The Transient: The Castle Trilogy

By M W Russell

When Melodie Gibson moves half way around the world to upstate New York, her entire world turns upside down. Living in a quirky castle turned bed and breakfast, she finds herself confronted with someone watching her every move. That someone is Joseph, who captivates Melodie's heart, fulfilling her dreams and drawing her into his world—a world that is beautiful, magical... and treacherous. It will take all the courage Melodie has to face those who will stop at nothing to rip them apart.
From the pages of a Victorian gothic novel transplanted into modern times, The Transient is the first in The Castle Trilogy, a powerful fantasy romance series for teens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M W Russell
• Release date: Dec 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301991648

M W Russell

Maree was born in New Plymouth, New Zealand . She currently resides in Auckland, in a home with a sea view across Auckland Harbor. When not writing and looking after family she dreams of Dragons and Demons in the dark. She has been a Registered Nurse for thirty plus and has an Advanced Diploma in Novel Writing from the New Zealand Business Institute and is currently completing a Bachelor of English Literature at Massey University.

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The Transient

Book One of The Castle Trilogy

By Maree Ward-Russell

Copyright © 2012 by M. W. Russell

Http://www.mwrussellbooks.com

Editing: Kathy LaVergne

Cover design © Patti Roberts

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

The right of M.W. Russell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author/publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgments

Kathy LaVergne, my ever-patient editor, who deserves a medal.

My amazing cover designer and formatter Patti Roberts, who has sprouted a halo and wings.

Dedication

To my mother, Margaret Elizabeth Fay Belcher,

who sadly passed away before ever having seen my work in print.

May the Angels hold you close and the love of the afterlife protect

you until that day we meet again.

For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.

– William Penn

Contents

Title page

Copyright

License Notes

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-two

Chapter twenty-three

Chapter twenty-four

Chapter twenty-five

Chapter twenty-six

Chapter twenty-seven

Chapter twenty-eight

Chapter twenty-nine

Chapter thirty

Epilogue

About The Author

Prologue

Some say the world will end in fire, that this year will be the last the earth will see. I say bring it on. I’m ready. I’m not afraid of what lies ahead. I’ve seen firsthand what the universe can bring, whether in this world or beyond. I have him by my side for eternity, and together no one can stop us. After three years we are fused as one.

The day I moved to the castle, everything I believed in and hoped for was turned upside down. Within a year, the afterlife had grabbed me and consumed me, leaving me breathless, wanting more.

Until those days I had been the ultimate nonbeliever who never considered the possibility of ghosts. Losing Mum so young had made me cynical about such things. The afterlife just couldn’t exist. It was just a desperate hope for those hanging onto loved ones. They were too afraid to let go. I shunned anything that would eventually cause pain. Love, friendship, trust—it all just faded away. Along with our beliefs, it would all turn to dust on the day we were laid to rest.

But that was then, and this is now. My world has completely changed.

I can no longer deny the supernatural. Now I know that it is entrenched in every part of this world. Together we fought against its horrors and lost, but I picked up powers of my own and, along the way, I would see him return. With my friends, we fought our way through mysteries, outwitting the foes that would see us destroyed if we gave them half a chance. The castle had become a gateway to purgatory, and we the protectors of innocent souls. The Governance would help us and vanquishers try to wound us, but together we would stand strong.

We shall fight that darkest of angels and protect the transients and mortal souls. Fire may try to consume, and ice may block our path, but our destiny hangs on how united we stand, our love unbreakable forever and a day.

ONE

It was cold. It was stuffy. There was a constant flow of air from the vents above, but they had that artificial, bug-infested smell that all planes possess. I winced as my head rolled painfully to one side and turbulence caused me to jump. I had woken with that nauseating churn to the stomach that only comes from being disturbed from a restless, uncomfortable sleep. The air pockets persisted. I stretched and began rubbing my eyes with the balls of my fists. I twisted and wriggled, trying to find a comfier spot. I couldn’t really complain about the leg room. In a fit of guilt, Ben had coughed up for business class.

But then, he damn well should have.

Are you okay, Mel? You’re looking kind of pale. You’re not feeling airsick, are you? My dad, Ben, was ruefully eyeing my abandoned pile of chip wrappers. He never really looked his age, never acted it for that matter either. Constantly glued to a surfboard, he was the ultimate cool dad. Except that left me to be the responsible one.

I’m fine. Turbulence, you know.

His mouth flatlined at my abrupt reply, but he still managed to bite his tongue. Both our ears were still ringing from the argument we had gotten in just before we left.

Can I get you anything? The flight attendant, with her smile hitched firmly in place, had approached across the aisle.

No thank you. I turned away and curled stiffly onto the leather seat, trying desperately to find my way back to sleep.

We were flying to New York. The United States, for crying out loud. My skin began to heat up automatically as I recalled the day he told me.

It had started out about a week ago. It was much like any other day—except I’ve never had a normal day in my life. My childhood could only be described as unorthodox, to say the least. My mum, Charlotte, died of cancer when I was four. I can barely remember her really. Just her smell. She always smelled like roses; it used to linger in the air. Since then it had just been me and my dad, Benjamin Gibson V. Hearing his full name said out loud always brought out the worst in him. Inexcusably ostentatious, he called it. My not so upper-class father hardly spoke of his very upper-class background.

It was late in the day, that day that he first told me. The deck of our rented apartment in Sydney was still basking in the sun’s last-minute rays. The smell of sun-baked timber hung crisply in the air. Dad had tried to rustle up his version of a gourmet burger. Cooking had never been his specialty.

I was sitting on a sunny piece of floor trying to catch the mayo running down my chin, when he cleared his throat loudly—never a good sign.

I’ve got a surprise for you, Mel.

I snorted. Great, Dad. What concert is it this week? The Rolling Stones or U2?

He was tragically still lost in the eighties, which meant that, if he wasn’t dragging me from concert to concert, it was the latest surf break somewhere in the South Pacific.

Are you making fun of me, Melodie Gibson?

Wouldn’t dream of it. I grinned.

There was an uncharacteristic moment of silence that made me look up. Ben was leaning against the doorframe, his running shoes crossed on top of each other.

Out with it. What’s up?

He crumpled his tanned forehead. I’ve kind of accepted a job offer, of sorts.

I choked on a bit of lettuce and quickly righted the can of Coke I had spilled unceremoniously on the floor. What do you mean, a job? You haven’t done a proper day’s work in years.

Since Mum died, Ben, in his own harebrained way, had devoted himself to raising me; but there had been no real need for him to plod the nine to five. I had a sizable inheritance for one thing, and of course we had Dad’s savings. He had had money left to him at eighteen, when his parents died in a car crash.

His family had always been a touchy subject and I had learned from a young age to simply not go there. All I knew was that he had relatives of wealthy means, but none that he was willing to discuss. He always said, Melodie, money only comes with trouble. Use only what you need and never any more. He shunned his wealth at all cost. Easy to do when you know it’s not going anywhere.

He cleared his throat again but remained silent, looking anywhere but at me.

Ben, come on. I’m dying here!

He let out a prolonged sigh, running his fingers through his surf-bleached hair. You know I’m not big on discussing my family, right?

Um, yeah. Why? I began to fidget nervously.

It’s just that they were all quite well off, in an ‘old money’ kind of way. Ben’s mouth pursed like he had just sucked on a lemon.

Yes, well, I had kind of figured that one out for myself, but go on. Now I was getting impatient. Why can’t parents just kill the lead-up and get straight to the point?

He started to pace anxiously. I only had one relative left who I had contact with. An aunt—Lucy. I just found out she died.

Dad, I’m so sorry.

He waved me down. It’s okay. I hadn’t seen her in years—about seventeen years, in fact. Just before you were born. Anyway, she has left me her house, and it comes with a job and one or two responsibilities.

And?

And it’s a bed and breakfast, so I would be the host and a groundskeeper, and there’s staff and things as well.

My stomach was beginning to churn. We hadn’t stayed in one place for longer than six months for most of my life. We were like a couple of gypsies. Last year I had thrown a monumental hissy fit about the need to retain some friends my own age. Sydney had been where we’d lived since.

I stared blackly at Ben’s guilty stare. So what am I missing here?

What do you mean? He fidgeted.

I mean, not only is it out of character for you to take a job, but this sounds like an entire lifestyle meltdown. What gives?

Ben wandered distractedly toward the window. The Sydney sun was setting in a blazing haze of red. I’ve just decided I should settle down a bit, he uttered evasively. You know, throw the surfboard into mothballs and be a responsible dad. His forehead furrowed as he spoke.

So, why now? I stood, dusting the burger crumbs from my jeans.

Because, he explained, because I made your mum a promise, just before she died. I promised her that, before you turned eighteen and I reached my fiftieth birthday, I would stop the traveling and we’d settle down like a normal family.

It was starting to make more sense. For all my dad’s eccentricities, his loyalty to my mum had never wavered.

He continued thoughtfully, So when Aunt Lucy died, I thought, why not? I could have just sold the assets, but it’s not like we need the money; and besides, the old back’s not quite what it used to be out there in the surf. He rubbed his kidneys with the flats of his hands.

We stared at each other briefly. I knew that, despite his usual impulsiveness, a decision like this wouldn’t have been made lightly. I decided to cut him some slack by changing tack. It must be huge if it needs staff. I sighed heavily. Okay, let’s have it. Where are we moving to?

Ben took a shifty step backward. Cohoes.

Never heard of it. My brain went into overdrive trying to remember all the towns we had been to. My gut lurched. Please, not a Pacific island. Cosmically clear water with spectacular undersea wildlife was one thing; but for your average teen, social opportunities would be in short supply.

Ben eyed me carefully. Cohoes. The Mohawk River. New York State.

New York! I shrieked. You have got to be kidding me. You hate crowds. You get claustrophobia in the supermarket. I threw the remainder of my burger carcass into the trash with a resounding thud. You have finally gone and leached salt water into your brain.

Ben rushed at me with a pleading look on his face. Oh, Melodie, you’re going to love it. I promise. It’s absolutely beautiful. It's well away from the city, and the grounds are amazing. It even has a cool name: Heartworth Castle.

OOOHH! I pressed the heels of my hands to my temples and continued to screech.

Come on, Melodie, please. I promise this will be the last shift, EVER, he begged.

I have heard that before, I muttered angrily. Frustration was broiling to combustion point. Seventeen, and I felt like I was the one keeping the hands on the steering wheel, trying in earnest to keep my father’s eyes on the road. The responsible one.

The linoleum grated as Ben shifted a chair aside and reached below to the cupboard next to the stairs. He bent down and opened it with a bit of brute force and then gently lifted out a scuffed-looking cardboard box overflowing with old photos.

I stared at him savagely for a moment with my arms tightly crossed. He responded by looking at me with his penetrating brown eyes and flashing me the horsey grin I love. He knew what a pushover I was. It completely crushed my resolve. I wandered over and plunked myself down on the stainless steel chair beside the window.

Sucking in a massive calming breath, my dad started pulling out memorabilia of Heartworth Castle from when he was a kid. We whiled away the rest of the evening with Dad telling me everything he could remember about the place. The details came as quite a surprise.

Heartworth had been built by Benjamin Gibson I. His ancestors had come out from England and could be traced back as far as Cromwell’s rule. He had had an obsession with English architecture—castles in particular—and had taken the bold step of building a replica slap bang in the middle of New York State. It had earned him quite a reputation.

Dad hadn’t been lying when he said it looked good. Good was too lame of a word. Glorious or grand would have been more fitting. My head swam trying to picture myself there. Years of single innerspring beds and one old toilet made me feel out of my league in this royal scene. Maybe, finally, our luck was about to change.

Ha! Luck had nothing to do with it. We had always had the means to live well, but Ben’s aversion to all things material meant we lived like a couple of paupers on the run. People just assumed we were poor.

It was past midnight before we crashed for the night. As I headed to bed, my head was overflowing with my dad’s largest decision yet. I didn’t sleep well. My dreams flittered erratically between spooky castles, languishing cobwebs, and lifelike ghosts.

I woke up the next day bedraggled and blurry eyed but resigned to the mammoth task ahead. We were moving to New York. Another week and that would be the start of it. Another shift, to another place, with another attempt to make friends. It was to be the biggest change in my life.

* * * *

Curiously, from the first night Ben dropped the bombshell about moving, I started what was to be a nightly ritual of unexplained weird dreams. I don’t know if it was the fatigue from packing or the sight of those old photos, but Heartworth Castle was playing havoc with my brain.

I had never experienced dreams so real. They started off simple, just replays in my head, but gradually moved on to specific things. In these dreams I could smell the wood and feel the cool texture of the stone as voices sung out from the walls. They called to me, taunting me, and I ran after them in the dark, but no one was ever there. By day I found myself constantly reexamining the photos, trying to connect them to the visions in my dreams. It filled me with nervous excitement and I couldn’t wait to finally see the castle.

In one particularly vivid dream I was floating from room to room around the castle wearing a Victorian gown. It was pastel blue silk and hung all the way to the floor and rustled when I moved. The castle’s halls felt gloomy, and I was wandering them, constantly looking for a man, though I woke up unable to remember him.

But by far the most dramatic dream came on the plane.

I dozed off not long after takeoff and the dream found me in a different room. The space looked like a library, with lifelike oil paintings hanging on all the walls. I jumped at the sound of teasing laughter, spun to see where it had come from, and was face to face with a painting that for some reason was drawing me in. I raised my hand, straining my fingers until I almost touched it, but I just couldn’t reach. Just as my fingers came tantalizingly close, the plane suddenly lurched and I woke up, frustrated and glaring around at the reality of my world. I pressed my head back into my seat in annoyance as the cabin lights finally went out.

TWO

I raised the window shade and took in my first view of the Northeast as we made our descent into John F. Kennedy Airport. The patchwork of colors displayed a vast land mass below. The ebony sky was tinged with tangerine in the early dawn. It did nothing, however, to distract from the gargantuan skyscrapers that reared up out of the misty clouds. Closing my eyes, I felt down to my waist, double-checking the security of my seatbelt. Landings don’t enthrall me any more than takeoffs.

Ben’s hand grabbed mine and squeezed reassuringly. This is it, Mel, a new beginning.

I sighed, contemplating his words. There was definitely a change in the air, strange and deep, bubbling gently below the surface. This beginning did feel different from the rest in some unexplainable way.

The next couple of hours were a blur. Rest-deprived travelers jostling with security checks buffeted us from all sides. Passports stamped and bags retrieved, we finally made our way to the car rental outlet. Ben had hired a roomy Chevrolet Trailblazer with air conditioning and cruise control, not to mention a pretty reasonable FM radio. I wandered bleary eyed to the passenger door, only to be met with some chortling from behind me.

The car valet guy was standing in the doorway, paperwork in hand. He called out, You’re in America now.

Huh? In my sleep-denied state, I couldn’t quite see the joke.

Wrong door, sweetheart. He grinned mockingly.

Oh. I grimaced. Something else to deal with: left-hand drive cars, right-lane drive roads, and God knows what else.

Don’t think this one will be driving in a hurry, he gestured to Ben.

Hey, she’s pretty quick off the mark, my girl. Aren’t you, Mel?

I hitched on the most sarcastic grin I could muster and stomped around to the other side of the car. Wrenching open the door, I slunk deeply into the mint-tainted leather and buckled in safely for the long journey ahead.

Cars and hordes of people seemed to travel like marauding ants in all directions. There was no doubt I was a long way from home. Some friends of Ben’s had purchased him a navigation system as a going-away gift. Ben punched in the destination. Mohawk Street, Cohoes.

The soporific woman’s voice droned out instructions. Head Northeast on Van Wyck Expressway.

I vaguely remember seeing the George Washington Bridge as we got on the interstate out of New York City before sinking into a resounding stupor and my jet lag had me snoring