Chapter Two

 

Wrexham, England

Present Day

 

The more Holly Duff ran, the more gloom and doom stalked her. Her life had been a storybook right out of Disney, but then Disney turned into the Nightmare on Elm Street. First, her scholarship for graduate studies at the University of Oxford was reduced, then her parents died in a freak car accident, and then she found out she was the baby left in a basket on their door-step.

That had been six weeks ago—less than two months.

She should have known. Mom and Dad were carbon copies of Raggedy Ann and Andy while she was Malibu Barbie. If her parents stayed out in the sun too long, their skin turned the color of an overripe tomato while hers turned into a plump peach.

Everyone in her family was shorter than she, so when she went to a family reunion, she was the Barbie giant. Mom had always said she was a throw back from a great aunt twice removed. Well, now, she understood. She was adopted. Not just adopted—bought and paid for.

Holly shoved the pain back. Oxford wouldn’t start for another week, and she had just enough money to come here to find out more about the adoption. She’d read and re-read the adoption letter seventy-two times, and the only thing she knew for sure was that she’d been born in Wrexham, England, and had the surname Wolfe. But the damn adoption agency was closed.

She glanced at the cheesy brochure. Here ye, here ye! Come to the only ghost tour in all of England with dragons. She smiled. Her mother had loved ghost tours and would have been excited to go on this one, so Holly decided to go on it. It made Holly feel closer to her.

She walked down a busy cobblestone street, looking for Wrexham Cemetery on Ruabon Road. It wasn’t hard to find. The church steeple stretched toward the dusky sky. The setting sun cast long shadows over the gravestones, making them look longer and bigger. An antique iron gate surrounded the graveyard. With the sharp arrows cresting on the top of the spikes, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was to keep visitors out or keep something inside. Nice place to start a haunted tour.

When she arrived, there were three young couples, two older women, and a family with a squirrelly little boy. For a haunted tour, it was smaller than she’d expected, but then, Wrexham was a small town. She stood by the church, taking in the early Gothic architecture. The pointed arches, a vaulted roof, buttresses, large windows, and spire made her feel like she’d been thrown back in time. Dusk covered the town, and buildings cast long shadows onto the cobblestone streets, reminding her of the foreshadowing of a horror movie.

A college-age couple sat on the steps and kissed, triggering the dream she’d had last night. She’d dreamed about a wounded knight. Blood flowed down his arm, and he was so pale, as if his life force was slowly being drained. He had placed his bloody hand against an old tree and panted hard as if it was hard for him to breathe. There were dead men surrounding him in a menacing forest. She’d called out to him. He’d raised his head and had the saddest green eyes. It was as if he’d mirrored her pain of losing her parents. Had one of those knights been close to him—a best friend or a brother?

His dark brown hair stuck to his flushed cheeks. He had an ugly cut on his right cheek, and blood streaked down his face. His eyes fluttered shut. He’d swayed and tumbled to the ground. Her heart broke for him. She’d called out to him to see if he was alive or dead. She wanted to run over to him and help him, but then she woke up. The strangest feeling of loss swept over her, not over her parents, but over her solemn knight.

A car back fired, tearing her out of the dream. She sighed, then re-read the brochure again, wondering why the knight had been so sad.

“Good evenin’.”

A strong Scottish accent jerked her out of reading. She couldn’t answer, and her mouth dried up. It was her knight except dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt and without the bleeding cut on his cheek. He had the same green eyes, but they weren’t sad—they were arrogant. He had the same to die for body that would have made Chris Hemsworth envious.

“Good evening.” She managed to croak out an answer. She still couldn’t believe he was standing there.

He gave her a curious look.

She put the strange dream out of her mind and cleared her throat. “You’re the tour guide?”

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Hardly. Ye’re from America on holiday?”

“No, I start classes at Oxford next week.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. She didn’t want to think of her parents. They’d booked a two-week vacation to England right before classes started. Her dad had been so excited he’d planned out every detail to the very last minute. Like a little kid.

Her dream knight gave her a curious look but didn’t comment. The street light shone on his long, dark hair, which was no longer slick with sweat. She wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it.

Not wanting to think of her parents, she quickly changed the subject. “Have we met before?”

“No.” He gave her a broad smile. “I would have remembered meetin’ you.”

Her cheeks burned at his appreciative stare. “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

He raised his eyebrow as if she was asking some dumb pick-up line. A wash of embarrassment flooded over her and she broke out in a hot sweat. Not wanting to pursue the dream anymore, she blurted, “Are you here on vacation?”

“No, I’m here on business.” He emphasized the last word, then stretched out his hand. “Alastair Sheehy.”

Usually, she was the same height as men or a few inches taller, but not Alastair. With him, she could actually wear heels. She hesitated at his taking his hand. She was in a strange country on a haunted tour, and her ideal world had been turned upside down. Everything she’d known had been a lie. Now, she looked at the world with a cautious pair of colored glasses. Alastair was attractive, and he looked like her sad knight, but she’d seen too many horror movies where Mr. Handsome was actually Mr. Slasher.

Alastair glanced at his hand then hers. “I promise I wonna bite. Or is it customary for Americans to refuse the friendly gesture of a Scot?”

His laughing green eyes said he was teasing, but his accusatory tone sprang her into action. She shook his hand. He held it a bit too long and pulled it close. His green eyes flickered with gold. A quiver of fear ran up her spine, and she jerked her hand.

He held it tight and squeezed hard. “And ye are?”

She winced. “Ow. That’s quite a grip you have.” She flashed him her famous flirtatious smile, hoping he’d cave into her request. “You can let go now.”

“My business is with ye. Yer name?”

She wanted to lie, but her lips wouldn’t obey. Cold encircled her heart and squeezed. It was as if she were being commanded to tell the truth. “Holly Duff.”

“Ye’re here alone?”

She didn’t like where this was going. He wasn’t anything like the knight in her dream. He smiled, reminding her of Hannibal Lecter. Any minute now she’d be the main course, and he’d order a Chianti with a plate of fava beans. Something came over her though, and instead of telling him to release her hand again, she blurted, “My parents are dead, and I’m here on my own.”

He gave her a perceptive stare. “There’s more to this story. Isn’t there?”

Holly put her hand over his and pushed. “Let go of me, Alastair.” She looked wildly at the tour group. “Help me!”

No one made a move to help her. It was if they hadn’t heard. The young boy badgered his mother about dragons. The couples sat on the curb, sipping coffee and talking. It was as if a veil had fallen over their eyes and no one saw her struggling to get free.

“It’s pointless to fight me, beautiful Holly.” Alastair’s voice turned into an ugly hiss, as if he’d changed into a reptile. “They donna see or hear what is happenin’. They’ll only see what I want them to see.”

How could she have thought he was her knight? His pupils had turned into a thin line, and the shape of his eyes had slanted like a coiled rattlesnake’s. God, was he going to grow scales? She was tall, but he was taller, larger, scarier.

“If you don’t release me, I’ll scream.” She hoped her voice was as crisp and strong as her dad’s had been.

“Not until ye tell me the rest of yer story.”

Holly shook her head, her blond hair flying around her—the same compulsion came over her. She bit her lip to keep from telling him her secrets. Pain froze her hand. “Stop. It hurts.”

“Then tell me what I want to know.”

The pain grew colder. Tears blurred her vision. It was as if he was pressing her hand into an icy ocean. Cracks split open on her skin. “Please—it hurts.”

“It will stop as soon as ye tell me.”

“My parents were killed in a car accident. I found out I’m adopted. And-and-and I came here. There—I told you. Please please please let go”

“Why here?” There was absolutely no pity in his voice.

“You bastard.”

He yanked her close to his chest. “Donna force me to do worse. Do you know the last name of your birth parents?”

His breath was hot and steamy. How could it be steamy? “Wolfe. That’s all I know. Please.”

He released her abruptly, and she stumbled. She held her wrist, fearing to see horrible burns, but her palm was the same bronze color. Not a blemish marred it. “What are you?”

He clasped her chin. “I am your worst nightmare—Keeper.”

“Keeper? I don’t understand.” This time, she was able to break free. She knew he’d given her this tiny victory.

“Yer answers are bound with William de Wolfe. Ye have the fair face of his wife, the Lady Jordan, but like her, ye will not destroy me.”

“I think you’ve been drinking too many ciders.”

“We will meet again. Soon.” He bowed slightly. “Very soon.”

She wanted to raise her hand to slap him, but her arms were pinned to her side. Fury twisted her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. “No—we won’t.”

He turned and walked away. The other women in the group giggled as he passed them. The boy dropped a toy army man. Alastair bent over and picked it up and handed to him. Alastair turned and winked.

Holly rushed over to one of the young men sitting on the curb. “Why didn’t you do anything?” She was so angry that her voice rose to fire alarm pitch.

The man frowned. “What’s your problem, lady?”

She pointed in the direction where Alastair had gone. “That man was hurting me, and no one did anything.”

“Are you high?” the red-headed woman asked. “There’s no one walking down the street, and you were just standing under the street lamp as if you were in a trance.”

Everyone was staring at her. “I’m sorry.” Heat burned her cheeks as embarrassment choked her voice. She sat on the steps of the church and rested her head in her hands. Her beating heart and blood echoed in her ears.

Maybe she was losing her mind. Could being so distraught over her parents and being adopted have caused such a vivid hallucination? She examined her hand. There wasn’t the slightest ice burn.

She thought about returning to the hotel, but Alastair had walked down the street that led back to it. She didn’t know her way around Wrexham well enough to take a different route. She was sure that wasn’t true with Alastair Sheehy.

She glanced at the map on the brochure. It looked like the tour went past her hotel, so maybe she should stay with the group and then beg off. Even if the group thought she was one step away from the cuckoo’s nest.

A smiling young man dressed in a green tunic, matching hose, and a hat with a red feather approached them. “Good evening, Ladies and Lords.” He bowed slightly. “Welcome to Wrexham’s only haunted tour. I am Robin, yer tour guide for tonight.”

He had curly brown hair, a dimple, and a goatee. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that Errol Flynn was alive again and had returned as none other than Robin Hood.

She took a deep breath and clutched her arms around her side. Her hotel was only a few blocks away. She could do this.

The boy ran up to the guide. “Is it true there are dragons here?”

“Aye. Ye’ll learn about knights, damsels in distress, ghosts, and of course—” His smile was special for the boy. “Dragons!”

The brown-haired boy turned to a blond woman who had his same blue eyes. “See, Mom, I told you dragons were real.”

She laughed and tousled his hair. “We’ll see, Harry. We’ll see.”

Her loving gesture reminded Holly of how her mother used to tease her about her obsession over medieval history. She’d always called Holly her favorite history buff. Holly would give anything to hear her mother laugh one more time or to have her dad there to be her knight in shining armor. The well of emptiness bubbled up inside her, making her shiver.

This summer Holly had worked two jobs—a lifeguard and a waitress—to offset the cost of living and studying in England. She’d rarely seen her parents, even though she was living at home. All she’d cared about was reaching her dream of studying at Oxford. Even as a little kid she’d been fascinated with England, with fierce knights, fair maidens, and ferocious dragons. Now her parents were gone, and she was alone.

Tears slid down Holly’s cheeks, and she hurriedly wiped them away, but not before Robin looked at Holly as if she’d ruined his act. His piercing stare made her look at her feet. She couldn’t face another man poking at her vulnerability again.  

He quickly returned to his corny act. “If ye’ll follow me down Cannon Street, we’ll go to the Rams Inn, where it is told a witch haunts the place.”

Holly followed him down cobblestones and through the town, listening to his tales about ghosts, witches, and demons. His jovial voice failed to cut through the veil smothering her heart. Several times he looked at her as if he guessed her tragedy. Her mother had always said that she wore her heart on her sleeve.

She trailed behind, feeling sorry for herself. Until he led them to a daunting, gated castle. “This is Castle Questing—home of Baron William de Wolfe, his lady love Jordan Scott, and his famous dragon knights.”

Harry wrinkled his brow. “What are dragon knights?”

“Legend has it that the Archangel Michael asked God for beasts that would help him defeat evil in the world. The Lord granted his request and made dragon knights, which are actually shape-shifters—meaning they transform from a man into a dragon. The descendants of these mighty beasts have only served lords that are deemed worthy, such as the Baron William de Wolfe. Once they swear their allegiance to a lord, they will protect them and their family tree forever.”

“Wow!” Harry ran over to the bars. “Are they still there?”

Holly looked at the imposing castle wondering if it was even possible that her lineage was mixed up with this fancy tale. “Did you say Wolfe?”

“Aye, William de Wolfe married the fair Lady Jordan Scott. She came from Scotland, and it was not just her beauty that brought the knights to their knees, but her kindness.”

All Holly could think of was Alastair. He had said she looked like Lady Jordan Wolfe. No, he’d said more than that—he’d said Lady Jordan was a Keeper. “Was the Lady Jordan a Keeper?”

She ignored the curious and frowning faces around her.

“You’ve heard of the legend?”

“Pieces.”

“What’s the legend?” Harry asked. “Is it about dragons?”

“No, it’s about Satan’s Scriptures. The scripture is ancient and filled with black magic. Saint Peter stole it from a demon named Balthazar, but he couldn’t destroy it. As long as Satan lives, the scriptures live.”

Holly clasped her arms tighter around her. This tale was getting worse and worse. “Demons have names?”

“Their names are what gives them power.”

Blood drained from Holly’s face. This couldn’t be true.

He looked at her face. “Don’t worry, sweet lass. All is not lost. The Archangel St. Michael gave St. Peter the power to keep the scriptures in a locked box with a carved red flower to keep it out of evil hands. His descendants are the Keepers.”

“Cool.” Harry jumped around. “What happens if you’re not a Keeper and you open the box?”

Robin pointed to the castle. “The legend says that one of William de Wolfe’s dragon knights opened the box. A black cloud of evil hurled him into a black pit, and he was never seen again.”

Holly could barely breathe. “Was his name Alastair?”

Robin looked disappointed, as if she’d robbed him of his big moment. “You’ve heard about our little tale.”

Holly broke out into a cold sweat and shivered. This was surreal, unbelievable, insane. “What happened to the scriptures?”

He puffed out his chest. “We don’t know. A page of the scripture was found, and it’s locked up in Wrexham’s museum.”

Harry clasped the bars tight. “Who cares? Are there dragons here?”

“Legend has it that de Wolfe’s dragons still protect Castle Questing and will come to the aide of de Wolfe’s heirs whenever they are in need.”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “So, they’re still alive? I want to see one. Can we go in?” His eager voice was it just as excited as a boy demanding to open his Christmas presents. He rattled the immovable bars as if he could ripe them apart like Superman.

“Ah, the dragons will only show themselves to an heir. It’s rumored that there is a missing heir—” He pointed to the full moon. “And on the blood moon ye can see a dragon fly past in hopes of finding the heir.”

Chills raced up the back of Holly’s neck. “What’s a blood moon?”

“The blood moon is the final and fourth lunar eclipse in a year. The Earth actually casts a shadow on it, making it appear red.” He pointed toward the sky. “Like tonight.”

Sure enough, the moon had a white glowing ring around it, and it had turned a dark red.

Robin stared up at the sky. “Many believe a blood omen is the coming of the end of times.” His voice turned grave. “According to the Book of Joel, it is written, ‘the sun will turn into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.’”

Holly didn’t know about the end of the world, but her Disney princess world had ended when her parents had died that horrible night. Had there been a blood moon? Honestly, she couldn’t remember.

“See, Harry, there’s a missing prince.” The boy’s mother put her hands on his slender shoulders. “You could be the missing heir.”

Robin shook his head. “Who knows, Harry, maybe it’s true. De Wolfe was not a king, although many considered him more powerful than the king. He was later given the title of Baron. One of de Wolfe’s great-great granddaughters ran off with a peasant, and later, it was found that she was pregnant. Her true love was hauled back to the castle and hung for daring to touch the noble’s daughter, while poor Eleanor died in childbirth. The child was secreted away by a wet nurse who feared the lord would kill the baby. No matter how long the dragon knights searched neither the child nor the wet nurse was ever found. It is said that Eleanor Wolfe haunts those very halls, wailing for her baby and her long lost love. Many towns folk have claimed to have heard her shrieks. And it is said if she is seen it is a bad omen.”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes were two sizes too big. “What does she look like?”

Robin gave Holly a curious look. “Ye know, she looks like ye.”

“Excuse me?” Holly’s voice was less than amused.

“Ye have the same honey-blond hair and the same green eyes. If ye do not believe me, there is a painting hanging in the museum of the fair Lady Wolfe.”

Harry pointed. “Look, Mom! Up in the sky! It’s true.”

Holly reluctantly looked up into the sky, and her stomach did a tailspin. A dark shape flew past the moon. It could have been a cloud—a cloud in the shape of a dragon.

***

After getting nowhere with the adoption agency, Holly’s curiosity got the better of her. Her mom would have said that she was tempting the fates. Dad would have scoffed and said the tale was pure nonsense. He only believed in facts. Demons and dragons were a child’s fantasy. Holly couldn’t shake the feeling he was wrong. Alastair had said she looked like Lady Jordan de Wolfe. Maybe he’d just it meant it as a coincidence, but the adoption papers had said her surname had been Wolfe, and she needed to find out the truth.

The Wrexham Museum was located in the town center on High Street in the central business district. Men and women dressed in business attire, carrying coffee cups and briefcases and laptops, scurried here and there. Holly would have liked to sit at a local café and forget last night along with the caseworker at the adoption agency refusing to help her, but according to Alastair, she was linked with the Wolfe family saga, and the Wolfe’s story was in the Wrexham Museum.

Like the church, the museum had pointed arches, a ribbed vault, flying buttresses, and window tracery. Unlike America’s structures, this had lasted for centuries. She walked through the archway into a room with a huge, vaulted ceiling and tapestries of battle scenes hanging from the wall. There was no cost to look around, and Holly wandered through the deserted hallways, reading the history of Wrexham. Her footsteps echoed off the walls, disturbing the eerie silence.

One hallway was devoted to William de Wolfe. He’d held the title of Baron Kilham, and in later years, was granted the title Earl of Warrenton. He was known as the Wolfe of the North. A painting of him hung in the center of the room. He was a formidable man with piercing, hazel-gold eyes, dark hair, and warrior stance, but it was the painting of the Lady Jordan de Wolfe that made her chest tighten.

If Lady Jordan de Wolfe was wearing boyfriend jeans, a peasant’s white top, and had green eyes, she’d be Holly’s twin. Could this be a distant grandmother or a distant aunt? She walked over to read the plaque next to the painting, then stopped and stared at a glass case that held a splintered black box painted with a red flower. Next to it was a thick book that was hand-written in a language she couldn’t identify, and she knew all of the ancient languages. Something was wrong. The guide had said a single page, but this was a whole book. “This can’t be real.”

“Ah, but it is, lass.”

Holly jerked around, only to be confronted by the last person she wanted to see—Alastair.

She backed away. “What are you doing here?” Her words shook with fear.

He tracked her until she leaned against the glass cabinet that held the splintered box and book. “Following ye, of course.”

Holly calculated whether or not she was fast enough to bolt to the door. “If you take one step closer, I’ll scream.”

“No one will hear.” He followed her gaze to the archway that led down another hallway to freedom, and an impish smile spread across his overconfident face. “Ye’ll never make it, my dear.”

Her beating heart revved up, and adrenaline pumped through her. She was going to damn well try. Her legs shaking, she bolted.

Alastair snatched her wrist and slammed her against his chest. “Now, you’re being rude. Balthazar wants to meet you.” There was a tinge of fear in his voice.

If he was afraid, she should shrink into a violet. “Who is Balthazar?”

“I’m Balthazar,” a smooth male voice said behind her. “Release her, Alastair.”

Alastair hissed as he unraveled his meat hooks from her wrist.

Holly turned around to look at an intimidating, half-naked man. His leather pants and high boots hugged his muscular legs. His long dark hair brushed over his massive shoulders, and she couldn’t help but admire his hard abs. He was a bigger-than-life, possessed rock star. It was as if she’d been flashed into a Supernatural episode, but Dean and Sam Winchester wouldn’t be running in to save her. “Who are you?”

“I’m a demon, Keeper.” He pulled a black flower out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. He stepped away. “Soon you’ll be mine.”

The flower sparkled and grew cold, but then it ignited and sizzled into her flesh. Pain scorched her like it had when Alastair held her hand. Her breath seized, as she held her shaking wrist. A shiny black tattoo fanned out on her palm.

Suddenly, roaring wind blew into the room. Holly’s blond hair whirled around, blinding her vision and hurting her ears. Glass rattled. Balthazar and Alastair weren’t the least bit affected and looked at her as if she were an interesting experiment.

“Balthazar!” a strong voice thundered through the wind.

A young man that looked like a lost high school student flashed close to her. He wore his blond hair in a queue and had the most compelling blue eyes she’d ever seen. White wings flashed out from behind his back. Oh, God, she was really really really losing her mind!

Balthazar narrowed his eyes, and fire flickered in the pupils. “Damn you, Raphael! Get out of here.”

“Leave my Keepers alone, Balthazar.”

Balthazar waved his arm. “Too late. She’s touched the black flower.”

A murky pit opened up in the floor, and inky smoke spired out. It curled around Holly’s toes then swirled around her body like an angry tornado. Wind whipped around her, roaring in her ears. She was whisked up off the floor and spun around the room faster and faster. Her arms flailed frantically and her legs kicked wildly. Her stomach revolted, wanting off this wild ride. She screamed. No one heard her. But she could hear Alastair’s manic laughter.

A white light flashed through the swirling wind and hit her hand, easing the throbbing pain. The smothering smoke hissed, then it dragged her kicking and screaming into the icy darkness.