A Thousand Yesteryears (34 page)

AS CHILDREN THEY PLAYED GAMES OF MYTH AND MAGIC…

Veronica Kent fell in love with Caith Breckwood when they were children. As a teenager, she was certain he was the man she was destined to marry. But a traumatic event from Caith's past led him to fear a future together. He left Veronica, hoping to save her from a terrible fate. Twelve years later, Caith, now a P.I., is hired to investigate bizarre incidents at the secluded retreat Veronica manages. Returning to his hometown, Caith is forced to face his nightmares—and his feelings for the woman he’s always loved.

THEN ONE DAY THE MONSTERS BECAME REAL.

After the callous way Caith broke her heart, Veronica isn’t thrilled to see him again. But strange occurrences have taken a dangerous toll on business at Stone Willow Lodge. Forced to work together, Veronica discovers it isn’t ghostly apparitions that frighten her, but her passion for a man she has never forgotten. Or forgiven. Can two people with a tarnished past unearth a magical future?

“Stone Willow Hounded by Dead Dog”

Veronica Kent frowned at the newspaper headline. She’d hoped for a diversion from monthly budget projections, not another tabloid report to fan her irritation, but should have known better. Stone Willow Lodge and Breckwood Industries made it into Kelly Rice’s
Coldcreek Herald
so frequently she’d been forced to become a regular reader in order to counter fallout. Managing the lodge for BI made it a necessity.

Standing, she pressed her hands to the small of her back and stretched. The clock on her desk read 9:14, an hour supported by the creaks and groans of the old house as the lodge settled around her. Her office was comfortable, a stroll down the hall from the main reception area, tucked around the corner from her suite. She should call it a night and curl up with a book on her couch. The budget reports weren’t due until the end of the week and quitting time had been hours ago. If she had any sense at all, she would have met Merlin at the Jade Club.

Her gaze returned to the newspaper and its revolting headline. Curiosity got the better of her and she sank into her desk chair, focusing on the article.

“Stone Willow Hounded by Dead Dog”

Unexplained circumstances continue to escalate at Stone Willow Lodge where everything from random thefts to rumors of supernatural occurrences plague the struggling corporate retreat. Yesterday, the mutilated carcass of a dog was discovered in a guest suite. Avoiding specific details, Sheriff Duke Cameron would state only that the grisly remains, likely those of a stray, were found by a guest Tuesday evening. Not your typical turndown service.

Damn, the witch! Veronica bit her lip, silently fuming as she continued to read.

Site manager, Veronica Kent, was unavailable for comment, but Breckwood Industries chief operations officer, Aren Breckwood, insists the corporation has the situation under control. According to Mr. Breckwood: “Our primary concern is for the safety and continued enjoyment of our guests.”

Stone Willow Lodge remains an established landmark in Coldcreek. The retreat incorporates part of the original Warren Barrister House, the site where Barrister brutally murdered his wife and children on a winter night in 1873. Coincidentally, an employee of the lodge claims to have seen Barrister’s ghost, while several guests have reported the apparition of a sobbing woman roaming the hallways at night.

Fantasy or hoax? Either way, Breckwood Industries has managed to ensure their dying retreat is in the limelight once again.

Veronica flung the paper on her desk. Kelly Rice had been a thorn in her side since high school when they’d butted heads over everything from boys to clothes to grades. Kelly was determined to share Stone Willow’s misfortunes with the rest of Coldcreek, writing up every mishap and problem as headline news.

Incidents had begun several weeks ago when one of the guests had spotted a “glowing apparition” by the lake.
A woman in a long white veil,
the guest, Kay Porter, had said. When she’d tried to speak to the mysterious woman, she’d retreated into the surrounding woods and vanished.

Other incidents followed: disembodied lights weaving through the trees, a room that stayed frigid despite attempts to heat it, locked doors yawning open, creaks and groans that had nothing to do with the settling of the lodge, even spoiled food and missing items.

Let me get my magic wand,
Merlin Breckwood had joked.
I’ll send the demons packing.

Her sometimes-boyfriend rarely took anything seriously. Probably why their on-again off-again relationship never lasted more than a few weeks at a time. Like his three brothers, Merlin had been named for a character from myth, something that had played an important part in their childhood. If only myth still held the same magic.

The phone rang a shrill intrusion, and she snatched up the handset in an attempt to quell her irritation. “Hello?”

“Veronica, it’s Melanie.” The hesitation in the other woman’s voice gave Veronica a sense of what was coming. “I thought you should know I ran into Merlin at the Jade Club.”

“Who was he with? A blonde or a brunette?” Surprisingly, she didn’t care. Twenty-nine and single. Her love life was going nowhere. “It’s no big deal, Melanie. Merlin and I are in the friend stage again.”

“Hmm…” Melanie didn’t sound convinced. A good friend, she was the wife of Aren Breckwood, Merlin’s older brother.

“I know exactly what Merlin’s like,” Veronica said. For all his outward sparkle, Merlin Breckwood was self-centered and thoughtless. A sad turn of events for a boy who’d been charismatic and fun-loving in childhood. “Merlin and I are…convenient. I don’t think we were ever in love. He’s free to see other people.”

“What about you?”

Her throat closed up as she thought of Merlin’s younger brother, Caithelden. “There isn’t anyone for me. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

She’d been eleven when her parents had moved to Coldcreek and she’d met Caith. He’d been the boy with the funny name until Derrick Trask taught her how to pronounce it
—Caith-el-den—
pausing on each syllable until she got it right.

Her eyes shifted to a small framed photo on her desk, a cherished keepsake of better days. Eager young faces smiled back at her: Merlin, and his dark-haired brother Caith, Trask in a battered green ball cap, and her, all freckles and straight blond hair, as gangly-limbed as a newborn colt. It was the last photo of the four of them together.

“I don’t want Merlin to hurt you,” Melanie said.

“Don’t worry. I told you we’re just friends. One of these days I’m going to find someone as wonderful as your Aren and have a storybook romance.”

“Well, you’re probably right about Merlin. As much as I love the little brat, he’s clueless about relationships. I say dump the cover boy and move on.”

Veronica laughed. “I’ll consider it. Right now I owe Aren budget reports.”

“Mr. Taskmaster.” There was a smile in Melanie’s voice.

“He’s adorable, and you know it.”

“True, but it would be nice to see him blow a gasket now and then. Just to know he’s human like the rest of us. I’ll let you go. I know you’re busy.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.” Veronica’s thoughts returned to Caith as she hung up the phone. He’d been sandwiched between Merlin and Aren in personality, not as extroverted as Merlin, not as willing to bend as Aren. His stubbornness was the reason he’d left Coldcreek and his family twelve years ago after a horrible falling-out with his father.

Merlin was a pale imitation and a convenient replacement. Was it any wonder he flirted with other women? He had to know her heart had always belonged to his brother. She was a pathetic mess, in love with a memory.

Her eyes dropped to her desk calendar. The anniversary of Trask’s death was fast approaching. Halloween. What might have been different if he’d lived? If they’d all grown up together, unscathed by tragedy? Caith might never have made the choices that drove them apart.

The phone rang a second time.

Thinking it was Melanie, Veronica snatched up the handset. “Hey, I thought you were going to let me get back to my budget reports?”

“Go to the lobby,” a man’s voice said.

“Excuse me?”

“Go to the lobby,” the unfamiliar voice repeated. “I left something in the fireplace.”

Click.
The line went dead.

Suddenly uneasy, Veronica suppressed a chill. The familiar creaks and groans of the old lodge had stopped, replaced by unnatural stillness. She felt trapped, confined behind her desk, a target for a faceless assailant lurking outside. The hair prickled on the nape of her neck, sending a string of goose bumps racing down her arms. Crossing to the door, she held her breath then paused on the threshold, listening for telltale signs of intrusion. She’d always enjoyed the lodge’s remote location, tucked in the woods of northwestern Pennsylvania, but at the moment wished it weren’t so isolated. She couldn’t hear anything over the frightened thumping of her heart.

Some creep’s playing a game. He probably saw Kelly’s article and thought it would be fun to scare me.

It was working.

Before the incident with the dog, Alma Kreider, Stone Willow’s cook, had sworn she’d seen the ghost of Warren Barrister standing on the basement stairs. Veronica had heard eerie sobbing during a routine check of the vacant third floor two days earlier. Whether the occurrences were supernatural or contrived, they were mounting and unquestionably spooky.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she crept down the hallway, her tread light by nature. As a child, Merlin had compared her to a fairy queen, saying she looked the part with honey-kissed hair and green eyes. They’d been enraptured by myth and magic in those days, unaware there were real monsters in the world. Monsters like the men who’d murdered Trask and destroyed Caith’s life.

Shaking the memories aside, she stepped into the lobby. All looked as it should be. The back of the check-in desk was visible, webbed in patches of velvety shadow. Towering glass windows hugged a cathedral ceiling, crisscrossed by thick wooden beams. Scattered rugs in earthy shades of russet, cinnamon, and pebble gray added warmth to the wide-plank pine floors. A fire crackled in the massive mountain stone hearth. Lew Walden, the lodge’s caretaker, must have kindled it earlier. By habit, he’d return later to ensure it was out before retiring to his cottage at the southwest corner of the property.

I left something in the fireplace,
the caller had said.

Veronica hugged close the collar of her bulky green sweater and padded across the waxed floor in stocking feet. She was still several feet away when her mind processed the sight.

A charred, cracked lump, broken by knobby protrusions of white, burned on top of the stacked logs. Something popped with the sound of cooking meat.

Choking on terror, she stumbled backward with a scream.

A severed human hand was swaddled within the dancing flames.