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Elizabeth sniffled and wiped away her tears. “Hugo, why aren’t you consoling me?”
“You lied,” Hugo said. “This isn’t how it happened. You’re not here. This isn’t real.”
Elizabeth’s face snarled. Her eyes grew dark. A black, inky substance dripped down her face like tears. She let out a growl. “You’ll turn, Hugo Dodds. They all turn.”
She wiped her tears with her hands and smacked Hugo in the face. Her palms went over his eyes. They burned as a circle of pain was seared into his visage. Agony. Fear. Depression. Despair. All these emotions coursed through his body. His body crumpled, bringing him to his knees, as he released an agonizing scream. It echoed throughout the house.
“You almost passed,” Thaddeus said as he rose from the chair. The thick, leathery soles of his boots echoed throughoutthe room as he towered over Hugo. “Everyone almost passes, but despair still gets them in the end.”
Hugo hunched over on the hardwood floor and cried out in pain.
Thaddeus added, “Question is, are you strong enough to survive the other two?”
Chapter 6
The Fairytale of Newbury Grove
The wind was a biting cold. Not blustery or destructive, but a chill gradually eating away at a soul’s sanity. It whipped up in a swirl and grasped an unwilling victim in its icy fingers, lashing away at those who were ill-equipped to deal with the frigid air.
Alice Primrose was one such victim. She tugged at the black lapel of her modern Victorian tailcoat. She shrunk her shoulders and arms as close as she could to preserve the warmth being torn away. Her breath was a ghostly trail as her thick-soled boots crushed the dusting of snow beneath her feet. Small snow flurries bombarded her face as it burned in the early December air. Alice tilted her head so the brim of her curved witch’s hat shielded her face.
Happy faces passed her as she entered Newbury Grove’s town center—families, couples, and young children excited at the prospect of the Christmas holiday season. The town center was decorated in welcoming green wreaths tied with red ribbons on the ornate lamp posts. Children, scolded by parents from their impulsive excitement, weaved in and out of the crowds as they rushed to the shop windows to see the various Christmas displays.
Nine more days until Christmas.
Some window displays were cardboard cutouts of various Christmas characters. Others were elaborate, picturesque displays of model trains roaring through miniature towns. The jewelry shop held the honor of gathering the largest crowd. They gathered around a miniature town of snow-laden houses as a model Santa Claus and his sleigh circled in the sky above. Children gawked and commented on the various gifts they were positive Santa would bring to them for Christmas.
“His sleigh doesn’t look like that,” Alice muttered under her breath. She kept her mouth covered by the lapel of her coat, so she was certain the children didn’t hear as she passed by.
Newbury Grove loved holidays. None passed without some sort of community celebration. St. Patrick’s Day parades. Fourth of July fireworks. The fall festival where she first fell in love with Hugo Dodds.
Hugo Dodds.
Alice’s eyes welled up at the thought of his name. She focused on the sidewalk and her feet as she walked. She raised her eyebrows, opening her eyes, to fight back the tears. She couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now. She had to remain focused.
Alice loved Christmas. She should be walking the streets of Newbury Grove with Hugo, hand in hand, enjoying the displays with the same amazement as the children who stood before her now. Instead, she found herself alone and cold.
Alice willed herself to keep her focus forward, tearing her eyes away from the snow-covered concrete. The sidewalks were too crowded to not pay attention to what was before her. The passersby were smiling, laughing, happy, and joyful. They hugged each other, or held hands, or carried bags of gifts they purchased for their happy little gatherings.
Alice narrowed her eyes and gave a snarky, discerning glance. Some people responded with smiles. Others gave thestandard shocked glance at someone who was dressed as a witch in the Christmas season. Alice was used to it. The only difference was she wasn’t her happy-go-lucky self. No, she finally expressed herself like the stereotypical witches of ancient lore. Angry and tired and sad. She needed someone, anyone, to tell her it would be okay.
Alice needed a hug.
She knew Hugo was still there. Still in her house. His presence. His spirit. Who else would have stuck a hockey stick under her mattress? He was trying to tell her he was there. A sign. It had to be. What else would it have been?
Alice stopped.
Then why didn’t he respond when I called for him?
Alice glanced at the storefront where she had stopped. The windows and glass door were covered in curtains. They prevented anyone from peering inside where the dark deed had transpired. The spot where Hugo became a vampire and set off the chain of events leading to his death. A sign hung on the door.Closed. Under New Management. Below the sign, the familiar gold lettering—Sylvia’s Bistro.
Sylvia.
Alice let go of her lapel and clenched her right hand into a fist. She reared her fist back, ready to drive her hand through the gold lettering. No magick. No purple arcane flames. Pure, unadulterated rage manifested in her clenched fist as she shattered those gold letters, erasing Sylvia’s name from existence. She stepped closer to the door.
Alice spotted a couple out of the corner of her eye, deeply engrossed in each other’s company, their smiles beaming and hands intertwined. They would have crashed into her had Alice not seen them first. She stepped back to avoid the collision.
“Sorry,” the woman said as she passed Alice. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
