The Hallowed (novel preview)

Chapter Two

The maid with the bob of hair as black as raven's feathers led Celia through dim corridors and down numerous stairs. The house was large and sprawling, and though Celia glanced at the walls as they hurried past, the place did not seem familiar to her. She failed to map the way they had taken, for her concentration kept returning to the maid's harsh and unrelenting grip on her wrist. More than once, Celia tried to wrench free, but she could not manage to loosen the woman's hold. Her fingers were as solid as the iron ring of a shackle.

"Could we stop for a moment?" Celia entreated, but the servant did not halt or answer. Stumbling a bit in the quick pace, Celia stubbed her toe on a raised floorboard, which sent jolts of hot pain through her bare foot, but the maid did not even slow when she gave a little cry.

"I need to ask you something," Celia insisted after the ache began to dull. "Would you please listen to me? I'm very confused."

Her pleas were ignored, for the woman acted as if she had no ears to hear with. The house flew past, and most of it was lost to the night. They pressed onward diligently, slowing only when they came down a flight of stairs to stand before a pair of thick doors. To Celia's relief, the maid finally released her wrist in order to twist the handles.

The doors leaned open, groaning as they did, and Celia was greeted by a fair amount of light produced by candles. There was a bit of chatting coming from within, but she couldn't make out the words, and she was unable to stick her nose any further into the room before the maid had turned to her.

"What name?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, suddenly realizing that her own voice sounded peculiar to her.

"What name shall I say?" the maid droned again, and finally the girl understood.

"Oh, um, it's Celia," she sputtered. Though unsure of that herself.

The maid seemed satisfied enough by that, and turned to push the doors open wider in order to face the room inwardly.

"Miss Celia, my lords," the servant announced, and with that, the girl was ushered inside.

Celia found herself urged into a room that was decorated with red tapestries and dark wood. She stood apprehensively in front of a long table where several people sat, gazing at her like a panel of judges. She quickly looked over their faces, trying not to be rude in doing so, but desperately needing to view them. There were four of them, and none looked familiar.

"Ah, Celia, is it?" A man near the head of the table greeted her. "A lovely name for a lovely girl. You must be famished. Have a seat."

She hardly got a look at the man who had spoken before the female servant came forward and pulled out an empty chair for her. Without any other option, Celia sat down at the edge of the table where the sharp angle cut across the end just beyond her elbow. Beside her at the table's end sat a man who was fully bald with a monocle over one eye, and seated on her right was a rather sullen-looking young man who had an absorbed interest in his own plate. She thought she could rest assured that these people were not her own family, judging by the way they had received her. Why should she announce herself to her own family at dinner?

"I wasn't sure you'd be joining us," said the man who had complimented her name and face, drawing her attention back to him. "Tell me, how do you feel?"

Since she'd been posed a question, Celia took the opportunity to look at him in order to answer. He had friendly eyes. His hair was brown, but graying, and was drawn back in a style that suited his face. He had a small mole on his left cheek. She guessed him to be around the age of forty years, and he was still an attractive gentleman. He smiled pleasantly at her, and she noticed that he was dressed in fine clothes, which led her to remember that she was not even wearing shoes.