The Raven's Conjuring: Dreams of Desolation, page 27
part #1 of The Raven's Conjuring Series
Almost instantly, the corridor became filled with panicked screams of residents from the thirteenth floor as they fled their apartments. In a fit of panic, everyone ran towards the staircase and elevator, making it harder for Chelsea and Victor to reach the fire escape. As a stampede of people who still seemed half-asleep barged towards them. Chelsea pummeled through people with her physique like a bulldozer—shoving them to the ground to get to Morgan. As she reached the window at the end of the hall, she took a deep breath and screamed, using the last of her strength to kick the glass out.
“You could have just opened the window,” Victor said, but Chelsea didn’t care.
She used her jacket to clear the window frame of the glass shards and climbed onto the rusted and rickety fire escape. When she and Victor reached the roof, smoke consumed the air around them as the old building became engulfed by flames.
“Morgan!” Victor’s voice filled the sky as she began hovering away from them towards the edge of the building.
Beneath her, red and blue lights flashed in the dark sky as the fire department came to help put out the burning buildings, but Morgan had no control of her body. Her neck was twisted backward, and her arms were raised high above her, like wings spread out, welcoming both the darkness and death her fate would bring.
“Victor, get her down before she’s over the building. Get her down before she wakes up,” Chelsea yelled as she collapsed to the ground, attempting to catch her breath.
Victor ran to his woman, his bare feet striking the cement rooftop as he tried to reach his love. Fast as he was, Morgan hovered away faster, higher in the air, and closer to being out of reach. He jumped and tried to reach her, but his fingers barely scraped her toes. Morgan’s arms raised further in the sky as if she were commanding the rising flames, which now curled over the edge of the building. And before the fire consumed everything around her, Morgan’s mouth twisted open unwillingly, and an inhuman-like screech arose from her entrails. It was an ear-shattering screech, which was suddenly joined by the sounds of flapping wings, squawks, and croaks. The same sounds Victor had grown up with. As he stared through the darkness of the night sky, an unkindness flew towards Morgan, and before Victor could reach her, hundreds of ravens swarmed around her. He kept his gaze fixed on her, thinking how to help her—but his thoughts were useless. In a split second, she was cloaked by the blackness of the ravens. When the unkindness dispersed, Morgan was gone.
“Morgan? Morgan!” Victor collapsed to his knees as he kept screaming out to her.
“Morgan… Morgan, wake up,” Victor said, nudging her hand, and she screamed as she was jolted out of her sleep.
She woke up in the back of a luxurious town car, with Victor at her side, and as she became startled, the chauffeur jumped in his seat, causing the vehicle to swerve.
“Whoa, you ok?” Victor asked.
Confused and bewildered by what she had just seen, Morgan stared at Victor blank-faced.
“The fire. You and Chelsea. Shaundra? It was awful. I could smell the people from Tent City burning. Chelsea was in trouble.”
“Morgan, you were just dreaming. Chelsea’s fine. She came by late last night while you were sleeping. I forgot to give it to you this morning, but she left you this,” Victor said, handing Morgan a small gift bag.
For whatever reason, Morgan could not remember anything after she fell asleep with Victor. She never had an episode that felt so real or that she remembered so vividly. It could have been the potion she mixed, or perhaps a culmination of everything she experienced in the past months, but she was relieved that her vision wasn’t her reality. Staring at the same gift bag she’d seem Chelsea holding in the dream, she hesitated to open it, but as she reached through the red tissue paper, she pulled out a coffee mug. A mug decorated with pictures of her and Chelsea. A couple of the photos even had Victor. It was the same mug she saw Chelsea holding in her dream.
“I dreamt this. It’s impossible. It felt so real. It felt as if I was at fault. The death and suffering of those I love, caused by these hands,” she said.
“It was just a nightmare,” Victor said.
“Did I dream everything then? Did I tell you about…”
“You being pregnant? Yes, you did. Although I’m overjoyed, I do think we should hold back from telling my mother about it for now. It may feel like a dream, but not everything is a dream, Morgan,” he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You did scare me last night,” Victor said.
“What did I do?” she asked.
“I saw you sleepwalk for the first time. You stood on the balcony with your arms raised to the moon. I didn’t know if I should wake you, so I waited in case anything happened. Eventually, you just turned around and went back to bed.”
“I wasn’t levitating or making weird noises?”
“What?” Victor gawked. “No. Nothing like that, but you were soaked in sweat. Even in the freezing cold.”
“Yeah, that usually happens when I sleepwalk.” she lied.
Morgan was relieved to hear that nothing worse had occurred. As the chauffeur drove them away from the city, she stared out the window at an empty country road—empty but familiar. It was the same highway she ran along with her dad after getting a flat tire when they arrived at Whispering Pines. She could still hear his heavy breathing as they ran side by side, and suddenly the chauffeur veered to the right, stopping in front of a small private road. Curious to see where Victor lived, Morgan rolled down the window and stuck her head out.
“We’re here,” Victor said, as Morgan set her eyes upon the same rod iron gate she had seen with her father, the one with the CH monogram.
“This is your house?” Morgan asked as a dreadful feeling came over her the moment the gate swung open.
“It’s my family’s home,” Victor said.
“What does CH stand for?”
“Crest Hill. The original name of the estate the house sits on.”
Morgan glimpsed down at her watch, 9:00 am. She didn’t even remember getting in the car or waking up this morning. The last thing she remembered was having a glass of wine and taking her medication. Her head spun as the car wrapped around the winding road leading up the hill covered by a thick forest of evergreens and oak trees. Through the thickness of the forest, a screech came from within the woods, and then a croak. Morgan quickly glanced around, trying to find her familiar feathered friend, as the sounds repeated themselves while the town car slowly approached the house. She didn’t need to question it, she knew it was the sound of ravens welcoming her and Victor home, but Morgan felt bizarre being in this place. It was here where she witnessed the horrendous sight upon arriving, but she wouldn’t question her purpose any longer.
“The place you are is where you’re meant to be.” she heard Shaundra’s voice repeating in her head.
Morgan had always been skeptical of the things she couldn’t control, but her confidence had nearly outgrown her anxiety. Although she had no idea where she was heading in life, none of that mattered. According to both Shaundra and Mr. Fengári, Morgan had a gift. She also had Victor at her side. Neither of which she asked for. She had lost her father, but she also had other people to further guide her amongst the paths of the unknown. Coming to Whispering Pines was not the best decision, but she had made it without previous knowledge of meeting Victor or the fact that she would find her cousin, Katrina.
“The place you are is where you’re meant to be.” Shaundra’s phrase repeated in her mind as she stared out into the evergreen forest beyond her.
The brick-paved road ended as the car pulled up next to a staircase leading to the main entrance. As the chauffeur stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to open Morgan’s door—Victor stepped out on his own. He smiled as he set his eyes on the home, where he grew up most of his life. Morgan tried not to make a big deal about the house, but her emotions took over as she stared at the magnificent structure in front of her. Grander than any home she had ever seen, Morgan’s eyes carefully observed what awaited her. Welcomed by a courtyard with an extravagant fountain as a centerpiece, Morgan felt as if she had arrived at a castle invited by royalty. A house made of glass and stone—the façade was marvelous. A perfectly symmetrical structure and landscape on the crest of a hill, the mansion stood three floors high amidst a vast field and a beautiful patio. The enormous gray stone building had twin bay windows stretching from the ground to the roof, accompanied by dozens of others layered across the main entrance. From what Morgan could observe, there was a minimum of eight chimneys jutting out of the roof and more windows embellishing what seemed to be the attic. Its opulence didn’t end there, however, for the mansion’s crowning jewel was a large rotunda, centered on the roof, gleaming in the sunlight. The large structure intimidated her, but she admired its exquisite façade. Modeled after sixteenth-century Italian architecture, she was amazed and thought that her father would have loved to have seen this in person.
“What do you think?” Victor asked.
“It’s cute,” Morgan said, prompting him to laugh.
She couldn’t believe Victor had been adopted into this family, and suddenly his chivalry and humble way of being made perfect sense. Victor held his hand out and guided Morgan up the twenty stairs to the main entrance, but Morgan stopped, nervous about what was to come.
“What should I call your mom? Lucretia? Mrs. Raven?” Morgan asked.
“Actually, she prefers to be called, Her Royal Majesty, Madam Raven.”
“Are you serious?” Morgan scoffed.
“Nah, I’m kidding. She likes to be called Lucy, Luca, or Lucky.”
“Lucky?” the name chilled Morgan’s blood in an instant.
“All are short for Lucretia,” Victor answered.
“Lucky, you may not be, but Lucky is always watching, always listening. Carefully crafting our existence.” Morgan remembered the single clawed raven’s foreboding words, and as the oversized oak doors in front of them swung open as if by magic—her stomach churned.
“Master Raven, welcome home,” an older man in a black and gray uniform said.
“Thank you, Gerald. It’s good to see you again.”
“And whom, may I ask, is this lovely young woman?”
“Gerald, this is Morgan Stark, soon to become Morgan Raven, I hope,” he said, looking at her.
Morgan attempted to smile at the notion of becoming his wife.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Stark,” Gerald said.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Morgan said, noticing a group of personnel behind him, dressed in the same style of uniform.
There were two women and one man—all servants to the Ravens. Each of them held perfect posture, hands clenched in front of them, watching, waiting.
The foyer was the most extravagant room Morgan had seen in her life. Wooden columns supported a central staircase, which forked out, and created a mezzanine, encircling the space. The marble floors she stood on were so polished, she could see her pale reflection in them. The walls were decorated with paintings and expensive flower vases so large, it made her feel insignificant.
“Now, where is my mother?” Victor asked.
“Last I saw her, she was taking her tea in the library,” Gerald answered.
“Shame, I figured she would be welcoming us. I’ll go surprise her then. Morgan, are you ok waiting here?” he asked.
“Sure,” she answered as if she had a choice.
“Gerald, please get her whatever she needs.”
“Will do, master.”
Victor walked up the staircase, his footsteps silenced by the crimson red carpet covering the hardwood floor.
“Ms. Stark, is there anything we could get you while you wait?” Gerald asked, his demeanor friendly and welcoming.
“Please, call me Morgan,” she said.
“Ok, Morgan, what can we get you while you wait?” he asked again.
“Tea would be great,” she answered.
“Tea it is. The dining room is just past the double doors. You can wait there if you like,” he said, pointing to her left.
“If you need a restroom, it’s beyond the foyer,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction of the dining room. “Do make yourself at home.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said.
Following Gerald, the other servants dispersed behind the staircase, towards the kitchen—and Morgan stood alone in silence, wondering if she had made the right decision to come to Victor’s home. Something about it felt unreal as if she was still dreaming. As she continued to gaze upon its marvel, she noticed an ancient smell lingering throughout the halls of the mansion. There was no doubt about it—centuries of history were held within its walls. Secrets were buried deep beneath its structure, embedded in the blood-stained foundation, as it appeared that every element of the mansion seemed to withhold information.
Whenever Morgan entered a new place, she felt strange and nervous, but this house felt different. This house had opened its doors to her, and all she heard once again was Shaundra’s words, “The place you are, is where you’re meant to be.”
Morgan wanted to take her time and explore every inch of the foyer but didn’t want to intrude. As instructed, she headed toward the double doors, where Gerald signaled and noticed how everything in the mansion seemed larger than necessary. The gold-plated handles were three times the size of her hands. She turned one of them upwards, and the right door came ajar, but she had to plant her feet firmly to push the oversized door. It weighed more than Morgan and groaned as she opened it.
Once inside, Morgan stumbled into the dining room, knowing damn well she had seen it before. Not in person or in pictures, but in dreams. She had stood beneath the walls decorated by old portraits, hunting trophies, and antiques. Relics and artifacts collected from many countries and times past. A grandfather clock adorned the eastern wall, the sound of its hands ticking filled the room, counting down the seconds until the end of existence. Three gold chandeliers hung high above, like watchmen on a mission and a long maple table was the centerpiece of the room, decorated with flower arrangements, poinsettias, and candelabras, waiting to be lit on the night ahead.
Arched windows illuminated the room from the west wall, calling forth Morgan’s attention. Between each window hung rows of old family portraits, and as she waited for Gerald to come back with her tea, Morgan began to observe them one by one. While many of the old photographs were too faint to make out, some had been restored and were all displayed chronologically. It was almost like a museum, where each picture was accompanied by small plaques, immortalizing the moment.
-Crest Hill Estate, May 1825: Groundbreaking Ceremony
The picture displayed a crew of men with shovels.
-Crest Hill Estate, September 1842: Coal Struck
There were men covered in soot, holding pickaxes.
-Fort Crest Hill, June 1863: General’s Orders
A battalion, holding their rifles over their shoulder.
-Crest Hill Orphanage, April 1875: Children of The Future
Unhappy children, standing in front of the entrance.
Picture after picture, Morgan became enthralled by the collection of historical portraits on the wall and continued to the next section, which displayed wedding portraits of couples, all photographed in the foyer.
-Raven Estate, September 1900: Bartholomew and Nadine Raven.
Both were serious and stoic.
-Raven Estate, January 1912: George and Margaret Raven.
An older man stood next to a much younger woman.
-Raven Estate, June 1925: Leonard and Carlotta Raven.
A happy couple both smiling, holding hands.
Staring at the portrait, Morgan felt her heart thump. She reached up to grab her locket, as she had done hundreds of times before whenever she felt nervous, but this time something was off. When she held it, she heard something click as the mechanism snapped, and the locket opened. Morgan pulled it over her head and looked at the portraits inside. She became dizzy, nauseous, and her complexion grew pale while the blood rushed to her feet as she gazed upon the picture it held inside for years.
It was the same locket the woman in the portrait wore over her wedding gown. There was no doubt, the pictures in the locket were of Leonard and Carlotta Raven.
Morgan placed her hand on the portrait and felt a sense of pride and fear. Pictures told a thousand words, but in this case, if the woman in the locket was indeed her ancestor, it only told her one thing—Morgan had been born a Raven.
She clutched the locket tightly as she began to hyperventilate. The nauseous feeling took over her stomach again as panic took hold of her heart. She looked around for a place to vomit and contemplated doing so in one of the flower vases, but she covered her mouth while she ran towards the foyer—remembering there was a bathroom on the other side.
She lunged towards the large doors, but they swung open away from her before she could grab the handles. As she tumbled to the floor, it was impossible to hold the vomit back, and she regurgitated on the beautiful rug beneath—the vomit splashing over two pairs of shoes in front of her. One pair she recognized, it belonged to Victor. The other was a pair of tightly bound, high-heeled, black leather boots.
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and held back more vomit as she looked up slowly. She saw the pointed toe boots accompanied by a cane—the tip, made of a bullet used in a hunting rifle, big enough to kill a bear. A heavy purple skirt hovered above the woman’s ankles. A silhouette Morgan hadn’t seen anyone wear in modern times. It was an antiquated style that revealed nothing underneath it, no ankles or wrists, nor shoulders or breasts. Hands covered in delicate black satin gloves clutched the handle of the cane—a gold-plated raven’s head. The woman’s white blouse was buttoned all the way to the neck, followed by a smooth but wretched and stern face.
