Page 6

Nothing wrong with a bit of attitude.

She’d loved the place on sight. Felt an instant connection the second she got out of her car.

The keys she held jangled in her hand.

Truly curled her fingers around the cold metal bundle, drawn in some inexplicable way, as though the house wanted her closer. She resisted a moment, unable to take her eyes from the magnificence of her new home. It might be in disrepair, but money would fix what time had damaged. Soon, in a matter of months, she’d turn back the clock. Put the fortune, now sitting in a trust for her, to return the old girl to glory. The beginning of a new love affair. A worthy project, something to sink her creative canines into and make beautiful again.

A new sense of purpose struck her.

She started up the crooked walk. Each step echoed, ghosting out into the quiet street, the sound somehow profound in the silence, marking a moment in time. Her imagination flexed, making her think the closer she drew, the more the house came alive, drawing breath, exhaling in relief, welcoming her home. A tingle swept over her nape. The electrical charge in the air didn’t slow her. It quickened her pace instead, blood rush filling her ears as she jogged up the front stairs.

Rotten treads groaned.

The soles of her boots slipped on the wet steps. She firmed her footing and crested the last riser. A whisper of something, a featherlight touch, brushed over cheekbones. A shiver rolled down her spine as she stopped in front of a pair of massive doors. Ten feet tall, at least. Solid wood. Simple design. Build tough, and so wide she’d be able to drive her car through when both doors stood opened.

The stained-glass windows, though, were spectacular. Up close, she could see the individual panes set in an intricate web. A woman walking through a colorful expanse, long robe flowing behind her, pinpricks of blue light sparking from her fingertips. A sorceress, maybe? A mythical god, perhaps? Someone of immense power determined to protect others — and the world — from harm.

A fanciful thought.

One that came out of nowhere, and for some reason, reached deep to stir her imagination. Images flooded her, flashing through her mind. The woman in flowing robes sitting at a long table, pen in hand, surrounded by books. One of her speaking to the masses inside a packed amphitheater. Another of her leading the charge into battle, weapons raised, blue light blazing around her.

Truly huffed, then shook her head. The lack of sleep must be getting to her. Montrose never cared if she got the recommended hours of zzzs. Work was work, no matter the time, day or night. Though… she pursed her lips… that had changed in a big way. With her money problems solved, she didn’t need to go back to M&B.

The idea should’ve warmed her. It didn’t. She might not enjoy every assignment Montrose gave her, but she’d learned a lot over the last few months. Enough to know her former career, master-minding photoshoots for glossy magazines, no longer held any appeal. She’d seen too much, had embraced the upheaval and become part of a world much more interesting than the corporate one.

Head bent to her task, she shuffled through the keys.

Quite an about-face on the job front. She frowned at the iron ring. What did that mean? Had she really changed so much? Had her old life really been that stifling — that empty and unfulfilling? The answer came to her at once.

Yes. A thousand times over,yes.

Despite the loss of what she’d considered her dream job, somehow over the last few months, she’d outgrown it. Become wiser and more savvy, better able to spot those who wore toxicity like a second skin. She’d always thought she knew what she wanted — the jet-setting, the glossy pictures of gorgeous people in beautiful places, the renown of having her name captioned in magazines and newspapers.

Having had it and lost it, now standing in a place filled with the unknown, Truly couldn’t believe she’d fought so hard to keep the prestige. Or at least, the illusion of it. Nothing compared to standing in the fractured shadows of a broken porch light, about to step over the threshold her family had crossed for well over a hundred years.

Finding the key labeled ‘front,’ she fit it into the lock. With a firm hold, she twisted hard and…

The lock turned easily. No force needed. Surprising, given the condition of the house. She figured getting in would be a fight. Might even include a call to a locksmith.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Maybe Minador had visited, done a bit of maintenance before her arrival. Glancing up, she examined the front entrance, studying the wide, sloping trim, then dismissed the thought.

He hadn’t been by.

The lawyer made it clear he feared the house. Refused to go anywhere near the old girl — wasn’t his place to approach, or some such nonsense. The reason? No idea. Like so many things, he’d refused to clarify, stating she must discover her heritage without his interference. Some things simply weren’tpermissible. His word, not hers, but… whatever. What interested her now was the prospect ofdiscovering.

She reached for the handle.

The tumbler clicked.

The door swung open without making a sound.

No squeak. No halting hesitation one would expect from an old house with little-used hinges. Boots planted on the wide-planked porch, outstretched arm hovered in mid-air, she hesitated on the threshold. A warm current curled over her wrist. Another round of prickles raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck and…

Invisible tendrils ghosted over the sleeve of her jacket. A gripping sensation took hold, pulling her forward, insisting she cross the threshold.

Rocking back on her heels, she stood firm for a beat. The pulling sensation increased from gentle tug to insistent yank. She stutter-stepped, and off-balance, peered into the darkness beyond the entrance.

Shadows played in the black, morphing into indistinct shapes — the fringed edges of an area rug, a table pushed tight against the wall in the corridor, the skeletal rise of a staircase further down. Squinting into the gloom, Truly looked harder, searching for trouble.