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He pulled out the flashlight he had taken from the cabin and was able to see that the sandy incline continued up to a small plateau. Scrambling up the incline, he reached the top. The land now spread out before him, the dark shapes of Huldra menacing like prowling animals beyond the reach of a campfire.
The flashlight wasn't going to do much in that hellish weather, its beam barely lighting a few feet ahead. The cracks of lightning were likewise dulled by the cloud cover in places, but when they did strike, he could see what was nearby.
Ivar knew the old rule: three hours without shelter; three days without food; 3 weeks without water. Shelter always came first when it came to surviving. In that October downpour, there was no doubting that the icy rain would bring hypothermia soon enough.
He stepped forward hoping for some shelter, a cave perhaps, even an overhanging rock face, but there was nothing. The land was a blanket of stone, soil and grass. Another flash came from above; it passed through clouds above and struck something in the distance. The flash was almost blinding, but it had given Ivar a lifeline.
Looking in that direction, Ivar could now see the dim glow of windows.
“Huldra House,” he murmured to himself. Yes, the stories of that place were enough to put any fisherman off from the area.
But it was shelter at least, a sprawling mansion that stood lonely on the moors of Huldra island. Lights beckoned from the windows in the distance. There was life there. If he could make the hike, he would live.
Ivar took a step forward and then saw another flash of lightning. This time, he froze to the spot. The momentary light had revealed something standing ahead of him, between him and the house in the distance.
It was a cloaked figure, dark and brooding in the rain.
“He... Hello...” he asked.
But the figure said nothing.
Ivar wasn't certain, but he thought he could see that the clothes around the figure were rags, and that was enough to put the fear of God into him.
He remembered his grandmother's stories of the hidden folk... And their wraith.
The figure now pointed a lonely, blackened finger towards Ivar, and that made Ivar's blood run cold. Like being faced with a violent animal, Ivar started to back off. As he did so, the figure stepped forward.
Ivar backed off further and then tripped. He tumbled back down the incline towards the water's edge. Dazed, he regained his composure, but the fear was still flowing through his veins. He looked around, panicked, but could see nothing but rain and grim land.
Then one more flash came.
And so, too, did the hideous face lurching out of the darkness towards him.
Ivar screamed, but those screams were but a drop in a murderous ocean of death that had come to Huldra island.
CHAPTER ONE
Finn Wright felt the tension in his fingers as he clutched his phone, his thumb hovering over the message box. Demi's words stared back at him from the screen: "I'm not leaving the UK without you."
The cottage around him was quiet in the autumn morning, leaves of brown and gold cascading over the otherwise pristine lawn outside. He looked to the window, wondering what to do next.
It had been weeks since Demi had arrived in the UK. She had just shown up, demanding to see him. But Finn had refused. He had been recovering from his injuries during the last case with Amelia and Rob—a gunshot wound to the shoulder—and had persuaded himself that he needed to be alone at the cottage in Great Amwell to recuperate.
The truth was, Finn was scared to see Demi. He was mad she had come to London, forcing her way back into his life, but the apprehension came from a different thought. Finn was worried he'd fall straight back into her arms the moment he laid eyes on her. She had wanted to be there for him as he got better, but he couldn't let her. He couldn't open himself up to that sort of hurt again.
Staring back at Demi's message, he wondered how it had come to this. The bright-eyed woman he had proposed to seemed almost a figment of his imagination now. The Demi he knew—or thought he knew—would never cheat on him, yet here they were, enmeshed in a mess of doubt and betrayal. Blackmail, she had claimed, had forced her to say those hurtful words. She was forced to tell him she had had an affair.
It all seemed so confusing, so pieced together to excuse infidelity. But what if she were telling the truth? Now, though their communications had only been through text, Demi was still refusing to leave England unless he came home with her.
Finn's phone buzzed suddenly with a new incoming call, jolting him from his reflections as a breeze cast up some fallen leaves in the front yard, Autumn whispering against the window pane. The caller ID displayed Rob's name. Finn felt a mix of intrigue and relief, an antidote to the stress bubbling away under the surface. Part of him yearned for another case, another foray into the dark to test his detective skills.
"Rob, my man, what's going on? If it's your aunt's cottage you're worried about, I haven't destroyed it yet," he answered, trying to sound more put-together than he felt. “Though I did burn some toast, I hope you're not mad.
"We've got a situation, Finn,” Rob said, sounding more serious than Finn was used to. “The Home Office needs us on another case. It's a double murder. Are you game?"
Finn stared at the blank wall in front of him, digesting Rob's words. Another murder. It could be just what he needed: an escape from his own problems into a world of solving someone else's. It was a familiar dance—a dance of shadows and secrets—and yet, although each case weighed heavily on his soul, the chase made him feel more alive than he had done for quite some time. He felt needed. That need and acceptance from his partners, Rob and Amelia, felt like an anchor, grounding him in a reality that was spiraling out of control.
He winced slightly, feeling his shoulder with his hand. The gunshot wound had healed from the case at DeGrey Castle, but there was a lingering pain when the cold got into his bones. He wasn't quite 100%, but then, was he ever?
