Page 3 of Thunder with a Chance of Lovestruck
ChapterTwo
Rachael
Tarrytown,NY…
“Henry?” asked Uncle Nile from the study as I entered the gothic manor, trying to shake off the chill from the brisk fall day. His accent was what was referred to as transatlantic and had been popular in the Golden Age of Hollywood. My father’s accent had been similar. I’d never quite been able to figure out the hows or whys of that, especially since they’d been born and raised in Tarrytown, New York.
I unbuttoned my coat, unable to believe how much the temperature had dropped already. October in New York was often unpredictable. This one was proving to be exceptionally cold.
“No, Uncle Nile, it’s me,” I called back. I’d spent enough time under my father’s desk, reading through books I wasn’t supposed to touch, to know exactly how easily sound traveled from the foyer, through the main hall, to the study at the back of the home. “Henry is parking the car and bringing in my bags.”
My brother had insisted on driving into New York City to pick me up from school, rather than letting me ride the train here. I’d enjoyed the car ride with him, despite his rather bland taste in music. There really was only so much of Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor I could take.
I’d not wanted to come home at all, let alone for a forced dinner party, but I’d not gotten much choice in the matter. I was now in my senior year at university, majoring in journalism, and I had a paper due in less than a week. It was on a case that had rocked the media this year, dominating the headlines. A man had allegedly killed his landlord only to then claim the devil made him do it.
My paper wasn’t about the trial itself or whether the man was guilty (that was for a jury to decide); I was focused on the media and how they’d handled the case thus far. Since I was set to graduate with a degree in journalism, it was relevant. But stopping to take a week out of my already busy schedule for a forced family time wasn’t going to get me any closer to finishing my paper or getting my degree.
I waited for Nile to respond. Silence greeted me, and I had to admit I was thankful for that small mercy. Nile and I had a rather odd relationship. Most of the time, he pretended as if I didn’t exist, which was fine by me. When his attention fell on me, his gaze lingered too long, making me feel uncomfortable. When my father had still been alive, he’d noticed it too and had pulled his brother aside to speak with him. I’d not been allowed in the room during the discussion but remembered it had gotten heated. When Nile had left the room, he’d slammed the door shut behind him and stormed out of the house. He stayed gone a week after that. He’d also kept his distance from me after that—at least until my father passed.
Then all bets were off.
As I got older, his stares became even more disconcerting. I wasn’t sure if he hated me or not. Whatever prompted him to behave the way he did around me gave me the willies.
I’d once brought the matter up to Henry, only to be told I was being ridiculous. That Nile loved me and that I was the apple of his eye. That there was no reason whatsoever for me to be nervous or leery of him. That I was simply reading too much into things.
As I spotted my uncle exiting the study, my breath caught. Without Henry close by, there was no buffer between Nile and me. For the briefest of moments, I considered rushing outside and insisting on bringing in my own bags.
Don’t be crazy, I said to myself. I was a grown woman. He’d never actually harmed me before. Maybe Iwassimply reading too much into everything.
I caught additional movement at the end of the hall and did a double take, positive my eyes were playing tricks on me. My uncle was talking with two men, both of whom looked to be wearing robes as one would see on a monk. At least, that’s what they looked like from afar.
Since the lighting in the manor was marginally better than it had been at the advent of electricity in homes, it was hard to make out details. Whoever the men were, they were both tall, though not as tall as Nile. He was six foot four and was a little over two hundred pounds of lean muscle. The other two held themselves in a way that bordered on threatening.
One of the robed men glanced my way, and I was almost positive he had a symbol of some sort branded into his forehead. I was also certain I’d seen the symbol before. I blinked, convinced that my mind was playing tricks on me. I’d been elbow-deep in researching the occult and satanism for my paper. Evidently, I had black arts on the brain, and it was causing me to see occult-like things where there were none.
Still, I couldn’t get the symbol that I may or may not have actually seen out of my mind. Many of the books that were shelved in the study dealt with the occult, mysticism, spiritualism, witchcraft, and even galvanism if anyone but the Nightshade Fae Clan was asking. Those specific volumes were kept behind a false wall. One that opened to a treasure trove of artifacts the Frankenstein men had been collecting for generations. All of which fit the gothic horror narrative that Mary Shelley had made us famous for.
All things considered, I’d never seen my uncle take an active interest in any of the materials in the study. If anything, he always seemed bored by them. My brother, on the other hand, knew the books front to back and could more than likely recite lines from them on command.
I’d been through them all enough to know them well but was drawing a blank on what the symbol I’d seen on the man’s forehead meant, but I was sure I had seen it before, and I was almost positive it had been from the books and texts in the Frankenstein study—the ones that were behind the false wall.
The way Nile hurried the men out the back door made it seem as if he didn’t want any of us to run into them. If I was right and they had been in robes with symbols on their foreheads, I could see why he’d want to keep us from meeting them.
Nile shut and locked the back door before turning slowly, his gaze landing directly on me. I had the strongest urge to look away while also barely containing a shudder.
The picture my uncle presented wasn’t menacing to others. No. To others, he had model good looks and all-American charm, his looks often being likened to the actor Cary Grant. White laced the temples of Nile’s otherwise black hair, leaving him what I’d heard termed as a salt-and-pepper fox. Wire-framed glasses pulled attention to his dark eyes.
He was in his mid-forties. Had never been married and, as far as I knew, wasn’t dating anyone. I couldn’t recall a time in my life when he’deverdated. I always assumed he wanted to keep that part of his life private, so I never pried. Plus, prying would have meant interacting with him, and I avoided that as much as possible.
Had he not been my uncle, I might have thought he was handsome, so long as I didn’t know him. His personality took from his looks in a big way. At least, in my opinion. Around others, he projected nothing but confidence and was the life of the party. Smart. Suave. And cultured. But none of that fit what I saw. I just couldn’t explain why. I found him to be cold and distant. At least when it came to me.
My best friends, whom I’d met at university, were suspicious of Nile as well. It wasn’t a shock that Sherri didn’t care much for him. She was a tough nut to crack in the trust department and didn’t think highly of many men. LeAnne tended to like almost everyone, but she kept her guard up around Nile as well. That was part of the reason why neither of them ventured home with me for any breaks in our schedule. Didn’t matter that the Frankenstein Manor was enormous and had plenty of spare rooms.
Nile had come to the city several times over the course of my freshman and sophomore years of school. He’d given me no warning but had simply shown up out of the blue, insisting on taking me to dinner and for a night on the town. It never seemed to matter to him if I had other plans. He simply expected me to cancel them.
One of the times he’d managed to persuade Sherri and LeAnne to join us for dinner and cocktails. I honestly thought Sherri was going to stab the man with her soup spoon more than once during it all. He’d basically told them both that they were bad influences on me and that they’d better hope their behavior didn’t rub off on me.
I’d been mortified and had tried to speak up in their defense, only to have Nile snap at me, telling me to speak only when spoken to. That was the moment I thought Sherri was going to end him.
