A Town Called Evening (Episode V)
"Wolf Problems"
It took some hours of maneuvering the steep incline, but at long last Luke reached the end of the path.
Large ornate gates loomed high above. Beyond, was a building that Luke could only describe as midway between a mansion and a castle. It was nestled neatly within the rock face, gothic edifice turned toward the valley.
Luke raised his eyes to its spires, its slanted roof, and its glittering stained glass.
Who put this here? he wondered, and more importantly, who lives here?
Luke was unsure how to approach the grand oaken door before him. There was no doorbell. The windows that poised about ten feet above stood dark.
Was anyone home?
To the left, hung a single rope. With a sharp inhale, Luke braced himself and pulled.
The bell tolled.
Bong
Bong
After a thirty-second lag (that felt much longer), the door swung outward.
A fine woman in a white silk dress stood before him. She drew a multi-colored woolen band tightly wound her waist. Her hair was a silvery blonde that fell over narrow ivory shoulders. She was not old, but not young. If Luke had to guess, he’d place her somewhere in her thirties.
A slow smile found its way to her full, red lips. “Well, well. Many a year it’s been since I’ve seen an unfamiliar face.” Her voice was raspier and lower than he’d anticipated. Luke detected a subtle accent, something he couldn’t place. The door widened, her almost hand coming to rest on the wall above her head.
Luke pressed his lips together tightly. “Hello, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” she echoed, almost savoring the word. “Yes, well, I suppose that is appropriate. I’d much prefer to be called Eityre.”
Luke dismissed the introduction. “I’m looking for a woman named Grace Kirkwood.”
The smile ebbed from her features. “Ah.” She breathed the sound. Her eyes dropped to his rifle. A pale and perfect nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly. Her voice lowered several octaves as she said, “that will be Al’s wife.”
Al? Didn’t Mr and Mrs. Kirkwood say his name was Vincent?
“And are they here?” asked Luke, tone sharp.
Before he could receive a response, a man’s voice came from the darkened corridor beyond: “Who is that?”
“That is an excellent question,” answered Eityre without turning to the speaker. Her eyes bore into Luke’s. To him, she asked, “who shall I say has come to call?”
“Deputy Luke Gatelin, ma’am.”
The woman stepped aside, leaving room for a reedy man to fit in the door frame. He was equally as pale, but bearing hair and eyes as black as a raven’s wing.
He turned his aquiline visage toward Luke. “A policeman?” he asked. He possessed the same accent as Eityre, though on a lesser scale.
Eityre’s gaze flicked toward Luke. “Yes,” she said, “and he says he’s looking for Althof’s wife.”
There it was again.
“I am here looking for Grace Kirkwood,” Luke repeated. He grew tired of doing it.
“This is my eldest son, Sott,” introduced Eityre.
Luke once more looked at the man. By his measure, the two looked the same age. Perhaps Eityre was incredibly youthful looking for her age.
As if sensing Luke’s confusion, Eityre flashed a set of tiny white teeth. “You think we look the same age?”
Luke said nothing.
Her smile broadened and she brushed a hand through her hair. Gold bangles sang from her thin wrist. “I hear this often.”
“I see,” said Luke. He allowed a beat to slip by. “And Grace?”
Sott spoke. “I’m afraid my sister in law is quite unwell, sir.”
Luke held the man’s gaze. “I don’t plan on being long.”
“It just won’t be possible today.” His thin lips lifted slightly—more grimace than grin. “Seeing as you’ve come all this way, I am sorry to say it.”
The door began to shift forward, prepped to shut.
Luke placed a hand on the door, halting its progress with a solid thump.
Eityre and Sott stared at the man before them in unconcealed shock.
“I’m afraid I’m going to insist,” said Luke. Luke was hyper-aware of his rifle at his back; aware that it would take too long to grab. His free hand hovered by the pistol on his belt.
Sott’s eyes narrowed, expression gathering like storm clouds on the horizon. Luke felt Sott’s weight against the door; held firm against it.
Tension mounted.
“Well, now,” interjected Eityre, with a nervous laugh. “Let’s talk it over out of the cold. We’ve left the deputy shivering on our doorstep long enough, hm?”
It was not much warmer inside. Luke followed the pair down a long cavernous hall, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. It was, to his relief, a straight shot to the center of the house.
They passed many rooms, all with the doors firmly closed.
Maybe this was one of those historical homes that couldn’t afford to keep extra wings open, mused Luke.
Eityre waved a hand. “This home has been here for as long as anyone can remember. No one knows who built it. My husband and I hunted for a place like this forever. A place here in your country with mountains, a forest, and… away from prying eyes. When we found it, we were so very excited. He put all his money and time into renovating the place.” She paused to cast a sultry look over her shoulder. “Until he died, of course.”
The woman continued. “We haven’t finished modernizing it. We still need electricity and heat in the west wing.”
Meanwhile, Sott walked beside them in sullen silence. He stared straight ahead with a scowl.
“Where were you before this?” Luke asked.
“Here and there,” chirped Eityre. “We came from over what you call the Atlantic. Spent some time there. You see, my husband and I were in the business of war but that’s all dried up and we’ve grown so comfortable in this place.”
Private contractors, supposed Luke.
At the very end, the hall opened into a large gallery with a fire opposite. Bear and wolfskin rugs covered the floor. Upon the walls were paintings of ravens: in flight, in flocks, sitting on branches. Luke observed all of this quickly and without reflection.
“You will meet my other children,” said Eityre. She sat in a plush armchair with a flourish. Her silk dress billowed as she crossed a pale leg over the other. “They will love to hear we have a guest.”
Beckoning for him to sit, she said further, “I’m sure you must be tired, Mr. Gatelin. You might even want to consider staying the night. We have a…” Eityre paused, tongue wetting her lips. “Wolf problem, you see,” she finished.
Luke remained standing. “Again, I don’t plan to stay long. I just want to see Miss Grace. Then, I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, really, it’s no trouble,” insisted Eityre. “Every year around the solstice, they get hungry. Between them, the bears, cats, and others; there isn't enough deer for everyone.”
Everyone? But this wasn’t the point on which Luke wished to focus.
Instead, he said, “someone down in Evening told me about the day of night.”
“Yes, yes. It’s coming soon,” agreed Eityre with excitement. Her small teeth were on full display. “There will be no sun for twenty-four hours. It’s not good to be out during this time. So, you see, it would be in your best interest to remain.”
Luke nodded. “I appreciate your concern, ma’am, but I’ll be leaving after I see grace.”
Eityre smiled, but it was hard—like plaster or porcelain. “If that is your decision, then,” she whispered.
Without looking at her son, she addressed him. “Get your brother, Al. Tell him someone’s come for his wife.”
Read on…
Thank you for reading! Luke will return next Monday with more revelations and standoffs. I hope you all enjoyed. ♥️
I hope Luke brought a stake, some garlic, and/or a cross with him because I have a definite sense he's going to need it.
This is going in a very Gothic direction in the best way. I look forward to this every Monday!