can form a better picture of what happened to her and ultimately figure out who might be responsible for it.”

Trudeau scoffed. “You must be joking. That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“If you’re innocent, you shouldn’t have a problem with me reliving my mother’s time here, right?” I said, forehead wrinkling. “Unless you have something to hide after all.”

“I’ll ignore the rudeness of that statement for now,” he replied in a frosty tone. “What I meant is: your plan doesn’t make any sense. What answers do you think you can possibly obtain from staying here if you truly believe we are innocent? The killer is probably someone from Pinecrest Falls or the big city, as you mentioned a moment ago. So why not stay out there to look for him?”

“As I said, I want to relive my mother’s experiences here because I think it could actually help shed some light on what happened and who was responsible.”

“How?” he said, voice dripping with scorn.

“A lot of her research notes were lost after her death, because they were kept on a computer that went missing around the same time as her. The notes that survived were handwritten, and they’re a bit scattered. It’s hard to tell which ones are about Alderwood and which are about other subjects or people, because she often abbreviated things or just used initials instead of names, seeing as it was her own private notetaking system,” I said. I paused and leaned forward. “If I stay here, relive some of her experiences, and meet the same people she met, I might be able to sort out the notes and figure out who or what she was talking about. Once I finally know which of the notes aren’t about Alderwood, I can start to investigate who or what they’re really about. That could give me a lead on who actually killed her.”

“Ah. I see your logic now, strange as it is.” Trudeau’s chin lifted as he spoke, and I saw his gaze drifting over my teacup. When he saw that I’d drained every drop, a vaguely relieved expression flitted across his face.

“Also, as a result of so much of her research being lost, the outside world still doesn’t know much about your people and your ways,” I went on. “If I stay here and see that everything is fine, and you’re all normal people with normal, non-violent lives, I can tell that to the rest of the world. Tell them that you’re not the crazy cultist witches they say you are. Just… different. Then, they’ll be more likely to shift their focus to where it really matters—finding out who really killed my mom. They’ll be especially likely to do that when they hear it’s her own son who believes in your innocence. More evidence may come to light then, from all the interest in the case being revived. Evidence involving an outsider.”

“Yes, I see your point,” Trudeau said in a grudging tone, rubbing his chin. He went silent for a moment, pale eyes shrewdly assessing my face. “But there’s something else that brings you out here, isn’t there? Something you are very purposefully not telling me.”

This guy didn’t miss a trick. Even though the truth tea hadn’t affected me, there must have been some sort of tell in my appearance that gave me away as a liar. A certain look in my eyes, perhaps, or a particular flare of the nostrils.

“You’re right,” I said, lifting my hands and feigning an abashed look. “There is something else.”

He smiled thinly and leaned forward. “Tell me. Now.”

I rubbed my jaw and sighed. “As you know, my father believes in your guilt. We’ve fallen out over our conflicting views quite a few times over the years, and things have finally come to a head.”

“How so?”

“I have a very large trust fund that I’m set to inherit when I turn thirty,” I said. “Or had , I should say. My father has taken legal steps to prevent me from getting anything unless I change my views and drop my personal investigation into what happened to my mother. He’s that angry about it.”

Of course, none of that was remotely true, but Trudeau had no way of knowing it.

As I expected, he smiled victoriously. “And there it is,” he said, clapping his hands together. “You outsiders are ruled by money and greed above all else, aren’t you?”

I ignored the jibe. “If I’m able to prove who really killed my mother—and therefore prove your innocence at the same time—my father will have to admit he was wrong and reinstate my inheritance.”

“Money and greed,” Trudeau repeated, shaking his head. Clearly, he’d swallowed my lie hook, line, and sinker. “Why am I not even remotely surprised to hear this?”

“I know how it sounds,” I said, looking him right in the eye. “But it’s not just about the money. I need to find out what happened to my mother, Mr. Trudeau. I’ve spent my whole life thinking about it. Every single day since I was eight years old.”

He let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can understand that, Sebastian. Truly. And after your explanation as to why you’d like to spend some time here… I can understand that too. But I assure you, there are no answers for you here. At least none that would help you find your mother’s killer. You would only be wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then we must agree to disagree, as you outsiders love to say,” he said, shrugging.

Fuck. I was losing him.

“What if I’m right about the notes? What if I can really solve this?” I asked. “Don’t you want the outsiders to leave you alone? To stop harassing you and viewing you as evil killers? Because that’s what would happen if all the murder speculation finally died down. You’d finally be left alone, as you so clearly want.”

Trudeau nodded, slowly stroking his chin. “I suppose that’s true. And you’re right; we are often targeted by outsiders. Hence all the security measures we’ve had to install over the years,” he replied. “Just last year, someone tried to set fire to our front gate. Silly teenage boys from Pinecrest Falls who somehow made their way up here one night, drunk as skunks. They daubed something in blood on the gate before they attempted to light it on fire. Killers .”

“That’s exactly what I mean. It’s been twenty years, and the hatred against you hasn’t died down. A lot of outsiders will always think you’re guilty, unless something changes. Something huge.”

Trudeau slowly rose to his feet and turned to the side, clasping his hands behind his back. “Here’s the thing, Sebastian. We are very private people. We have ways that you outsiders tend to find very peculiar, but they work for us. That is what we seek to protect by shunning outsiders from our village.”

“But you didn’t shun my mother. And you occasionally work with other outsiders too, as you mentioned earlier.”

He smiled faintly. “Your mother was extremely persistent. I suspect that’s where you got it from,” he replied. “You look like your father, but that mind of yours is all Miranda.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said stiffly.

He was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed and looked back at me again. “I truly believe that you will not find the answers you seek here, Sebastian. But I can understand why you think you might, and I can see how important it is for you to sort through all these painful memories of yours,” he said. “If we were to allow you to stay for a period of time, there would need to be ground rules set, and they would need to be taken very seriously.”

My brows rose. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“For now.” He lifted a hand, eyes narrowing on me. “But if I detect so much as a whiff of impropriety or deceit, I will remove you and ban you from ever returning to Alderwood.”

“Understood. Do you need to confer with the other elders before you give me a final answer?”

He shook his head. “As the governor, decisions like this fall solely on me, and my say is final,” he said. “Of course, I must also bear responsibility if things go badly, which is why I am always so reluctant to accept outsider visits. Even short ones.”

“That makes sense.”

“I presume you will need to come and go, as your mother did?” he asked, brows dipping in a contemplative frown. “To attend to outside business?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ll have to return to both Pinecrest Falls and Manhattan every so often.”

“That can be arranged. I will give you the number for our cellular phone, so you can let us know your plans and confirm if it works for us too,” he said. “We will do our best to accommodate your schedule, but there are certain times of the year when outsiders are strictly prohibited from visiting.”

“Why’s that?”

“We carry out sacred rituals during those times that outsiders cannot bear witness to,” he said. “You see, it could disrupt the natural order. Therefore, the Entity does not allow it. I told your mother the same thing. I’m sure she would’ve mentioned it in her notes, though as you said, many of those were lost.”

The Entity? What the fuck is that?

I nodded. “I understand. Thank you for agreeing to let me in, Mr. Trudeau.” I placed a hand over my heart for good measure. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

I didn’t even need to tell him, because he’d find out just how fucking much it meant to me soon enough.

He offered me a ghost of a smile. “You may call me Augustus.”

“All right. Augustus.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a flurry of footsteps across the room.

“Papa, my painting turned out—oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company,” a feminine voice said.

I turned to see the young woman who’d walked in, and I was instantly blindsided. It took every ounce of willpower I had to stop my jaw from dropping.

I knew her.

We’d never been introduced, obviously, but I fucking knew her. I’d fantasized about her plump lips, shiny black hair, doe eyes, and graceful figure thousands of times since I saw her picking berries at the boundary fence when I was scoping out the place a few years ago. In fact, she was the one who inspired my plan to infiltrate Alderwood and leave with a female hostage who could be used to obtain answers.

I’d even plotted to take her as my captive when the dark seeds of the plan were taking root in my mind, but I’d eventually changed my mind about that, realizing it was a far better idea to take Trudeau’s daughter instead.

Mom had mentioned the girl in her notes—an only child who was of great importance to the Covenant for some esoteric reason—and I figured it made sense for her to be my captive above anyone else from the community. After all, she was in the Covenant car the night Mom was snatched from our vacation home, and while she was very young at the time, I knew she would still have some memories of what went down, so I’d be able to get a few answers out of her.

Secondly, as the only child of Alderwood’s most powerful figure, her abduction would send the cult into a tailspin. They’d do anything to get her back… and part of that ‘anything’ would require them to admit the truth about my mother’s murder, unless they wanted to see their precious girl mutilated in the same way.

I had absolutely no idea that my stunning berry-picking girl and Trudeau’s daughter were one and the same, twenty years apart.

Holy fucking hell, that made things ten times more fun and interesting. I could barely contain my twisted delight.

“Darling!” Trudeau rose to his feet, smiling warmly. I followed suit. “This is Sebastian Thorne. Sebastian, this is my daughter Rosamund.”

As he introduced us, my thoughts instantly jumped to all the other ways I wanted to become acquainted with her. Of course, I couldn’t do any of those things. Not yet, anyway. That temptation would have to be saved for later.

Rosamund stared back at me, eyes saucer wide and mouth hanging slightly open. Clearly, she recognized me just as I’d recognized her. That made sense. I’d purposely shown myself to her at the fence on one occasion just to frighten her—painted-on skull mask and all—and that memory had obviously seared itself into her mind.

“Why are you staring at him like that, Rosamund?” Trudeau asked, frowning. “It’s impolite.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she stuttered, eyes still fixed on me. “It’s just… um… you said Thorne?”

Her soft, sweet voice stirred the pulsating, destructive hunger deep inside me. My skin heated, and my breath quickened, a primal need surging through my veins.

“That’s right,” I said, extending my hand. “Sebastian Thorne.”

She stared down at my hand like it was radioactive. “As in…”

“Yes, my dear. Miranda Thorne’s son,” Trudeau cut in. “He’s coming to stay in Alderwood for a while.”

“He is?” Rosamund’s wide eyes shot between me and her father. “We almost never have guests.”

“Sebastian wants to continue his mother’s research,” Trudeau said smoothly. “Given the trauma he endured after her death, I thought I’d give him the grace of allowing him to do that.”

“My mother really liked it up here,” I said, dropping my hand. Clearly, the girl was too scared to touch me. She probably believed I was some sort of demon, considering what I looked like the last time she saw me. “I’m very grateful to your father for his hospitality.”

“I… well… that’s wonderful. I’m sure you will greatly enjoy your stay in our town.” She averted her eyes and swallowed audibly. “Anyway, I must go and wash this paint off my hands. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne.”

“Please, call me Sebastian. It was nice to meet you too, Rosamund.”

She darted upstairs without another glance in my direction. The frantic rush of her steps alerted me to the effect I had on her.

I terrified her.

That knowledge ignited a predatory need inside me. The need to chase. The need to hunt and capture. But I wouldn’t do it. Not here in the confines of Alderwood, at least.

I released a deep breath and wiped every trace of a smirk from my expression before turning back to Trudeau. “Your daughter seems nice,” I said. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And she lives here with you?”

“Yes. Most women her age are married and live with their husbands, but Rosamund will remain unwed for as long as she lives.”

“May I ask why?”

He smiled and clasped his hands together. “Upon her birth, she was blessed with a profoundly important role in our society. In fact, she is one of the most important women ever to be born. I’m very proud to be her father.”

“Ah, I see,” I said, even though his answer was a bullshit non-response. “She said something about paint. Is that her job? Painting?”

“Not by trade. She teaches at our schoolhouse during the week,” he replied. “But painting is her favorite hobby, and she is a truly wonderful artist. Talent like you wouldn’t believe. Here, let me show you something.”

He ushered me into a small room that contained two sofas, a stacked bookshelf, and a hearth. Above the hearth hung a large painting featuring a beautiful young woman with long brown hair, blue eyes, and bow-shaped lips.

“See that painting?” he said, nodding toward it. “That’s my wife. Celeste.”

“She’s stunning.”

“She was, yes. She passed away giving birth to Rosamund,” Trudeau said softly, eyes lingering on the painting. “And yet, Rosamund was still able to produce this perfect image of her. Every last detail is accurate.”

“How is that possible without any reference photos?”

He turned to look at me again. “It’s a testament to her talent. One day, she asked me what her mother looked like. Then she did some sketches and asked me for some more details. Eventually she disappeared into her painting studio for what seemed like an eternity. When she finally emerged, she had a perfect likeness of her mother. It was uncanny, the way she was able to capture her so perfectly just by listening to my description. It is due to her powers.”

I frowned. “Her powers?”

“I believe she is a gifted seer. I suppose the ability to see what others cannot also enhances her artistic ability.”

“We have people like that on the outside too,” I said. “But we don’t call them seers. We call them police sketch artists.”

Trudeau stared at me for a second. Then his eyes crinkled, and he tipped his head back and laughed. This time, it was a genuine belly laugh. Not the fake hollow laughter he displayed earlier.

“You’re funny, Sebastian,” he said, patting me on the back. “Just like your mother. She was funny too.”

I forced another smile, resisting the urge to break his jaw. I hated the way he spoke about my mother. He fucking slaughtered her—or at least gave the order for someone else to do so—yet he still had the audacity to look me right in the eyes and talk about her as if they were great friends back in the day.

“Thanks,” I said, clenching my right hand into a fist inside my jacket pocket.

Trudeau’s brows dipped, and he lowered his voice. “I must confess, when I heard you were at our gate, I suddenly experienced a sort of—” He paused and tilted his head slightly to one side. “I believe outsiders would refer to it as a traumatic flashback.”

“That sounds about right,” I said, nodding slowly.

What’s your trauma, man? Almost getting caught for murder? Boo-fucking-hoo.

“When I saw you at my door, the fear in my soul worsened,” he went on, still talking like a fucking theater major. “You resemble your father so closely that I was afraid you would share his personality as well. I worried you’d come here to unleash more trouble. But I’m glad to say I was wrong about you.”

Oh, no, motherfucker. Your instincts were dead on.

“I’m glad,” I said. “For a while, I worried you wouldn’t let me through the gate.”

“Believe me, I considered it. But in the end, my curiosity won out. I had to see what you wanted after all these years.”

“Well, I’m grateful that you listened to me. And for allowing me to stay, of course.”

“On that note, let’s take a walk,” he said. “We can discuss the terms of your stay on our way. The stroll may help with your drowsiness, too.”

We headed for the front door and stepped outside. As we walked down the garden path, my scalp tingled, sensing eyes upon me. I briefly turned my head to look over my shoulder.

Rosamund was peeking at me through the half-closed curtains in an upstairs room. As soon as she realized I’d spotted her, she ducked out of view.

I turned away from the window, a thin smile spreading across my face.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was already mine.