Page 58 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

Cold tingles danced up her spine. “You mean, he knew those shadow monsters were out there?”

“The day he saw you in the bookshop was when he sensed them enter the town. It was the night of the full moon. He insisted I bind him to keep him inside the castle, to keep him from breaking free. But nothing I did could keep him from breaking through his bonds,” Dickens said.

She thought of that first night as she tried to translate the book and heard the mournful howl of nearby wolves. It was so eerily close, it was enough to rouse Gerald from his bed. They stood there huddled together in the foyer, listening as the night pressed around them. Both shivering with fear of what was out there. And Gerald, being brave or foolhardy, thought to shoo them away with the flick of his wrist.

She thought of the book again. How she saw the shadow apparition skulking around the pier that first night her father was home. The night their house burned to the ground. And then when they learned of the destroyed ships.

These shadow things must be tied to the book. For she had it with her in Hawthorne Hall when she heard the howling wolves.

“These…monsters…they’re tied to the book, aren’t they?”

“They are theveil-shade. Neither living nor dead. Demons of the night. Creatures tied to the book that hide themselves in shadow and illusion. But they are dangerous. With lethal claws. Mindless enemies that have one thing only in mind—reclaim the book.” He sat back in the chair and reached for the teacup, taking another sip.

“Where did they come from?” she asked.

Dickens looked at her over the rim as he considered his answer. “My prince told you of the curse, did he? How and why he used the darkest magic imaginable?”

She nodded.

“They were unleashed with the curse. When the book disappeared that night, they were meant to hunt it down and find it again. Only when it resurfaced in your possession were they able to do just that.”

That night…he referred to the night Leopold used the old spellbook to try to save his brother.

“And it’s true about his brother, Albert?”

His face was solemn. “It is.”

With a shaking hand, she reached for her cup and sipped, trying to hide the fear that pulsed through her.

“Were you there that night, Dickens?”

He didn’t answer. When she glanced at him, she saw the unease shifting through his aged face. He didn’t want to remember. Or if he did, it disturbed him greatly.

“Yes, I was there,” Dickens said, quietly. His eyes were distant, his voice flat in a way that said he did not want to remember.

“It was far past midnight. The castle was silent. Everyone else had given up hope the young man would live. But not Leopold. He was desperate to save the only blood he had left in the world. He sent away the guards. He barred the door behind me and told me not to speak, not to stop him. He needed me there. He wanted me there. To bear witness. I know that now.

“He’d found the book, you see. Somewhere deep in the archives of an old monastery that had long since been deserted. When he opened it, it was as though the book had been waiting for him. He didn’t need to read the spell aloud. It already knew what he desperately wanted. What he was willing to give—himself.”

He paused there to take a sip of tea. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“The air shifted from hot to cold to hot again. Then crackling with the fiery, metallic tang of magic. Dark magic. Acrid and foul. Theveil-shadecame first. Long, thin things, clawing toward him like smoke. They did not speak. But I felt them. So did he.

“He accepted his fate with a deep, unrelenting courage. He placed his hand on the page and waited. That’s when it took him. Light shattered. Every candle in the room snuffed out. A scream ripped from deep within his lungs. Just once. But I will never forget that sound. The sheer terror. The pain. The anguish of it all. Then a sound. Like bones breaking. Like skin ripping.

“When it was over, he still stood. But the mark was there. Burned into his forearm. The rose and thorns. And his eyes…” He paused again, swallowed hard. “His eyes changed to that pale brown. And deep within them the hint of something feral and savage.”

He fell silent then, his gaze fixed on the tawny liquid of his tea.

“He was no longer the man who walked into that room.”

Her cold fingers pressed against her trembling lips as he told the story. She didn’t know what words to say once he had finished. Whatcouldshe say?

Leopold did all that for his brother. His brother who feared and loathed him and tried to kill him for his crown. Hot tears pressed against the backs of her eyes as she tried to imagine the horrible scene.

Dickens lifted his gaze to hers then. And in them she saw the desolation, the despair, the fear, the burden he had carried all these long years.

“The brand on his forearm…it steals a little more of him each time he turns. It’s taking a little more of his soul, of his very life essence. And he is running out of time.”

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