Nocturne
Authors: Syrie James
Table of Contents
Praise for the work of SYRIE JAMES
Dracula, My Love
“This tale about a fierce, forbidden romance will appeal to even the most jaded romance fan.”
—Library Journal
“A truly remarkable love story that keeps the reader glued to every page.”
—Feathered Quill
“Very romantic . . . powerfully sensuous . . . masterfully told.”
—Single Title Reviews
“I loved it! A gripping story, infused with passion, excitement, and emotional turmoil.”
—American Book Center
The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen
“A thoughtful, immensely touching romance . . . well-researched, well-written, and beautifully plotted.”
—Jane Austen’s Regency World Magazine
“Jane comes alive . . . the reader blindly pulls for the heroine and her dreams of love . . . offers a deeper understanding of what Austen’s life might have been like.”
—The Los Angeles Times
“Deserves front-runner status in the field of Austen fan-fiction and film.”
—Kirkus Reviews
The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë
“James takes the biography of Brontë and sketches it into a work of art. A can’t-miss novel for Brontë fans and historical fiction buffs alike.”
—Sacramento Book Review
“A captivating and entertaining read. James is so winning in her narrative style that by the end of the tale the reader will be convinced that she, in fact, has discovered Charlotte’s secret diary.”
—Feathered Quill
“Brings the beloved author to life as never before . . . This fascinating novel is a delight to read.”
—Wichita Falls Times Record Review
ALSO BY SYRIE JAMES:
Dracula, My Love:
The Secret Journals of Mina Harker
The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë
The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen
I dedicate this book to
all my readers—every single one of you.
Thank you for your support,
the blogs and reviews you write,
and the wonderful messages you send me,
sharing all the ways in which my novels
have touched you.
It means the world to me,
and inspires me more than I can say.
CHAPTER 1
I
T BEGAN SNOWING AT NINE. Delicate flakes were still sifting down two hours later as Nicole Whitcomb reluctantly loaded her carry-on suitcase and small backpack into her rental car and slammed the trunk. She took one last second to appreciate the hushed descent of the gentle white flakes against the iron gray sky and to drink in the picturesque view of the snow-capped hotel against the backdrop of the ski slopes and surrounding forest.
I wish I could live here
, Nicole thought for the hundredth time, as she inhaled deeply the crisp, pine-scented mountain air. She hated to leave all this beauty to go back to the city, and to the stress and tedium of her job. After brushing off the accumulation of snow from her front and back windshields, she unlocked the car, slipped behind the wheel, knocked the snow off her fur-lined boots, and started the engine.
Nicole knew she had to hurry. The weather report had said a big storm was coming in to the Steamboat Springs area. When she’d called the Denver airport, however, they said it was sunny and clear, and assured her that her flight to San Jose was departing as scheduled. She figured it shouldn’t take more than forty-five minutes up the mountain road to reach Rabbit Ears Pass, the first of several summits en route. All the roads were open, so after that it should be an easy three-hour drive to Denver.
It was cold inside the car and Nicole shivered as she turned on the windshield wipers, heater, and defroster. Leaving on her fuzzy light blue scarf and hat, she strapped on her seat belt, exited the parking lot, and drove through the quaint Steamboat Springs ski village. There was a good two feet of snow on the ground in the uncleared areas, but so far only a light dusting on the road. Even so, as she turned onto Highway 40 and headed south, she carefully moderated her speed. It had been awhile since she’d driven in these conditions.
It was her first time in Colorado, a place she’d always longed to visit—and it was as beautiful as she’d imagined it would be. She’d always loved the snow. During the years she’d lived in Seattle, it had been a hop, skip, and jump to the nearest ski area, and she couldn’t count how many delightful hours she’d spent on the slopes with her friends. Since she moved back to California three years ago, however, she’d given up all that.
At the thought of that move and the reason behind it, Nicole’s stomach knotted with anxiety. The memory of that awful day and all that happened afterward still filled her with self-recrimination and doubt. Would she ever be able to forget?
Nicole frowned, shoving the thought away, determined not to let it spoil her mood. She’d just spent a wonderful long weekend with dear friends she hadn’t seen in years. When her best friend, Chloe, had announced her intention to have a ski resort wedding, Nicole had laughed at first—the idea had seemed ludicrous and impractical—but in the end it had been fabulous.
The wedding had taken place high atop a ski slope at Steamboat Springs, with the bridal party in formal wear and everyone on skis. After the ceremony, most of the people had ridden the chairlift back down, but Nicole—on a dare from one of the groomsmen—had blithely skied down the mountain. It had involved tucking her long bridesmaid’s dress into her thermal leggings, which Chloe had laughingly insisted was scandalous and beneath the dignity of a twenty-nine-year-old woman. But Nicole hadn’t cared; she couldn’t resist the challenge.
The newlyweds and most of the other guests had left after two days, but Nicole stayed one more day to go skiing on her own—and what a blast it had been! Sailing down a white mountain with the crisp air in her face always felt like heaven. She couldn’t wait to show the pictures to her coworkers and to the kids at the museum and the library that weekend.
The car had warmed up now. Nicole removed her hat and gloves, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror to smooth back her long, wavy, reddish-gold hair. She’d left the town of Steamboat Springs far behind. The snow was falling faster. Nicole increased the speed of the windshield wipers, focusing her attention on the road. For the first time, she began to wonder if she’d made a mistake in staying the extra day. The drive back
The road began to climb through a wooded area now. Nicole had read that the highway gained an incredible 2,500 feet in about seven miles during this stretch, as it made its way up the side of the Gore Range through Routt National Forest toward the pass. The view here should be expansive, but instead it was obscured by low, dark clouds.
Nicole felt another stab of worry as she crept along. She’d been lucky to rent a car with four-wheel drive, but it wouldn’t help if she encountered black ice. Worse yet, it was becoming more and more difficult to see. The storm had come in way faster than she’d expected. The wind howled. There had been a couple of cars behind her at the beginning, but they’d long since disappeared from view, and she’d only passed a few cars coming the other way.
Should I turn back?
Nicole wondered. She didn’t want to get stuck on this road in the middle of a blizzard—but she couldn’t miss her flight. She’d already been gone five days, and she’d left a ton of work on her desk. She had to relieve the neighbor taking care of her cat. She didn’t want to pay for another night’s lodging or go through the hassle of changing her airline ticket. No, she decided; she’d press on. The hotel desk clerk had been confident that she’d be over the pass and out of this weather system before she knew it.
On the drive up, Nicole had made a point of looking for the sign marking the summit of Rabbit Ears Pass at 9,426 feet, announcing the precise location of the Continental Divide—the line that ran from northwestern Canada along the
Nicole used the snowbank at the right side of the highway as her guide, staying just a few feet inside it. At a sharp crook in the road she reduced her speed even further, carefully navigating around the bend. Through the swirling flakes in the air, the steep, snow-covered slope on the north side of the road was partially visible.
Suddenly a loud crack erupted from above, followed by a low hissing sound.
What on earth was that?
Nicole wondered, alarmed, instinctively pressing on the accelerator and speeding forward. The hissing behind her grew louder, turning into an ominous, growing rumble. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Nicole was shocked to see an enormous slab of snow slide off the mountainside in a great, rushing torrent and cover the entire road behind her.
An avalanche!
she thought in terror. If she’d been driving any more slowly, it would have buried her.
There was no turning back now, Nicole realized, even if she’d wanted to. With her heart in her throat, she continued up the road, crawling on for what seemed like a century. The highway soon leveled off. The harsh wind stirred up snow from the
The highway was covered by at least six inches of snow now, and it was growing deeper by the minute. She had to get over the pass—and soon—before this turned into a total whiteout. She pressed harder on the gas and forged on, holding tight to the wheel.
The accident happened so quickly. One minute, Nicole was driving along under perfect control; the next instant, the road was slipping out from under her and the car was spinning into a terrifying right-hand slide. In a panic, she jammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left, even as her brain shouted,
No, stupid, that’s the wrong thing to do
and to her horror, it only made things worse.
The car skidded and then hurled itself off the road into the embankment. A scream tore from Nicole’s throat as the entire world turned upside down. A shattering pain spiraled through her head as it slammed against something hard. There was a jarring crunch, an explosion of glass, another crunch, and then the rolling stopped and the world righted itself again.
Nicole sat unmoving, dazed and confused, her head pounding. She struggled to get her bearings. She was still seat-belted and sitting upright. A bitterly cold wind blew in through her shattered side windows. Her lap and the interior of the car were strewn with small, scattered fragments of glass. The windshield was still intact but heavily damaged with a spider web of cracks, and the view was obscured by snow and pine
Okay, she told herself. It’s not as bad as it looks. You ran off the road, but you’re still alive.
There were no cuts on her hands, but she felt an oozing from the left side of her throbbing temple and touched it. Her fingers came away smeared with blood.
Blood.
Panic spiraled through her and she gasped aloud, extending her hand as far as humanly possible from her face.
Blood.
She couldn’t look at it. The sight made her stomach churn. The pounding in her skull increased, as the horror came flooding back.
Blood. Blood everywhere. Blood pouring onto the bed and covering the floor . . . She was bleeding. From the head. Stop the blood. Stop it. Now!
Glancing around frantically for her purse and a tissue, she gave up and grabbed her neck scarf instead, pressing it firmly against her forehead.
What should I do?
she wondered, fighting down the panic, struggling to think despite the throbbing in her head.
Call 911?
Woozily, she retrieved her cell phone one-handed from her coat pocket and cursed. No signal.
The faint hum of a car engine made her tense with anticipation : was someone coming? No, she decided, disappointed; it was just her own motor idling. She snapped on her flashers but couldn’t see any evidence that they were working. She tried to open her car door, but it wouldn’t budge. Peering out through her broken side window, she realized that the car had sunk so deeply into the snowbank that it was half buried. The only way to get out was through the window. But—did she
want
to get out? Her head was bleeding. There was no way she could dig the car out and get it back on the road.
And where would she go on foot? She was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a national forest. As far as she knew, no one lived here; it was all government-owned land. The road behind her was blocked by an avalanche. Who knew how many miles it was to the pass up ahead, much less to the next town? She couldn’t recall seeing any call boxes on the road, and even if she could find one, how long would she last out in the blizzard? Visibility was poor and getting worse. She wasn’t sure she could properly judge distance or direction; she might walk off the road and become hopelessly lost.
Better to stay in the car, she decided, and pray that someone would come along—however unlikely that might be. She gave the horn a few sharp blasts, and then leaned on it long and hard, but the sound was muffled by the roar of the wind. With a sigh, she gave up. What was the point? Who was going to hear a horn out here?
Nicole shivered. She considered leaving the engine running to keep the heater on, but realized it could never keep the car warm with snow blowing in through the open windows. She turned off the ignition, leaving the key in place, knowing that it was going to get very cold, very fast. Why did she feel so light-headed?
Still pressing the scarf against her forehead, Nicole leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes against the excruciating pain. Her thoughts drifted. She was dizzy. So dizzy. Disconnected images flitted through her mind: the blue-green gleam of her tabby cat’s eyes; the potted red Anthurium on her apartment windowsill; her friends’ laughing faces over nachos and frosty margaritas; building a sand castle on a sunny beach with
No
, Nicole thought desperately,
stay awake. Stay conscious.
Her last thought, as she felt her hand drop uselessly to her side, was:
Is this it? Am I going to die?