Forevermore

Chapter One: INTO THE MIST

The faint outline of my face reflects off the glass as I stare out the window of my stepdad’s pewter Jaguar. The cold outside seems to reach clear to my bones. My breath fogs the glass, and I wipe it with a finger and continue to watch the scenery flash by.

Stark, jagged cliffs of gray rock. Desolate moors. White signs written first in Gaelic, then English. Old stone houses, whitewashed, pop up every once in a while. The sky is dramatic, with enormous swirling dark clouds. Everything actually looks cold. Or dead. Maybe that’s because I’m from Charleston, South Carolina, and I’m used to the sultry weather there. I already miss it, too. The constant warm sea breeze, the palm trees and ancient oaks draped in moss, the old plantations. Funny how I took all that for granted when I lived there. Now that I don’t have it anymore, I want it back.

Like I still want my dad back. He died the week after my thirteenth birthday and it’s been just me and Mom for the past three years. Until now.

“Oh, honey! Look at the sheep,” my mom says excitedly, and points out the window. “Look at their little black faces. They are so adorable!”

I don’t answer, because honey is an endearment reserved for my stepdad, Niall. He chuckles and lightly grazes Mom’s cheek with his knuckle. I bet he doesn’t find the sheep nearly as adorable as my mom does. Neither turns to ask my opinion.

I glance over anyway and, sure enough, there are the adorable black-faced sheep, standing in a white downy cluster on the side of a hill dotted with purple-brown heather. I’d Googled heather before we got here, and saw that in June and July, the lifeless clumps would turn into gorgeous lavender blooms. But now, in October, those blooms are so dead.

Pulling my legs up, I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. So much has happened lately, it’s strange to think of it all in sequence. It’s even stranger to think this is my life now. Before my dad died, I was your typical kid – except for being freakishly excellent at playing the violin. I hung out with my friends, had sleepovers, watched hours of classic scream fests, like the old Halloween and Nightmare on Elm Street movies. And since we lived only two blocks from the beach, my friends and I gathered there nearly every weekend. I had a big poster of Zac Efron from his High School Musical days hanging on the ceiling above my bed, so I could stare at him as I went to sleep.

But after my dad died? I don’t know. Things just didn’t seem to have the same appeal to me anymore. I withdrew. Where I had been loud and silly and voracious before, I became quiet, and I wanted to be alone more often. My circle of friends grew smaller and smaller as I became more reclusive. Callie, my best friend, hung on the longest. But even she began to distance herself, growing closer to other girls. By the time I left for Scotland, it just … wasn’t a huge deal that I was leaving. We hugged, said good-bye, and promised to keep in touch. Maybe to even see each other over long breaks. I doubt it’ll happen, though. And honestly? It’s okay. I became a major downer for a long time, and didn’t expect my friends to be dragged down with me.

Hopefully this move will make things better. Maybe I’ll meet some cool people at school, make new friends who will like and accept me for who I am now.

I rest my cheek against the cool glass, scroll my iPod to another playlist. I’m feeling a little old-school today, so Madonna’s “Material Girl” plays through the earbuds as I continue to stare out at the wispy ribbons of mist.

I still enjoy many things that my dad and I shared, especially books, movies, and music. Dad started me on reading old mysteries, like Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes, which I still love. And because of Dad, I am one serious ’80s music fangirl. Dad always said I was an ’80s girl trapped in a twenty-first-century body. AC/DC, Whitesnake, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna – you name it. It definitely inspires the violin music that I compose and play.

Which brings me to the most important thing that my dad introduced me to: the violin. I’ve been playing since I was three years old. My dad gave me my first instrument – a miniature working violin that he found at a yard sale, of all places. I still have it, too. It almost looks like a toy, but it really plays. And as young as I was, I totally remember my dad putting that violin in my hands, adjusting my fingers over the neck, and squeezing my other little hand over the bow. I don’t know why I didn’t do what other normal three-year-olds would’ve done with a violin – which is whack something with it – but I just… played. And I haven’t stopped since. It’s a part of me. And when my dad died, my mom picked right up with the support of my music. She makes sure I never slack on my strings.

I shift in the seat and tug the sleeves of my oversized sweater down over my hands. A light rain has started to fall from the charcoal sky. It seems even darker than before.

In the driver’s seat, Niall announces, not so much to me, but aloud, that we are verra close. That’s how the word very sounds when he speaks it and it’s one of just a handful of his words I can now understand.

Two months ago, my mother married Niall MacAllister, a Scottish laird. A laird is equal to something sort of like a a duke. He’s rich and lives in a castle in the Scottish Highlands. That’s where we’re headed now. To a freaking castle. I still can’t believe I’ve left my home in Charleston and crossed the Atlantic to come here.

Niall is good-looking, for an older guy: tall, with sandy hair and blue eyes. And I can see how some might find his Scottish accent charming. But he and I haven’t exactly clicked yet. With me, he’s short, abrupt, and not very conversational. He has no kids himself, so maybe he just doesn’t get teenagers. Mom picks up on the chill between me and Niall, but she doesn’t know what to do about it.

I know my mom deserves to be happy, though. She’s worked as an ER nurse for as long as I can remember, and raised me by herself after Dad died. She did a pretty good job, being a single mom. But Mom and Niall have only known each other for less than a year. He could be a real jerk, or a serial killer or something. I guess we’ll soon find out.

Mom and Niall say that it must have been fate that led him to Mom’s emergency room. He was in Charleston on real-estate business, and had nearly sliced off his thumb with a tire iron while changing a flat. Mom’s beautiful, with thick, wavy blonde hair and a bubbly personality. She told me Niall couldn’t keep his eyes off her the entire time the ER doc sewed his thumb up. Sometimes I’m surprised it took my mom as long as it did to find someone else. But Dad was a pretty hard act to follow.

Everyone says I look just like my dad, with fair skin and gray-blue eyes. My long blonde hair is as straight as hay, but recently I had a pink streak put in and I love it. It reflects my violin music, which is part punk, part Victorian. I like to think I’m part punk, part Victorian myself. Part Victorian because, despite my standoffish manner, I’m truly a romantic. No one, except maybe my old friend Callie, really knows that side of me. I prefer to keep it that way, too.

We’re passing a sign that says “Glenmorrag,” and Niall points down a side road.

“That track there will take you straight to the village,” he says in his thick accent. He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Smaller than what you’re accustomed to, I suppose, but you’ll get used to it. There’s a grocer, a library, a baker and butcher, and the fishmonger. And a petrol station. We’ve one chip shop, one restaurant and pub, and one inn. The high school is in the next village.”

I tense up. Today is Friday. I’ll be starting at that high school come Monday. Niall turns his head to Mom and smiles at her. “A chip shop is
where they sell fresh fried fish-and-chips. ‘Tis the best in the Highlands. You’ll love it, Lady MacAllister.”

It’s crazy to think Mom is officially a “Lady” now. What does that make me? I’m not sure. I shake my head and stare down the path, but all I see are tall, thick pines half swallowed up by the mist. I shiver. Are there wolves running through the forests?

“It looks pretty dark in there,” Mom says.

“Aye,” Niall agrees. “But once you get closer to the village, it opens up to the sea.”

Mom turns around to peer at me. Her eyes are wide. “Isn’t this exciting, Ivy? We’ll have to go into the village together soon, okay?” She wiggles her brows. “They have a library, did you hear?”

I smile at that. It’s hard not to smile at my mom’s enthusiasm. “We can get membership cards, huh, Mom?”

“Absolutely.” She grins and turns back around.

Now we’re on a narrow gravel road lined with thick brush and tall pines. We start a slow climb, the Jag’s tires crunching against rocks. The mist has grown so heavy that visibility can’t be more than a few feet in some places. It’s like looking through chowder.

“Hold on, love,” Niall says to Mom. He laces his fingers through hers. “Almost there.”

The Jag peaks and levels as we reach the top of the hill. Looming ahead is something straight out of the pages of Bram Stoker or Edgar Allan Poe. Mom gasps. I nearly do, too.

A massive medieval fortress made of gray-and-black stone stretches before us and hugs the edge of the craggy sea cliffs. Four imposing towers, one on each corner, rise above the estate grounds. We come to a stop in front of the heavy black wrought-iron gates, and my heart begins to pound. I’m going to live here? It isn’t a stuffy, manicured castle. Instead it’s … menacing. Barely a notch above ruinous. And it completely fascinates me.

Niall presses a button and the gates swing open with an ear piercing creak and groan of metal against metal. As Niall drives through, I turn in my seat and watch those iron gates slowly close, locking us inside. An unfamiliar feeling of dread grips me.

A flock of ravens rises like a black cloud out of an ancient-looking tree. Most of the orange, red, and yellow leaves have already fallen off the trees and they lay scattered about on the ground. I think about the fact that Halloween is in a couple of weeks.

As soon as Niall puts the Jag in park, I grab my violin case and shoulder it, open the door, and slide out. It’s stopped raining. The icy wind stings my cheeks, and I pull my red knit hat farther down to cover my ears. Mist slips through the air in front of my face, and I drag my hand through it and watch it swish around my fingers. The mist is almost alive, the way it’s constantly shifting, drifting.

The air smells clean and sweet, a mixture of something that reminds me of clover with the salty tang of the sea- an odd and striking contrast to the gloomy doom of the estate. Other than the crackle of dead leaves, the rubbing of dead branches, and the occasional caw of a raven, it’s eerily still. If I strain my ears, I can hear the sea bashing against the base of the rocky cliffs.

“Spooky, aye?” Niall says to Mom, and the two stand in front of me while they take in the view. My stepfather is ridiculously tall, especially compared to Mom’s short five feet three inches. And I’m an inch shorter than her. Niall points toward the top of the castle. “Up there’s our fierce gargoyle watchmen. You can barely see them through this blasted mist. Quite frightening up close, and there’s a different one on every eave.” A lighthearted chuckle escapes his throat. It makes me wish he could be more like this all the time. “I loved playing here as a wee lad. Loads of fantastic hiding places all over the estate.”

I shudder. The gargoyles do look freaky-like creepy, distorted little stone men, crouched and watching. Waiting to fling themselves down at you and grab you.

“Oh, Niall, it’s amazing!” Mom cries, and throws her arms around him.

Niall hugs my mom fiercely. “I’m happy you’re here with me. My verra own family.” He gives me a quick, uncomfortable glance. “You too, Ivy.” I bite my lip and stick my hands in my pockets. Niall tries to break the awkward moment. “Right,” he says, the r rolling from his tongue. “You two should go in and get settled. I want to introduce you to my grandmother and the staff.”

With a heavy sigh, I brace myself. New people. New home. Totally different country. A little overwhelming to say the least.

Before we make it to the enormous wooden doors, they open. A petite elderly lady comes forward, followed by a man and woman in servant uniforms, who head to the car to get our luggage. But it’s the old woman who demands attention. Even at twenty feet away, I can tell she’s not one to mess with. With her nose tilted upward, her sharp chin jutting out, and her white-gray hair pulled into a tight bun, she carries an air about her that is unmistakable. Wealth. Snotty wealth.

And boy, she wears it proudly. I’m instantly annoyed.

“Grandmother!” shouts Niall, and hurries forward to embrace her. “I’ve a verra special girl for you to meet,” he tells her.

The old lady’s gaze lands straight on me. Her mouth draws tight and her eyes narrow. She glances from the case I have slung over my shoulder to my Converse All Stars to the holes in my jeans, the pink streak in my hair, and then back at my face as though smelling something putrid. I hold my ground, set my jaw, and stare right back. A weighty silence suspends between us.

“Julia,” says Niall, draping an arm over Mom’s shoulders, “this is my grandmother, Lady Elizabeth. Grandmother, my wife, Lady Julia MacAllister.” He clears his throat. “And this is her daughter, Ivy.”
Which, to me, translates to “And this is her baggage, Ivy.” Elizabeth’s gaze grows even colder, and then slowly slips over to Mom, who gives a polite nod.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” Mom says in her sweet Charleston drawl. “Niall speaks so highly of you.” Class. My mom definitely has class.

A forced smile stretches across Elizabeth’s mouth.

“My grandson has spoken quite highly of you as well.” Her accent is more clipped, more polished than Niall’s. She glances at me. The fake smile disappears, replaced by another pinched look. “Come. Supper awaits us.”

With that, she turns on her little black heels and glides through the double doors.

Niall tugs my mom’s hair playfully. “Och, dunna let old Granny worry you,” he says. I’ve learned that dunna is his way of saying don’t. “She doesna take well to strangers. She just likes to make sure everyone knows she’s the boss of Glenmorrag.”

Mom smiles. “She’s fine, Niall. She’s related to you, after all. It won’t take her long to warm up.”

I don’t believe Grandmother Elizabeth will warm up one little bit.

Just then, a piercing screech cracks the air. I feel a jolt of fear as I peer through the fog for the source of the noise. An unsettled feeling creeps over my skin.

When the noise comes again, I’m sure it’s a woman’s scream.

____________________________
Chapter 2: GLENMORRAG

Mom stifles her own scream as Niall chuckles and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Dunna worry, darlin’. ‘Tis nothing more than those crazy eyed peacocks,” he says, pointing. “See there? They love nothing better than to roost in the trees.”

I follow Niall’s gaze, and find several blue-bodied peacocks settled into their roosts, high in an aged oak. One stretches its neck and cries out. I swear, it sounds exactly like a woman’s scream. My teeth chatter, and I rub my arms through my heavy sweater.

“Let’s go inside,” says Niall. He and Mom turn and I follow, glancing up at the castle’s imposing facade. A slight movement catches my eye in a small window close to the top of the castle wall. It’s high enough up that I can’t tell if someone is standing there. I squint, trying to see through the fading light and thick mist. But I see nothing. I feel something, though. As if eyes are on me, watching my every move.

The feeling doesn’t go away once I’m inside the castle. Is someone behind me? I freeze, still as death, and glance over my shoulder. Nothing. Slowly, I exhale. I’m probably just letting my imagination run crazy.

Stone walls and black wooden rafters make up the enormous great hall. There are three circular chandeliers made of old deer antlers, and a fireplace large enough to walk into. Brass sconces light the hall with a blushed amber glow. At the far end is a large staircase, with one of those menacing gargoyles perched on top of the bannister. There are some other curiosities I’ll have to explore later, things I’ll want to see up close, like the tall, dusty suit of armor in the corner.

Very different from the small two-bedroom carriage-house apartment Mom and I shared in Charleston. I glance around and swallow a lump of apprehension.

Like it or not, this is home sweet home.

Niall turns to me. “Ivy, your chamber is on the third floor, last door on the right. You’ve the place to yourself up there, and it’s equipped with Wi-Fi.” He tells Mom, “Our chamber is on the second floor, love. Grandmother’s is on the first.”

At least I’m far from her.

Mom beams at me. “Isn’t this great, Ivy? I already love it, don’t you?”

I give Mom a smile, although it feels about as fake as Elizabeth’s looked. “Sure, Mom,” I say. I don’t tell her that my stomach is full of rabid butterflies. Or that I wish Niall would at least show me to my room. I guess he figures I’m mature and can handle it myself. And I can. I will.

Mom waves. “I’ll see you in a bit.” Then Niall whisks her off to show her the kitchen and introduce her to the staff.

I sigh, sling my violin case higher, and start up the stairs. On my way, I get a good look at the ghoulish gargoyle. Its face, fanged and misshapen, stares right at me.

The higher I climb, the darker and colder it becomes, and by the time I reach the third floor, only the scant yellowish light from the wall sconces shines a path across the hardwood hall. A faded rug stretches the length of the corridor. Against the wall halfway to my room sits a lone straight-backed wooden chair. The silence unnerves me.

At the last door on the right, I stop, turn the brass handle, and throw open the heavy oak.

My new room.

I walk in and gape at a space that’s easily as large as our old apartment. My bags have already been brought up and placed neatly against the wall. A mahogany armoire stands in the far corner, and a small writing desk and lamp sit beside the bed. At the foot of the bed is a medieval-looking wooden chest, covered in etchings and bands of iron.

I walk over to the massive bed. The mattress comes up to my waist, and the four mahogany posts nearly reach the ceiling. A gray plaid curtain made of wool hangs on a wooden rod that circles the bed. I can close myself in when I sleep if I want.

I guess it’s nice to have the privacy, alone on the third floor. But then my imagination runs wild again. Someone could slip in at any time and kidnap me. Murder me in my sleep. And no one would even hear me if I screamed….

I try to shake off these thoughts. I walk over to the big picture window beside the fireplace. The same scratchy-looking gray plaid wool not only covers the window seat but is also used for drapes. I push the curtains aside and peer out.

The shadowy cliffs completely drop off into the sea, eerily beautiful. An entire panorama of the west side of Glenmorrag’s grounds can be seen. At the farthest corner, I make out what looks to be a stone ruin, right on the property. Intriguing.
“Tis the old rectory. A fine, cavernous grotto to explore,” a clipped, proper voice says, making me jump.

I spin around to see an old man in a pressed gray suit standing in my doorway. He was one of the servants who took our luggage from the car.

“Twas built in 1789,” he continues, nodding out the window toward the ruin. He must notice I still looked startled by his presence, because one corner of his mouth lifts, and he gives a short bow. “I am Jonas, young lady, and I am Glenmorrag’s steward. Let me know if I can be of any assistance at all. Supper will be served in fifteen minutes. And the toilet – err, the bathroom, as you Yanks call it – is just across the hall. There’s a pantry within. It should contain all necessities.”

“Thanks, Jonas,” I say, relaxing. He seems friendly. Almost grandfatherly.

He winks, and flicks something from his sleeve. “Lady Elizabeth doesn’t fancy waiting. She gets a bit cross when her tummy rumbles.”

I nod. “I can imagine that.” I seriously doubt a rumbling tummy is the only thing that makes Elizabeth cross.

Jonas gives the vaguest of grins, then turns and disappears out the door. I decide I like him. He has a twinkle in his eye that screams rebel to me.

I quickly freshen up in the bathroom, then make my way back down the dim corridor and downstairs for supper.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to find in the dining room, but it wasn’t a long, formal table set with silver and fine china. Niall and Mom are already seated, and Mom gives me a comforting smile. Grandmother MacAllister watches me closely.

“You can take your place there,” she says, inclining her head to a setting.

“Thanks.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and glance around. Four servers are standing behind the table in a line, waiting. For me, I suppose. I can’t believe there is so much fuss over four people eating dinner.

Once I’m seated, the food is served: first a course of bland pea soup, followed by beef tips, seasoned potatoes, and sautéed vegetables. It’s fine, but I want nothing more than to sit with Mom in our tiny kitchen in Charleston and eat a burger and fries. All this formal stuff is too much.

I peer at Elizabeth over the rim of my glass. Her skin is so thin and pale, blue veins peek out from the white face powder she’s applied liberally. She has on a dress and heels. On her index finger I notice an elaborate ruby ring in a square setting, set in gold. It’s the deepest red I’ve ever seen.

I have on the same outfit I traveled in: big sweater, skinny jeans with holes in the knees, sneakers. I can’t help but wonder if Elizabeth will eventually insist I dress for dinner. I hope not.

“Is your room sufficient, Ivy?” Niall asks.

I nod, surprised Niall’s even speaking to me.

“Big,” I say after I’ve finished chewing a mouthful of potatoes.

“Aye,” he answers. A moment later he adds, “There’s an enormous maze out back, in the gardens, that you might like.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I nod. “Cool.”

Elizabeth meticulously sets her fork and knife aside, wipes her mouth with the cloth napkin, and turns toward me. I steel myself.

“There are rules here, young lady,” Elizabeth begins. “Rules which you will be expected to obey.” Her frosty gaze locks onto me. “For one, holes in your clothes at the family table are unacceptable.”

Knew it. I shoot a glance at Mom, who looks troubled by this statement.

“And it’s more than clear that you need quite a bit of etiquette training,” Elizabeth adds. Her eyes harden. “Sit up straight.”

I don’t move. The entire room goes silent as a graveyard. I don’t even know how to respond.

“Gran,” Niall says to Elizabeth, surprising me again. “Tis no way to start out with Ivy here. Times have changed, you know,” he coaxes. “Ivy’s fine. Now,” he says, changing the subject, “tell my new bride here of your first days at the castle, aye?”

I look gratefully at Niall, and my mom eases a pleading gaze my way.

I know Mom. She doesn’t like how Elizabeth just spoke to me, but she doesn’t want to make enemies with her, either.

Niall’s question seems to do the trick. The MacAllister matriarch turns her attention to Mom and Niall. I stifle a sigh of relief.

A genuine smile touches Elizabeth’s lips. “Twas the grandest day of my life, the day I first set foot in Glenmorrag,” she says. “The village, with its cobblestones and stone walls and little shops. And this place.” She glances around. “I … couldn’t believe it was mine. The castle needed a woman’s touch, that was for certain. I replaced the tartan fabrics, hired some help, and had it cleaned from top to bottom. At the same time, your grandfather’s distilleries began to do exceedingly well. That’s when I …” Her voice trails off. And her eyes harden.

“Aye, Grandmother?” Niall urges.

“Nothing. ‘Twas a long time ago.” Elizabeth then picks up her fork and knife, and begins to eat, ignoring us all. Niall looks at Mom and gives a slight shrug. Weird. Could she be senile? I wonder. She is really old.

By this time I’ve eaten my fill, so, in my most polite voice, I excuse myself to head back upstairs. I can only take so much of Elizabeth. Mom seems to understand she blows me a kiss and wishes me good night.

The scream of the wind pushes at the cracks of the castle walls as I hurry to my new room. Once inside, with the door closed, I breathe easier. I decide to unpack before bed. Maybe I’ll feel more settled then.

As I open the armoire, I think about starting at my new school on Monday. I wonder how it’s going to be. I’ve gone to school with the same group of kids most of my life. Now I’ll be joining a class in the middle of their semester, or whatever it’s called here. Everyone already has friends. I’m American, so that will probably make me a point of interest. Who knows? I do know I have to wear a uniform, which really bites.

I’m folding my last sweater when the hairs on the back of my neck turn stiff. Suddenly, I hear the moan of a bow being dragged across the strings of a violin. I whip around.

My violin is suspended in midair. I feel my knees go weak and I try to scream but nothing comes out.

My violin is being played in midair by … no one.

I blink. Just that fast, the instrument flies and lands on the bed. I let out a small shriek and rush over to it. I grab the violin and bow and hug them to my chest as I frantically scan the room.

The weighty presence of something lingers, but the room is empty. I even drop to my knees and peek underneath the bed.

Nothing is there. No one. Not even a dust bunny.

But I know what I saw. I jump up and head for the door. I have to tell Mom what just happened. As I fling open the door, though, I find Jonas standing there.

“Miss Ivy, is there something the matter?” he asks. “I heard a scream.”

“I” I begin, and glance behind me, then back toward Jonas. “I … s-saw something weird,” I finally stammer.

A look of understanding crosses Jonas’s face but it’s quickly replaced by one of concern. “What was it?” he asks. He peers over my shoulder into my room.

I stare at him, unsure of what to say. If I tell him what I saw, I’ll sound like a lunatic. If I tell Mom what I saw, I will as well. She’ll think I’m acting out, trying to find an excuse to go home.

“Are you sure you’re not just overly tired, miss?” Jonas asks. “Jet lag can do strange things to a person.” He gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ll fix you a nice cup of hot tea and bring it straightaway. Tea fixes everything, you know.”