Emma passed the night fitfully, half wakeful and half sleeping, and if she had dreamt at all she could not be sure of what, for it had been too obscured; she only recalled a vague sense of terror and a heaviness atop her chest. Finally, she gave up the notion of sleep and rose from her bed even before the cockerel did.

When she had completed her toilette she studied the looking glass and took note of the dark smudges that lay beneath her eyes. They were an attestation of her dearth of slumber, and she gave a dissatisfied shake of her head as she pulled at the silver chain around her neck, the one attached to the small, glass vile that Anna had given her, lifting it from where it had lain warmly between her breasts.

She removed the stopper and liberally applied the hawthorn perfume at her pulse points. Evil spirits or no, there was something altogether unsavory about Winterly Castle and its inmates; and she would employ whatever apotropaic was necessary to preclude any nefarious assaults on her person.

That done, she left her room, tiptoeing quietly to Milli's and, once there, she applied the 'perfume' to her sister's wrists and throat as the purr of Milli's gentle snoring staved off the oppressive silence of the room. When she was satisfied that she had properly safeguarded her sister, she made her way down to the foyer with the intention of finding herself a book in the library.

"Will Miss be requiring breakfast now?" came the lifeless voice of Mrs. Skinner as she emerged from the shadows.

Emma's poor heart could not take much more of these constant frights. It seemed that every time she ventured from her room she was given a turn from some or other skulking body. Last night it had been Winterly that had affrighted her and this morning it was Mrs. Skinner's turn to startle her.

This old manor was more like a mausoleum or on old, haunted schloss than a home, and the whole atmosphere seemed so steeped in gloom that even the lamplight in the sconces were cheerless and desolate.

"No, thank you," she answered, "I shall wait for the rest of the household to rise before I break my fast." When she was thereat informed that his Lordship had already eaten, she could not forbear the surprise that lit her face. "Upon my word! but he eats very early." Or not at all.

The housekeeper merely gave a brief, haughty arch of one brow, as though the eyebrow itself had shrugged. "The master has always been in the habit of taking his meals at odd hours."

"Well then, be so kind as to point me in the direction of the library, if you would."

"It is just through there, Miss." The rangy creature pointed a long, white finger towards a door at the far end of the large gallery that lead towards the southern wing of the lower floor. "The last door on the right."

She thanked the housekeeper and requested that her chocolate be brought to her in that room, and then she promptly left Mrs. Skinner standing in the foyer. That, however, did not mean the woman's eyes were not wholly fused to Emma's back. In fact, she felt as though even the dust motes watched her, for there was a constant pressure of eyes affixed to her head no matter where in the castle she moved.

Whatever these people were, she was coming to believe that none of them were perfectly ... mortal. Was that even possible?! She did not know anymore. There was something odd about them all, even Winterly. Especially Winterly.

In her mind's eye she could still see the eerie glow of chatoyancy in his pupils — the vitreous glow of a predator's eyes as though something inside of him, something demoniacal, had glared out ravenously at her.

The memory of her last sight of him, just before he'd left her, had been branded across the back of her eyelids, and no matter how often she tried to shut it out the image remained despite her best efforts.

Initially, she had convinced herself that she had only imagined the same glint in Mrs. Skinner's eyes, but there was no mistaking what she'd perceived in Winterly's last night ... or rather, this morning.

But what could she tell her sister that Milli would believe? Emma's teeth slid anxiously to and fro across her bottom lip as she pondered her predicament, all the while the library door loomed closer.

How could she possibly explain to Milli that they were amongst strangers that were, Emma was coming to realize, not even truly human! Was that what Anna had meant when she'd implied that they were not what she thought they were? These people were proving to be anything but what she first thought.

What then could they be? They were not ghosts but flesh and blood; corporeal entities with eyes that shone like owls in the torchlight. Nocturnal eyes.

"You will soon find that we Winterlys are a nocturnal breed." The words of the master himself replayed in her thoughts, befuddling her further.

Upon entering the library, Emma scolded herself for not having brought a lamp along with her. Although dawn light had already begun to spread out over the countryside, or so she'd noticed from the window before she'd left her room, the heavy drapes in the library had not been opened yet.

Truly, she was surprised that there were not more lamps scattered throughout the castle, for the whole place was awfully dreary and dark; and terribly cold. If not to banish the shadows, they might have at least hung more lamps to stave off the cold; if indeed they felt the cold all, which she was beginning to doubt.

She pulled her shawl more snugly about her shoulders and made her way towards the curtains, stepping carefully around the shadowed furniture. They were heavy drapes, exceedingly heavy in fact, but at last she managed to pull them aside, instantly bathing the room in welcoming light. The prospect from the library window looked out across the lawn, and that too suited the castle for it was just as wild looking and raw. Almost savage.

It was an enormous, rectangular space with Tudor and Stuart furnishings, of all things, that were in excellent repair considering their advanced age. The shelves were built into the entire length of the paneled walls that stretched the height of the room, reaching as high as the vaulted ceiling, easily two-stories, and were stocked with thousands of dusty tomes.

At one end of the room were two high-backed chairs facing a large, gothic fireplace that lay as cold and dead as though it had never known a fire in all the time it had occupied that space. Whether or not it might savor of impertinence, she determined then and there to have Mrs. Skinner arrange for a fire to be lit in the hearth just as soon as the woman arrived with her chocolate.

Turning to the opposite end of the fireplace she became instantly enthralled with a very vivid mural that had been painted across the plastered wall near the door she had entered by. It was quite clearly a very old one, so she clasped her hands in front of her midriff, lest she be tempted to touch the ancient artwork.

"It is as old as the castle itself," said Winterly, his voice sonorous as it reached her from the fireplace.

Though she hadn't made a sound when Mrs. Skinner had startled her, this time she did shriek. Very loudly. She had not seen him sitting in the high-backed chair because that corner of the room was still, even now, much enveloped in shadows.

"For Heaven's sake! why did you not say anything when I entered?" she scolded him. "You nearly stopped my heart!"

He rose from the chair, chuckling, and walked deliberately towards her, coming to a halt at her shoulder so that he too could study the mural as she had been doing; although, she was sure, he had studied it a thousand times before.

"I could not very well greet you in the dark, now could I? You would have stopped your heart regardless of when I'd spoken." He shifted his black eyes to her, and they were thankfully now devoid of strange refractions. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You are very skittish today, Miss Lucas."

"I have a right to be." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully, willing him to understand her.

He cocked his head to the side. "Do you?" But his question, such as it was, seemed more of a soliloquy than a reply. "Yes, perhaps you do."

By God, was he agreeing with her?! Were they finally to speak candidly? Could she bear it just yet? Perhaps it was best not to antagonize him so early in the game, whilst she was in his lair. She decided to proceed with caution, feeling suddenly wary. "I only mean that your home is ... different to what I am used to."

"Ahh, yes. It certainly is. You have abandoned the liveliness of London and entered my world, Miss Lucas." His upper lip curled into a knowing smirk. "I daresay, 'different' does not begin to describe the underworld in which you find yourself."

"I would hardly call it the Underworld." Well, she would, and he the perfect Hades; but he needn't know that. Not yet.

"Give it time." Winterly shrugged, and before she could form a reply, he changed the subject. "That is a very intriguing scent you're wearing today. A new perfume, I believe."

"A gift," she replied, tersely. "I was told it would deter evil spirits." Evil spirits with strange eyes that glowed the nighttime.

"Hmm, an apotropaic?"

"Yes."

"And tell me, has it performed as expected?" he asked, grinning delightedly. "Are you still beset by these evil spirits?"

"You are making fun of me now." She folded her arms defensively.

There was a strange sort of languor that crept into his smile as he said, "On the contrary, I find you quite refreshing." When she only pursed her lips stubbornly his smile broadened. "Pray continue. You mustn't fear that I will not believe you, for I find that there is much in the world that remains inexplicable. Take demons for example."

"Demons?"

"The incubi and succubi that prey on dreams."

She felt the chill of ghostly fingers burrowing beneath her flesh, for he had ventured far too close to the truth for her liking.

"You have lost your color, Miss Lucas."

"I did not sleep well, that is all."

"I am sorry for it. Perhaps your little safeguard is ineffective after all."

"Maybe so, Lord Winterly; but I am determined to sleep with one eye open every night hereafter."

She took a step back from him, disliking his nearness, yet sensible all the same to the fact that she was acting almost irrationally. Or at least it might seem that way if he turned out to be merely a man, and she only a lunatic, but she knew that he understood what she meant, despite that she was not yet ready to voice her suspicions. They were playing as cat and mouse; however, he was assuredly the cat, and she was not sure by what rules he abided.

His brows, meanwhile, had lowered and his lineaments fallen into grim lines. "Nothing will befall you under my roof, Miss Lucas. And you are, of course, welcome to come and go as you please. You are no prisoner here."

It was true, it was not he that had invited them here.

Although she could still feel the palpable touch of his gaze, she stubbornly ignored his dour regard and returned her attention to the mural, seeking to put an end to their strange and multivocal exchange. "You said this mural is as old as the castle?"

"I did."

It was a very morbid tableau. Not like the other tapestries she'd seen hanging on the walls, although they were not exactly cheery either. Most of those had been hunting scenes, but this was something altogether different. It was very Anglo-Saxon in style, a Romanesque work of art, and though the colors were somewhat faded, the picture was beautifully preserved despite its obvious age.

It seemed to portray a king atop his charger pointing an accusatory finger at a crowd of peasants whilst, in the foreground, a burning village was being laid to waste.

No doubt noticing the confusion etched in Emma's countenance, Winterly explained, "It is William the Conqueror you see there, punishing the Irish Scots for their supposed ... cannibalism."

"Cannibalism?!" she cried, horrified.

"Ay, but one might suppose it to be nothing more than hearsay and rumormongering propagated by the English."

She was briefly mollified by that, seeing as this was the first time she had heard of such horrors; the Irish might be many things, but descendants of cannibals?! No, indeed!

"Although," he went on, "St. Jerome himself mentions bearing witness to the practices of the anthropophagi, such as they that see there," he said, lifting his chin to indicate the ancient Irishmen in the mural, "when he was a boy in Gaul. So perhaps there is truth in legend."

"Monstrous!"

"Even so, it is believed that before Whitby Abbey was destroyed by Henry the VIII there was a glazed window in the choir that was to have mirrored this exact scene."

She forced her eyes away from the fresco and met his gaze. "What do you believe?"

"I will allow that there are certainly cultures that practice those types of monstrosities, as you put it, but I think there are far worse monsters in the world; ones that shroud their actions in myth; ones that leave little evidence of their existence."

"The monsters that appear only in fairy tales and legends?" Like vampyres.

"Exactly."

"Some say Napoleon is a monster."

"Napoleon is only a man..."

"Are not some men monsters?"

"Perhaps the same way that a cat becomes a monster to the mouse; yet even a cat is no match for a wolf..."

Emma searched his eyes for the meaning beneath his words. "And there are worst things still than even a wolf." She had only just bethought theirs an exchange between cat and mouse; and it was odd that he used the analogy too.

"Precisely." He smiled appreciatively before looking pointedly at the mural again. "In any event, it is only cannibalism when the predator is as human as its prey."

"What are you saying?" Her eyes fell to his lips even as she licked the dryness from her own.

"I am saying," he said, now glaring at the creatures in the fresco, "that I do not ween they are human at all." It was odd the way he sometimes used words that seemed antiquated, as though he himself was a man from another time.

She dragged her eyes back to the painted wall, noticing what she had not noticed before. The eyes of the anthropophagi in question were all strangely black and lifeless, their faces gaunt and white, and their teeth were all far too sharp to be considered normal. Or human. These features were all too familiar to her now.

She gave an involuntary shiver. "I think you're right," said she, thinking of the bloodless victims of the grisly murders in London. The same murders that were as yet unsolved.

🌟Heads up! I'm going to post one more chapter (and I promise to make it a good one) and then I'm going away for the Christmas holidays to South Africa! Will be spending lots of time with family and won't have time to write. Regular Mondaily (I totally made a word up) updates will resume Monday the 9th of January 2017. Thanks for understanding 😘🌟