Australian Supernatural: Goldfields - The Complete Collection

By Nicole R. Taylor

A vampire with a thirst for revenge. A witch who doesn’t know she’s a witch. In this small Australian town, darkness is waiting to rise...

When Holly Burke’s eccentric aunt dies, she’s drawn to the country town of Dunloe. The small community is haunted by its violent Gold Rush past, where deadly paranormal secrets lay as thick as gold in the hard quartz below their feet.
Oblivious to the supernatural world, Holly soon finds herself in the middle of a war for power that’s been raging for almost two centuries. A power, according to legend, her family holds the key to. The catch? She has to die.
Trapped between two warring sides—witches and vampires—Holly must unravel the secrets hidden deep within the pages of history in order to save her future.
For without the power within, she doesn’t stand a chance.

This collection contains all FOUR Australian Supernatural: Goldfields novels:
The Power Within
The Thrice Divided
The Chaos Inside
The Ruin Beneath

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicole R. Taylor
• Release date: Feb 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215551486

Nicole R. Taylor

Nicole R. Taylor is an Australian Urban Fantasy author.She lives in the western suburbs of Melbourne, Australia dreaming up nail biting stories featuring sassy witches, duplicitous vampires, hunky shapeshifters, and devious monsters.She likes chocolate, cat memes, and video games.When she’s not writing, she likes to think of what she’s writing next.AVAILABLE SERIES:The Witch Hunter Saga (Vampires and Witches) Series Complete!The Crescent Witch Chronicles (Irish Witches) Series Complete!The Arondight Codex (Arthurian Demon Hunters) Series Complete!The Camelot Archive (Arthurian Demon Hunters) Series Complete!The Darkland Druids (Druids and Fae) Series Complete!Fortitude Wolves (Werewolves and Vampires) Series Complete!Australian Supernatural (Supernatural Ensemble) - SERIES FINALE COMING EARLY 2022...and MORE to come!Find out more about Nicole and her books by visiting:https://www.nicolertaylorwrites.comSign up for the VIP newsletter and get occasional free books and more:https://www.nicolertaylorwrites.com/newsletterFancy some FREE Urban Fantasy books? Check out Nicole’s Free Reads:https://www.nicolertaylorwrites.com/books/free-reads

Book preview

THE POWER WITHIN

AUSTRALIAN SUPERNATURAL: GOLDFIELDS - BOOK ONE

ONE

Hannah Burke gripped her fountain pen, her thumbnail digging into her index finger.

The silver nib scratched across a sheaf of cream-coloured paper inside a worn, leather-bound journal, the pulp absorbing the ink that bled upon it at a furious pace.

She sat cross-legged within a circle of salt, white candles placed at each compass point, and a lump of milky quartz before her. The journal sat open on her lap, her messy handwriting punctuated by several ink stains. She’d never quite gotten the hang of writing with a fountain pen, even one as magically endowed as this one. Her fingers were always stained black, just as they were now.

A crackle of static played across her skin and a cold stab of dread twisted her heart as she looked up at the window. Her fiftieth birthday had not long passed, and she was genuinely surprised that she’d made it this far.

Outside, the night was black, the new moon reigning over the bush in the dark of renewal. Tonight heralded the end of something and the birth of a new cycle. In all her years, she’d never felt the passing of the lunar phase so deeply in her heart.

The candle beside her flickered, the flame dancing as the air cooled. White for protection. White for calming the mind. White for peace. White for truth.

Turning back to the journal, she wrote, I wish I had more time. I wish I could explain it all to you. I wish I could warn you about all you’ll face, but I can’t. All I can hope, is that this letter and this book serve you as well as it has served me. My beautiful niece, I’m sorry.

A creak echoed on the verandah and Hannah’s gaze flickered to the window. Her heartbeat sped up as she snapped the journal shut.

What can be seen is now unseen. Only illuminate for the one who is right. She blew softly on the cover, sealing the spell, and knelt beside the fireplace. Pressing down on the floor beside the hearth, a board popped up, revealing a hidden space beneath.

Slipping the fountain pen under the leather clasp, she placed the journal inside the cavity, resting it on the centuries of dirt that had gathered underneath the house.

Almost two centuries of grimy boots and shoes had walked back and forth from the fireplace, where her ancestors had placed wood on the hearth and gathered for warmth. Their footsteps had forced dirt and dust to fall between the cracks, to rest in this very place. Now their memory would guard the truth from beyond until it was time to be revealed. When she was gone, her spell would endure…she’d made sure of it.

A fierce breeze blew through the living room, buffeting the candles and sending a bolt of ice through Hannah’s veins. The flames flickered, then blew out, and the wind scattered the salt, breaking the circle.

There was no fighting it anymore.

They’d come for her.

Hannah Burke didn’t want to die—she’d be a fool to deny her fear—but she took comfort in knowing she’d done all she could to help her niece survive.

Dusting off her hands, she stood, her knees aching, and walked to the front door. Her hand lingered on the brass knob, allowing herself one last prayer before she took a deep breath and twisted it.

The door creaked as it swung inwards, and she stepped out onto the verandah.

At first glance, the yard was empty, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Above, the sky was dark. The stars shone bright against the blackness, but their glow did nothing to illuminate the garden beyond the cottage. The only light came from a lone streetlight on the road, but even that was too weak.

I know you’re out there, she called. And still, you hide in the shadows like the cowards you are.

A black-hooded figure melted out of the bush, their ghostly form parting from the darkness like ink pooled in water. They walked towards the house, their steps purposeful.

By the way their figure moved and the wisp of light hair curling out from beneath the collar of their cloak, Hannah could see it was a woman, but it was just one.

Her gaze moved to the bush by the Moonlight Creek, wondering where the rest were.

You’re clever, Hannah... the figure said, but not clever enough.

Sure. She rolled her eyes, defiant to the last breath. "If you say so."

Two more shadows peeled away from the dark places beyond the cottage and joined the woman.

The time has come to open you up, Hannah Burke, the woman declared, raising her hands.

Hannah gasped as her body went rigid, and the figures rushed towards her in a flutter of darkness.

"Now let’s see what’s inside…"

Holly Burke was contemplating the thousand and one ways in which she wanted to quit her soul-sucking corporate desk job when unfortunate hope arrived via an unknown caller.

She remembered the moment her mobile phone rang. Staring at a spreadsheet on her clunky, two-monitored computer screens, her head filled with numbers and formulas that scarcely made any sense, she was telling herself that she was going to do it. She was going to march into her boss’ office and tell him where to stick his Excel spreadsheets and his key performance indicators. She was done with being a mindless drone.

Though she wasn’t really going to do it—rent wouldn’t pay itself, after all—but her phone rang and her silent bluster suddenly manifested.

Holly Burke? a man enquired on the other end of the line. "My name is Richard Morrison. I’m a solicitor with Morrison and Levitt. I’m calling about your aunt, Hannah Burke."

Holly had been thinking about Aunt Hannah a lot lately. A brief glimpse in a dream was all it’d taken to make her wonder…but Holly didn’t know her phone number, let alone her address, but it was something that happened often around her.

Glimpses, she called them. Other people might say they were ‘visions,’ but Holly felt she was too practical for that. They were mere snippets of oddly coincidental future events that plagued her daydreams, nightmares, and everything in between. Sometimes they made sense, while other times they were too vague to make anything out of them until it was too late.

Needless to say, her annoyingly ambiguous ability was something she kept to herself.

The sound of Mr. Morrison clearing his throat reminded her of a car engine turning over on a cold morning. That part she remembered because it was paired with his next statement. I’m dreadfully sorry to inform you that your aunt has passed away.

Her heart sunk like a cannonball dropped into the ocean—hard and fast. A wave of guilt had followed the impact, and it’d taken a full minute or two before she’d been able to formulate a response. H-how?

A heart attack, Mr. Morrison had told her. It was quite unexpected and very sudden.

Holly hadn’t seen or spoken to Aunt Hannah for at least five years. The last was a rare sighting at a random Christmas at her father and stepmother’s house in Wollongong. She’d come with an assortment of gifts, ranging from local honey, cider, and other assorted food, along with crystals and little packets of dried herbs and tea.

Holly’s dad had made some snide remark about Hannah being a crack pot into all that new-age hocus-pocus, ‘like her sister,’ but Holly had found herself drawn to the older woman. Her mum had died when she was five, and she barely had any memories of her. Her dad never spoke about her again, remarrying at the first opportunity, as if he wanted to forget she’d ever existed.

But eventually Aunt Hannah had disappeared just as mysteriously as she’d arrived, never to be seen again…until the fleeting glimpse Holly had seen in her dream.

"Your aunt has left you everything. Mr. Morrison’s voice echoed in her memory. Her house and all her assets now belong to you."

Whether it was guilt over her glimpse, government red tape, or a duty to her mother’s side of the family, Holly didn’t know. All she understood was that she had to go.

That’s how she found herself driving the eight and a half hours from Sydney, New South Wales—her little car stuffed to the brim with her meagre belongings—navigating dodgy, potholed bush highways in search of the small town of Dunloe, Country Victoria.

The GPS had led her on a winding trail, and it was late afternoon once she finally found herself on Moonlight Reef Road, which was barely asphalted enough to be considered an official road at all. The miner’s cottage sat off the single lane track, partially hidden by a large, flowering gumtree laden with bright red blossoms.

Okay… she said to no one in particular. So far, so good.

Turning off the road, tyres crunched on bluestone gravel as the car approached the front of the house.

Holly had seen the paperwork and knew it was a miner’s cottage dating back to the mid-1800s when the whole area was in the throes of an unprecedented gold rush. She was expecting rust, rotting wood, and termites at the worst, and at the best…well, that was anyone’s guess.

Pulling up out front, she peered through the windscreen—which was coated in a fine layer of dust and splattered bugs—and let out a sigh of relief. The cream weatherboard façade looked to be in good condition, as did the midnight-blue tin roof. The verandah had been overtaken by a rather robust wisteria, its purple flowers hanging like bunches of grapes along the guttering, which also appeared intact.

As Holly got out of the car, the sound of squawking sulphur-crested cockatoos and rosellas echoed towards her. The map of the property lines had shown a creek ran through the eastern end of the plot of land—Moonlight Creek. That must be why the birds were making such a fuss. Nectar and water equalled lots of sunrise and sunset squawking to look forward to.

On first glance, the whole picture seemed idillic. Cute cottage, bushland, native wildlife—everything she’d dreamed of having one day, but behind a corporate desk in Sydney where house prices were pure insanity, she’d never stood a chance.

Looking at Aunt Hannah’s cottage, Holly wondered what the catch was. There had to be one, right?

The boards creaked as she stepped up onto the verandah, and a shiver ran down her spine. She rubbed her arms, soothing the goosebumps, and turned to look at the garden. It was a little overgrown, but nothing a good whipper-snipper couldn’t fix.

Okay, Aunt Hannah, she murmured. Let’s see what’s inside.

After what her dad had said when he’d heard the news, Holly was only half-expecting a haunted house. Maybe there’d be piles of old newspapers, odd knick-knacks, and cobwebs. But when she opened the front door, she was greeted with the rich scent of sandalwood, lavender, and sage…and a styled hallway that looked glossy magazine perfect—polished floorboards, coatrack, picture rail, and a long eucalyptus-green carpet runner.

Despite the warmth of spring, a chill radiated from inside. No one had been in here since her aunt had died. The realisation caused a wave of sadness to tug at Holly’s heart, and she slipped inside, moving through the first door to her right.

She walked into the living room and instantly felt warmth as she looked over the homely spread.

The bookshelf was crammed with all sorts of witchy and new-age books ranging from tarot, herbs, spells, and astrology. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with little crystals and tumbled stones. Sprigs of dried lavender sat on the mantle, and a large jar labeled ‘salt’ sat on the floor beside the hearth.

A box of Rider-Waite tarot cards lay open on the coffee table beside the worn leather couch and Holly sat, running her fingers over the colourful crochet blanket draped over the padded arm.

Looking around at the cornucopia, she smiled. Aunt Hannah, she said, wondering if she was hanging around in spirit-form, "I think you might have been…cool."

This only made her guilt hit harder. Her smile faded as if it’d been slapped right off her face, and she wiped at a stray tear. Maybe if she’d actually tried to make contact with her aunt, then her glimpse might’ve been the thing that saved her life.

Coward, she whispered, picking up the tarot cards. Turning over the topmost on the stack, she revealed the Nine of Swords and shook her head. I don’t even know what you mean.

Sinking back onto the couch, Holly wrapped herself in the crochet blanket and cried. The surge of emotion was so sudden, it made her temples throb.

Her fortune had come at the expense of her inaction, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

This isn’t how I wanted it to go, she whispered. Not at all.

TWO

Holly gripped the steering wheel as she navigated her car down the dirt track back to civilisation. Turning onto the main road, she coasted into the centre of Dunloe, taking in the lay of the land.

Her first night in the miner’s cottage had been a strange affair. Not only had her mind been plagued by over exhausted thoughts about her late aunt’s life, but disturbing grunting sounds had kept her awake most of the night. She prayed they were made by koalas in the gumtrees by the creek, and not the local town predator. Wildlife she could handle, perverts not so much.

Dunloe seemed like a quaint little gold rush town. It was full of historical shopfronts, including an old railway station, a historical gaol and courthouse, a small museum and art gallery, and all the modern conveniences—a primary school, IGA supermarket, bank, pub, petrol station, sports oval, and shops.

She was coasting down Main Street when she fazed out. A rush of images flashed before her eyes—dark and jumbled—and were gone before she’d registered any of it.

Slamming her foot on the brake, the tyres slid on the asphalt as she came to a complete stop. Holly gasped as she checked the rearview mirror, but there was no traffic behind or in front of her.

Cursing, she pulled off to the side and killed the engine.

She ran her hands over her face and breathed deeply. Her nerves were shot.

A glimpse while behind the wheel...? Was she foreseeing her own death seconds before it happened? That’d be ironic.

Dammit, she thought as old, unwanted anxieties rose. All she’d ever wanted was to feel like she belonged, but she always struggled with feeling different…and hiding it. Dunloe could be a fresh start, but with that debut? Luckily, no one was around to witness it.

Looking out the window at the street beyond, Holly saw she was parked outside the local pub—the Union Reef Arms—and decided she needed a drink. One, it’d calm her nerves, and two, she’d find out if anyone actually lived in this place.

Inside, the pub was empty, further solidifying the belief that Dunloe was indeed a ghost town.

Feeling like she was trespassing, Holly lingered by the bar, looking for a menu to occupy her hands so she didn’t look so awkward. A television on the wall in the bistro displayed horse racing, though the sound was muted. Numbered tables were arranged in a grid pattern across the burgundy carpet, though no one was around to occupy any of them, not even any staff.

Holly was just about to turn around when a door swung open at the end of the bar, and the bartender strode out, wearing a tight black T-shirt, jeans, and a little white apron tied around his waist. He looked around thirty, average height, muscular, with short, muddy brown hair. When his green eyes focused on her, she flushed. Thankfully, he had the good sense not to let on that he noticed that she noticed how handsome he was.

Hey.

Hi. Holly managed a smile. Slow day?

It’s not usually this dead, he replied, shrugging. There’s a big beer festival in Ballarat this weekend. They usually poach all our customers. He was undoubtedly Australian, but his accent hid something else within it. British, maybe?

Ballarat… Where’s that? Since she’d grown up on the Central Coast, all she knew about the area was where the GPS led her.

About an hour and a half south of here. He leaned his elbows on the bar and peered at her. New in town?

Holly squirmed under the pressure of his gaze and slid onto a stool. I suppose you could say that.

He looked her over then nodded to the menu. Kitchen isn’t open for lunch yet, but if you want something, I’m sure I could rustle up the chef.

Holly glanced at the menu and pushed it away. Oh no, that’s fine. I’m not really hungry.

Can I get you something to drink, then? He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and when she didn’t answer right away, he added, First drink for newcomers is on the house. Call it old-fashioned country hospitality.

Oh, um… Her mind went blank. Now the choice was before her, along with the single occupant of Dunloe—who happened to be agonisingly handsome. Maybe not alcohol? Lemon, lime, and bitters?

That’s a classic. The bartender chuckled and fetched a glass. What’s your name?

Holly.

Holly, huh? I’m Patrick. He picked up a bottle of bitters and made a show of flipping it upside down. Welcome to Dunloe.

It’s pretty quiet around here. She watched him pour lemonade into the glass and frowned. What’s there to do?

Do? Patrick raised his eyebrows.

Yeah. What’s the drawcard?

He placed the drink in front of her, the ice cubes clinking. Well, I suppose Dunloe is on the gold rush history bandwagon, being smack bang in the middle of the Golden Triangle.

Golden Triangle? What’s that?

Back in the mid-1800s, Dunloe was in the centre of one of the biggest gold rushes of the century. From Bendigo, to Ballarat, and way into the west, the areas heavy with gold marked out a triangle on the map, hence the Golden Triangle.

Oh…makes sense.

"Dunloe used to be packed full of people back in the day. The Union Reef Mine just south of here was one of the largest gold quartz mines in the region. It’s long abandoned now, but there’s relics scattered all over the place, especially in town. We’ve got heritage buildings, a railway, old mine shafts, and the diggings just east across the creek. You know, you can still get a licence to fossick for gold out there."

Holly laughed, wondering why anyone would want to spend hours combing already picked over dirt with a metal detector. Hot and dusty, with little chance of success...? Sounded like her love life.

You laugh now, Patrick went on, but we had a bloke find a nugget the size of an apricot a couple of months ago. The rain’s kept people away, but you’ll see. Once the weather clears, every man and his dog’ll be out there waving their detectors about. The old timers didn’t have the technology we have these days, and they left a lot behind.

Holly narrowed her eyes. Maybe if I’m hard up for a dollar or two, I’ll head out and join them.

"I’d give you a dollar to see that. He ran a rag across the already spotless bar. There’s also paranormal types who come here looking for witches and ghosts, he added. There’s ghost tours at the old gaol. Apparently, people go into the diggings and perform rituals to summon demons."

She rolled her eyes. Yeah, right.

"Seriously. Sometimes prospectors find decapitated rabbits, creepy bundles of bones, and remains of campfires. Lighting fires out there? He clucked his tongue. Totally reckless. Have you seen how dry that grass is? One spark and we’re all toast."

Devil worshipers, ghosts, and bushfires? What on Earth had her aunt seen in this place? Her dad’s nasty commentary came back, and she sighed. ‘Beware of kooks and weirdos,’ he’d told her. Well, she supposed he had given her fair warning.

So, Holly sipped at her drink, Dunloe is a real typical country town, huh? Full of old stuff and crazy people?

Pretty much. He leaned closer. "So, what’s your drawcard?"

She jerked back. Excuse me?

Of all places, why the town with all the old stuff and crazy people?

Holly hesitated. She trailed her fingers over the condensation on the outside of the glass, trying not to make eye contact.

People in small towns loved to gossip—that much she knew from all the TV shows and books she’d read—and he was a bartender, so it was likely he already knew about Aunt Hannah’s heart attack. It’d probably made the local paper.

A tragic death was one thing, but the other was the town finding out about Holly’s family connection, and in turn, her ’glimpses.’ It was only a matter of time before someone noticed something was off about her—she’d had plenty of experience. Starting over was a brilliantly freeing concept, but the moment they found out she was just as kooky as her aunt, then the rumours would really start flying. Then again, maybe she’d fit right in with the devil worshippers...

Could she stop people from finding out? Probably not. Someone would spot her at the cottage, or see her last name on her credit card, or notice the family resemblance, and start talking. With lack of real gossip to fling about, they’d make up their own stories. Holly didn’t know which was worse.

You long to be part of something, but shy away from it any chance you get. You’re a walking contradiction, she thought. You’re utterly tragic, Holly Burke.

My aunt, she, uh… She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

Patrick leaned back and his eyes widened. Oh, shit. Your aunt was Hannah Burke? That was quick.

I see the rumour mill is already fully operational, she muttered.

Well, it was sudden, and she was well-known around town, he blurted. It was in the paper.

Holly groaned and felt her cheeks redden. "Of course it was."

I’m so sorry for your loss.

Look… She squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention. You don’t need to do that.

It’s polite.

Yes, but… It’s hard to feel sad about a woman I barely knew, she explained. "I mean, it is sad she passed in such a terrible circumstance, but I barely knew her."

And you still came all this way to tie up loose ends?

Holly shrugged. I guess I was her last living relative.

What about your parents?

Hannah was my mother’s sister, and she passed away when I was five.

I’m—

It was a long time ago. She pushed away the last of her drink and slid off the stool. I’ve gotta go.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—

It’s fine, she told him. I’ve just got a lot to do at the house, and I just arrived last night. I, uh…

Patrick offered her a warm smile. Needed to get out for some fresh air?

Something like that. Holly walked towards the door, her cheeks burning, but a sudden burst of confidence overcame her, and she turned. Patrick?

He lingered behind the bar, his brilliant green eyes shining. Yeah?

Are there koalas in the bush by the creek?

Yeah. The bartender chuckled, knowing exactly what she meant. They make quite the racket, huh?

Holly opened the door and backed out. That’s a polite way of putting it, she drawled as the door swung shut.

Patrick Evans watched Holly Burke leave the pub, his gaze not breaking until she’d moved out of sight.

He recognised her the instant she’d walked in. It was like he was looking at a ghost, and for a moment, he almost believed he was. With one glimpse, it was 1853 again.

She wasn’t a witch—he didn’t get a vibe from her, and he had a knack for spotting magic in someone. There was a family resemblance, but if she was truly a Burke, then her blood would carry the signature of her Legacy.

Patrick licked his lips, the thought of tasting her making his teeth ache. It’d tell him what he needed to know, but if he was wrong, then he wouldn’t be able to compel the encounter from her memory. And right now, the last thing he needed was to expose what he was.

The door opened again and he looked up, but it was only Sarah. Her mousey blonde hair bobbed around her shoulders as she practically skipped towards him.

Oh, look out, he said rolling his eyes. You’re early to a shift for once. What miracle do we have to thank for that?

"Very funny. She flung her bag onto the bar and sat on the stool Holly had been on moments before. Word on the street says there’s a new Burke in town." And there was the miracle.

That was fast, he drawled. She only arrived last night.

"You know how I know, but how do you know?"

Patrick sighed. There was no use keeping anything from the witches. She was just in here.

Interesting... She leaned her elbows on the bar. What was she like?

Not interested.

In you? Sarah laughed. Did she look at you? I mean, really take a good look?

Bloody hell, I knew you when you were a baby, he cursed. "I mean, I’m not interested in telling you. The witch stared at him, and he scowled as he felt her magic press against his mind. Find what you’re looking for yet?"

She rolled her eyes. I don’t know why I even try. You’re too hard to read.

Being dead helps with that.

Sarah twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Of course she wasn’t the last one, she mused. "You remember her, right?"

Patrick’s jaw stiffened. The passage of a hundred and seventy years had done nothing to fog his memory.

That family is prone to bad endings, she went on, smirking. Some might say it’s a curse.

That’s enough, he snapped.

Her eyes widened and she held up her hands. "Sorry. But it’s the truth."

A truth Holly doesn’t need to know about, and especially not where the coven is concerned.

I didn’t mean… Sarah sighed. You know I stepped away from them last year. I’m done with all that ritual crap, but it’s hard to recondition a lifetime of so-called beliefs being shoved down my throat.

Patrick glanced towards the door. Yeah, you better keep trying. Because that woman’s going to need a friend in this town. You do know we’re going to have to keep an eye on her, right?

It’s been how long? She rolled her eyes. They’ve never found anything, and the likelihood gets smaller every day—at this point it’s practically nonexistent. Last I heard, they’d given up.

Patrick wasn’t so sure. I’m not kidding.

Sarah grabbed her bag off the bar and stood. You vampires are so melodramatic.

Yeah, we are…and keep your voice down.

Who’s gonna hear me, Patrick? She spread her arms wide, her water bottle almost falling out of her bag.

Demon worshippers and ghosts. And Dunloe had plenty of the latter.

To Sarah, he said, I thought I fired you.

At least three times this week. She sauntered around the bar and opened the door to the kitchen.

But like a bad smell, you just keep on coming back.

And what’s your excuse? She stuck out her tongue as the door closed, ending the conversation.

Patrick shook his head and wiped down the already sparkling bar. He’d been asking himself the same question for a hundred and seventy years.

THREE

Darkness. Shadows. Dark, dark, dark…blood.

Holly woke with a start, her head rising faster than her brain, but by the time she reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, whatever she’d glimpsed in her dreams was gone.

Early morning sunlight ebbed through the lace curtains, fighting to break through the thick wisteria on the verandah, but enough shadowed across the old wobbly glass pane to dapple onto the bookshelf. A lacy spot lit up the spine of a book about something new-agey called a grimoire, whatever that was.

Holly had fallen asleep on the couch again, too creeped out to sleep in her dead aunt’s bed. It was quite soft, actually, and there was something about this part of the house that comforted her, especially where the rest of the place was concerned.

Beyond the lounge, Aunt Hannah’s house was filled to the brim with odd little knick-knacks. The strangest corners held little crystals—on the floors, the windowsills, and even behind the toilet—and bundles of dried herbs and flowers hung over doors and windows.

She’d also stuffed the kitchen cupboards full of little glass jars of dried herbs and what appeared to be magic mushrooms. Holly had pushed those to the back, the enigma of her late aunt deepening the further she rummaged—and baffled her more when she’d found what appeared to be a Medieval dagger in the cutlery drawer.

Even Hannah’s fashion sense had a certain flair—she’d been a middle-aged goth by the looks of it. In fact, the most normal thing Holly had found was handmade goat’s milk soap in the bathroom.

The house was so heavy with the memory of Aunt Hannah that she couldn’t stand to be in it a moment longer. So she changed her clothes, tied up her hair, laced up her sneakers, and headed out the door in search of…well, she wasn’t quite sure.

The scent of warm eucalyptus floated around her as she crossed over Moonlight Creek, which trickled with brownish water that skirted around the rocky shoreline. Above, the warble of black and white magpies and the screeching of brilliant red rosella cockatoos filled the morning air.

Despite the cottage being on the edge of Dunloe, Holly was alone. She’d never been truly by herself before, and the bush suddenly felt like it was full of watchful eyes as she made her way down the track to the diggings.

Shivering, Holly shook her head. She didn’t believe in crazy demon worshippers or random human predators lurking behind trees, and she had every reason to suspect Patrick told creepy stories to wide-eyed newcomers simply to mess with them. Certain the only thing she had to watch out for were snakes, she forged on.

The deeper she ventured along the track, the thicker the bush became—not only with trees and bracken, but with signs of Dunloe’s gold mining history. Mullock heaps—piles of discarded dirt from old mine workings—rose between the gumtrees, as well as the remains of brick structures that must’ve housed machinery or miners themselves.

If she strayed too far off the path, there was a good chance she’d fall down an abandoned mineshaft. They must be littered all the way through the area, which was a testament to how many people had come in search of gold.

Pausing, Holly smiled as a little black lizard scurried onto the trail. It stopped and looked up at her, but the moment she crouched to take a better look, it hurried into the leaf litter, disappearing from view.

Listening, all she could hear was the rustle of wind as it trailed through the gums overhead. In the distance, the laughter of a kookaburra carried towards her, but nothing else stirred. It was eerily peaceful—the kind of silence she wasn’t used to having grown up in the city.

Standing, Holly continued, drawn deeper into the diggings by a sense of adventure she’d thought was lost to her. To think people had come thousands of miles clear across the other side of the world with nothing but a dream of striking it rich. The sad fact was not many ever did, especially in a remote, hot, dry place like Dunloe. They lived and died out here, hanging onto a flimsy thread of hope.

Turning a sharp corner, the thick bush parted to reveal the entrance to a large mine. It’d been blocked off with barbed wire and a ‘no trespassing’ sign but had since been dismantled by aforementioned trespassers—probably prospectors looking for an easy find.

Holly’s curiosity drew her closer. It didn’t look like the main entrance of anything, but maybe it was a lesser shaft, leading to the main drive—an access tunnel that’d been dug when the mine became too big for just one way in.

Looking into the darkness, she took out her phone and turned on the torch. Bright, white light shone into the tunnel, illuminating wooden support beams and roughly hewn rock. The remains of steel tracks snaked into the depths of the mine, but there was no sight of the carts that’d once carried ore in and out of the diggings.

The tunnel smelled like dry, cold, dirt and the air tasted stale as she breathed it in. Complete darkness was only one thing to be terrified of. Asphyxiation, heat, cave-ins…there was plenty for an 1800s miner to worry about, but it seemed the prospect of gold had been worth it.

Putting her phone away, she left the opening behind, making her way back to the trail.

‘Wait…’

Holly stopped, her heart leaping into her throat. Hello?

Except for the hissing of the wind running through the golden grass and greenish-brown bracken ferns, no one answered.

She was alone. Relieved, she laughed and shook her head. Maybe Patrick’s story had gotten to her after all.

She took another step towards the trail.

‘Come back,’ the whisper screamed for her attention.

Turning, Holly stared at the mine and before she knew it, she was walking into the tunnel, overcome by some unnatural force.

The dark swallowed her up, the sunlight fading until she couldn’t see where she was going. She was possessed, like a zombie with no will of her own.

What a stupid thing to think, she thought.

‘Stupid thing,’ the whispers echoed. ‘Stupid thing, stupid thing…’

Warmth prickled in Holly’s fingertips as she wrestled against the block between her brain and limbs.

What are you doing? she whispered. Stop. Her feet didn’t seem to want to follow her commands as she ventured deeper into the mine. "Stop."

She jerked to a halt in the dark and breathed heavily, her heartbeat speeding up to the point she felt like she was going to pass out.

Fumbling for her phone, she managed to turn on the torch and light poured into the tunnel, driving back the darkness. It illuminated a gaping hole a mere step in front of her, and she gasped, jerking away.

As she tumbled back a step, her shoe caught on the rough ground and she fell. Her shoulder hit the wall, propelling her forwards instead of backwards.

Her phone clattered to the ground as she landed on her stomach, the torchlight dancing erratically, and the shaft gaped black and bottomless before her.

It was a full minute before she dared to take a breath.

Holly stared into the dark hole, her heart racing. Blood dripped from her scraped palms, tapping gently onto the steel tracks and down into the depths she’d almost plunged headfirst into.

What the hell was wrong with her? She’d almost…bloody hell. Not only did no one know where she was, but she didn’t know anyone who’d even come looking.

What are you doing, Holly? she whispered. Get up and get out of here. Her entire body was numb. "Get. Up."

The spell broken, she pushed herself up, grabbed her phone, and fled back towards the light.

‘Come back.’ She barely heard the whisper as she emerged into the bush, and the moment sunlight hit her face, she realised she’d seen this before. As in, yesterday and in her dreams. That’d been twice now.

The glimpse had been darkness and blood.

Darkness and blood…

Looking at her scraped palms, she drew in a shaky breath.

It’s not real, she said to the surrounding bush. None of this is real.

In the distance, a kookaburra began to laugh, its warbling cry seeming to mock her.

Glancing back at the mine, the opening gaped black and bottomless. Her fear was too much to handle, so she turned and ran all the way back to Moonlight Creek.

The moment Holly crossed the creek the heavy feeling that engulfed the diggings had lifted.

It’s just stress, she thought. Moving across the country, Aunt Hannah’s death. It just triggered something, that’s all. It’s perfectly normal. I’m not crazy or anything. It’s just…stress. It happens to people all the time.

The more she thought about it, the more she tried to believe it, but even her thoughts seemed to be teasing her. She could hear her dad’s voice in her head, telling her she was just as kooky as her aunt, and she wished he would just say something nice about her mother’s side of the family for once.

Turning up the garden path, Holly hesitated when she saw a woman sitting on the porch step. She looked to be about the same age as her—late twenties to early thirties—with long, mousey blonde hair and a heavy dose of freckles across her cheeks and nose.

She wore a black T-shirt that had ‘Union Reef Arms’ printed in white on the left breast, and Holly instantly thought of Patrick the hot bartender.

Hi! the woman called, raising her hand. I’m Sarah Dunne. You’re Holly, right?

Holly grimaced and continued up the path. Yeah... That’s me.

Are you okay? You look like you took a pretty spectacular tumble. You’ve got dirt all over you.

Yeah, uh… Holly wiped her scraped palms on the back of her leggings, making them sting. I was out walking on some track in the diggings and tripped. It’s nothing.

Oh no. Sarah clucked her tongue. You have to be careful out there. Those tracks aren’t maintained very well. There’s rocks and holes and all sorts.

Holly was almost expecting her to add ‘devil worshippers’ to the cons list, and when she didn’t, it only solidified her stress theory.

Well, I just wanted to come over and introduce myself, Sarah went on. And to welcome you to Dunloe, and to say sorry about your aunt. It was a shock to all of us.

Holly hesitated a moment, then sat on the porch step beside her. Maybe she shouldn’t be so standoffish. No neighbour had ever come over to introduce themselves to her before, and the few times she’d reached out herself, she’d been rewarded with apprehensive stares. People were so suspicious of each other in the city, but this was a chance at making a real friendship—something she’d always sorely lacked.

You knew my Aunt Hannah?

Oh yeah, Sarah replied. Small town and all. You know, Hannah used to do tarot readings at the local farmer’s market. She was quite popular.

Really? Some of the things inside the cottage were beginning to make sense.

Sarah looked her over. You didn’t know her well?

No, not really, she admitted. I grew up on the Central Coast, and she’d come for the odd Christmas, but she never really got along with my dad. I guess she avoided him whenever she could.

Oh, that’s a shame.

Holly shrugged. It is what it is, I suppose. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the birds carry on in the gums by the creek. So you work at the pub?

"Yeah. The Union Reef Arms, Sarah replied. It’s not that exciting, but when it comes to jobs in a country town, beggars can’t be choosers."

Did you grow up here?

Yep. Dunloe born and bred.

Holly turned up her hands and looked at her scraped palms. Sarah must really feel connected to this place to have stayed for so long. She imagined most younger people moved to the city the first chance they got.

You should really rinse off those scrapes, Sarah said, grabbing her hand.

The moment their skin touched, a static charge cracked between them. The spark arced up Holly’s arm and she jerked back.

Ow, Sarah said, shaking her hand. Sorry, must be something in the air.

I’ll say.

They laughed and Holly started to feel a lot better. The strange encounter in the mine fell to the back of her mind and quickly became just another symptom of stress to add to the growing list of things that currently plagued her.

Hey, Sarah declared, you should go into town and check out the museum. It’s not much to look at, but I bet you have some family history here. There were a few Burkes who kicked around Dunloe back in the day.

Oh, I didn’t realise. Holly glanced at her watch and saw it was only ten a.m. I don’t know much about my mum’s side of the family.

"You know what… Do you want to go now? I’ll come with you, if you’d like. I can tell you all the gossip. The who’s who of Dunloe."

Holly was starting to get an inkling that Sarah was an integral part of the town gossip mill. Don’t you have to work?

I’m supposed to be working the lunch shift, but it’s Sunday and everyone’s at some beer festival. Sarah waved an absent hand. Patrick’ll cover for me.

Patrick? Is he your boss?

Boss? He likes to think so. She laughed. He said you came in yesterday. That’s how I knew you’d already moved in.

Holly’s cheeks reddened. People are already talking about me?

You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since— Thankfully, she stopped herself before putting her foot in it, and hurried on. Don’t worry about Patrick. He’s solid and dependable—the kind of guy who’d keep a secret for two hundred years, if you know what I mean.

It was a weird thing to say, but it wasn’t as weird as what’d just happened in the diggings, so Holly shrugged it off. But it’s Sunday…

So?

Aren’t things closed on Sundays in the bush?

Sarah laughed and shook her head. I know Marg. She’s the volunteer who runs the place. I’ll swing by her house on the way and get the key.

Just like that?

Just like that. She stood and dusted off her jeans. You city folk are a suspicious lot.

Comes with the crime rate, I suppose.

Oh, I dunno. We aren’t immune. Sarah pointed to her car, which was a tiny silver sedan that looked no bigger than a matchbox. I’ll meet you there in a bit? Give you some time to clean up.

Oh… I… Holly squirmed, trying to think of a way to get out of it.

I’ll treat you to lunch at the pub afterwards, she added, smirking. Patrick’s cute…and single.

I’m not… Her cheeks flared. I mean…

I’m just teasing. Sarah waved her hand. "Patrick’s never been interested in anything but his own reflection. Believe me, I’ve tried. When Holly still hesitated, she added, C’mon. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to deal with right now, and it’ll take your mind off things. The Union has the best chicken parma you’ll ever have in your entire life…guaranteed or your money back."

Her resolve began to crack. I do like chicken parmigiana…

Then I’ll see you at the museum in half an hour! Sarah took off down the path towards her car, waving. You do know where it is, right?

Somehow, I don’t think I can miss it.

FOUR

One single drop was all it took.

The vampire opened his eyes, the slight movement scraping his flesh like salt and sand in an open wound. All he saw was darkness, but he tasted a warm, coppery memory and began to wonder.

What had happened? How long…?

Long enough for him to turn into dust.

His dry lips parted, his flesh splitting as warmth returned to his veins. It wasn’t much, just a spark, but it was enough to coax movement from his desiccated body.

The last thing he’d heard was the sound of his name being screamed, but he’d felt…

Betrayal. Hopelessness. Desperation. Longing.

What good was being more than human if he wasn’t strong enough to stop them? Trapped and alone, turning to stone amongst the rocks that were supposed to change his life for the better. Rocks that’d only brought agony.

At first, he remembered the pain of starvation. Without blood, his body dried out, his veins collapsed, and he was frozen in agony. Then, after a while, that too fell into silence…but he still had his mind.

He didn’t know what power drove his desiccated corpse, but he was moving. Grasping rock and wood, lifting his awakening body from its dark grave, rising from the lonely hole he’d been flung into.

When he reached the tunnel above, he found more blood. He licked it from the dirt like a rabid animal, desperate in his blind hunger.

It was her. It was her. It was her…

Lifting his head, his vampire eyes came to life, and he saw the way out.

Sunlight. Death. Flames.

He stood for the first time in an age and stumbled towards the light, his body screaming for blood.

Let me end it, he silently pleaded, knowing she was gone. Let me end it.

He fell into the day, the warmth of the sun heating his clammy skin…but nothing happened.

Blinking furiously, he lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. Why…why hadn’t he…?

He couldn’t focus. He was nothing but hunger and pain—his throat seared like he’d swallowed a red-hot iron poker—and he stumbled through the bush, not knowing where he was going.

His pace was fast and slow all at once. Fast, then he stumbled into a tree. Staggering, then he shot off like a bullet. He ricochetted his way through the bush in search of something, anything, to eat.

Then he froze, the sound of a beating heart pulsing in his sensitive ears.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Breathing deeply, he scented the air and found eucalyptus, the ghost of rain, earth and clay, and woodsmoke. He took another step, and more scents came with the first—sweat, alcohol, and cooking meat.

All he could think about was blood. Blood would take the pain away. Blood would bring him back to life. Blood was his nature, and his nature was to kill.

Through the gumtrees, he saw a human male kneeling beside a campfire, and before he knew it, he’d struck.

Weak as the vampire was, the man had little chance of fending him off. His fangs sank into flesh and warmth exploded in his mouth. He drank like a man who’d been lost in a desert, who was on the verge of death, and he didn’t stop, even as his prey thrashed in his arms.

As the man’s blood filled the vampire’s veins, the pain subsided and his senses began to return. He couldn’t say the same for his unfortunate victim, who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but he’d had little choice in the matter—become a vampire or die. If he was dead, he couldn’t protect anyone. He would become evil itself if he had the chance to preserve what little good there was left in the world.

Crouching over the man’s lifeless body, the vampire focused on two things. His name and his ability to withstand sunlight. Someone was alive, their presence continuing the spell, but was it her?

My name is Jin Xu, and I am alive, he murmured, pressing his hands against the earth. His voice was loud in the silence, his Chinese accent almost lyrical as he spoke English. My name is… His gaze fell onto the dead man, and he froze.

The human wore strange clothing, like nothing Jin had ever seen before. Stitching and fabric that seemed too high quality for a lone man in the bush. And his boots were curious, indeed.

He looked around, noticing the camp was littered with equipment that seemed oddly familiar, yet alien. Shiny cooking utensils, a kettle and a pot made from light thin metal, and a tent that was definitely not made from any canvas he’d ever seen, the textured fabric dyed a bright, rich blue.

Where was he? More importantly, when was he?

He stood, wiping the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth. Music began to play, and he jumped, wildly searching for the source.

The source turned out to be the man’s shirt pocket. Jin lifted out a strange, flat, metallic rectangle and turned it over. Seeing one side was lit by some unknown magic, he dropped it to the ground. It shattered, the surface of the unknown object cracking like glass, but it continued to play the melody.

Curious, Jin knelt over it and peered at the light. A picture was displayed, along with some words that were obscured beneath the shattered glass. It wasn’t a drawing or a sepia photograph taken in some rich man’s studio in town, but a picture that appeared to be a capture of a real moment.

Magic... he thought as the music stopped and the picture changed. It’s magic.

Jin’s veins still hummed with the power of that first drop of blood inside the mine, and he lifted his head. For the first time since he’d opened his eyes, his thoughts were clear and he began to contemplate what he was going to do.

He was alive. He’d survived. There must be a reason why.

Above, the sky glowed sapphire, the warmth of the sun bringing life to his dead flesh.

This was a chance to set things right. This was his moment to make them pay. This time he had the advantage.

Jin had no use for the magic box that played music and showed pictures, so he left it and everything else behind. He had to find the Moonlight Creek. Once he crossed the water and was free of this cursed place, he would know who had come to find him.

Sarah was waiting for Holly when she arrived at the museum.

Parking her car behind the little silver hatch, she climbed out and looked up at the building.

The museum was housed in what used to be an old post office. It was made from some kind of yellowish stone, which was threaded with imperfections—from where it was taken out of the ground or the weather, she didn’t know. Above the lintel, the stonemasons had engraved the date the structure was erected, 1858. It was an oldie, then.

Sarah unlocked the door and flicked on the light switch just inside. Come on in, she said, waving her hand. "I admit it’s not up to Louvre standards, but it’s not bad."

Sure. Holly laughed and stepped into the cold museum.

Glass display cases, framed photographs, and pieces of old machinery—including a large flywheel and hand tools—dominated the room. In one corner, a creepy mannequin with faded facial features had been dressed up in 1800s miner’s regalia. The wall beside it was plastered with children’s drawings—probably an assignment from the local primary school.

Holly ventured along the right-hand side of the museum, while Sarah veered left. Passing various displays, she paused in front of one detailing the mine Patrick had told her about.

The Union Reef Mine ceased operations in 1903, when a large deposit of cinnabar was discovered. It was deemed too toxic at the time to continue work.

Below an image of what she suspected was the offending substance was an explanation: Cinnabar is a mineral formed in volcanic areas with a chemical composition of mercury sulphide, which is deadly to humans.

The tunnel she’d wandered into out in the diggings must connect to the Union Reef Mine, she realised. Toxic fumes would explain a lot—not to mention how lucky she was to walk out of there.

Embarrassed, she glanced over her shoulder to where Sarah was searching for evidence of Holly’s family connections.

Mining was really a big deal around here, huh? Holly asked, moving away from the cinnabar picture.

Sure. People came from all over. Since most of Australia was primarily a Commonwealth colony, most were from England, Ireland, Scotland, and Europe.

Holly stopped in front of an old photograph. The colour had faded into a muddy sepia, but she could still make out a group of miners posing with picks and shovels amongst the diggings. Focusing on the faces, she realised they were Chinese.

There were Chinese miners here, too?

Oh yeah, Sarah replied absently. They were all over the goldfields. Treated pretty badly, or so history says.

Holly grimaced and turned her attention back onto the photo, noticing the miners had taken great care to dress like the white men who dominated the area, but for all their efforts, they couldn’t hide the colour of their skin or their features.

The things they must’ve faced, she thought. Mining was a dirty and dangerous business, but adding in everything else...? Racism, ostracisation, assault… What must they have faced at home to have come so far in search of gold?

One face stood out from the group, and she studied it closely, detailing his features. He had a sharp, angled face and piercing dark eyes that seemed to gaze at her through the ages. It was as if he knew she was standing in the future, looking back at him. He had close-cropped black hair, where his mates had traditional long plaits snaking out from beneath their hats.

His differences set him apart…even from his own people.

Holly! Sarah called. You should see this.

She looked up, breaking her gaze from the man in the photograph, and went to join Sarah on the other side of the room.

I knew I’d seen the Burke name someplace, she said, pointing to a sheaf of paper in a glass display case.

It looked like a flyer of some sort. The page was creased and worn, but the text was more than readable.

Introducing O’Riley and Burke, Tailor and Seamstress, it read. Clothing for the distinguished gentleman and gentlewoman. The latest fabrics available direct from Melbourne, London, and Paris. Made to order. The rest of the flyer listed several clothing items and pricing.

See? Sarah said. I told you so. You’ve got deep roots here.

There’s a lot of Burkes, Holly said, making a face. How do you know I’m related to…a seamstress?

Her friend laughed and pointed to a photograph in the case next to the flyer. "Because you’re the spitting image of her."

At first, all she could see was the building that’d housed the shop, but then her gaze dropped to the people standing outside…and the blood drained from her face as she stared at the woman.

She wore a fancy black-and-white-striped dress, the skirts full and flowing, her hair done up in ringlet curls with a little hat pinned to one side, but it was like Holly was staring into a mirror. Her own face smiled back at her, beaming at the pride she felt at the grand opening of her enterprise—a major feat for a woman in that day and age.

That’s Hazel Burke, Sarah said. Circa…1852.

Holly swallowed hard. Wow… I mean…

Uncanny, huh? Sarah laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She has to be related to you, don’t you think?

Or she’s my doppelgänger.

Sarah rolled her eyes. There’s no such thing. Fiction and fantasy.

Holly looked at the photograph again, the sight of her alleged ancestor sending a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t so sure things like that didn’t exist. If she, a nobody from nowhere, could catch glimpses of possible futures, then other stuff was possible, right?

Like whispers leading me into dark, abandoned mines.

So, why’d things die off here? Holly asked. If all these people were here, then what happened?

Apparently, they found some toxic mineral in the Union Reef. Sarah shrugged. Or so we were taught in school. Closed the place down in the early 1900s. Too costly at the time to mine the stuff, and these days it’s too much of a hassle with the government and heritage council for big companies to bother. With no work and the ground too dangerous, I suppose people just moved away.

So there’s still gold down there… she mused.

And ghosts probably. Holly shivered, making Sarah laugh. If you believe in that stuff, that is. I’m sure there were plenty of accidents down there. She looked at the photograph again. But isn’t this cool? A real glimpse into the past.

The word ‘glimpse’ almost triggered Holly, but she forced a smile. Sure, though I don’t even know how to thread a needle, let alone sew on a button.

Maybe it’s in your blood…you just don’t know it yet.

Maybe…

Sarah’s stomach let out a loud gurgle, effectively changing the subject. "I’m starved. You want to try a parma?"

Sure. Holly glanced one last time at her alleged ancestor, the resemblance between really starting to creep her out. I haven’t had a decent meal since I left Sydney.

After locking up the museum, they went across the street to the Union Reef Arms.

Patrick was behind the bar, getting it ready for the lunch crowd…which at present, was just them. Like the day before, the place was empty, but when the bartender saw Sarah, he sighed.

There was definitely something going on there, Holly noted, but she couldn’t tell what just yet.

Hey, Patrick said, smiling as his gaze fell onto her. Twice in as many days.

Hey, Holly echoed, her cheeks flushing. She tried to hide the colour change by awkwardly swiping at her face, pretending to untangle her hair.

Patrick chuckled, not thwarted in the least.

We’ve been over at the museum, Sarah declared, sitting at the bar.

Patrick raised an eyebrow and glanced at Holly. Oh, yeah? Did you see the creepy mannequin?

I tried not to look. Holly rolled her eyes. But it was interesting. You were right about the gold mining stuff.

Oh yeah? He grinned, laying the charm on thick. It was big business. Shame the mine got shut down.

Two chicken parmigianas, Sarah stated, then turned to Holly. You want salad or chips?

Salad.

Sarah made a face and amended the order. Salad on one, but you better throw some chips on there, too.

Patrick grimaced. You do realise you’re meant to be working the lunch shift?

Look around, Sarah nodded to the empty pub, and get a clue.

Holly raised her eyebrows, taken aback by Sarah’s blatant disregard for her job. If she was back in the city and said the same thing to her former boss, she’d be fired on the spot.

Patrick leaned into the kitchen and fired off the order to the chef, then returned to the bar.

So, what are your plans? he asked. Are you staying in Dunloe? Going back to…?

I don’t know, Holly replied. I was living in Sydney, but I didn’t like my job there and the cost of living is a nightmare.

You quit your job to come all the way here? Sarah exclaimed.

Kind of. I was looking for an excuse when… I just…

Patrick leaned against the bar. Didn’t expect it to happen like this? His voice was warm and kind, and his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dingy pub lighting.

Uh… She blinked. Yeah. My good luck was a result of…well, you know.

"Tell her why you ended up here." Sarah smirked at Patrick.

She doesn’t want to hear that, he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Go on. She wiggled her eyebrows. Fair is fair."

It’s nothing special really, he