Ever since then she preferred fantasy to the hard real world. That was why writing gritty paranormal romance thrillers had been so easy a dish to swallow. Something stirred from the twist of the crag above. Had the car finally decided to arrive? Amie turned from the empty train tracks and peered either way down the road behind the shed, but could see nothing other than a persistent fog. Rolling her eyes, she murmured, “Great. Now we’ve entered into a Gothic Romance. Bring on the Heathcliffs and Rochesters…” Her short laugh died the moment she saw the high heads of two dark horses and the black carriage behind them. “You have got to be kidding me…”
The fog must have been playing tricks on her mind, because in the next moment the carriage was before her and the hunched-over man driving it tipped up his top hat with a gloved hand. “Afraid not, miss! So sorry to have kept you waiting! Hope it hasn’t been too long, aye?” His pale brown eyes twinkled brightly in his grizzled face.
Amie managed to shut her gaping mouth and inclined her head to the carriage door. “I’m riding to my uncle’s in that?” There was no doubt this was the mysterious Henry’s doing. It was right up there with his strange letters and her father’s old stories. Insanity must run through the family.
The man laughed and eased back in his seat. “Aye!” he said. “’Tis the idea, miss. Least those were my orders from the Master. You arethe Lady Jessamiene of Wenderdowne, are you not?” Even his horses stood quietly and inclined their heads towards her then.
Amie blinked dumbly back. “Ah, yeah, I guess so, whatever Uncle Henry says,” she laughed. “Never imagined the old codger would give me this dramatic a welcome, though.” Noticing that the old man’s smile had turned a puzzled frown at her odd words, she changed the subject. Picking up her bags, she posed, “I’m guessing we have a long ride back?”
Jennifer Silverwood 