"She looks nothing like me."

I'd hoped that working off my excess energy with Liam would finally allow me to focus on finishing the presentation and documentation I was creating for Alaric. I don't want my first report on Monday to be my last due to work that is not up to my normal high standards. I won't be surprised if Alaric is already drafting a notice of termination letter to his slacking appraiser. 

I've never been this unprofessional in my entire career!

Entering my bedroom after my shower, I was startled to find lunch waiting for me on the table near the window. I no longer question the staff's intricate system of knowing where I am at any given moment. I think if I questioned it too loudly, I'd go insane. There are too many strange things going on. I might soon reach a point where the attraction of the awesome collection of antiques and artwork will no longer be enough to soothe me into lying to myself that all is well.

And yet... this feels more like home than any other place I've ever experienced, which makes no sense. As insane as it might sound, I don't want to leave. Besides, I don't think I'll ever be able to leave without Alaric; for some inexplicable reason, I would miss him too much.

That is not weird at all!

Hungry after my workout, I ate like a wolf, washing it all down with wonderful tomato juice, and on my way back from putting my dishes in the dishwasher, I made a detour in the billiard room on a whim.

I was about to admire all the beautiful furniture, rugs and artwork (every room is a treasure trove thrilling me into ecstasy) when a large portrait on one end of the room drew me over to it as if I were a fish on a hook. 

So, here I am, looking up at a blue-eyed woman with long hair like spun silver. The painting is dated 1617, and if the artist who painted her portrait was honest, Clarice Dankworth was stunning.

Clarice Dankworth, 1617

"Of course, she looks nothing like you," an eerie voice whispers behind me, startling me into spinning around and searching the empty room. "You are warm and beautiful. She is cold and quite horrible."

Though I can hear the voice crystal clear, I seem to be alone in the large room. The curtains are drawn, and it is rather dark on the opposite side from where I'm standing. Despite the marvellous improvement of my vision, I cannot quite make out any details of the furnishings and items over there.

A shiver of movement among a group of chairs in one of the furthest corners snaps my head around, and suddenly, I cannot breathe or move. What was I thinking earlier about feeling at home and not wanting to leave? I take it all back. I'm packing my bags right now... as soon as I can move again.

The shadows swirl and roll like hazy smoke, solid one moment and dissolved again the next, trying to gather into a recognisable, solid shape. Balling my hands into fists, I wait for whatever strange apparition is about to assault my senses. It reminds me of what happened earlier in the hallway above, but no light bulbs are popping. Well, none are turned on, so...

Ransford...

I haven't felt his presence in the mansion since Liam found me in the hallway. I'm worried about him and need to speak to him, but I cannot think about him now. I need to get my limbs back in action, fast. I am not ready to see another mostly-dead-but-slightly-here family member of the Slatherties, whether they're harmless or not... especially not one that can speak to me. 

I've had enough of weirdness, thank you. 

I sag with relief, feeling dizzy and nauseous in the aftermath of the moment of intense dread when it is not a beautiful, sad woman with red hair who steps out of the shadows and into the dim light. It is Saoirse, clutching her swaddled baby doll to her heart.

I did not recognise her voice. Though not quite normal, it was much stronger than the last time I heard it. That is not the only change I observe, watching her approach. She's not wearing a night dress. Instead, she's dressed in a lovely cream shirt with lace inserts and black slacks. It somehow makes her look more present and mature despite the doll held protectively in her arms.

She is not quite as pale as she'd been the last time I saw her, and though she still has a strange far-off look in her eyes, they appear lighter. They've lost most of their sleepy quality, containing a tentative sparkle instead. Crossing the floor to join me at the painting, she turns her head when she reaches me, surprising me with a rather sweet smile.

"That is really kind of you to say," I say, returning her smile. Right now, I don't feel quite as unnerved by the girl as usual. I'm not entirely at ease either because her grey eyes - so like those of her uncles - seem to be looking straight into my heart. "I w-was just being fanciful since I might be related to her... though quite distantly. It was ridiculous to think I would see a resemblance."

"Related to her?" Saoirse asks, looking perplexed as if I'd said something completely incomprehensible. "The Dankworths and the Sullivans are not related. They never have been and never will be. Not here on Peace Haven. Here, they are enemies forever."

"Sullivans? She's a Sullivan?" I frown, not understanding at all. I think Saoirse took an off-ramp again, leaving me behind on a trail that no longer leads anywhere. Perhaps Clarice's mother was a Sullivan... but then the Dankworths and Sullivans are definitely related to each other. The proof is right there in a daughter from both families.

"You're right, Aita," Saoirse smiles, nodding slowly, and I hurry to look around me since she's clearly not speaking to me. Who the heck is Aita? Right, her improved health has not diminished her creepiness at all. "Lorcan was a Sullivan in name only," she tells me, nodding sagely. "Eoghan Sullivan adopted him as his own when he married his mother. Lorcan's biological father was Nikola Zubiondoa, the son of Alazne."

She smiles at me, her eyes wide and earnest as if what she'd just told me would open up a world of knowledge to me. It doesn't. I have no idea what she's on about. Who is Lorcan, and why should I care who his father was?

Wait! Alazne had a son?!

Surely, she doesn't mean the strange woman who pinned me in the hallway?!

"Nikola was quite the charmer," she says, looking a bit scandalized now, making me wonder about the movie playing off in her head. "Don't worry; your blood is probably diluted too much after so many generations to take after him much."

Wait! She thinks I'm a Sullivan... Zubiondoa?!

"This is not confusing at all," I mutter, surprised when Saoirse giggles. Is she messing with me?

"Yes, I agree; she is rather entertaining," she says, once again speaking to someone I cannot see, and the hair at the base of my skull stirs with apprehension. If I used enough imagination, I could convince myself that there is a subtle shift in the air around us. I can feel a presence. Fortunately, I'm not in the market for imagination overloads. I've had enough of those to last me a decade. "I like her too."

"Saoirse, who-"

"Ama is coming," she suddenly says excitedly, tilting her head as if hearing something. All I can hear is a clock ticking slowly and steadily. Slaughtaverty Manor is generally a very quiet place. I watch in amazement as the girl's eyes brighten with joy. "My mother will be here soon."

"In... in the Billiard room?" I ask, fairly certain that I do not want to be here when Saoirse's deceased mother shows up.

"Oh, no," she assures me, looking startled that I would even suggest such a blasphemous thing. "She never comes in here. She hates her," she adds, looking up at the portrait of Clarice. Her narrowed eyes and down-curved lips make it clear that her mother is not the only person who despises the woman who lived almost 400 years ago.

If I remember correctly, Diarmuid said Clarice died in 1618. I cannot imagine her invoking so much disgust in a teenage girl in the 21st century. I wonder if Saoirse is confusing her with somebody else.

"Her portrait hangs here so we can remember who the real enemy is. I come in here to see her and remember. I don't want to forget."

"Clarice Dankworth is the enemy?"

This conversation makes absolutely no sense to me. Why on earth would the last duke of Ulaidh's sister-in-law be the enemy? Is it because his brother lost his mind with grief when she died? Surely, she cannot be blamed for dying?! Unless she did it on purpose, in which case it is still a horrible tragedy. That is hardly something to hate her for almost 400 hundred years later.

From the way Saoirse is gazing into the empty air around us, apparently listening to a conversation I cannot hear, I'm certain that I'm being sucked into her fantasy. I would like to resurface from it now and get back to work. Nodding my head as if I actually comprehend anything she told me, I start to turn away, getting ready to flee to the safety of the study.

Well, if Alaric is there, that safety becomes a bit tentative at best, but it will still be better than being here in a dusky room with a girl having conversations with unseen entities.

My skin is crawling.

"She caused Amamona to be killed and tried to kill Aitona twice, using her own son as a weapon," Saoirse says, anger sparking life into her usually breezy voice.

"She killed who?" I huff. Despite my decision to step out of Weirdville and back into the professional appraiser world, I crave for something the girl says to make at least a little sense.

"Sadhbh and her son, Ransford Slatherty," Saoirse shrugs, giving me another look as if she thinks I'm a bit slow and should follow everything she says. "Clarice Dankworth," she says the name as if she finds the taste of the words nauseating, "killed Amona, Aita and Ama... She is the enemy."

"She... uhm... definitely sounds like the enemy," I agree, truly unable to make head or tail of this discussion. Didn't Sadhbh die a couple of weeks after giving birth? I remember Alaric telling me something like that. Or I dreamt that he told me that since we were cuddling at the time. We definitely would never cuddle.

The portrait of Sadhbh Slatherty, which I'm about 89% certain I really saw at some point in my wanderings around the mansion, was dated 1729, only 111 years after Clarice's death. Oh, yes! That makes the murder case against her absolutely plausible...

Unless the painting was done more than 111 years after Sadhbh's death, then the accusation might not be quite as ridiculous.

My head is going to explode.

"I'm getting a headache," I mutter, and, reaching out with one frail white hand, Saoirse lays it on my forearm, blinking at me with huge concerned eyes. Her compassion is touching; I did not expect it from her. I'm starting to suspect Saoirse was a very kind girl before her accident.

"You should drink more blood," she tells me, and we're back in Creepy Town. Of course I should! Definitely! I'm going to run off to the blood bank in Slaughtaverty right now to buy myself a pint of blood... and a straw. Honestly, I want whatever drugs this girl is on!

Or no, I probably don't.

I steadfastly ignore the horrifying memory of sipping on a pewter chalice filled with blood. It was a dream. I don't care what Liam says. It was definitely a dream. I'm sure of it. I clench my teeth, willing my rapid heartbeat to slow down when a different blood-drinking memory... or fantasy... suddenly fills my mind in vivid detail.

This one is even more disturbing since it involves Alaric and black silk sheets. I hastily turn my face away to hide my flaring cheeks from Saoirse. The last thing I want is for the girl to ask me why I'm blushing like my face is on fire.

I cannot ever admit that I have semi-erotic dreams about my employer!

"You're nothing like her," Saoirse whispers, squeezing my arm with surprising strength before she takes her hand away. "You saved Birosaba."

Oh, goodie! I saved somebody!

Looking at the girl always fills my heart with regret. I'm hoping that the improvement in her health will soon catch up with her brain as well. She is so lovely; when she's not scaring me, she is endearing. I watch her cradle her baby, whispering to the doll while she floats out the door to carry on with her journey to Lalaland, containing people with strange names being killed by a woman who probably died over a century before they existed.

I truly hope she took her company with her.

Looking around me suspiciously, I shiver, trying to pierce the dark shadows until my eyes burn. There's nobody else here, and if there were, I don't feel particularly threatened by them. Sucking in a deep breath, I open my mind, reaching out as far as I'm able to concentrate my focus, but aside from a slight thickening in the atmosphere, I find sweet blue all.

That is a relief, right?

Well, I'm not hanging around to make sure. After giving Clarice Dankworth, the alleged serial killer, a last look, I hurry from the Billiard room, through the foyer and up the stairs to the study. Rushing through the door, I grind to a stop when Alaric turns away from the view outside the window where he is standing to look at me instead. He seems to be in a slightly better mood than he was this morning, but I'm not about to test that theory.

Great, this is the second time in five minutes that I cannot move. This time, I'm not staring apprehensively into moving shadows. I'm staring at the man in the black shirt pleasantly smoothed over his chest muscles, the sight causing more fantasy memories to turn my cheeks pink.

What is wrong with me?! Why am I so drawn to this cold man?

He is my employer, for crying out loud! That is all! There is no way that I spent most of the night sleeping in his arms. Why would I dream nonsense like that? I need to have my hormone levels checked as soon as possible. They are clearly out of wack.

Nodding my head to acknowledge his existence, I clutch my ankle-length, dark green skirt for courage and scurry to my desk to hide behind the computer screens.

"You're planning to go into town tomorrow?" Alaric says, preventing me from doing all that impressive hiding. I look past the screen and am relieved to see him turning back to look out the window again.

"Yes," I answer, hoping he is not about to blow my plans out of the water. I was looking forward to visiting the library and learning more about my possible ancestors who are the Slatherties' enemies, according to Saoirse. I honestly hope she is not right about that. I'm pretty sure I do not want to be on the wrong side of these men.

"Come home before sundown and stay in town if there's a storm rolling in when it's time to come home, or you're running late."

"Yes, I remember the rules," I tell him, snapping my mouth shut when he turns away from the window to give me a penetrating look, pinning me in my seat.

"Promise me you'll keep to them."

I oddly don't think the man is just trying to be bossy or intimidating. He is worried, and a small muscle jumping in his jaw testifies to that. Why on Earth are they all so worried about me? Do I seem completely incapable of taking care of myself?

"I'll be in meetings at the harbour most of the day; I won't be here, so promise me."

"I promise," I say, pleased to see the tension leave his jaw and shoulders.

"Who is Aita?" I ask impulsively when my nerves can no longer stand the way Alaric looks at me. I might as well find out what unknown entity was taking part in that warped conversation I was having with Saoirse. I heard her refer to it as Aita.

"It's Basque for father," he shrugs, frowning at me.

Oh, marvellous!

So, unless Saoirse is completely off her rocker - which she probably is - Ambrose was part of our discussion in the billiard room. I'm not sure if I want it to be true or just her delusion. Liam said she can communicate with dead loved ones to some extent. Personally, I just think the poor girl misses her father too much. She even thought her mother was about to show up somewhere.

"And Birosaba?" I ask since I might as well find out who I saved.

"Great-granduncle."

Awesome! That was super helpful!

A woman who has been dead for almost 400 years killed Ambrose Slatherty, and I saved Saoirse's great-granduncle from something. So, who is that? Leopold? He is the only one qualified to be anybody's great-grand anybody that I've met so far. I don't remember saving him from anything except boredom by acting like a fool in his presence.

"Don't forget to wear the ring Liam gave you," Alaric surprises me, and I peek around the screen to see him sitting at his desk, picking up some papers. "It would be good if you could get into the habit of always wearing it."

I'm so relieved that he knows about the ring and won't think I stole it when he sees me wearing it, but what is this obsession about me wearing it?!

"Is it a magic ring?" I ask, fascinated to see him give me an amused look. The atmosphere around him shifts and changes when he shows emotions. When he raises one cocky eyebrow, giving me a lopsided grin, he loses his frigid beauty and becomes warmly handsome, making my heart flutter in breach of his no-romance rules.

"It marks you as in alliance with us," he tells me after a long pause. "Which gives you certain authority. You'll get more cooperation if you wear it."

"Oh, like a VIP pass?" That is rather helpful but also a bit disappointing. Apparently, I'm a glutton for weirdness now.

"Something like that."

"Darn," I sigh. "I was so hoping it would give me superpowers."

"Believe me, Miss Dankworth," Alaric scoffs, peering at me from under his dark lashes. Now, my heart is no longer fluttering; it is whipping my organs into a frenzied stampede. "You already possess superpowers."

"I do?"

"Yes," he states emphatically. "You have the power to drive me up the walls."

~~~