<h2>The Inn at the Edge of Midnight</h2>
The inn appeared only to people who were about to die. Mara discovered this at eleven forty-seven on a rainy Thursday night, when her car broke down on a road that did not appear on any map.
She had been driving home from the city when the headlights began to flicker. Then the engine died. Mara coasted to the side of the road and sat in silence while rain hammered the windshield.
Her phone showed no signal.
She tried the engine again.
Nothing.
Then she noticed the light. A warm yellow glow shone through the trees ahead.
Mara stepped out of the car. She could barely see through the rain, but there was definitely a building there.
An inn.
It stood beside the road as though it had always been there. A wooden sign swung above the entrance.
<h3>THE LAST LANTERN</h3>
Mara hesitated. She had never seen it before. Still, it was better than sitting in a dead car in the middle of nowhere.
She ran toward the door. Before she could knock, it opened.
A man stood inside. He was tall, dark-haired, and dressed in a black waistcoat that looked strangely old-fashioned.
His eyes traveled over her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Mara pushed wet hair from her face. “Believe me, I didn’t plan on it.”
He looked past her toward the road. “How long have you been driving?”
“About two hours.”
His expression tightened. “That’s impossible.”
“What?”
“You’ve been gone for three days.”
Mara stared at him. “Excuse me?”
The man stepped aside. “Come in.”
She entered. The inn was beautiful. A huge fireplace filled one wall. Candles burned along the mantel. An enormous staircase curved toward the upper floors. But there were no other guests. “Where am I?” Mara asked.
<h4>”The Last Lantern.”</h4>
“I know that. Where is it?”
The man looked at her.
“Between here and nowhere.”
Mara laughed nervously. “That’s not particularly helpful.”
“My name is Adrian.”
“Mara.”
“I know.”
She looked at him. “You know my name?”
“I know everyone who comes through that door.”
“How many have there been?”
Adrian’s expression became distant. “Not many.”
“Why?”
He walked toward the fireplace. “Because most people never find the inn.”
Mara noticed something above the mantel. A row of photographs. Dozens of them. People standing in front of the inn.
Men. Women. Children.
Some photographs looked a century old. Others appeared recent.
Mara studied them. Then she stopped. One photograph showed a woman standing beside the fireplace. The woman looked exactly like her. Same dark hair. Same green eyes. Same small scar above her eyebrow.
Mara stepped closer. “When was this taken?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
She turned. “Adrian.”
He stared at the photograph. “1893.”
Mara laughed. “That’s not possible.”
“No.”
“Who is she?”
Adrian looked at her. “Her name was Eliza.”
“Was she related to me?”
“No.”
“Then why does she look like me?”
Adrian said nothing. A bell rang upstairs. Once.
Mara looked toward the staircase. “Someone’s here.”
Adrian grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go upstairs.”
His hand was warm. Mara looked down at it. He released her immediately. “Sorry.”
“Why shouldn’t I go upstairs?”
“Because the rooms aren’t always what they seem.”
She smiled. “You’re remarkably good at making things worse.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Their eyes met. For a moment, neither spoke. There was something about him that made Mara uneasy.
And something else she couldn’t quite explain. Attraction? She disliked that fact immediately.
Adrian looked away first. “You’re hungry.”
“A little.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because the inn only serves dinner to people who are still alive.”
Mara stared at him.
He smiled. “I’m joking.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“No.”
Dinner appeared without a waiter. Roasted chicken. Fresh bread. Wine.
Mara sat across from Adrian. “Tell me what this place is.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
She leaned back. “Then tell me something you can.”
Adrian considered her. “The inn has rules.”
“Of course it does.”
“Rule one: never open a door marked with your own name.”
Mara’s smile disappeared. “Rule two?”
“Never stay past midnight.”
She looked at the clock. 11:56.
“And rule three?”
Adrian stood. “If you hear someone calling from outside, don’t answer.”
The clock struck midnight. Every candle went out.
Mara heard footsteps above them. Slow. Heavy. Then someone began walking down the stairs.
Adrian reached for her hand. “Stay behind me.”
A woman appeared at the bottom of the staircase. She was wearing a white dress. Her face was hidden by long black hair.
Mara felt Adrian’s fingers tighten around hers.
The woman lifted her head. Mara stopped breathing. She was looking at herself.
The woman smiled. “Adrian.”
He went completely still.
“You know me,” the woman said.
Adrian whispered: “Eliza.”
The woman looked at Mara. “She doesn’t belong here.”
Mara stepped forward. “Who are you?”
Eliza smiled. “The woman who died because of him.”
Mara looked at Adrian.
He said nothing.
“Is that true?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Not exactly.”
Eliza laughed. “You always were a coward.”
She disappeared. The lights returned.
Mara pulled her hand away from Adrian. “You have some explaining to do.”
“I know.”
“Who was she?”
“Eliza.”
“You loved her?”
Adrian looked at the empty staircase. “Yes.”
Mara felt an unexpected sting of jealousy. It irritated her. She barely knew him. “How did she die?”
Adrian walked toward the fireplace. “I killed her.”
Mara stared. “Why?”
“Because she asked me to.”
Silence filled the room.
Adrian turned toward her. “Eliza was dying. She begged me to take her memories and put them somewhere they could survive.”
“Into the inn?”
“No.”
He looked directly at Mara. “Into you.”
Mara felt cold. “No.”
“Every few generations, she returns.”
“Why?”
“Because the memories are waking up.”
Mara looked toward the photograph. The woman in it was smiling.
She suddenly remembered something. A garden. A man. A summer evening. A woman’s voice saying her name.
Mara staggered.
Adrian caught her. “Easy.”
She pushed against his chest. “I remember.”
His face changed. “What?”
“I remember you.”
Adrian stared at her.
Mara whispered: “You didn’t kill Eliza.”
He said nothing.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“And she asked you to forget her.”
His eyes filled with something that looked dangerously close to grief. “Yes.”
Mara looked at him. “Why?”
“Because she knew what would happen if I remembered.”
“What?”
Adrian stepped closer. The distance between them disappeared. “I would love her again.”
Mara’s heart began pounding. “But I’m not her.”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
Adrian didn’t answer. Because somewhere upstairs, a door opened.
Mara heard her own voice call from the darkness. “Adrian.”
He closed his eyes. “No.”
The voice came again. “Adrian, come upstairs.”
Mara looked at him. “That’s me.”
“I know.”
“But I’m standing here.”
Adrian took her hand. “That’s the problem.”
Together they looked toward the staircase. A woman was standing at the top.
She looked exactly like Mara. But she was wearing the white dress. And she was smiling.
The clock began to tick backward.
Adrian whispered: “Whatever happens next, don’t let her touch you.”
Mara squeezed his hand. “Why?”
He looked at her. “Because if she does, she’ll take your life.”
The woman at the top of the stairs smiled wider. “Not her life.”
She began walking down. “His.”
<h2>The Inn at the Edge of Midnight</h2>