When I return to my task, the cursor is still spinning on the screen, and I impatiently tap a finger on the desktop, hoping the delay means that the query is returning many records and not that the system is just slow.

My question is answered when the screen suddenly erupts into a long list of links to records found in the database. The surname Dankworth is at least mentioned often. So far, so good.

"I'm going to need some filters," I mutter, overwhelmed by the seemingly endless list. I click on the filter button, and the form with questions and keyword fields returns. Opening the laptop bag I brought with me, I pull out my notebook, pen, and laptop and place them on the desk. I have a file on my laptop with the little information I have on my long, lost family who once lived here on the island.

Most of all, I would like to find some pointers to the exact location where they lived. I would love to go there and see if any buildings or graves or anything exists, proving that they were really here. I hope it will bring the sporadic dreams I have into focus and cause them to make sense.

I grew up feeling disconnected from my roots, as my grandfather was the only family I had. He wasn't keen on speaking about our family and the past. He knew little about my mother's side, and talking about his own side of the family hurt him too much. I would love to trace my lineage as far back as possible.

Well, I know my father was a history teacher, and my mother was a librarian, but that is all. My grandfather had a handful of photographs of them, which I still treasure, but looking at them is like looking at strangers. I don't remember my parents and my life before my grandfather took me in at all. Sometimes, it feels like I just sprouted from the ground one fine day.

Leaning over the desk, I plug my laptop charger into the power outlet mounted conveniently on the wall above the surface of the desk, and this time, when the breeze passes by to tickle my neck and play with my hair, it does it forcefully enough to stir the pages of the notebook, causing the pen to roll to the floor.

"Oh, lovely," I grumble, jerking back in time to see the pen roll under the part of the desk containing a set of drawers almost down to the floor. Of course, it had to roll into the worst possible spot. I slide from my chair and kneel, blindly feeling around under the desk until my fingers close around the escapee.

The distinct sound of footsteps somewhere behind me causes me to start upright, clutching the pen, and I bang my head on the underside of the desk, almost losing the pen again.

"Ow!" I grunt, rubbing my head and getting to my feet to slap the pen down on the desk. I expect to find Moira back for some more chatter, but everything is quiet in the archive room.

Apprehensively looking around me, I wait, but there are no more footsteps or breezes but the moment I turn to sit, I hear a sharp clattering sound deeper into the room. Though I didn't feel it again, I'm sure it was that wind moving something.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I run my eyes over every shelf and cabinet I can see to find the source of the noise, but nothing is moving now. Sitting down again, I feel vaguely nervous and also quite irritated. At this rate, I won't get anything done before I have to return to the manor. I might ask Billy to help me find lodgings for the night if I don't get enough done today.

I really want to start with the Slatherties' ground floor parlour tomorrow, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice if my nerves, combined with mischievous breezes, continue to keep me from my task. For now, I'll do as Moira suggested and stuff socks into... something... or... I don't know what she said, but I definitely can't be hunting for elusive drafts right now.

After giving the stirring shadows deeper in the room a final glare to show them I mean business, I boot my laptop. When it's ready, I browse to the file I need for some information to provide to the filter fields, and I'm entering a date range in the fields on the query filter form when I hear the sound of shuffling footsteps somewhere behind me in the body of the room. This is the second time now!

I may be wrong, but wind doesn't generally cause things to walk around.

"Excuse me!" I call out, trying to sound amicable and cheerful like an air hostess, while I get to my feet and slowly walk up to the filing cabinets to look over them at the shelves with their containers. "I don't mean to interrupt what you're doing; I just want to know if there's somebody else here with me. If there's someone in this room, could you please show yourself?"

Great, now I sound like a ghost hunter in a TV show. 'Can you give me a sign of your presence? Please knock once for yes and twice for no.' When the ghost obliges, I'll shriek and run for the door.

So rude after it went through all that trouble!

There's no reply to my question and no knocking, and I'm about to turn back to minding my own business when a movement among the shelves more to my left catches my eye. However, the area is too dark to identify any objects clearly from here.

I'm not even entirely sure I did see something move. I need to find the light switch for that section, as the switch for this half of the room, located near the door a few steps away from me, has only one button.

Walking slowly, I carefully round the filing cabinets and cross to the first row of shelves to look between them. There is nothing and nobody in the walking space separating the first two sets of shelves. I'm concentrating on the spot where I think I saw something move when I once again hear what could be someone shuffling around, but it's more to my right now, further back in the room.

I don't like this!

Two weeks ago, I would've run for the door right now, but I've been living in Slaughtaverty Manor long enough to grow a thicker skin when it comes to jump scares. Every hallway in that place is filled with scary shadows, movement and unidentifiable sounds. I believe Diarmuid's claim that the place is haunted. I honestly hope it's not true for this building as well.

Though I haven't seen or experienced anything terrifying in Slaughtaverty Manor... except, of course, some girl attacking me in a tunnel and Alazne telling me weird nonsense... and then there's the dream of a man hovering over me while I sleep and Ransford reaching out to a ghost... 

Alright, I'll admit it: I've experienced terrible things there, but I've grown used to feeling uneasy. Ransford suddenly appears whenever I talk to myself, and Saoirse speaks from dark corners and giggles with unseen entities; they're desensitising me. I can handle some kid trying to scare me up here in the archives... if that is what's happening.

I gasp when something falls somewhere in the back of the room, breaking through my new-found bravado, and I hurry to turn away from the shelves.

Fine, I was wrong! I don't have a thick skin. I want to run now!

My mind just zipped through an entire database filled with possibilities ranging from likely to ridiculous, and I am now heading for the door. I'll feel like an idiot when I ask Moira to help me see if there's someone else up here, but unsettling thoughts are stirring like vaguely remembered memories in my head, spurring my feet into flight.

I'm almost at the door when movement once again catches my eye, and this time, I see it more clearly as it is closer to the wall with the windows. Someone wearing what appears to be a blue T-shirt is skulking behind one of the shelves, and I redirect my steps to cross the floor to the row of windows since I think I can handle an actual person... probably.

"Hi," I say, frightened by the quiver in my voice, as I slowly make my way down the area between the rows of shelving and the windows, keeping the shadowy blue T-shirt in sight. "It's okay; I just need to know who is up here with me. I'm uhm... I'm Aubrey."

I feel foolish speaking to a person as if I'm approaching a dog that may or may not bite me, but I have no idea what the protocol is here. Why aren't they answering me? The chances are really good that it's a student doing some research up here, wearing earphones to keep out disturbances or to listen to lectures, like all the students I saw downstairs. They might not be aware of my presence, so I don't want to scare them to death by suddenly appearing next to them.

Though I might be returning the favour... my scalp still aches from banging my head.

A soft, guttural moan stops me in my tracks, and now I wonder what exactly that person is up to back there. Perhaps there are two people between the shelves. In that case, I really don't want to see what they're doing. I'm close to hurrying back to my desk, grabbing my stuff, and leaving the room, but my eyes adjust to the gloom as I travel deeper into it, and I can identify what appears to be a hand holding onto the shelf. I can also make out the vague outlines of a face and the moist gleam of unblinking eyes.

Whoever's back there is looking right at me!

"Are you... uhm ill? Do you need help," I ask, my feet taking me closer, though my heart is already heading out the door. I want to follow my heart, but I'm torn between terrified and concerned. I keep reminding myself that this is not the manor filled with dark and mystery. This is the library in Slaughtaverty where Moira, a ray of sunshine and friendliness, works. There are scores of students downstairs; it's not strange for one of them to be up here doing research.

Scraping together all my courage, ready to bolt if something goes wrong, I round the edge of the shelf to see a boy of about 16 or seventeen cowering in the shadows, holding onto the shelf as if he's struggling to stay upright. Feeling foolish for my dramatics, I smile, taking more confident strides towards him now that I'm sure it's just a person, but I stop when he flinches away from me as though he is afraid of me.

"Are you okay?" I ask, and in answer, he stumbles a step closer to me. The filtered sunlight finds its way through the vine-covered windows behind me to trace his features, and I swallow convulsively, looking at his face. The boy is deathly pale and dirt-streaked, and his eyes are red-rimmed, but I recognise him at once.

Drugs?

"Cillian?" I ask, surprised to see the shy boy up here in that state. Isn't he supposed to be in school now? I don't know if the local school has a uniform, but the boy is wearing a T-shirt like the one he wore when he helped Mary serve Billy and me. He did not look like the kind of boy who would be into drugs, but I'm no expert. If not drugs, was he in a fight? Is he ill?

"Are you okay?" I ask again, reaching out to him with both hands. I need to get him into the light to take a better look at him because something is definitely not right.

Willing to come to me, he shuffles closer, one wary step at a time. I'm startled when he grabs my hands, but he lets them go just as suddenly, shrinking away from my touch with a whimper, pulling his arms tight around his stomach.

"Cillian, it's alright. I want to help you..."

Uttering an anguished groan that scares me to my core as surely as it breaks my heart, he dashes past me, shoving me out of his way to stumble to a door set among the windows behind me. I was standing in his path to the outside door and wasn't even aware of its existence until he throws it open, letting in a sharp wind. Shaken, I push away from the shelf I grabbed to steady myself, watching as the boy flees outside, his blond hair rippling in the brisk wind.

"Cillian!" I shout, hurrying after him. I'm really worried now. There is no sign of him when I step into the arms of the breeze and find myself perfectly alone on an expansive balcony overlooking a part of town I've never seen before.

"Well, that was not weird at all," I say, walking to the stone balustrade fringing the balcony, which I can now see spans the entire back of the library building. It's quite beautiful out here with creeper-covered walls and wrought iron garden furniture. Looking over the ornate balustrade, I see a tree-lined street below.

A few quaint stone houses are grouped among lush plants, reminding me of a street in a rural English village from an era long past. Looking at the balcony's edge, I can see many ways the boy might've climbed down to the street. I hope his home is close by, and that is where he went because something was clearly wrong with him.

I'm turning away from the quaint scenery to go inside and tell Moira what happened so she can help me find the boy and care for him when someone speaks near me... again!

"What wasn't weird?"

For a moment, I thought it was Ransford since the accent and tone of voice matched him perfectly... and I was speaking to myself just now, after all.

Seriously! What is it with people on this island appearing and disappearing?

The fright of suddenly being spoken to causes me to stumble mid-turn, crashing into a torso made of stone. It is not a statue; the owner of the torso is very much alive and steadies me with strong hands.

"I'm so sorry," I mutter, taking a hurried step back and looking up at the person inside the dark grey shirt my face was buried in for a second. First, I see a carved ring on a chain resting on the skin exposed by the open neck of the shirt. It looks old, and the design on the surface of the ring stirs a memory, but I'm too startled to explore it now.

Any curiosity I might have about the ring disappears when my eyes continue their journey up the smooth skin of a supple neck and finely etched chin until I'm looking into translucent teal-coloured eyes. The irises are mesmerisingly smokey, as unexpected and striking as the silver blond hair topping a rather pretty face.

Staring up into the man's eyes, my heart contracts painfully, memories stirring like blurry shapes behind dirty glass as dread curls its scaly body in the pit of my stomach. I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

I know this man!

I blink slowly, staring up at him, willing myself to remember where I'd seen him before, but I cannot find a match for his face in my limited but constantly growing database of handsome young men.

The cold look in his eyes reminds me of Alaric, but the almost spiteful slant of his lips, when they twitch into a smirk, destroys any resemblance there might be. Then his face softens into a real smile, and - just like that - he is Ransford. Well, if Ransford looked like him, which he doesn't...

Still, there's something...

I take a startled step away from him, suddenly overly aware of how close I'm standing to him. His scent is enticing, drawing me to him, urging me to take another step away from him, stopping when my back presses into the balustrade.

I could've sworn I was alone out here.

A few steps behind the man, near the ivy-draped wall of the library building, is a table with a laptop on its surface and what appears to be an empty cup. Clearly, he'd been out here working, and I was too focused on Cillian and too stressed about the boy to notice someone against the backdrop of grey stone and creeping vines.

"I am not complaining at all," he says, still grinning in that teasing way Ransford has that drives me over the edge. Except, when Ransford smiles at me, his eyes lose their coldness; this man's eyes are pure smoked glass. Impenetrable.

"Did... did you see a boy run out here?" I ask, my voice disturbingly husky. This man has to be a Slatherty. Only the Slatherty men have this annoying power to turn me into a simpering idiot. Honestly, if this is another sibling, my brain and my heart are going to spontaneously combust.

"You're chasing boys?" he asks, his amusement increasing, and now I have no doubt that he is related to Ransford somehow.

"No!" I huff with a nervous little laugh that I'll smack myself for later. "I wasn't chasing him... I was just... He seemed to need help."

Remembering the boy's red-rimmed eyes and anguished groans sobers me up, ripping me from the sultry web the enigmatic stranger is weaving around me.

"Oh?" he says, no longer smiling. He glances up and down the long balcony, searching the nooks and shadows with his eyes. "No, I did not notice anybody. He might've gone that way," he suggests, pointing to the opposite end of the building.

He's right. There are plants and tables with umbrellas along the balcony from here all the way to the other end. If he ducked between some of them after he ran outside, he would've been able to leave unnoticed. There also appear to be many more doors he could've used to go back inside.

"Why do you think he needed help?" the man asks, his eyes boring into mine in the same unsettling way in which Alaric is so proficient.

That does it!

When I get home tonight, I'm going to force someone to tell me exactly how many new family members I can expect to meet. My head is spinning. I need a Slatherty-man repellant, or I am going to lose my mind in the hormone soup, turning my body into a quivering mess!

"Was he injured?" he prompts when I continue to stare at him, trying to form coherent thoughts while I struggle to remember where I know him from and what we're talking about. It's quite possible that his face is comprised of so many features I've come to know well over the last few days from portraits and live people that I see traces of everybody in his face. That might be the only reason he seems familiar.

"I don't know," I say, clearing my throat. "I didn't get a good look at him. He was dirty and acted a bit... off."

"Oh, I see. Unfortunately, that describes the majority of the boys on this island," he chuckles. "They're all a bit... off." Stepping past me to reach the balustrade, he leans over it and looks up and down the street. "He was probably looking for a place to have a smoke."

"In the library archives?" I grimace, shaking my head.

"It's the best place for mischief. Nobody ever goes in there." Straightening to look at me, the person who clearly went in there, he shrugs. "Until they do."

"Yes, that does make sense."

That's a lie! Nothing makes sense, but I cannot argue with his logic. I may not like it, but I cannot argue with it.

"Could he be on drugs?" I ask, thinking about the terrible state of the boy's eyes. If thieves and vandals aren't a thing on Peace Haven, perhaps drug abuse isn't, either. Drinking is a thing, though, but I didn't smell alcohol on the boy. Still, he might've been drunk. "He really didn't look good."

"Well," the stranger sighs, casually leaning his hip against the stone balustrade while his eyes take a leisurely tour of my face and figure until I feel naked under his gaze. "This is a rather boring island, so..."

Completely on edge under his scrutiny, my pulses leaping wildly, I decide to continue on my quest for Moira rather than expose myself to this man's magnetism any longer. I'm about to hurry back to the door leading into the archives when he holds a hand out to me.

"You're Aubrey Dankworth," he informs me with a smile that is almost gentle, his eyes darkening as he runs his eyes over my face again, tracing every contour. Once again struggling to regulate my breathing, I reflexively take his offered hand, the touch of his skin against mine sending shivers running down my spine.

"Yes, indeed," I mutter, and swallowing nervously, I toss my head in resistance to the disjointed emotions stirring in my soul. "Who... who would I be speaking to?" I ask, sounding like a vintage-era school teacher questioning a stranger trespassing in her classroom. My haughty attitude makes the stranger's smile grow until he chuckles softly, the sound rippling through my nervous system.

A part of me is drawn to this man as strongly as I'm always drawn to the Slatherty brothers, but something about the glint in his eye unsettles me, frightening - and thrilling - me in a way none of them do. I pull my trembling hand from his firm grasp and am about to ask him if he is another Slatherty brother when he reaches out and runs the tip of a finger over the side of my face in a touch so gentle that it causes me to lose my breath as my skin shivers in response.

"You would be speaking to Rach," he tells me, pronouncing it with a soft g at the end.

Flinching away from his enticing fingertip, I laugh softly at his cheeky answer, mimicking the way I'd asked the question. Flustered, I lift my left hand to brush a strand of hair off my face, and the ring on my finger catches the sun, blinking bright green between us for a moment, drawing Rach's attention to it.

His eyes narrow, an eyebrow cocking in surprise to see the ancient ring so out of place on my hand. It doesn't exactly match my outfit, consisting of a silky green top sprinkled with little flowers and black slacks, which is far too casual for the ring. Rach doesn't remark on it; instead, he catches my gaze, the disturbing smile again touching his lips.

"I'm glad I finally see you, Aubrey," he says, the expression in his eyes turning my legs into liquid.

What does he mean?

It is not strange that he knows me by name. This is a close-knit community on an island where everybody knows everybody's business. My identity is no secret, that is for sure. It's easy to describe me. 'That woman who isn't from here' should do just fine.

"What do-"

I stop talking, the skin at the back of my neck puckering in startled goosebumps creeping all the way to my scalp in trepidation, when Rach's eyes suddenly lift from mine and widen in shock, telling me that someone or something is behind me. Sucking in a sharp breath, I twirl around to see what threat is sneaking up on me.

"Mr. Slatherty!" I exclaim, seeing the man who said he would be at the harbour for meetings all day standing a few feet away, nearly camouflaged by the ivy leaves of the wall beside him. Surprisingly, he is dressed in a light green shirt rather than his normal dark colours.

I involuntarily take a step towards him, my heart - for some inexplicable reason - fluttering happily in my chest at the sight of him. Later, I will ask myself some serious questions about this reaction.

It is probably the weirdest thing that's happened to me today!

"I thought you went to the harbour," I smile, taking another eager step towards him, and then I stop, frowning as a possible predicament dawns on me. "Oh! Did you come because you need your car?"

I honestly hope he's not going to take me home now. I haven't even started my research. If that is the case, I'll ask him to help me arrange a bed in town for tonight. I'll find a way home tomorrow. Perhaps Billy will be kind enough to drive me.

Alaric is not answering; he is watching me in silence, slowly blinking his eyes in a rather menacing way while a multitude of conflicting emotions waft off him in waves. Everything about him is making me extremely nervous now... even more than usual. I take a step away from him, and then I realise that he's not looking at me. He is looking past me at the man I'd been talking to, a muscle jumping tensely in his jaw.

Not wanting to get trapped in the middle of whatever is causing tension to crackle like electricity in the air around me, I decide that retreat might be the best option. Moving in the direction of the open archive door, I glance away from Alaric to see how Rach is reacting to the strange encounter.

"No!" I gasp, shocked to see nothing but a length of balcony stretching to the end of the building. Rach is no longer there!

Was he even there to begin with?

I was flirting with a ghost last night, after all. Rach seemed very real, though. Perhaps he was playing truant, hiding here at the back of the library and ducked into one of the many doors leading back into the building to avoid a scolding. The laptop and cup are still on the table; I didn't just imagine the man. Did I?

Turning back to Alaric, I half expect him to be gone too since playing hide and seek is apparently today's fun activity for the males of Peace Haven, but he is still standing near the wall.

I notice more details now that I'm really looking at him and find them increasingly unnerving. His hair is neatly combed and shorter than I remember, and his eyes, when he gazes into mine, though grey and striking, have a hint of green in them.

"Please... take her... from me..."

The crystal clear remembered growl echoes loudly in my head before it fades into oblivion, leaving me staring at a man who simultaneously is the person I feel most connected to, but also is not him at all.

This is not Alaric... is it?

His fragrance, pleasant and fresh, is different from Alaric's intoxicating scent. Though the way he's looking at me steals my breath, it doesn't fill me with the strange, warm feeling I've been experiencing lately whenever I'm in Alaric's presence.

Trust.

I'm stunned by the realisation that I trust Alaric and would love nothing more than to see him glare at me right now while mangling his pencil. Feeling the first stirrings of panic rising in my veins, I take a step back, embarrassed to hear a shocked little squeak escape my lips when Alaric's doppelganger smiles and steps closer, holding a hand out to me.

"We've not been formally introduced," he says in a low voice as if he's not used to speaking any more than he is used to smiling. Gazing at his face, I realise that the main difference between him and Alaric is that this man's eyes are filled with deep anguish. He doesn't seem to have Alaric's ability to suppress his feelings because his despair surrounds him in a thick, tangible cloud, causing my throat to close up in empathy, even while I wither under the intensity of his sinister gaze. "I'm Deag Slatherty."

"I'm Aubrey," I mutter, though I know he is well aware of that, and I don't resist when he takes my hand in both of his, oddly calming my raging pulse. "Are... are you and Alaric twins?" I ask what is probably a stupid question, but surely, if Alaric had a twin brother, someone would've mentioned it by now.

"We used to be," he sighs with a sad smile, increasing my confusion.

"Oh! Here ye are, Aubrey! I thought ye took a dander through the library looking for the bean jacks because ye have the painters in," Moira speaks somewhere behind me, pulling me from the nearly trance-like state I'm slipping into.

Blinking my eyes, I cringe away from the brightness of the sun, feeling confused and disoriented, as I turn to see the woman walking towards me from the open archive door.

"Then I saw the open door and understood the source of the fairy winds causing trouble with the things in there."

"Painters?" I clear my throat to ask, once again not quite following what she's saying to me.

"Aye, there's some blood drops on the floor near ye desk," she tells me. "I thought ye'd sprung a leak."

"What?" I didn't see any blood, and I now think I know what she means. "I'm not having my period. I was just looking for-"

I turn to indicate the length of the balcony, frowning when I run my eyes over the empty shadows and dark nooks. Wasn't I talking to someone just now? Why did I come out here on the balcony?

"I... don't know," I sigh, giving Moira a perplexed look, hoping she can fill in the blanks for me.

"Sure, look. I brought ye some tea and scones with jam and cream," she smiles, taking my arm, her concerned eyes searching mine. "I brought them fresh from the Three-and-One, and Maeve made me wait for ages while she baked them."

"Thank you, that is very kind of you," I smile, the word scones instantly making me happy. I follow her to the door, warily glancing up and down the empty balcony, trying to grab the shadow of a memory that keeps on eluding me. My mind feels stuffed with cobwebs, and I would love nothing more than to take a nap right now. I really need that tea to wake me up and get me back on track.

We reach the desk where hot tea and beautiful scones are waiting for us, and Moira pulls a chair closer to join me when I sit down in the chair I left a few minutes ago to... find... something...

"Is that the time?" I exclaim when I brush against the mouse, and the screens light up, shocking me out of my foggy headspace. I couldn't possibly have been out on the balcony for almost an hour! Could I?

What was I doing there?!

"Oh, love! Did ye scratch yerself?" Moira exclaims when - pondering the strange loss of time, trying to find the words to ask her about it without sounding nuts - I gather my wind-chased hair, attempting to tame the wayward curls.

"Excuse me?" I ask, reaching up reflexively to touch my neck when she points towards it. I flinch when the contact stings a little, and pulling back my hand, I'm surprised to see faint blood smears on my fingertips.

~~~