Chapter 2
The kitten's ears flattened against its skull, and the fur along its spine stood on end, making its tiny body look twice its normal size. But it wasn't looking at me anymore. Its mismatched eyes were fixed on something behind me, something I couldn't see, and a low, keening whine escaped its throat. The sound raised every hair on the back of my neck, because it wasn't angry or aggressive—it was afraid. Deeply, primally afraid.
I turned slowly, my own fear now coiling in my gut like a living thing, and scanned the darkness behind me. The forest looked exactly as it had moments before, but something felt different. The air had gone still, so still that even the distant sounds of the party seemed to have been swallowed by an oppressive silence. No crickets, no rustling leaves, no night birds calling. Just nothing, as if the entire forest was holding its breath.
"Hello?" My voice came out shakier than I wanted, and I cleared my throat, trying again. "Is someone there?"
No answer. Just that suffocating, unnatural quiet that pressed in on me from all sides.
I turned back to the kitten, thinking maybe I could pick it up and carry it back toward the party, back toward light and people and safety, but the kitten was already moving. It shot past me in a black blur, darting between trees with a speed that seemed almost supernatural for something so small, and without thinking, I ran after it. My rational brain screamed at me to turn back, to head toward the party and the safety of lights and people, but the kitten was already disappearing into the undergrowth, and I'd come too far into the woods to remember exactly which direction would take me back. The trees all looked the same in the dark, twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching toward me like grasping fingers.
I crashed through the forest, my sneakers slipping on damp leaves and exposed roots, my breath coming in harsh gasps that burned in my chest. The kitten stayed just ahead of me, a shadow among shadows, occasionally glancing back with those eerie mismatched eyes as if making sure I was still following. The creeping sense of being watched faded after a few minutes, replaced by the more immediate fear of being completely lost, but the kitten kept running, and I kept following, because what else could I do? Going back meant wandering alone through woods that suddenly felt hostile and wrong, while following the kitten at least gave me a direction, a purpose, even if I had no idea where it was leading me.
Branches whipped at my face and arms, leaving stinging scratches that I barely registered in my panic. My white hair, already damp with sweat, clung to my forehead and neck, and I could feel my shirt sticking to my back, soaked through from exertion and the oppressive humidity that seemed to thicken the deeper we went. The forest floor grew softer, more treacherous, and I realized with a sinking feeling that we were heading toward the true bayou, where solid ground gave way to marsh and standing water.
The trees began to thin, and I burst into a clearing so suddenly I almost fell. I caught myself, hands on my knees, gulping air and trying to get my bearings. My lungs burned, my legs trembled from the sprint, and for a long moment all I could do was focus on breathing, on forcing oxygen into my body and waiting for my racing heart to slow. When I finally looked up, my breath caught in my throat for an entirely different reason.
A mansion—no, a castle—loomed before me, its dark silhouette stark against the night sky. It was massive, easily three or four stories tall, with turrets and Gothic arches that belonged in a European countryside, not the Louisiana bayou. Ivy crawled up the stone walls like grasping fingers, and the windows were dark, giving the whole structure an abandoned, haunted quality that made my skin prickle with unease. How had I never heard of this place? I'd lived in New Orleans my whole life, and I'd never seen or heard mention of a castle hidden in the swamps. Someone should have mentioned a literal castle in the woods—archaeologists, historians, urban explorers with their goddamn Instagram accounts. How could something this massive, this impossible, exist without anyone knowing about it?
The tiny black kitten sat at the base of the front steps, grooming its paw as if it hadn't just led me on a terrifying chase through the forest. It looked even smaller against the massive stone steps, impossibly fragile and innocent. I stared at it, then at the castle, then back at the kitten, trying to make sense of any of this.
"This is your home?" I asked, my voice still breathless and rough. The kitten ignored me, focused entirely on its grooming ritual, licking its tiny paw and dragging it over one oversized ear with meticulous precision. I took a tentative step forward, then another, my curiosity overriding my unease despite every instinct screaming at me to turn around and run. Up close, the castle looked even more imposing, the stone walls covered in intricate carvings that I couldn't quite make out in the darkness—faces, maybe, or vines, or something else entirely. The front door was enormous, made of dark wood banded with iron, and it looked like it hadn't been opened in decades, the metal fixtures crusted with rust and age.
I should leave. I should turn around right now and figure out how to get back to the party, even if it meant wandering through the dark woods alone. This place screamed "private property" and "trespassing," and the last thing I needed was to get arrested for wandering onto some rich person's estate.
But something held me there, rooted to the spot. Maybe it was the way the kitten looked at me when it finally finished grooming, those mismatched eyes meeting mine with an intelligence that seemed almost human. Maybe it was the strange pull I felt, like an invisible thread tugging at my chest, drawing me closer to the castle's entrance. Whatever it was, I couldn't make myself walk away.
I took another step toward the door, my hand reaching out almost of its own accord to touch the weathered wood, and that's when I felt it—a presence behind me, so close I could feel the displacement of air against the back of my neck.
I spun around, and a face was right there, inches from mine.
