Blood and Shadows: The Price of Vengeance

Chapter 4: Shadows at the Mansion

The mayor's mansion loomed over Blackwater like a grim fortress, a hulking monument to corruption. Perched on the edge of the town, it cast a long, oppressive shadow, its iron gates and towering stone walls meant to keep out anyone foolish enough to challenge the power within. Few dared to look at it for long; the mansion had a way of swallowing up hope.

Victor stood in the shadow of a nearby building, his eyes fixed on the estate as twilight descended on the town. His pulse quickened as he studied the mansion, searching for a way inside. His father had been murdered by the man who lived in that house, and now there was a ghost walking in its halls—a man who looked like him, trusted by Mayor Hawthorne.

A bitter wind tugged at his cloak as he crouched in the alleyway, waiting for darkness to fully cloak the town. The mansion's high walls were patrolled by armed guards, their torches flickering in the cold evening air. Getting past them would be a challenge, but Victor had never backed down from a challenge. The fire of revenge burned too hot in his chest.

His mind flicked back to Jonas's warning, echoing like a dark omen: "You're in over your head." Maybe. But there was no turning back now.

Victor tightened the hood around his face and shifted closer to the edge of the alley, his breath misting in the cold. He had spent the day preparing, gathering what little information he could about the mansion's layout. He knew there was an old servant's entrance hidden near the back, a narrow door long forgotten by most. It was rarely used, and with any luck, he could slip in unnoticed.

The town was quiet now, the streets empty save for the distant sound of horses' hooves and the occasional bark of a dog. The mayor's guards were focused on the main gate, their eyes scanning for threats in the open. Victor was a shadow, invisible to those who weren't looking closely.

When the last of the evening light faded, Victor moved.

His boots barely made a sound as he slipped through the narrow streets, keeping low to avoid the torchlight. His heart pounded in his chest as he rounded the corner of the estate, moving toward the back of the mansion where the forgotten door lay hidden behind overgrown ivy. The cold iron of his knife pressed against his side, a silent reminder of the danger that awaited him.

The servant's door was exactly where Jonas had said it would be—tucked behind a thick wall of ivy, nearly invisible in the darkness. Victor crouched low, fingers brushing away the leaves as he searched for the handle. His pulse quickened when his hand found the cold metal latch.

He gave the handle a cautious tug, half expecting it to be locked. To his surprise, the door creaked open with a soft groan, revealing a narrow passageway beyond. He hesitated for only a second before slipping inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

The air inside was thick and musty, the smell of damp stone clinging to his senses. The corridor was narrow, barely wide enough for a man to walk through without brushing against the walls. It stretched out ahead of him, lit only by faint slivers of moonlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling.

Victor moved cautiously, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Every creak, every gust of wind seemed louder in the suffocating silence of the mansion's belly. His fingers brushed against the cold stone walls as he made his way deeper into the heart of the estate. He knew he had to be careful—one wrong move, and the guards would be on him in an instant.

The corridor twisted and turned, leading him through the mansion's forgotten underbelly. As he ventured deeper, the sound of distant voices reached his ears—faint but growing louder with each step. His pulse quickened as he realized he was nearing the main part of the mansion. He slowed his pace, crouching low as he approached a narrow staircase that led up to the servants' quarters.

Victor paused at the base of the stairs, listening intently. The voices were clearer now, filtering down from above. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—cold, calculating. He crept up the stairs, each step slow and deliberate, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife.

At the top of the stairs, he found himself in a small, dimly lit hallway. The voices were coming from a room at the far end, their murmurings accompanied by the occasional clink of glass. Victor pressed himself against the wall, inching closer to the room.

As he neared the doorway, he risked a glance inside.

There were three men seated around a large, ornate table. Two of them were familiar—Caleb Grier, the mayor's enforcer, his heavy frame hunched over a glass of wine, and Mayor William Hawthorne himself, seated at the head of the table, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the room. But it was the third man who made Victor's blood run cold.

Seated across from Hawthorne was a man who could have been Victor's twin. He was a few years older, his features harder and more refined, but the resemblance was undeniable. The same sharp jawline, the same piercing eyes. It was like looking into a twisted mirror.

Victor's breath caught in his throat as he watched the man. Who was he? And why did he look so much like him?

The man raised a glass to his lips, his eyes flicking toward Hawthorne. "I trust the preparations for tomorrow's meeting are in place?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it—a darkness lurking just beneath the surface.

Hawthorne nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. "Everything is in place. Our guests will be arriving shortly. This will be a defining moment for Blackwater."

Victor's grip tightened on his knife. What meeting were they talking about? And why was this man, his doppelgänger, involved?

Caleb Grier shifted in his seat, his voice a low rumble. "We'll need to be careful. The town's been on edge ever since Crowley's death. If anyone suspects—"

"No one suspects anything," the mysterious man interrupted, his tone firm. "Crowley's son is nothing more than a nuisance. He doesn't have the resources or the allies to do any real damage."

Victor's jaw clenched. He had to fight the urge to burst into the room and confront them, to demand answers. But he knew he couldn't. Not yet. He needed more information.

Mayor Hawthorne leaned back in his chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let him try. He'll meet the same fate as his father."

The words hit Victor like a blow to the gut. His father's face flashed before his eyes, the memory of his lifeless body fueling the rage that simmered just beneath the surface.

He forced himself to remain still, to keep listening.

The man who resembled him leaned forward slightly, his gaze cold and calculating. "Crowley's son won't be a problem for long. We have more important matters to focus on."

Victor's heart raced. He had to know more. He needed to understand who this man was, and why he looked like him. But for now, all he could do was watch and wait.

As the conversation continued, Victor backed away from the doorway, his mind racing. He slipped silently back down the stairs and into the shadows of the mansion's underbelly.

He had seen enough for now, but the mystery was only deepening. He needed to find out more about this man—this dark reflection of himself—and uncover the truth about his father's death.

But one thing was certain: the stakes were higher than he had imagined, and the clock was ticking.

There would be no turning back.