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    Black Candle Vigil: Queer Novellas, #3
    Black Candle Vigil: Queer Novellas, #3
    Black Candle Vigil: Queer Novellas, #3
    Ebook148 pages2 hours

    Black Candle Vigil: Queer Novellas, #3

    By Elena Berrino

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    About this ebook

    Every year in Samhain, two villagers in the small rural village of Aberlaine hold the Black Candle Vigil in the Old Cottage — a whole waking night of making sure the black candle stays lit and keeps the angry ghosts at bay, trapped where they belong.

    This year, the village lottery throws up Patrick's sister's number, but she has better things to do than keep to an old silly tradition, so he's volunteered to replace her. Patrick expects this to be a harmless, unremarkable night of quiet work, but it turns out they've all miscalculated: his vigil partner is the only person in the village he doesn't want to see.

    His ex, Ronan.

    It goes downhill from there, if anybody can believe it.

    The candle goes out, and the pair find themselves stuck together in a haunted house from dusk to dawn, forced to do that most dreaded of things: talk about their feelings and face their ugly breakup. But at least they're not alone; there are ghosts aplenty.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElena Berrino
    Release dateOct 31, 2023
    ISBN9798224473809
    Black Candle Vigil: Queer Novellas, #3

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      Book preview

      Black Candle Vigil - Elena Berrino

      Copyright @ 2021 Elena Berrino

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents and either a product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

      For permissions contact us through the form on www.elenaberrino.com

      Cover illustration by Evelyn Rogers

      www.evelynleerogers.com

      ISBN 9781739351519 (print)

      www.elenaberrino.com

      image-placeholder

      Contents

      Dedication

      1.Samhain

      2.Black Candle Guardians

      3.Broken Loop

      4.The Ghost Cage

      5.Binding

      6.Wards

      7.Harmony

      8.Bond

      9.Kiss

      10.Caroline

      11.Village

      12.Square

      13.Tractor

      14.Ghost Cage (But Bigger)

      15.Patriarch

      16.Sunrise

      17.Samhain Again

      Dedication

      The horrors persist, but so do we.

      Here's to surviving.

      Chapter one

      Samhain

      Nicholas the goat had, once again, broken into the kitchen.

      How do you keep doing this? Patrick asked him, shrugging out of his tan jacket and dropping it on a chair’s back. I know for a fact you don’t have thumbs.

      Nicholas had nothing to say to this but to continue, unbothered, to chew on the tablecloth. Patrick nudged him away from the table with a knee, weathering the goat’s evil eye with practiced unconcern.

      Nicholas bleated loudly in protest, stomping a hoof. Rolling his eyes, Patrick went to the counter and found the biscuit tin. Nicholas, because he knew what was good for him, swiftly changed his attitude from sullen discontent to adorable cuddling against Patrick’s leg. He gave Patrick the most soulful look, leaning the side of his head against Patrick’s thigh.

      Patrick huffed.

      You’re a horror, he told Nicholas, before finally putting the biscuit within the goat’s reach. He quickly withdrew his hand, saving his fingers being shaved off at the fingertip.

      He heard footsteps outside just in time to hurriedly put the tin back in the shelf and turn around. Even he could admit he looked a little suspicious, leaning back against the counter with a goat munching on something at his feet, but his mother Martha was busy looking down at something in her tablet and missed the last incriminating second as Nicholas swallowed the last of the treat.

      I thought you were out on the pasture today? she asked, glancing up briefly before looking back down at her tablet.

      I did most of it. I’ll finish the last of it tomorrow, but I need to grade some papers for Friday class.

      "Are they still struggling through What’s Up?" she asked distractedly, pulling out a chair from under the table. Patrick picked up the kettle and filled it with water for tea, subtly nudging Nicholas away from the counter. The goat was still making eyes at him, like he thought he was going to implicate himself in a crime right in front of his mother. Forty years of life had taught Patrick better than to draw her evil eye, though.

      I made them write down the melody from ear, he answered, setting the kettle back in the base and flicking it on.

      That sounds like fun, Martha said vaguely.

      I’m sure they’ll figure it out, said Patrick, who was sure of no such thing but was a staunch defender of his students, regardless of their debatable musical talents.

      Did you bring the tractor back in?

      No, I left it out in the pasture to rust and become part of the scenery. I think it’s picturesque.

      Martha hummed without looking up. Well done.

      I also decided to set the barn on fire, he added casually. We can use the wreckage to light the stoves and save on gas.

      Good call, son.

      Patrick studied her for a moment. The kettle beeped.

      You want cream on your tea, right?

      She hummed an affirmative, and then stopped, blinking up at him.

      What? she asked, in dawning horror.

      Sugar? he added solicitously.

      Martha set down her tablet, frowning at him. Finally she noticed the goat, and transferred her frown from son to pet, head tilting.

      Nicholas tilted his head to look back at her innocently.

      How did he get back in?

      He teleports, Patrick answered, fishing for mugs and teabags in the cupboard. What’s got you so focused? Is there a problem with the balances?

      No, not at all. It’s shaping up to be a very god year. I’m actually wondering if we could get some more sheep — did you know in some parts of South America they have llamas to look after their sheep? They’re so big, they scare the foxes away.

      Patrick set a cup of tea in front of her and gave her a look.

      Mum. We’re not getting a llama. They spit.

      "So does that," Martha pointed out, gesturing to Nicholas, who was unsubtly edging his way back to the table and sniffing the corner of the tablecloth. Patrick hurriedly shoved him away with his knee.

      "Yes, but I’m used to that, I can dodge him. Llamas are tall. Where would we even get a—"

      The front door flew open so violently it slammed against the wall, startling them both. They shared a wide-eyed look as a long, almost inhuman sounding wail drifted in from the lounge. The door slammed back closed.

      Patrick jumped to his feet and picked up his tea mug. Tea sloshed over the rim and cascaded over his fingertips, scalding hot. He hissed but didn't slow down his strategic retreat.

      Don’t you dare, Martha hissed at him, eyes narrowed.

      "She’s your daughter," he hissed back, stepping over Nicholas with haste on his way out of the kitchen.

      Coward! she threw at his back, but he waved a hand over his shoulder and skedaddled. Teenage girls were terrifying when he was a teenager, he certainly didn’t know how to deal with one at the ripe old age of I’m-old-enough-to-be-your-teacher. Unlike Patrick, who’d inherited his mellow attitude from his late father, his sister Caroline had their mother’s temper. Patrick would rather go back out in the tractor and work until nightfall than face her in one of her moods.

      He wouldn’t go as far as to say he’d locked himself in the safety of the study — or at least he wouldn’t admit it to his mother — but he got a good two hours of silent work in before Caroline remembered there was another human in the household. Presumably by then she had gone over her day’s grievance with their mother in intricate detail, and had arrived at the point in which she felt comfortable dumping it on Patrick so long as Patrick did not, in fact, offer an opinion. Living in a remote farmhouse with two women had taught Patrick that issues came to him only to be heard, not the commented on. He knew his role in this house, thank you.

      Caroline appeared in the doorway to the study having already changed from what she termed ‘outside clothes’ into what Patrick assumed instead were ‘clothes I don’t care anyone sees me in’. Tellingly, one of those clothes was Patrick’s own old grey jumper, which he’d been looking for that morning. One glance at her face swiftly arrested his impulse to complain. It was an inconvenient day to die. He had papers to grade.

      Good day at school? he ventured cautiously, as his sister collapsed into the chair across the desk and melted into the seat so far her bum must have fallen off the edge.

      Why do I need to go to school? she asked flatly, staring at the ceiling. I’m pretty. I could find a rich spouse.

      Patrick wisely didn’t point out not with that temper, which was his first thought. His second, which was a scandalized you’re too young to be married, he swallowed for his own comfort; he’d said something like that before and Caroline still teased him about being an old spinster. Three years later.

      In the interests of survival, he settled into a hum of vague noncommittal. There was a moment of companionable silence as he returned to his papers. Ashe graded paper after paper, he began inexorably to arrive at the unpleasant realization that he really had overestimated his students. One of them had gotten most of it right, but had written all the notes one line below where they should be. The class’s resident disaster had given up halfway through and just copied the melody for Happy Birthday. Patrick tilted his head, considered the scratchy writing, and decided to give him an extra point for embracing the chaos.

      Caroline made a telling noise of loud, building discontent. Patrick looked up at her above the rim of his reading glasses, inquisitive.

      I got a call from Sebastian Thorne at lunch, she told the ceiling.

      Patrick’s brows flew up. He glanced at the calendar and found, to his surprise, that it was October 31st. Samhain.

      You on for the Vigil? he asked knowingly. The source of this black teenage malcontent began to take shape at last.

      "I wasn’t supposed to! she complained loudly. She threw up her hands and then slapped them down hard on the armrests of the chair. Apparently Tim Willows was supposed to, but he’s got the flu or something, and he ditched!"

      Inconsiderate of him, Patrick said dryly.

      Caroline sat up so quickly her hair went flying. And I have a test tomorrow!

      Why didn’t you say no?

      I didn’t know I could! He ambushed me!

      Patrick gave up and pulled off his reading glasses, sitting back in his chair. From the look on Caroline’s face, this might actually be one of the few occasions in which he was meant to give a solution, rather than just sit quietly and listen to complaints. It was a delicate thing, figuring out which was required of whim at which time.

      So study through the night. You can probably beg off school tomorrow since you’ll be at the Vigil. Study, delay, get a better grade. Profit.

      I already delayed it once because I was on my period and felt like garbage, she admitted.

      Patrick remembered something about that last week; he’d had to make an emergency run to the store for tampons for her, and then had to ask Mrs. Tomfold from down Spring Lane to help him pick the right box, and also other things that might help his sister feel better like snacks and treats. She was a great woman, Mrs. Tomfold. She'd gone on for some time about the benefits of pads with wings versus without them, and eventually chosen a big box to add to his cart that Caroline ought to be using at night. Caroline hadn't asked for pads, but Patrick deferred to the experts when he could.

      Alright, he said slowly, thinking. So — study through the night, go to school and have the test, then come home and nap. Skip school the next day. Profit.

      I can’t skip school on a Friday, it’s the best day!

      But long weekend, he bargained.

      But after school drinks with friends! she retorted.

      Patrick looked at the ceiling, inhaling slowly for patience. "As a teacher working in your school I feel the need to remind you,

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