So cold. Wait. Why was it freezing cold? Groggy and disoriented, Chloe woke fully to find she’d wrapped the tablecloth around her and was shivering. Something wet hit her face.

“What the heck?”

It was snowing. It didn’t snow in England in July.

“No, no, no.” She stumbled over to where she’d left her bike, only to find someone had happened by and stolen it while she was sleeping.

Chloe pulled the blanket tighter, walking around where she’d sworn she’d left the bike. There were no footprints or tire tracks. How long had it been snowing? “Long enough to cover the thief’s tracks, obviously.”

Even worse, the unknown person had taken her e-reader and phone, too. No reading material and no way to call and check in with her family. Her mom was going to be furious by the time Chloe made it back to town, reported the bike missing, and replaced the electronics. At least everything was stored in the cloud so she hadn’t lost anything other than the devices, which were expensive enough, but she was trying to look on the bright side, thank you very much.

Thank the stars the crossbody bag containing her money and passport hadn’t been stolen. Likely because she’d used it as a pillow. Nearby trees offered shelter from the fat, fluffy snowflakes as she leaned against a wide trunk and then slid down to sit on a fallen tree and take stock of the situation.

“Time to see what you do have.”

She emptied the crossbody bag at her feet, grateful she hadn’t worn flip-flops. Flip-flops in the snow. A half-hysterical laugh escaped before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Some kind of humming noise emanating off the stones made her want to be quiet.

Let’s see. She had her passport, money, lip balm, and the bag of coins from Granda. There were a couple of ponytail holders, a candy bar, and a small box of matches she’d gotten from a pub because she liked the logo.

From town to the stones was a couple of miles. No one had passed by when she’d ridden to the stones, nor the entire time she’d been there, so it was not likely she’d luck out and catch a ride. Chloe could hear her mom’s voice screaming that she was going to be murdered hitchhiking, but Chloe figured it was more likely she’d be picked up by a little old lady who fed her biscuits and tea and showed her a million pictures of her grandkids or little toy dogs.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Chloe muttered as she traipsed through the snow, her feet wet and freezing from the slush filling her shoes. Why hadn’t she splurged and bought the pair of bright pink Hunter rain boots like she’d seen girls on the street wearing, instead of going with her comfortable sneaker mules?

Without her phone, Chloe didn’t know how much time had passed, only that her teeth were chattering, she couldn’t feel her toes, and there was no sign of the road. How had the snow gotten so deep so fast? It had to be a freak storm. Tomorrow the sun would come out, it would be in the low seventies, and this would all be a distant memory.

Onward she trudged, until Chloe had to admit the facts. She had no coat, impractical shoes, and was completely lost.

The pale sun sat low in the sky when she finally came to some sort of sketchy-looking pub. Talk about rustic. But the smell of freshly baked bread and some kind of soup or stew made her mouth water. When she pushed the door open, she stopped, blinking, her mouth open, trying to take in what her eyes were seeing, but her mind was refusing to comprehend.

“Hell’s bells,” she muttered, using one of her gram’s favorite expressions. It was smoky inside, but at least it was warm, with a roaring fire going in the fireplace. Smells assaulted her nose. The good smells of bread and stew mixed with the smell of old beer and body odor, and she sniffed again. Wet dog. Yuck.

“Don’t stand there gaping.” A girl about her age stood in front of Chloe, dressed in a long dress with a dirty apron over it.

“I get it. This is one of those tourist places.” Relief filled Chloe once she’d made sense of the oddly dressed patrons. The waitress led her over to a small table tucked into the corner by the fire.

“Lost your coat, did ye?” The girl looked Chloe up and down, frowning. “’Tis an odd cloak. I’ve never seen the like. I’ll fetch you a cup of ale and a nice bowl of stew.” She bustled away, leaving Chloe to warm her frozen bits and take in the surroundings.

The roof was thatched, and the walls had what looked like mud and straw holding them together, with a few spots where the cold air whistled in through the chinks. There were rough tables and benches placed haphazardly about, with a few tiny tables tucked into the corners of the room.

Everyone looked so authentic. The men wore rough peasant garb, with a few wearing tunics and hose, while the women wore simple dresses. There hadn’t been any mention of this place in the information Chloe had read about the town. She must have been so excited to see the stones that she’d completely missed it. Wait until she told Jules and Lola. They’d love this place…though maybe not the smell.

The waitress came back with a wooden bowl filled with a savory vegetable stew, a chunk of brown bread, and a cup of ale. Starved, Chloe dug in. Fascinated by the tableau in front of her, she bit down on the bread and winced.

It was a tiny pebble. So that was a little too authentic for her tastes. She placed it on the table and took another bite, only to find more pebbles.

This time, she looked closely at the patrons, unease bubbling up within her. The waitress came by and refilled her cup.

“Can you believe this snow? It was sunny and warm this morning.”

The girl took a step back. “Been snowing for a se’nnight, mistress. And colder this winter than last.”

Chloe put the spoon down. “Pardon? Did you say winter?”

The girl gave her a look like she was totally clueless. “Aye. Winter.”

“Um…if you don’t mind me asking. What month is it?”

The girl crossed herself. “The first day of November, mistress.” And she scurried away, whispering to another server.

“November.” Chloe snorted. That was funny. It was July. Summer, not winter. Was she dreaming?

Careful to keep the tablecloth wrapped around her, she reached up and pinched the underside of her arm.

“Ouch. Okay, then. Not hallucinating.” Thank goodness the tan tablecloth looked enough like linen that she fit in, at least while sitting. It dragged on the ground too, so no one could see her shoes. A funny feeling swirled through her, but before she could give voice to the thoughts, the door banged open and three men stumbled in. They looked rough, typical ruffians come to create mayhem for the guests. Chloe wondered where the restaurant had found them.

No one broke character. So either this was like Disney, where the workers had to stay in character no matter what, or they were filming one of those reality shows where people lived like they did in the past to see if they could make a go of it. There had been a Victorian show she’d remembered a while back that was similar.

Trying not to call attention to herself and mess up the filming, Chloe looked for the cameras. As she was wondering if the people were wearing cameras as well, a snippet of conversation had her leaning toward the sound to hear the patrons at the table next to her. It was something about their tone that had caught her attention.

There were three waitresses huddled together by the wall, talking in low voices.

“Aye, my sister went to work for the beast and never returned.”

“Beast?” Chloe said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but is there an escaped animal running around?”

The girl with a long red braid put her hands on her hips, looked around the room, and then nodded. All three of them huddled around Chloe’s table.

“Aye. You talk strangely. Where are you from, mistress?”

The waitress with black hair said, “And where is your escort?”

“I’m traveling for the sum—for the year,” Chloe said. Deciding to play along, she added, “My husband is seeing to our horses.” That seemed to do the trick. The serving girl refilled the cup again, and Chloe hoped she wouldn’t be drunk by the time she left. “You were talking about a beast. Will you tell me?”

She recognized the signs of a good gossip fest as the three girls looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard and that no one was calling for them. Then the redhead, who seemed to be the leader, said, “’Twas the deepest of nights when the beast appeared at Bainford Castle.”

The raven-haired girl crossed herself. “Aye. The devil himself sent him. The beast is deformed. He wears a black cloth over one eye.” She leaned closer. “’Tis said if you look under the cloth, the eye glows red with hellfire.”

The three girls told Chloe story after story of the beast, and the room filled with unease as thick as the smoke from the fire as the girls spun their tales.

“No one will set foot near the castle. The ones who did never returned,” the dark-haired server said.

The redhead, eyes round, whispered, “I heard he ate them.”

Willing herself not to laugh, Chloe pressed her lips together.

The dark-haired girl put a hand to her chest. “The Beast of Bainford never leaves the castle. He is cursed by the devil to walk the grounds of Bainford until his master drags him back to hell.”

The redhead nodded. “If you look upon his face, he will ensnare you to do his unholy bidding.”

The door banged open and all four of them jumped, knocking the ale over. It ran across the table and dripped onto the floor, looking a bit like blood on the dirty stone.