Page 5 of Black Castle

Miss Madison Barnes—English teacher, infatuated with Ian—caught them in a compromising position, lips locked, hip joined together…moans. It escalated like wildfire, of course, and the school board got involved.

The penalty would be quite simple. Ian Griswyk would get fired, his name blacklisted. And Vivienne would get expelled.

But Isadora refused to allow Vivienne to drag her precious name to the mud just like her father did. Besides, what kind of stepmother would she be if her stepdaughter were found guilty of such a disgusting accusation?

So she pulled strings. Made the pattern work in her favor. She made Vivienne lie.

“Tell them he threatened you,” Isadora had whispered, her grip like an iron on Vivienne’s wrist. “He used your grades against you and swore to get you kicked out of the school if you told anyone. And oh, make sure you cry a lot. You know you’re a natural at that.”

Vivienne had played by the script indeed. Oh, she played it so well she could easily be handed an Oscar.

But she saw Ian’s face crumble when the scripted words left her mouth as though they were true. She watched his life collapse in front of her. Her actions wrecked his career—the only man who ever truly valued her.

Wait, could that have been the reason why she tried to kill herself again?

Did the guilt of harming Ian Griswyk prompt her suicide attempt?

Chapter Two

Zev

At first, Zev can’t quite understand why he wandered past five different coffee shops without a flicker of interest, only to end up at one called Fitz’s Lit and Brew as though that’s where he is meant to be.

But sitting by the window side for the past five minutes now, the low hum of chatters drifting through the cozy air, he notices that nearly everyone perched on the worn wooden chairs with cracked leather seats, have either a book—both digital and physical—or a lifestyle and fashion magazine in hand. It all suddenly makes sense.

He can almost picture his twin brother—his other half, his other self—walking into the room, a gust of wind escaping through the temporary space in the single glass door before it finally pulls shut.

This quaint coffee shop in the heart of Pennsylvania that doesn’t just cater to your roasted coffee beans craving, but the need to flip through the pages of a book, is definitely the one Lucan, Zev’s twin brother probably frequents every time he comes down to the States.

The shop has a dark and moody atmosphere reminiscent of academia. And Lucan is especially fond of books, particularly those featuring students stuck in a mysterious school practicing witchcraft or unraveling dark mysteries. He also loves books about dragons…and he loves coffee, too.

Zev can swear that if he squints really well, he will find something that hints at his brother’s constant presence here. Who knows, maybe if he inhales deeply, he will catch a whiff of his scent lingering in the air like a memory time refused to erase.

Indeed, he and his brother aren’t so different. Sharing the same womb—despite one never getting the chance to be born—has somehow forged a connection deeper than logic can explain. Stark differences aside, shared desires and instincts connect them.

Zev wishes Lucan can realize this and stop trying to suppress him like an unwanted memory. Zev wants more chances instead of always being smothered by Lucan. Because at the end of the day, they will still be two separate people sharing one body.

“Here’s your coffee, sir.” A wave of curly brown hair moves in Zev’s line of vision as the teenage barista appears with his order. The smell of freshly brewed coffee invades his nostrils, calming his nerves.

“Thank you,” Zev murmurs to the lanky boy who is only a sliver of chance shy of albinism.

“You’re welcome, sir.” The barista disappears from the table, and Zev’s fingers immediately curl around the handle of the coffee mug.

But the rim of the China ware has barely touched his lips when the bell above the door chimes, cutting sharply through the distant hiss of the espresso machine.

Zev doesn’t eagerly acknowledge the person at first. He brings the coffee to his mouth, a slow sip, savoring the taste before this new customer will turn this gathering into a crowd. They are already ten in the room. Eleven is excessive. He hates crowds…just like his brother.

Though he tries ignoring it, the approaching person’s heavy boots and creaking of the floorboards shifts the air around Zev.

Calculatedly, he set his cup down with a grace that seeping a coffee in a small, independent coffee shop doesn’t exactly require.

The man halts by the table near Zev’s, his hand lifting to push his baseball cap further down his forehead. His gaze sweeps over the cafe, resting briefly only on Zev, then sharply shifting to the counter.

After getting the attention of the barista behind the counter, he finally pulls out a chair and sits with the harmless leisure of a regular man simply in need of a caffeine refill. But Zev is a tactical soldier, good with profiling. And he knows in a second that the man’s presence differs from someone craving a cup of coffee.

The man is here to kill Zev. And Zev knows it.

It is not in his posture, even though he carries himself with the stiffness of a man holding back violence. It’s not in his eyes either, though Zev has had a lot of encounters with killers to have recognized that flicker of premeditated murder instinct in his eyes.