To the left, a few paces past the side of the building, the castle extends further to the side, reaching into the tree line.
The roofing is a shade of brown that reminds me of milk chocolate, the trim matching it perfectly. I can hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere below and have a feeling that if I followed one of the paths on either side of the estate and found the back courtyard, I’d probably be able to peer right off the edge of the cliff this place is built on.
“Come on,” Dad mumbles, hopping out of the truck to grab two of our suitcases.
I follow him, dragging the rest of the heavy objects up the obsessive amount of stone slabs until we reach the top, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.
The heavy wooden doors open before we can manage to knock, and standing before us is an elderly man in a three-piecesuit. He’s taller than both of us, and he stares down his nose as he takes in the suitcases and the truck parked in the circular driveway.
“This way, please,” the man says, and I expect to find him irritated, but instead, he sounds more indifferent than anything else.
He moves quickly for an elderly man, and I have barely any time to take in the main foyer as he takes us to the left and down a hall. The windows facing the front courtyard show us the circular drive and the green grass, as well as the fountain. We pass one room on the right, and the elderly man turns and enters the next one we come upon.
It’s a kitchen with all the needed appliances and a large, industrial-sized fridge and freezer. A giant pantry is nestled in the corner, and my father and I stand in the center of the room awkwardly as we wait for instructions.
“This is the kitchen, clearly,” the strange man says. “Leave your suitcases here, and Hannah, our housekeeper, will take them to your quarters.”
Dad looks as if he is about to say something, most likely that we can do it ourselves, but he promptly shuts his mouth. He isn’t a big fan of others doing the work for him, but he also isn’t a fan of disobeying his superiors.
“My name is Oscar. I am the head butler here at Chastain Castle, and I will be your next in command. We spoke on the phone previously. Obviously, the master of the house, Abraham, is your boss, but I will be the one you answer to first.” Oscar stares at us with a pointed expression, one arm crooked firmly behind his back and the other hanging at his side.
“Yes, sir,” my father responds.
I nod.
“The two of you will be doing various jobs around the estate, such as gardening, servicing the Chastains, and basic household tasks like cleaning.” Oscar pauses for a moment, pulling a pocket watch out of his coat to check the time before continuing as if he never stopped to take a breath.
“There are only a few household rules,” he says. “Such as no stealing, always being available unless it is outside your working hours, and you are never to bring unauthorized personnel inside these walls. And lastly, but most importantly, you are never, under any circumstances, to go into the west tower after dark.”
His tone is unrelenting, his eyes drilling into my father and me as if he can force the information into us with a single look.
“The west tower?” I ask because I’m only twenty-one, still full of far too much curiosity, and that soundsominous. “Why’s that?”
“Julie,” Dad whispers, elbowing me harshly.
I don’t bother turning to look at him; I know he’s glaring at me disapprovingly. But Oscar watches me with dead, uninterested eyes as he keeps his mouth clamped shut. And right as I begin to believe he’ll pretend I never spoke, he sighs quietly.
“The west tower belongs to Young Master Atlas, and we are not to disturb him during the night.”
“Why?” I ask again, and Oscar narrows his eyes at me.
“Julian, was it?” He takes a single step toward me.
“Excuse my son,” Dad interrupts. “He’s just curious and young. He’ll stay away from the west tower.”
I look between the two of them as my father observes Oscar nervously, and Oscar watchesmewith slight interest and distrust.
“I guess it is best to quell that curiosity now, Mister Julian,” the butler suddenly says, turning to trace a fingertip over the spotless counter behind himself. “Young Master Atlas has a…” He hesitates for only a moment, but I catch it. “A medical condition. Not contagious, but also not something the master of the house wants outsiders to see. He is to be left alone during his flare-ups, and those happen after nightfall. Therefore, you are to mind your business. Are we clear?”
Oscar looks tense, as if he’s afraid he’s said too much in his attempt to satiate my curiosity.
“Crystal,” I respond, giving him a generous smile.
Oscar nods once and continues with his explanation of what our jobs will entail.
“Jeremy, you will mostly attend to Master Abraham himself. Aside from that, you will do manual labor. Julian, you will attend the Master’s children, and when you are not, you will also do manual labor. Young Master Atticus is the eldest, and you most likely will not need to assist him much. But Missus Abigail is still quite young, and she will probably need more attention.”
“What about Atlas?” I ask, the name still a flashing neon sign in my mind.
