Chapter 5

SWYN

The air is cool against my skin as I walk along the empty road, the distant lights of the manor fading into the night behind me. The weight of my decision presses down on me, but with each step away from that place, my resolve hardens.

There's no turning back now. I've made my choice. Now, I just have to figure out where to go next.

I stick to the shadows, keeping an eye out for any movement on the road. The manor's guards are thorough, but they're not expecting the bride to bolt the morning after her wedding. I'm banking on that surprise to give me a head start.

It's quiet, almost too quiet, but that's how it should be this time of night. The only sound is the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze and the occasional distant hoot of an owl. The dark, winding road seems endless, but I keep moving, hoping to find some sign of life soon.

It isn't long before I see headlights in the distance, approaching slowly. A beat-up old pickup truck, probably some local making their way home from a late shift.

I wave my hand, stepping out just enough into the road to catch the driver's attention, but not so much that I look desperate. I can't afford to look desperate. Not yet.

The truck slows, its headlights washing over me, and for a moment, I think the driver might just keep going. But then it comes to a stop a few feet ahead, the engine idling as the driver leans over to roll down the passenger-side window.

"You alright there, miss?" the man asks, his voice gruff but not unkind. He looks to be in his sixties, with a face weathered by years of hard work and a thick, greying beard.

"Just a bit lost," I say, pulling my jacket tighter around myself. "I was hoping to get into town. Think you could give me a lift?"

He squints at me, probably wondering why someone like me would be wandering the roads alone at this hour, but he doesn't ask. Instead, he just nods and jerks his thumb toward the passenger seat. "Hop in. I'm headed that way."

"Thank you," I say, sliding into the seat and pulling the door shut behind me. The interior of the truck smells like old leather and tobacco, but it's warm, and that's all that matters right now.

The man doesn't say much as he drives, just keeps his eyes on the road, the silence between us filled with the hum of the engine and the occasional bump of the tires over the uneven asphalt. I don't mind. It gives me time to think, to plan my next move.

When we reach the outskirts of the town, I ask him to drop me off at a small shopping centre. It's late, but there's a cashpoint outside one of the shops, and I can't risk not having cash on hand.

My family may have money, but they also have eyes everywhere. If they catch wind of where I'm headed, they'll come after me. So, I've learned to keep a separate stash, one they don't know about, hidden away in a bank account under a different name.

It's one of the few things I've been able to control in my life, and tonight, it's going to save me. I spent the bulk of my savings getting their tracking spell reversed, but I didn't have enough to cover a blackmarket blocking spell, so I have to hope for the best. Hopefully if I go far enough, they won't come after me.

"Thanks again," I say as I climb out of the truck, offering the driver a small smile. He just nods, tipping his hat in a gesture that seems oddly formal, and then drives off into the night.

I watch the truck's tail lights disappear before heading over to the ATM. The screen flickers to life as I insert the card, my heart pounding a little faster as I wait for the machine to process my request.

The amount I withdraw isn't much—just enough to cover the basics for a few days—but it's enough to get me started. Enough to get me away.

Once I have the cash in hand, I make my way to the main road, looking for a taxi. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, I manage to flag one down. The driver looks half-asleep, but perks up when I tell him my destination.

"Airport, huh? Long night?" he asks as he pulls away from the curb.

"You could say that," I reply, leaning back in the seat and closing my eyes. The weight of the last few hours is starting to catch up with me, but I can't afford to rest yet. Not until I'm far away from here.

The ride to the airport is long, but uneventful, and I use the time to check my phone, making sure I have everything I need. I still have some work emails to respond to, clients to reassure, but that can wait.

The majority of my clients were aware I was taking a few days off for my wedding anyway. For now, I focus on booking my flight. I've been freelance for years, quietly building a small, but steady income stream, doing digital marketing and web design for businesses that need someone discreet.

The kind of work that can be done from anywhere, as long as I have an internet connection and a laptop. It's been my safety net, and now, it's going to help me disappear.

The airport is quiet when we arrive, the early morning hours lending an eerie calm to the usually bustling terminal. I pay the driver and head inside, keeping my head down, as I navigate through the maze of check-in counters and security checkpoints.

The ticket agent barely glances at me as I hand over my passport and a credit card linked to my secret account. I've already chosen my destination—New York City, a place big enough to get lost in, where I can buy myself some time to think. To figure out my next move and how to get to Spells Hollow. There's very little information about the place online, and it's not like I can ask my family about its significance to gramps.

The flight is scheduled to depart in less than an hour, and by some miracle, I make it through security without any issues. It's only when I'm seated on the plane, the hum of the engines filling the cabin, that I allow myself to relax. A little.

As the plane takes off, the ground falling away beneath us, I stare out the window, watching as the landscape below becomes nothing more than a patchwork of lights in the darkness.

I should feel relieved, but all I feel is a growing sense of dread. I'm leaving everything behind – my family, my home, my new husband – and venturing into the unknown. I know this is the right choice, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying.

The flight passes in a blur. I try to sleep, but it's a restless, fitful sleep, filled with half-formed nightmares and the ever-present whisper of a bond between me and Oland.

It's faint now, almost imperceptible, but it's still there, a reminder of what I'm running from. Or toward. I'm not sure anymore.

When we land at JFK, the early morning light is just beginning to break through the clouds, casting the city in a soft, grey glow. I'm exhausted, but I push through it, knowing that I can't stop now. There's too much at stake.

I make my way through the airport, following the signs to the car rental desks. The agent barely glances at me as I hand over my ID and credit card, her expression bored as she taps away at her computer.

"Where are you headed?" she asks, her tone disinterested as she prints out the paperwork.

"Upstate," I reply, keeping my voice even. "A small town near the Catskills." I have no idea why I lie. It just slips out.

She nods, not asking any more questions as she hands me the keys. I'm grateful for that. The last thing I need is more attention.

The car is a nondescript sedan, nothing fancy, but reliable enough to get me where I need to go. I toss my bag in the back seat and slide behind the wheel, taking a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings.

The road ahead is long, but I'm determined to reach Spells Hollow as quickly as possible. I decided against staying in New York on the flight over. I need to get this curse broken as soon as possible, and there will be time for sightseeing or even disappearing, after.

The drive out of the city is slow, the traffic a constant stop-and-go that frays my nerves. But once I'm on the highway, the cars thin out, and I settle into a steady pace.

The scenery changes from urban sprawl to rolling hills and dense forests, the landscape becoming more rugged the further north I go. It's beautiful in a wild, untamed way, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to appreciate it.

But as the miles tick by, a strange feeling begins to settle in the pit of my stomach. It's not just nerves or fear – it's something deeper, something almost… magnetic. Like a pull in my chest, guiding me. I try to ignore it, focusing on the road, but it's persistent, tugging at the edges of my consciousness.

I must have missed the exit.

I glance at the GPS, frowning when I realise how far off course I've gone. The next exit is coming up, and I quickly take it, making a U-turn to backtrack. The pull in my chest eases slightly as I head in the right direction, but it doesn't disappear entirely.

It's as if there's magic in the air and it's trying to tell me something, trying to guide me.

By the time I reach the rest stop, the feeling has intensified, and I can't shake the sense that I'm being watched. I pull into the parking lot, the gravel crunching under the tires as I park near the entrance.

The rest stop is small, just a diner that looks like it's seen better days and a garage. But it's a welcome sight after the long journey. With the time zone change, the flight, the drive, and running off in the night, I'm not even sure how much time has passed between saying ‘I do' and ending up here. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

I grab my bag and head to the restroom first, splashing cold water on my face and taking a moment to freshen up. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is pale and drawn, dark circles under my eyes a testament to the stress of the last however many hours or days it's been.

I barely recognise myself, but there's no time to dwell on that. I need to keep moving.

The diner is almost empty when I walk in, just a few truckers hunched over their coffee at the counter and an eccentrically-dressed old lady in leather and leopard print, who's talking animatedly to one of them, an unlit cigarette waving around in her hands as she speaks.

The air inside is thick with the smell of frying bacon and stale coffee, and the linoleum floor sticks to my shoes as I make my way to a booth in the corner.

Despite that, it's still kind of cosy and endearing. A slim waitress with dark hair pulled haphazardly back into a ponytail and tired, heterochromatic eyes shuffles over, a pot of coffee in hand. Her nametag reads Ruth .

"What can I getcha?" she asks gruffly, notepad at the ready. Her accent is thick and tricky to understand.

"Just coffee. Black. And a slice of pie, please." I don't have much of an appetite, but I need something to keep me going. I've always found comfort in the simple things, and right now, pie and coffee seem like the closest thing to normalcy I can find.

Ruth nods and pours me a cup, then stomps back to the counter to fetch the pie. I sip the coffee slowly, letting the warmth seep into my bones as I try to shake off the lingering unease.

It's not the best coffee in the world, but it's hot and strong and it'll do.

When she returns with the pie - which turns out to be cherry and my favourite - I decide to take a chance, despite her less than sunny demeanour.

"Excuse me," I say, keeping my voice casual. "I'm headed to a place called Spells Hollow. Do you know it?"

Ruth freezes for a split second, her eyes narrowing as she sets the plate down in front of me. "Why're you headed there?"

"I'm just… curious about it," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. "I've heard it's an interesting place."

"Interesting ain't the word I'd use," she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. "That place…only the insane venture there, and even fewer come back."

I frown, surprised by the intensity in her voice. "What do you mean?"

"Spells Hollow is cursed, some say. Haunted by old magic and spirits best left alone. Folks around here know better than to mess with it. You'd do well to stay away, too."

Her words send a chill down my spine, but they also spark a curiosity I can't ignore. "Is there anywhere to stay nearby? A motel or something?"

Ruth looks at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighs. "There's a motel just across the road. Ain't much, but it's the only option you'll find out here unless you want to take ya chances in the woods with the wolves and things. But if you're smart, you'll turn around and head back to wherever you came from."

"I appreciate the advice," I say, offering her a small smile. Gosh, I must be exhausted if there's a motel right opposite and I didn't even notice. I wonder if there's anything else around here. The place seems kind of deserted though.

"But I think I'll check it out anyway."

She shakes her head, muttering something about idiotic out of towners under her breath as she walks away. I'm left alone with my thoughts, the remains of my pie growing cold in front of me as I try to process what she said.

Cursed. Haunted. Spells Hollow isn't just some sleepy little town. There's something more to it, something that has everyone here on edge. But instead of scaring me off, it only strengthens my resolve.

Whatever is waiting for me there, I need to face it. I need to understand what drew me to this place, why Gramps insisted this is where I'd find answers to break the curse, and why the magic is pulling me back.

I finish my coffee and leave a few bills on the table before heading back outside. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the parking lot as I make my way to the motel.

It's a bit of a rundown place, the neon sign flickering weakly in the dim light, but it's enough. It has to be. And there's some really nice flower boxes outside, like someone's tried to make the place a little more welcoming.

I thought the motel's exterior had promised nothing more than a dreary night's stay, but as I step inside, I'm caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the interior. The lobby, though small, is surprisingly well-kept.

The wooden floors gleam under the soft light of vintage sconces, and the floral wallpaper, while old, is clean and welcoming. The faint scent of fresh coffee drifts through the air, mingling with the smell of pine from the polished wood.

I glance around, taking in the cosy seating area with its worn leather chairs and a small bookshelf stacked with paperbacks. It's not luxurious by any means, but there's an odd charm to it – like the place has been lovingly maintained despite its age.

As I near the front desk, my gaze settles on the man behind it. He's tall and broad-shouldered, yet perfectly proportioned, his dark hair almost black under the dim lighting.

Though I can't fully see his face, the sharp angle of his jawline, dusted with stubble, hints at ruggedness. Tattoos peek out from the collar of his T-shirt and snake down his muscular arms, disappearing beneath the fabric.

His strong, tanned hands, one adorned with a rose tattoo, deftly flip through a ledger, giving me time to admire him. There's an effortless power to him that draws me in, and before I can stop myself, my pulse quickens as I imagine what it would be like to feel those strong hands on my body.

When he finally looks up, our eyes meet, and my breath catches in my throat.

His eyes are a deep, intense brown, but as they lock onto mine, something in them shifts – a flicker of light blue, like lightning flashing beneath the surface of a storm.

For a moment, I'm frozen, a strange electricity crackling between us, tugging at something deep within me, as if an invisible thread binds us together, pulling tighter with each second. The world blurs, fading into the background, until all that remains is the charged energy between us, humming in the air like a quiet promise, a connection that feels both thrilling and terrifying.

I want to kiss him.

Whoa, where did that come from?

As quickly as it came, the moment between us dissolves. He blinks, and the blue vanishes, replaced by the warm brown again, as if it had never been there at all.

My breath falters, and I force myself to shake off the lingering sensation, inhaling deeply. The scent of leather – bold, smoky, and rugged – surrounds me, grounding me in the present as I step forward, my palms brushing the cool surface of the counter.

Is that his scent? Why does he smell so good?

He offers a small, polite smile, but there's something guarded in his expression, a glint of something hidden behind his eyes. I can't place it, but it makes my pulse quicken all over again.