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Prologue
Ireland, 1884
A child’s pitiful sob echoed from the floor of the barren valley. A dreary fog had descended and hovered over the earth while dusk slowly approached. Three lone figures made their way across the lowlands.
A man of robust size and strength walked quickly, dragging behind him a girl of the age of twelve. Next to them a boy of slightly older years danced merrily along.
“Make haste, child,” the man barked.
A set of unusual colored eyes looked up in earnest. “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Too late for that,” he said. “Next time ye take care to think before ye speak, lass.”
“Ivy is a wicked little girl and deserves what she gets,” the boy next to them scoffed, wrinkling his smooth fat face into a scowl as he added, “Father says there is a demonic spirit living within Ivy McGregor.”
Aye, many times the Earl had cried out when Ivy looked his way with her nearly albino hollow gaze, declaring it was Lucifer himself staring at him. His words smarted so terribly she did her best to keep her eyes downcast when he was about.
“Enough of that young master.”
The boy’s animated expression grew harsh. “Don’t speak to me in such manner. I’ll have you know I can have you thrown in the well too.”
“Aye,” the man growled under his breath. “And take great pleasure.”
From out of the fog, the stoned well appeared. Ivy instinctively recoiled. The man’s grip on her arm only tightened.
The boy’s gaiety returned. He ran to the stone ledge and peered over. His cruel laughter reverberated deep within the cavern as he peered down into the blackness.
“Think of all the creatures down there. Slimy little buggers, crawling on your skin and into your hair.”
Her hand flew to her mop of red curls. The vision of snakes and rats utterly terrified her. Her efforts to escape accelerated.
“Come lass,” the man said, becoming impatient. “Pay the young lad no heed.”
Eyes huge, she reached for him and grasped hold of his arm with both hands. “Please, don’t put me down there.”
He ignored her and proceeded to tie the draw rope around her waist. Her tears fell on blind eyes, her pleas on deaf ears.
“Over ye go now, lass.” With a single heave he hoisted the girl.
A surge of terror flooded her veins. The pulse in her neck beat rapidly, her tiny chest heaved in terror. Survival instincts kicked in snapping the terrified child into a frenzy. Like that of a wildcat snared in a hunter’s trap, Ivy kicked and thrashed wildly in her captives hold. However, the man placed her with ease over the ring opening.
“Settle down,” he said, irritated by her squirming. Then in one swift motion, deposited her over the side. “Ye ain’t goin’ wanna snap the rope. It’s a darn mighty drop.”
Ivy clawed the wall, terrified of falling below, her fingers gouging the slimy surface, but his warning stills her frantic movements.
Then, with no care in the world, he pushed her over. She instinctively cried out, her arms flaring, her feet kicking. The rope went taunt and her body snapped hard against her restraints. She gripped the rope for dear life while overhead the strained line creaked. An image of it snapping and Ivy falling down the narrow well to her instant death, taunted her horribly.
“Please, I don’t like it down there. Let me up.” Her oddly colored eyes glittered even more eerily in a pool of tears as she stared up at the man.
He instinctively turned away as if to shield himself from her sight. “Hush now, lass.”
“Ivy is wicked, Ivy is wicked,” the boy chanted, wagging his finger at her.
Her gaze fell below where a black abyss loomed. An icy chill had her trembling horribly. Then, slowly, she felt herself descend.
“Bye-bye, Ivy.” The boy flapped his hand at her with an ugly smirk on his lips.
Her cries, though soft, echoed louder within the muddy walls. The stone surface behind her back scraped through her thick muslin dress as he lowered her inch by lower inch. Even in the growing darkness, she could make out the slick walls glistening in the last trace of daylight.
The familiar damp, pungent smell from below rose to greet her. Her stomach lurched.
Ivy forced herself from being sick, knowing she would only be engulfed in her own vomit once he lowered her into the foul water below.
Lips quivering, she searched the dim well for the approaching water. Then, like an icy hand, it encircled her ankle, drawing her down within the murky depths. Her trembles accelerated while the black water crept up her legs, over her chest, until it engulfed her completely leaving nothing exposed below her shoulders.
Ivy tried to still herself, attempted to ignore the feel of vile surrounding her. When something passed between her legs, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming. Her misery would only create enjoyment for the young master.
The sound of heavy wood scraping against rock had her chin snapping up. A large shadow slid across the opening above. A horrifying realization had the blood draining from young Ivy’s face.
