Chapter Text
Prologue
Storybrooke, 1923
Regina trudged through the knee high snow, the bitter winter wind cutting through all of her bundled layers but she refused to let it slow her down. She had an objective and she wasn’t going to let a bit of snow and some wind stop her from achieving it. The surrounding forest was dark and quiet around her, the snow making sure the only sounds were her heavy breathing and the crunching of snow beneath her fraying snow shoes. She’d been traveling for miles, a woman on a mission indeed. As she finally reached the outer edges of the property, she allowed herself a brief respite and came to a stop. Doubling over, she rested her hands on her knees as her breaths came in gasps, her exhale hanging frozen in the air in front of her. Knowing she was later than she’d intended already, she straightened herself out and reached a hand into her jacket pocket where she fished out her gold pocket watch.
Popping it open, she smirked as she saw the time was just a few moments prior to midnight. She’d made it. She looked up, her triumphant gaze landing on the grand white victorian era style home in front of her. The lights inside were all on, bathing the surrounding area in warm light as the soft piano notes of Maple Leaf Rag and a lively party filtered out. Regina smirked at the irony of the song playing, seeing it as more than fitting for her return home from the Great North. The plain white Christmas lights wound around the front porch’s pillars warmly beckoned visitors inside, the happy feelings they invoked matching the cheerful wreath hung upon the home’s front door. The Christmas decorations were a new addition, but other than them, the home was as Regina had left it a few weeks prior. Her smile broadened as the person she cared for most in the world suddenly stepped out onto the porch.
“Robin,” she breathed, the word lost in the now louder piano music that spilled from the still open doorway of the home.
She watched the man she loved wrap himself up in a thick winter jacket as he braved the frigid cold. Before she could move or call out, Robin was quickly followed by another familiar yet slightly concerning person, her sister- Zelena. Regina watched, the smile quickly dying on her lips, as Zelena pulled Robin into a tight and intimate hug. They embraced for a few moments before they both pulled slightly back and Zelena’s hands came up to cup Robin’s face. Feeling as though someone had punched through her chest and was slowly and painfully squeezing her heart, Regina swallowed and decisively closed her pocket watch with a snap. As she dropped it into her pocket, she suddenly felt a blinding pain blossoming at the base of her skull. It attacked her with such ferocity that her knees buckled immediately and she collapsed to the ground, helpless to keep herself upright.
The deep snow rushed up to envelope her as stars clouded her vision and the warm stickiness of her own blood began pooling beneath her head and shoulders. As she gasped for breath, she found it more and more difficult to actually draw any air into her screaming lungs. She struggled to cry out, to make any noise at all and alert Robin and Zelena- who were mere yards away- to her plight but found her voice suddenly paralyzed and unwilling to cooperate. As she felt her life dwindling with each sluggish beat of her heart, Regina reached a single hand out to Robin, willing him to see her lying in the snow. With a final gasp, her hand fell limply back to the snow beneath it and she became as still and as silent as the rest of the forest surrounding her.
Chapter One
Boston, Present Day
Emma shoveled the last bit of her creme brûlée into her mouth, the savory dessert practically melting on her tongue. Licking the absolute last morsel off her fork, she hungrily eyed her date’s ramekin full of the creamy custard and caramelized sugar that had remained largely untouched in front of him. Before she could ask if he was going to actually eat it or just stare at it, he suddenly dropped his spoon in favor of reaching out to grab her hand.
“Emma,” he began, his eyes pinning her with a level of serious that instantly had her tensing up and fighting the instinct to run.
“Yes, Killian?” Emma hesitantly put down her fork, falling into the fake happy smile she plastered on her face any time she was faced with actually having to possibly express her feelings.
“You are…amazing,” Killian began, his nerves suddenly making themselves known as his hand became clammy on hers, his voice shaking. “I knew when we met, the man who won you would be…beyond lucky.”
Emma felt her blood run cold as her heart tripled its normal rhythm and her smile froze on her face. She’d only been dating Killian for six months and in those six months, there had not even been the flicker of a spark between them. The only reason Emma had continued to agree to dates with the man was because she was rounding the corner on 28 and sprinting towards 40. She’d resigned herself to being a spinster until she’d bumped into Killian at the fish market downtown. He was nice enough but he was dreadfully dull and never gave her incentive to make him a priority in her life. Shaking herself back to reality, Emma subtly tried to extricate her hand from his but found it secured as though in a vice. It seemed Killian was trying to find the strength to ground himself in her. Warning alarms were blaring in her mind screaming at her to run, but she strangely found herself rooted to her seat.
“Um,” Emma began, her mind going blank as she tried and failed to swallow the sudden fear bubbling up in her throat.
Killian caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, the gesture meant to be reassuring but falling far from its mark.
“Emma…” Killian almost appeared ill with how white his face had become and beads of sweat were blooming on his forehead.
Killian seemed to be struggling with how best to phrase the next part of his speech, and Emma was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded herself as she waited for what was clearly going to be a marriage proposal to fall from Killian’s mouth. Her nerves ramped up another level as Killian seemingly gathered himself and just before Emma could divert the conversation, words were spilling out of her date’s mouth like vomit.
“That man just isn’t me.” Killian exhaled heavily at the end of the statement and his hand relaxed on hers allowing her to pull her hand back slightly.
“I’m sorry?” Emma assumed she had misheard him due to the rushing of blood in her ears.
“You’re beautiful.” Killian rushed to reassure her, the sincerity of his words reflected in the seriousness of his expression as he leaned in towards her. “And smart and I know that somewhere deep inside you is a woman capable of great love.”
Emma stared open-mouthed at Killian as he prattled on, seemingly oblivious to her gaze.
“The problem is,” Killian continued, not in the least bit discouraged by the fact that Emma had yet to say a full sentence in response, “I don’t bring that out in you…and I never will.”
Finally gathering her thoughts and righting herself from the completely unexpected direction that their conversation had taken, Emma leaned forward herself. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Killian looked around at the other tables nearby, as though gauging how big a scene Emma was about to make. “Yes.”
“Oh, thank god!” Emma exclaimed as she exhaled in relief and slumped back in her seat.” She picked up her glass of wine and drained the remainder of it in one long sip before running a hand through her hair. “I thought you were proposing!”
Based on the shocked look on Killian’s face at her revelation, she could see just how wrong she’d been. For the briefest of moments, she felt a pang that he clearly had just as little interest in her romantically as she had in him, but then she chastised herself for having double standards and grabbed his wine glass instead.
“I know this may seem sudden but it’s something thats been lurking since, well, the beginning.” Killian eyed her with concern as she took a healthy sip from his wine glass before substituting it for the bread they had left from before their main course. “I know being a lawyer can be an all consuming job, but if you really wanted us to work, you’d make me a priority.”
Emma nodded along with him as he spoke, silently agreeing as she tore into the soft rolls in front of her desperate for something to distract herself with. She tried her best to appear understanding and interested in what he was saying, but to be honest, she found the bread more intriguing than him.
“True,” she agreed as she picked up a second roll.
“I’m just not your priority,” Killian finished tentatively, as though afraid he was going to upset her.
“You are so not,” Emma quickly and happily reassured him. “Also, you’re tired of dating someone who hasn’t learned how to love.”
Killian’s brow furrowed as his eyes flicked away from hers nervously. “I never said that.”
“Neal did. College boyfriend,” Emma explained at Killian’s confused look. “Graham called me his phantom girl. It was cute…until it wasn’t.”
Killian leaned back from her, the confusion on his face only growing.
“And Whale told me I should go to love repair boot camp.” When Killian appeared startled at the last revelation, Emma just explained further. “Because of my childhood. Who even knew there was such a thing?”
Emma smirked to herself as understanding seemed to dawn on Killian, noting the exact moment he realized that she wasn’t even the least bit upset by his breaking up with her.
“You’ve heard this before.” Killian leaned back from the table and crossed his arms, an indecipherable look crossing his features.
“Mhm. Yeah, lots,” Emma confirmed as she finished the last bite of her roll and focused on Killian’s still as of yet untouched dessert. “See now, I’m not gonna pretend to feel something that I don’t. You’re so right…I don’t feel anything. Are you gonna eat that?”
Killian appeared startled at the complete change of topic, his mouth hanging open as Emma helped herself to a bite of his creme brûlée.
“Mmm!” Emma wasted no time in pulling his ramekin towards her, a moan of delight escaping her as she dove into the second helping of custard.
Taking that as his cue, Killian threw his napkin on the table and left Emma to his- now her- dessert. Once he’d gone, Emma found herself more content alone with the second dessert than she had in the entire six months that she’d dated Killian.
XXX
Emma was busily typing away on her computer, her focus trying to close out the last estate sale that she’d brokered for her firm. The work was tedious, but it gave Emma some fulfillment knowing that she was often the one ensuring that a person’s last requests and wishes were granted. She certainly felt more accomplished these days as compared to her job as a bail bonds person five years ago, but she would never change her past for anything- it had made her who she was. Emma was so focused on the legal jargon spewing from her well versed hands that she didn’t even notice her boss, Mr. Gold, walk in until the fairly thick manila folder he’d been carrying crashed on to her desk. Emma jumped, startled out of the flow of her current project, and looked up at Gold with a mild annoyance.
“Cora Mills finally died,” Gold advised her without preamble or emotion. “Old hag was older than God Himself.”
“And good morning, Mr. Gold,” Emma sighed, not managing to completely mask the sarcasm in her tone.
“It was,” Gold muttered, either oblivious to Emma’s attitude or not in a mood to deal with it. “Visions of my Bahamas vacation were dancing in my head until I got this news.”
Emma smirked to herself, just the slightest bit amused at Gold’s clear irritation and scooped up the file Gold had so ungracefully deposited onto her desk.
“Guess what I don’t want to think about on my Bahamas vacation,” Gold continued, his tone taking on a slight edge as Emma thumbed through the paperwork.
“Cora Mills?” Emma chanced a glance up at Mr. Gold, catching the humorless smile that crossed his features and finally broke the stone look upon his face.
“You’re quick, dearie,” Gold mused, somehow managing to make the compliment sound like more of an insult. Emma shook her head and looked back at the folder in her hands, actually taking the time to open it and go through it more thoroughly. “I knew there was a reason I came to you first.”
“I also never have Christmas plans,” Emma pointed out, finishing Gold’s thought for him.
“That too,” Gold conceded without remorse. “It’s a simple execution of her will, mostly.”
Emma didn’t bother looking up at that. “How many assets?”
“Just the one big one,” Gold replied as he stared down at his nose at her, seemingly daring her to refuse the case load.
Emma knew better than to back down from a challenge, however, and held his gaze with her own that had been forged over years in the foster system. After a brief beat of silence and a battle of the wills, Gold finally sighed and turned to leave.
“Come along, dearie,” he beckoned her with a hand, already sweeping out of her office and headed towards his.
Emma rolled her eyes at his retreating back but stood to follow nonetheless. She had recently heard rumblings around the office that the firm was looking for a new partner to replace Gold’s son, Neal, who had left abruptly the past month. Even the most salacious gossipers in the office hadn’t uncovered what had prompted his departure- though most were leaning towards a sexual harassment suit- and Emma wasn’t willing to compromise any chance she had at a promotion by engaging in a petty war of the wills. Emma followed Gold into his office, marveling at the various antiques that lined the walls, bookshelves, and surfaces. Every time she walked in to his office, it seemed as though he had acquired some new trinket or piece of memorabilia from a time long since forgotten. Gold walked over to his computer and gestured at Emma to join him. On the screen before them was a photograph of a rather old but grand looking white Victorian style home that appeared pristinely maintained.
“Holy shit,” Emma blurted without thinking as she leaned in to get a better look.
Gold raised an eyebrow but excused the outburst and turned back to his computer. “Storybrooke Inn,” he told her. “Nice, huh?”
“Charming,” she replied distractedly as she continued to study the photograph. “Who gets it?”
“No heirs,” Gold shrugged. “So to the trust it goes and they want it sold quickly. Before they get hit with taxes.”
“When would they like it sold by?” Working a time line out in her head, Emma guessed she could have it inspected and sold within two months, best case scenario.
“End of the year,” Gold stated as though it wasn’t going to be an issue.
“But that’s in three weeks!” Emma stood and faced the imp of a man before her, panic and anger radiating off of her in sudden waves. “That’s impossible.”
“I know,” Gold agreed. Looking around, Gold leaned in towards Emma before lowering his voice. “Between you and me, the firm is looking for a new partner to fill Neal’s old position. That’s a senior associate position. While I can’t make any guarantees, I can go to bat for you over August.”
“That’s-” Emma had to work to keep her smile from spreading over her face. She flattened her hands over her suit jacket, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in it while she gathered herself. “Thank-you, Mr. Gold.”
“We both know it’s selfish, dearie,” Gold admitted reluctantly. “You work harder than anyone here and that makes my life easier.”
Nodding her head, Emma mentally reevaluated the time line she’d previously had in mind for selling the property. “Ok, well, I will have the business evaluations done right away. I’ll examine the books, hire a local appraiser-”
“That’s strangely not as easy as it seems,” Gold cut in as he picked up a piece of paper from his desk and examined it.
“Why?” Emma leaned in to try and see what he was looking at.
“I’ve already hired two companies. Both…failed,” Gold revealed rather ominously as he handed Emma the paper.
Glancing at it, she saw it was a news clipping from the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. The headline read: Haunted Storybrooke Inn.
“Oh come on.” Emma looked up at Gold with contempt and disbelief etched on her face.
“I know,” Gold replied with just as much disbelief. “Fourty-Five percent of the population still believes in ghosts and as of right now, so do one hundred percent of our appraisers.”
“So hire someone else,” Emma demanded, refusing to be discouraged over some bogus bedtime stories.
“Already have, Ms. Swan,” Gold assured her, the use of her name signifying that she was dangerously close to the end of his patience. “Mr. Geppetto will be at the Inn on the 12th and so will you.”
“You want me to hold his hand.” It came out as a statement rather than a question.
“Basically.”
Emma rolled her eyes, not thrilled at the prospect of a road trip to Maine in the dead of winter.
“I trust you’ll knock this out in no time, Ms. Swan,” Gold ordered. “You always do.”
With that, Gold turned and strode to his door, opening it in a clear indication that Emma was dismissed. Emma took one final look at the photograph on Gold’s computer before picking up the news clipping and swiftly exiting the office. She had a lot of work to get done in the city before she left for Maine the next day. Settling behind her own desk, she began the business evaluations for the Inn immediately, mentions of ghost stories and haunted Inns pushed to the back of her mind while she focused.
It wasn’t until everyone else in the office had left for the light and the midnight janitor was vacuuming somewhere on the floor that Emma looked up and realized how late it was. Settling back in her chair, she picked up the news article she’d thrown to the side earlier and read through it. It gave a brief history of the Inn and its previous owner, Cora Mills, before delving into the topic of the Inn’s tragic history. Briefly, the article mentioned someone named Regina Mills who had been killed on the edge of the property a few weeks prior to Christmas in 1920. After that, the Inn seemed to be struck with a number of unfortunate incidents including the death of Regina’s fiancé not long after her body had been found, a guest hanging himself in their room, and a kitchen fire that had kept the Inn closed for nearly two years. Once reopened, there were numerous reports of apparitions on the property, most commonly in the dining room, however, visits in guest rooms were not unheard of. Emma rolled her eyes and huffed out a chuckle as she read through one guests recounting of a “misty grey being” that had appeared at the foot of their bed.
“Haunted my ass,” Emma grunted, throwing the article down on her desk as she stood and stretched. “Seems like a convenient way to get out of paying your bill.”
Emma shut down her computer, having finished most of what she needed to do from her office and gathered the necessary paperwork to take with her to Maine. Giving her office a once over to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything essential, her eyes caught the article still sitting on her desk. She smirked and shook her head. If the Inn was in fact haunted, the ghosts were in for a rude awakening. Emma had a job to do and a promotion to secure and no campfire stories were going to stop her from achieving that. Shutting off her desk lamp, she closed her door, already eager to be done with her northern road trip but knowing it would be good to get away for a bit, even on business.
“Storybrooke, here I come,” she muttered as she walked out into the cold Boston night.