Contents
Darkness Never Dies
Books by Thorne & Cross
Raves for Ravencrest
The Ghosts of Ravencrest
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Rude Awakening
At Lizzie's Diner
The Way to Ravencrest
Moving Night
Dreams
Introductions
In Cordelia's Chambers
Family Breakfast
Sir Thomas
The Physical
Messages from Momma
Cordelia's Inquiry
Belinda's Office
The Chapel
Ravencrest: Present Day
London: The Frost Fair of 1788
Sledding
Broken Ankle
The Return to Ravencrest
The Days Ahead
Spell Casting
Parnell Hangs On
Bran Lanval's Concerns
Christmas Eve
The Christmas Party
The Witch
Gray Morning
Christmas
Ravencrest Manor: Present Day
Trapped
Darjeeling with Honey
Cordelia Fumes
The Gallery of Ancestors
Therapy for Cordelia
The Man in the Garden
Spelling Dr. Akin
Annoyances
The Harlequin
3 a.m.
Calvin Bowers
A Request from Alice
Lavande d'Amour
The Scream
Rats
Cordelia Snoops
Luncheon Town
A Tongue Lashing
Revisiting the Gallery
Randi's Road Trip
Dreaming at Ravencrest
In Runes
Swimming with Eric
Breakfast with Momma
Old Peckerhead
Cordelia and the Harlequin
The Nightmare
Hungover
Momma Pays a Visit
Accusations
Belinda is Tired
In the Garden
Dancing Dolls
The Detective
In the Cemetery
Beyond the Door
Poison
Belinda in Bed
The Ghost's Story
Chamber of Horrors
Caught in the Pool
Revelations
Midnight
The East Wing
Epilogue: The Next Night
About the Authors
Check out this haunting title by Thorne & Cross
Now Available from Alistair Cross
COMING THIS WINTER
COMING SOON
Haunted
Moonfall
Eternity
Candle Bay
Bad Things
The Forgotten
Thunder Road
The Sorority
Darkness Never Dies ...
Ravencrest Manor has always been part of the family. The ancestral home of the Mannings, Ravencrest’s walls have been witness to generations of unimaginable scandal, horror, and depravity. Imported stone by stone from England to northern California in the early 1800s, the manor now houses widower Eric Manning, his children, and his staff. Ravencrest stands alone, holding its memories and ghosts close to its dark heart, casting long, black shadows across its grand lawns, through the surrounding forests, and over the picturesque town of Devilswood, below.
Dare to Cross the Threshold ...
Ravencrest Manor is the most beautiful thing new governess, Belinda Moorland, has ever seen, but as she learns more about its tangled past of romance and terror, she realizes that beauty has a dark side. Ravencrest is built on secrets, and its inhabitants seem to be keeping plenty of their own - from the handsome English butler, Grant Phister, to the power-mad administrator, Mrs. Heller, to Eric Manning himself, who watches her with dark, fathomless eyes. But Belinda soon realizes that the living who dwell in Ravencrest have nothing on the other inhabitants - the ones who walk the darkened halls by night … the ones who enter her dreams … the ones who are watching … and waiting …
Welcome to Ravencrest ...
Who is the man digging in the garden beyond Belinda’s bedroom window? Who - or what - is watching her from the vents? From ghostly screams and the clutching bony fingers of death in the indoor pool, to the trio of gliding nuns in the east wing who come at Belinda with black blazing eyes, to the beckoning little girl in the red dress who died more than two centuries ago, Belinda is thrust into a world of waking nightmares where there is no distinction between the living and the dead, and there are no limits to the horrors that await. Witchcraft is afoot at Ravencrest and as unspeakable terrors begin to unfold, Belinda realizes that her beautiful new home is a keeper of tragedy, a collector of souls. And it wants to add her to its collection …
Books by Thorne & Cross
The Cliffhouse Haunting
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Darker Shadows
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Christmas Spirits
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Night Moves
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Dead Girls
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Danse Macabre
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Spellbound
Coming this Winter
Mother
And coming soon
Grandma’s Rack
Books by Alistair Cross
The Crimson Corset
Books by Tamara Thorne
Haunted
Moonfall
Candle Bay
Eternity
Thunder Road
The Sorority
The Forgotten
Bad Things
RAVES FOR RAVENCREST
"The Ghosts of Ravencrest delivers on every level. Delicate, creepy, detailed, and beautifully crafted, this reinvention of the gothic ghost story into a sexy, sleek modern chiller is a marvel of suspense and atmosphere. A knockout of a horror yarn!"
-Jay Bonansinga, the New York Times bestselling author of The Walking Dead: Invasion, Lucid, and Self Storage.
"Ghostly secrets abound. Tortured spirits wander the hallways. Star-crossed lovers walk the paths of time. Servants connive, and the heroine faces an uncertain future. …Run, do not walk, to get The Ghosts of Ravencrest. Tamara Thorne and Alistair Cross take the reader on a delicious journey of twisted family secrets, troubled dreams, and barely-concealed passions. Wrap yourself in the silken robe of this story and escape to Ravencrest."
-- Sylvia Shults, author of Hunting Demons: A True Story of the Dark Side of the Supernatural
“The Ghosts of Ravencrest is riveting. The characters are wonderful, the subplots are perfect, and the setting is stunning and well-researched. This series is like a roller coaster that goes up and up - the Mannings are literary gold.”
-QL Pearce, bestselling author of Scary Stories for Sleep-Overs
“In this classic-style gothic, young Belinda Moorland takes a job as governess for the children of Eric Manning, whose family mansion, Ravencrest, was reassembled stone by stone after crossing over from England. Now stalked by a bevy of quirky, shady characters … the sinister estate and its naughty nightside hijinks take center stage in this expert tale of multi-generational evil - and love. The Ghosts of Ravencrest will chill you and make you hot and bothered at the same time. There’s nothing like a stay in a California town created by Thorne and Cross!"
-W.D. Gagliani, author of Wolf’s Blind (The Nic
k Lupo Series)
“The Ghosts of Ravencrest is a scary, intricate read. The horror is well crafted and the ornate setting descriptions are breathtaking. Most importantly, from page one, readers fall in love with Belinda. We care about what happens to her, and we hope exactly what that is remains deliciously extensive!"
-Michael Aronovitz, author of Alice Walks
"Scary and scandalous! The Ghosts of Ravencrest will leaving you shivering with excitement and terror ..."
-William Malmborg, author of Jimmy and Text Message
The Ravencrest Saga: Book One
The Ghosts of Ravencrest
Tamara Thorne & Alistair Cross
The Ghosts of Ravencrest: Volume one of The Ravencrest Saga
© 2015 Tamara Thorne & Alistair Cross
All Rights Reserved
Glass Apple Press
First e-book edition September, 2015
This eBook is for your personal device only. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the authors.
Cover Design by Mike Rivera
is dedicated to our better halves,
Mr. Thorne and Ms. Cross.
You are cherished.
Acknowledgements
First of all, we must acknowledge our spouses for their long-suffering patience with us. You guys are the best. We would also like to thank the following folks for help of many flavors: QL Pearce, Libba Campbell, Mark Hein, Bill Gagliani, Mike Rivera, Pam Stack, McKaylie Johnson, Martin Rivero, Natalie Valenzuela, Berlin Malcom, and Douglas Clegg. Finally, thanks to our familiars for being warm, furry, catty, and never letting us take ourselves too seriously.
BOOK ONE: THE NEW GOVERNESS
Prologue
High on the hill overlooking the town of Devilswood, California, Ravencrest Manor grew out of the earth as if it had always been there instead of being brought over, stone by stone, brick by brick, in the early nineteenth century. Its flat, greystone face presided over the forests, and the beyond, and stared down over the lush green grounds, the gleaming white Greek statues, the orchards and gardens. The mullioned windows glittered like disapproving eyes as they looked upon the town below … And indeed, the did disapprove.
Within, the residents of Ravencrest shared their home with all who had lived and died over the centuries before them. A few of the living knew the secrets of the manor, but they would never tell, though sometimes, the dead compelled them.
Rude Awakening
Skin.
Smooth, tight, and tanned, redolent of soap and summer. Belinda’s hand - which just moments ago had been bringing a spoonful of cherry ice cream to her lips - now wandered beyond her control to explore an expanse of silky flesh. The ice cream was gone; it simply wasn’t there anymore. There was nothing but skin now, and even though she didn’t mean to, she stroked it, playing her slender fingers lightly over it, as if whatever forces driving her were afraid of leaving bruises. A familiar fragrance played hide and seek with her senses. She thought she recognized it, but like a reticent ghost, it fled.
A new sensation entered her awareness.
She looked down but she couldn’t see anything. Her back was pressed against something rough and cold that felt like a stone wall. An ache she had been unaware of sharpened in her arms. They were pulled high above her head now, held by something cold and hard. Handcuffs? Manacles? She looked up, but could see nothing in the unrelenting darkness.
Cold weight settled on her chest, and fetid breath played over her face. She wanted to scream, but she was helpless against the creature tormenting her. Something cold moved between her thighs, inching upward. Slowly, steadily, it spread her, pushing her legs farther and farther apart, stopping only when she feared she would split in two.
She panicked as something gibbered and licked her inner thighs with a cold sticky tongue. Bony fingers kneaded her flesh. Belinda tried to scream, but her vocal chords were paralyzed.
The fingers reached the juncture of her thighs and tiptoed onto even more sensitive flesh. They came to rest only an inch from her center; she could feel blood pulsing through them. Suddenly, she felt the sticky tongue enter her and a hungry mouth clamped over her sex.
Belinda Moorland shot up in bed, gasping for breath.
The glow of the digital alarm clock cast aimless light in the otherwise dark room and she realized she wasn’t alone.
“Who’s there?”
An unmoving Sphinx crouched at her bedside, and as her vision adjusted, she saw eyes, twin glints in the darkness. They blinked. Belinda gasped. “Who are you?”
In the dim light, she saw the spread of lips, the gleam of teeth, as the creature smiled. “You must have been having a nightmare.”
“Randi!” Belinda’s breathing calmed as she recognized her roommate. “What are you doing?”
Randi’s emotionless whisper made her shiver. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She pulled the bed sheets up over Belinda’s bare knees.
She edged away from Randi. “What time is it?”
“Shh. It’s barely after eleven. You must have gone to bed early.”
Belinda pulled the sheets up to her neck. Her roommate, motionless, stared at her with turtle eyes, reminding her of Hannibal Lecter. If she calls me ‘Clarice’, I’m going to scream! The familiar scent she now recognized as Randi’s cloying perfume invaded her sinuses.
“What were you dreaming?”
“I don’t remember.” Rolling over, she gave her roommate her back.
“You were making all kinds of wild noises.” Randi’s breathing sounded labored now.
“I don’t remember.”
Randi’s breath hitched, then shuddered as she spoke. “Are you sure?”
Now, along with the hard breathing, Belinda heard a series of quick, moist sounds. What the hell is she doing? “Goodnight.” Belinda buried her head beneath a pillow.
“Uhh.” Randi groaned. The whispers of movement quickened along with her breathing.
Belinda squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sounds.
Seconds later, they ceased and Randi stood. “Goodnight, Belinda,” she whispered as she left the room. Belinda rose, locked the door, and went back to bed.
At Lizzie’s Diner
Business was slow at Lizzie’s Diner. Belinda always tried to arrive a little early for her shift, and if it was busy, she would be on the clock taking orders right away. She liked the extra hours – and tips – but that wasn’t what brought her in early today.
Stifling a yawn, she thought of the fragmented nightmares of the night before and Randi Tucker’s face hovering at her bedside. She pushed the memory away, wanting it all to have been a bad dream. In a booth at the far end of the restaurant, she pulled her phone out of her purse, and searched the want ads – an activity she’d been indulging in more and more these past few weeks.
She gave the theater job section a quick scan first. She did this as much out of a deep love for the subject as out of a stubborn refusal to admit her degree was going to waste – just like her mother had warned her it would. Finding nothing, she sighed. She hadn’t expected any promising openings, but it was always a little disappointing.
Maybe Momma had been right. Maybe theater hadn’t been such a great idea after all. I should at least be giving piano lessons, she thought, or teaching something anyway. It was a g
ood thing she’d also earned a degree in children’s education, because she just might have to use it. After finding nothing in the theater section, she scanned the educational ads.
Then she scrolled past a series of babysitting jobs that probably wouldn’t pay as much as she was making at the diner with tips, when the words Wanted: Live-In Governess caught her eye. She clicked on the ad. It expanded and she read it in its entirety. And then read it again. Then she found herself dialing the number.
* * *
“I could stay later and make up my time.” When she’d called to inquire about the governess position, she hadn’t expected to be given an interview right away, but she didn’t think asking for a postponement would make a very good impression.
“But your shift starts now.” Billy Taylor looked at a watch he wasn’t wearing. At twenty-five, he was only two years older than Belinda, though his baby-face and acne-clad skin would suggest he was not yet twenty. Still, he was an assistant manager and this was his shift. “If I let you leave and come back later,” he went on, “where does it end? Why don’t I just let all of you come and go as you damned well please?” He placed his hand against the wall behind Belinda’s head, and leaned into her, close.
She felt herself shrink under the pungent odor of his musky aftershave. “I’ve never asked any favors before,” she said. “I’ll only be a couple of hours. Please?”
Billy Taylor sighed, washing her in stale garlic and cigarette breath, and crossed his hairy arms. “I’ll have to pick up your slack. Maura will be clocking out in five minutes.”