chapter 3 Encounters in Moonlight

CHAPTER 3: Encounters in Moonlight

Three days after my discovery in the attic study, I'm no closer to understanding my parents' secrets or the Blackwood connection. I've pored over the journal I found (not the book Mrs. Holloway mentioned, which remains elusive), but most entries are in some kind of code or shorthand I can't decipher.

What I do understand is troubling: references to "the Convergence," "binding rituals," and repeated mentions of "safeguarding the barrier." And throughout, references to the Blackwoods as though they were partners in whatever mysterious purpose consumed my parents.

I've barely slept, my dreams haunted by stone chambers and moving shadows. Dark circles have taken up permanent residence under my eyes, earning concerned looks from Luna when I shuffle into Moonrise Café for my daily caffeine infusion.

"You look like warmed-over death," she says, already preparing my usual order. Her aura swirls with genuine worry. "Nightmares again?"

I nod, too tired to explain that these aren't my ordinary nightmares—the ones where I relive finding my parents' bodies, unnaturally cold, no signs of trauma, expressions of peaceful sleep belied by the absolute absence of life.

"Maybe you should see someone," Luna suggests gently. "Dr. Phillips is really good, and he takes your insurance."

"I don't need a therapist," I say, perhaps too sharply. "I need coffee and fewer responsibilities."

She hands me my mug with a skeptical look. "Speaking of responsibilities, the historical society meeting is tonight. You promised you'd come."

I groan. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. As a business owner and my best friend who loves me and wants me to succeed at my new job as events coordinator." Her aura brightens with enthusiasm. "Plus, they're discussing the upcoming winter solstice festival. Town tradition and all that."

"Fine," I concede, knowing resistance is futile. "But I'm leaving early."

Luna grins. "I'll save you a seat near the exit."

That evening, I close the bookshop promptly at six and walk the three blocks to the town hall. Moonhaven looks its best in autumn twilight—historic buildings strung with fairy lights, maple trees shedding crimson leaves that crunch underfoot, the smell of woodsmoke and salt air mingling in the cool evening breeze.

For a moment, I feel a surge of affection for this quirky little town. Despite my isolation, there's comfort in belonging to a place where generations of my family have lived. Even if those generations apparently had some bizarre connection to the Blackwoods.

The meeting room is already crowded when I arrive. Luna waves from a row near the back, as promised. I'm making my way toward her when a familiar emptiness in my peripheral vision makes me freeze.

Cain Blackwood stands near the wall, hands in his pockets, radiating the same aloof energy I felt at the café. But now, seeing him among other people, the absence of an aura around him is even more striking—like a hole cut into the fabric of the room.

"You made it!" Luna says as I slide into the seat beside her. "I was starting to think you'd bail."

"Considered it," I mutter, deliberately keeping my eyes forward, away from Blackwood.

Luna follows my gaze to the front of the room where Mayor Pembroke is shuffling papers at the podium. "Boring already, I know, but we just have to stay until they approve my festival budget."

"Not that," I say, then hesitate. "Did you know he would be here?"

"Who?"

I incline my head slightly toward the wall. Luna's eyes widen, and her aura flushes with that irritating pink again.

"Cain Blackwood? No, but I'm not complaining about the view." She elbows me lightly. "He's been in the café every morning since Monday. Always asks if you're around."

My head snaps toward her. "He what?"

"Asks about you. Very casually, like 'Does Elara still come in every morning?' As if you haven't been my first customer for five years straight."

A chill runs down my spine. "What did you tell him?"

"That you're basically a coffee IV dependent and have the social life of a hermit crab." Luna's aura shifts from teasing pink to concerned orange. "Why? Is something wrong? Do you know him?"

Before I can answer, Mayor Pembroke calls the meeting to order, and Luna's attention is diverted by her upcoming budget presentation.

I spend the next forty minutes hyperaware of Blackwood's presence, like a compass needle unable to point anywhere but north. Twice, I catch him watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting.

Just as Luna finishes her presentation (to enthusiastic applause—the town loves any excuse for celebration), I feel a buzz from my phone. A text from an unknown number:

Need to talk to you. About your parents. About what's coming.

I stare at the message, unease pooling in my stomach. Another text arrives:

Meet me at the lighthouse. Midnight. Come alone.

I look up, scanning the room. Blackwood is gone.

When the meeting finally ends, I make excuses to Luna about a headache and hurry home. I spend the next three hours alternating between pacing my apartment and flipping through my parents' journal, searching for any mention of the lighthouse.

I find it on the last page I check—a rough sketch of the old lighthouse on Crescent Point, with notes about "convergence energy" and "thin boundaries at the point."

By 11:30, I've talked myself in and out of going at least a dozen times. It's obviously a terrible idea to meet a stranger at a deserted lighthouse at midnight. But if Blackwood knows something about my parents...

I grab my jacket, a flashlight, and—after a moment's hesitation—the small canister of pepper spray Luna insisted I carry after a tourist got handsy in the bookstore last summer.

The lighthouse stands a mile outside town, accessible by a winding coastal path. The night is clear but moonless, making me grateful for the flashlight as I pick my way along the cliff edge. Waves crash against the rocks below, their rhythm like the breathing of some giant creature.

The lighthouse itself has been automated for decades, its beam sweeping across the dark water in steady intervals. As I approach, I see a figure silhouetted against the white tower.

Not Blackwood, I realize with a jolt. A woman.

She turns as I approach, and recognition hits me like a physical blow. Though I've never met her, I know her face from old town photographs and society pages.

"Vivian Blackwood," I say, stopping several feet away.

She smiles, cold and sharp as a blade. "Elara Nightingale. You look so much like your mother."

"You knew my mother?"

"Oh yes." Her smile widens. "Very well. Before she betrayed our purpose."

I take an involuntary step back. "What purpose? Who sent those texts?"

"I thought you might need proper motivation to come." She pulls out a phone, wiggling it. "Technology makes some things so much easier."

"What do you want?"

Her expression hardens. "I want you to stay away from my son."

A humorless laugh escapes me. "That's why you lured me out here? I barely know your son."

"But you will." Her voice drops to a near whisper. "The Convergence is coming, and with it, the joining. History repeating itself—a Nightingale and a Blackwood, drawn together like moths to flame."

The hairs on my arms rise. The same terms from my parents' journal.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" She steps closer. "Haven't you wondered why you see what others can't? Why you're different? It's in your blood, girl. The same blood that killed your parents when they tried to break the cycle."

My heart stutters. "My parents died of heart failure. Natural causes."

Vivian laughs, the sound carried away by the wind. "Is that what you believe? There's nothing natural about what happened to them. Just as there's nothing natural about what will happen to you and Cain if you continue down this path."

"What path? I haven't done anything!"

"Not yet. But you will, unless I stop it." She's close enough now that I can see the fanatical gleam in her eyes. "The Nightingales have interfered with our birthright for generations. Your mother poisoned Cain against his destiny. I won't let you do the same."

My hand tightens around the pepper spray in my pocket. "I think you should leave."

"Or what? You'll attack me?" She shakes her head. "You're as weak as your mother."

"Don't talk about my mother."

"Why not? Someone should tell you the truth about Elizabeth Nightingale and her misguided crusade. How she turned my husband against me, filled Cain's head with lies about 'breaking the cycle' and 'finding another way.'" Her voice rises with each word. "There is no other way! The power must be claimed, and the Blackwoods are its rightful heirs!"

She reaches for me, fingers like claws, and I stumble backward. My heel catches on a rock, and suddenly I'm falling, arms pinwheeling as the cliff edge crumbles beneath me.

A strong hand grabs my wrist, yanking me forward. I collide with a solid chest, breathless with shock and relief.

"That's enough, Mother."

Cain's voice, cold with fury. I look up to find him glaring at Vivian over my head, his arm still around my waist.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses.

"I could ask you the same thing." He sets me on my feet but keeps a steadying hand on my elbow. "Go home."

"You don't know what you're interfering with—"

"I said go home." His voice drops to a dangerous register. "We'll discuss this later."

For a moment, I think she'll refuse. Then she straightens her coat with a jerky motion. "This isn't over."

"It is for tonight," he says firmly.

She shoots me a look of pure venom before stalking past us toward the path.

When she's out of earshot, I pull away from Cain's grip. "How did you know I was here?"

"I followed you." At my alarmed look, he adds, "I saw the texts. I know my mother's manipulations."

"You were spying on my phone?"

"No, I—" He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "I was coming to warn you about her. I saw the lighthouse meeting mentioned in your father's journal and knew she would try to intercept."

I take another step back. "How do you know what's in my father's journal?"

He sighs, suddenly looking tired. "Because I have its twin. Our families have been keeping identical records for generations."

"About what? This 'Convergence'? The 'joining'?" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "Your mother said my parents died because they tried to 'break the cycle.' What did she mean?"

Cain's eyes reflect the sweeping lighthouse beam as he studies me. "You really don't know, do you? They kept you completely in the dark."

"About what?"

"Everything." He glances toward the retreating figure of his mother, then back to me. "But you need to know now. It's not safe for you to remain ignorant, especially with my mother back in town."

"Then tell me."

He shakes his head. "Not here. Meet me tomorrow at my house. The old Blackwood estate."

"Why should I trust you?" I demand. "For all I know, you're as crazy as your mother."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "You don't have to trust me. Bring Luna if you want. Or that ancient librarian who's been watching over you."

I blink in surprise. "Mrs. Holloway?"

"She knows more than she lets on." He turns to go, then pauses. "Elara? The journal you found? Keep it close. And be careful who you let into your store. The third floor has protections, but they're weakening."

Before I can ask what he means, he's walking away, his figure soon swallowed by darkness.

I stand there for a long time, the lighthouse beam sweeping over me, wondering how my carefully ordered life unraveled so quickly.

And wondering why, despite everything, I'm already certain I'll meet Cain Blackwood tomorrow