The room quieted as I entered. “Sorry I’m late.”

Theodore Harrington snorted. “Tis predictable as the dawn.”

The rest of the room snickered.

Dr. Keating cleared her throat. “You are here now. Let’s get started. Our last meeting was…” She consulted her tablet. “Mid-May?”

Murmurs of general disappointment drifted toward me.

“Have you been able to write? Anything?”

I dug into my purse and drew out some papers. “Yes. I finished the May forum exercise, but was too late to post for critique.”

“Too late? Imagine that.” Kimberley sat sideways in her chair, absently twirling her hair. “Who makes the cut, by the way?”

“Theodore and Sarah.”

There was a shriek of excitement, and Sarah Campbell popped up, grinning. “Finally!”

The rest of my characters grumbled.

“Let’s see what you have.” Dr. Keating reached for my papers, and I gave them to her reluctantly. She glanced at the pages. “There are copies for everyone?”

I nodded, and waited as they were passed out.

“So… the May exercise, The Moral Compass, delves into a character’s moral code. Interesting.” Dr. Keating scanned the exercise directions. “Write a scene, 800 words or less, in which a character’s moral code is tested…” She looked at me. “Background?”

“New York Colony, around 1779, at Harrington Manor. Sarah Campbell is a kitchen worker at the manor, who is descended from a long line of druid priestesses. She can see auras and has visions.

“Aye! That I do!” Sarah grinned happily.

“Yet you are shocked by your inclusion in the exercise.” Lydia Harrington leaned back in her chaise with a chuckle.

“I see enough to know where evil thrives,” Sarah said pointedly.

“There have been a number of unexplained murders in the area,” I continued, “and the manor is on alert. Sarah noticed Theodore’s black aura when he arrived months earlier, and sees that it is getting even darker.” I shrugged. “That’s it, I guess.”

I waited for their feedback and the anxious knot in my stomach tightened.

---

May 2019 – The Moral Compass

“He’s so lovely,” Jenny sighed wistfully as Bridget murmured in agreement.

Sarah looked up from her basket of onions and rose up, following their gaze to Theodore Harrington, walking the path from the manor. Her gut clenched as she watched his black aura flex and stretch around him, and she shivered, suddenly cold in the summer heat. “His loveliness hides rot,” she said flatly as she dropped back to the onion beds.

.“Sarah Campbell!” Bridget scolded, turning from the fence. “Tis un-Christian to say such things about Master Harrington.”

“Yes.” Jenny added, nodding. “He’s kind. Quite different from his granny.” She studied Sarah, frowning. “Why do you hate him so?”

“I have my reasons.” She shook her head. “Don’t let his pretty face fool you. He has a black soul, that one.”

“A black soul, is it? And how would you know?” Bridget scowled at her.

“Yes, Miss Campbell. Do enlighten us.”

Sarah flinched, and slowly turned toward the voice.

Theodore Harrington stood at the garden fence, dark aura shimmering. His eyes scoured over her, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, and she swallowed against a sudden bitterness in her throat. She straightened, tipping her chin in challenge. “I see no need to explain myself. I do not have to like you.”

Theodore’s lip twitched. “Ah, but I like you, Sarah.” He vaulted lightly over the fence and strode toward her, stopping when the toes of his boots brushed the hem of her gown. His gaze wandered her face, stopping at her differently colored eyes. “I find you vastly fascinating, in fact,” he murmured as his eyes lowered to the pulse fluttering at her neck.

She glared up at him. “You can keep your pretty words, Harrington,” she snapped in a harsh whisper. “I’ll thank you to leave me be.” She pushed past him and hurried out of the garden.

“How disappointing.” Theodore stared after her with an amused smile as Jenny and Bridget exchanged puzzled glances. He turned. “Ladies.” He bowed slightly and strode off toward the manor.

She lay in bed that evening, worries flitting about in her head like chaotic moths. Harrington’s darkness was hidden by a brittle layer of handsome gentility. She saw through it, though, and his evil hovered around him like a shroud.

Theodore Harrington was dangerous.

The thought followed her into a troubled sleep.

Sarah opened her eyes to darkness. She spun in a slow circle, blinking, as a soft cry drifted toward her.

“Who’s there?” She moved toward the sound. “Where are you?”

The crying broke to a tortured wail, and a shiver of fear tickled down her spine. “I’m coming!” She ran.

Sudden candlelight blossomed in the dark, and she stumbled to a stop.

“You have done well.”

The shadows bled away from a woman hanging from her wrists. A man stood before her, tenderly cupping her cheek as she frantically twisted from his touch. Her cries became terrified shrieks.

“Shush, my sweet. ‘Tis nearly over.”

His voice spilled over Sarah like oil, and she flinched at its familiarity.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered as a knife blade glinted savagely.

“Stop!”

The man slowly turned toward her, a smile breaking across his bloodied face. “Why ever would I do that, Sarah?”

She gasped as her gaze locked with Theodore Harrington’s.

She woke, sending fragments of the dream scattering like roaches. She scrambled up in her bed, hugging her knees as she shook, and shut her eyes, but Theodore Harrington’s mocking smile followed.

###