The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (2 page)

She panicked as something gibbered and licked her inner thighs with a cold sticky tongue. Bony fingers kneaded her flesh. Belinda tried to scream, but her vocal chords were paralyzed.
 

The fingers reached the juncture of her thighs and tiptoed onto even more sensitive flesh. They came to rest only an inch from her center; she could feel blood pulsing through them. Suddenly, she felt the sticky tongue enter her and a hungry mouth clamped over her sex.

Belinda Moorland shot up in bed, gasping for breath.

The glow of the digital alarm clock cast aimless light in the otherwise dark room and she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Who’s there?”

An unmoving Sphinx crouched at her bedside, and as her vision adjusted, she saw eyes, twin glints in the darkness. They blinked. Belinda gasped. “Who are you?”

In the dim light, she saw the spread of lips, the gleam of teeth, as the creature smiled. “You must have been having a nightmare.”

“Randi!” Belinda’s breathing calmed as she recognized her roommate. “What are you doing?”

Randi’s emotionless whisper made her shiver. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She pulled the bed sheets up over Belinda’s bare knees.
 

She edged away from Randi. “What time is it?”

“
Shh
. It’s barely after eleven. You must have gone to bed early.”

Belinda pulled the sheets up to her neck. Her roommate, motionless, stared at her with turtle eyes, reminding her of Hannibal Lecter.
If she calls me ‘Clarice’, I’m going to scream!
The familiar scent she now recognized as Randi’s cloying perfume invaded her sinuses.
 

“What were you dreaming?”

“I don’t remember.” Rolling over, she gave her roommate her back.

“You were making all kinds of wild noises.” Randi’s breathing sounded labored now.

“I don’t remember.”

Randi’s breath hitched, then shuddered as she spoke. “Are you sure?”

Now, along with the hard breathing, Belinda heard a series of quick, moist sounds.
What the hell is she doing?
“Goodnight.” Belinda buried her head beneath a pillow.
 

“Uhh.” Randi groaned. The whispers of movement quickened along with her breathing.

Belinda squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sounds.

Seconds later, they ceased and Randi stood. “Goodnight, Belinda,” she whispered as she left the room. Belinda rose, locked the door, and went back to bed.

At Lizzie’s Diner

Business was slow at Lizzie’s Diner. Belinda always tried to arrive a little early for her shift, and if it was busy, she would be on the clock taking orders right away. She liked the extra hours – and tips – but that wasn’t what brought her in early today.

Stifling a yawn, she thought of the fragmented nightmares of the night before and Randi Tucker’s face hovering at her bedside. She pushed the memory away, wanting it
all
to have been a bad dream. In a booth at the far end of the restaurant, she pulled her phone out of her purse, and searched the want ads – an activity she’d been indulging in more and more these past few weeks.

She gave the theater job section a quick scan first. She did this as much out of a deep love for the subject as out of a stubborn refusal to admit her degree was going to waste – just like her mother had warned her it would. Finding nothing, she sighed. She hadn’t expected any promising openings, but it was always a little disappointing.

Maybe Momma had been right. Maybe theater hadn’t been such a great idea after all.
I should at least be giving piano lessons,
she thought,
or teaching
something
anyway.
It was a good thing she’d also earned a degree in children’s education, because she just might have to use it. After finding nothing in the theater section, she scanned the educational ads.
 

Then she scrolled past a series of babysitting jobs that probably wouldn’t pay as much as she was making at the diner with tips, when the words
Wanted:
Live-In Governess
caught her eye. She clicked on the ad. It expanded and she read it in its entirety. And then read it again. Then she found herself dialing the number.

* * *

“I could stay later and make up my time.” When she’d called to inquire about the governess position, she hadn’t expected to be given an interview right away, but she didn’t think asking for a postponement would make a very good impression.

“But your shift starts now.” Billy Taylor looked at a watch he wasn’t wearing. At twenty-five, he was only two years older than Belinda, though his baby-face and acne-clad skin would suggest he was not yet twenty. Still, he was an assistant manager and this was his shift. “If I let you leave and come back later,” he went on, “where does it end? Why don’t I just let all of you come and go as you damned well please?” He placed his hand against the wall behind Belinda’s head, and leaned into her, close.

She felt herself shrink under the pungent odor of his musky aftershave. “I’ve never asked any favors before,” she said. “I’ll only be a couple of hours. Please?”

Billy Taylor sighed, washing her in stale garlic and cigarette breath, and crossed his hairy arms. “I’ll have to pick up your slack. Maura will be clocking out in five minutes.”

They stood just outside the kitchen doorway where the entire restaurant could be seen. There were a total of three customers, all of whom had already been served. Belinda blinked at Billy. “But no one’s even here,” she said.

“We could get hit with a lunch rush.”

“It’s only nine. I’ll be back before noon.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll owe you one.”

Billy’s gaze traveled down, loitering around Belinda’s breasts like a bee approaching a pair of fragrant roses.

She stepped to the side.

Billy closed the thin distance between them, near enough now that she could feel the heat of his body.

“I’m sure I’ll think of a way you can repay me,” he said in a low voice.

Belinda took a look around. “Okay,” she said, her voice cracking.
Not in this lifetime.

“We’ll talk about it when you get back.”

She stepped away from her manager. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be as fast as I can, I promise.”

The Way to Ravencrest

The address was thirty miles northwest of Bakerton. Devilswood was an exclusive area nestled in rolling green countryside punctuated with stands of redwoods. Belinda had been certain no bus would get her there easily, so she’d called for a cab; it arrived five minutes later.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

She looked down at herself. The ill-fitting tan and aqua uniform wouldn’t do. “Two places, if you don’t mind,” she said and gave her home address.

* * *

“Good choice,” said the driver as Belinda slid into the back seat for the second time.

At her apartment - after much deliberation - she’d chosen a creamy silk blouse to wear with her nicest navy suit. The skirt brushed her knees, setting her calves off with the help of her best pair of Colonial buckle shoes with the two-inch heels. She rolled her dark hair into a bun and tucked it into a clip. She had used a plummy shade of lipstick and dusted her lids with a light charcoal-grey shadow to bring out the emerald of her eyes. “Thanks,” she said, unsure that she appreciated the cab driver’s input.

“Where now?” He watched her from the rear-view mirror.

“Oh,” she said, fumbling with her phone to find the address. “It’s in Devilswood.” She scrolled through her notes. “It’s a place called Raven … something.”

“Ravencrest?”

“Yes! That’s it. You know it?” She put her phone down.

In the mirror, the man’s eyes became critical. “Yeah, I know it.”

“I … I have an interview there,” she said, feeling a sudden need to explain herself.

The driver twisted around in his seat and looked her up and down. “Well,” he said, “then it’s a good thing you stopped to change.” He turned and put the taxicab in drive.

Unsure what he meant by the comment, and not at all certain she wanted to know, Belinda stared out the window and watched as the countryside gradually replaced the city.

The driver continued to watch her in the mirror, averting his gaze each time he was caught, and she thought he knew something he wasn’t telling her. Something about Ravencrest.
But that’s silly.
She folded her hands in her lap, sat still, and focused on the tall trees and green fields outside.

At last, they passed a sign that read, “Welcome to Devilswood, A Better Place to Live, Population 21,053.”

They continued driving, passing an upscale shopping district and neat neighborhoods full of large Victorians and a smattering of newer houses.
This is where the other half lives,
she thought. They turned off the main highway, leaving the town behind as they followed a narrow road that climbed through a forest of redwoods and emerged among green rolling hills. They continued on for several miles. Belinda was about to ask the driver where they were going when he slowed and turned onto a  winding road marked “Private.”

“It’s haunted, you know,” the cab driver said.

Belinda wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Pardon me?”

“Ravencrest. It’s haunted.” He stared at the road. A momentary silence lay heavy between them.

“Are you serious?”

The driver cleared his throat. “Suicide, murder, devil worship, the works. The history of that house goes way back.” He glanced at her in the mirror, “And none of it’s pretty.”

Belinda felt her jaw working, as if some part of her knew she should respond, but another part wouldn’t allow it.

The elevation rose and the narrow road continued to twist and turn like a black ribbon.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she managed.

He nodded in an absent way and stared ahead. “Orgies, too,” he said. “The kind with blood ceremonies and what have you.”

Belinda could think of no response. It was preposterous. He must have been playing with her and she didn’t want to encourage the game. For lack of anything else to do, she pushed buttons on her phone and looked busy.

“Speak of the devil.” The driver’s voice broke the uneasy silence.

She looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Beyond a tall, black wrought-iron gate, on acres of the greenest grass and most elaborate gardens she’d ever seen, Ravencrest stood, three stories of gray stone and mullioned windows. The road leading to the mansion was lined with tall perfectly manicured Italian cypress trees.
 

“Oh, my God.” Unbidden, the words slipped from her lips.

“Don’t let her beauty fool ya,” said the driver as he pulled the cab to a stop at the gate and rolled his window down.

“It’s stunning.”

“Yeah, well, evil things wear the prettiest masks.” The driver punched a button on a black intercom speaker and a mounted camera turned its lens to the cab. There was some static then a cultured voice came through the box. “Ravencrest Manor. How may we help you?”

Even the gate was beautiful. It was at least ten feet tall and at the curved top, perched two wrought iron ravens facing one another.

“That’s you, lady.” The driver’s voice broke her concentration.

“Oh!” She lowered her window. “I’m Belinda Moorland,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual. “I have an interview with a Mrs.-”
What was the woman’s name! Oh my God! I’ve forgotten her name!
She scrambled for her cell, for the notes she’d written there.

“Please wait for the gate to fully open before proceeding,” said the voice in the box.

Relieved, Belinda sat back and took a deep breath and watched the ravens atop the gate slowly part to allow them entrance. The taxi rolled forward.

The road turned to cobblestone and Belinda watched in awe as they passed the coiffed landscaping. Flawless box hedges bordered great gardens and Belinda saw beautiful white statues that punctuated the explosion of bright colors from the multitude of gardens. As they drew closer, she noted that many of the statues were representations of nude Greek gods. She felt herself blush, but didn’t look away.

Just ahead, Ravencrest Manor loomed. It was breathtaking, but were it not for the golden rays of sunlight and the blue of the sky behind it, she imagined it might look every bit as haunted as the cab driver claimed.

She gasped at the sight of the long, rectangular reflecting pool. It fronted the mansion, as still and smooth as a sheet of glass. In it, the reflections of the manor, the trees, the sky and the clouds, were as dimensional, colorful, and life-like as what they mirrored. A sense of unreality washed over Belinda and she raised her hand to her mouth.

The road rounded the reflecting pool and brought them to the front of the mansion where broad steps led to a pair of immense, ornately carved doors set into the gray stone walls.

“This is where you get off,” said the driver bringing the cab to a stop. “Good luck.”

Belinda gathered her handbag and grasped the door handle. “You’ll wait for me?”

“No can do,” he said. “I’ve got places to be and not a lot of time to get there.”

Belinda felt the beginnings of panic. “But I won’t be long.”

The man shrugged. “Best I can tell you to do is call for another cab when you’re done.”

The worry turned to anger, but she managed to keep it down as she paid him. “Thanks, anyway.” She shut the door and the driver took off with a little too much speed. Only then did it occur to her that perhaps the man really believed the place was haunted. Maybe he was afraid to wait.

She stood a moment, staring up the mansion. If it was haunted, she thought, it was probably by long-lost lovers. There was no way she could fathom anything wicked existing in such a beautiful place. It was all nonsense, she decided.
Ghosts, ghouls, and sex rituals. Not likely.

She took the steps. Brilliant stained glass sidelights edged the doors. She lifted one of the heavy black knockers and brought it down twice, then noticed the intricate carving on the lintel. It was another raven, and this one was centered in what appeared to be a knight’s shield.
A family crest?