Page 10 of Soul to Possess (The Artmaker Trilogy #1)

A horrible grinding noise pulled me from sleep, metal chewing metal somewhere beneath the floor.

I blinked up at the low ceiling of the bus, disoriented and heavy-limbed, like I’d been sleeping underwater.

My cheek stuck slightly to the old wooden bench.

I hadn’t meant to sleep that deeply. It was a miracle I could even fall asleep on the thing.

Marvin must’ve paid extra. First class rural transit.

The thought made me huff a tired laugh. My last mattress was a sagging heap of secondhand springs that pinched my spine in the same three places every night for what felt like fourteen years.

It was strange—feeling my body not ache in the middle of my back, but in my neck instead.

Even stranger to realize I might never sleep in that old bed again. The speakers crackled overhead, a deep male voice breaking through with the tact of a hammer.

“South Dakota. Stop number eighteen. Elizabeth—uh—Gennie, I mean. Your destination has been reached. Ranch is up ahead. Come up front. This is where you get off.”

I sat up too fast, heart thudding. They couldn’t mean here .

The windows were nearly white with snow, blurring out everything beyond the glass like the world had disappeared.

I hadn’t even heard us stop. Groping for my bags, I shoved my notebook and kindle, between two sweaters, wiped the grit from my eyes, and stumbled down the narrow aisle toward the front.

The cold hit me before the door even opened—leaking in around the frame like a warning.

The driver stood just outside, bundled in layers, breath curling from his mouth in thick plumes. He wasn’t smiling.

“Gennie?” he asked. His voice had a local lilt—grainy, worn. “This is your stop.”

I stared at him. “There’s… nothing here.”

His lips pulled tight. “Can’t take the bus further.

Storm’s coming in quick. Roads are too slick.

Last time we tried pushin’ through in this kinda mess, we slid off a ravine.

” He rubbed his hands together like the cold had bones.

“Ranch is about a half mile straight that way. Stakes in the ground mark the road.”

“Stakes,” I repeated, like maybe I’d misheard.

“Tall orange ones. You’ll see ‘em pokin’ up through the snow. Just follow those. You’ll make it.”

The words make it landed wrong in my stomach.

I was supposed to be greeted by Marvin’s old ranch truck, and a long gravel drive.

Not blinding snow and a half mile walk. I stepped down onto the snow-covered ground with a crunch that swallowed everything else.

The wind slapped me in the face, stinging and wet and unrelenting.

I zipped my coat halfway before realizing it wasn’t enough and dropped my bags.

It was only mid-September. Virginia didn’t look like this until January, if ever.

“You sure this is it?” I asked again.

He shrugged. “Address matches what I got. Ranch ain’t got a name, not on file. This is Marvin’s place just like I told ya. Someone’s expectin’ you though.”

A small shiver snaked down my spine. “Who?”

He paused. “Marvin. He just told me to drop you here. Sorry, ma’am. Nothing personal.”

Nothing personal. The words were a hook dragging through my gut.

Not personal was exactly the kind of thing people said when it absolutely, one hundred percent was.

I looked around, squinting against the flurry.

Trees loomed like silent witnesses in every direction.

No signs. No buildings. No light. The whole world looked like it had been erased with a palette knife dipped in white.

“Guess I just keep walking,” I murmured.

He nodded solemnly. “Storm’s movin’ faster than we thought. You’d best not dawdle.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “Don’t stray off the path.” As he turned his back, and walked back into the bus.

I slung my bags over my shoulder, turning back one last time to meet his eyes. There was something there. Not regret. Not guilt. Something more complicated. Like he wanted to say something he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“Yes, ma’am, well—good luck to ya,” the man called through the bus window, voice half-swallowed by the wind. “I hope you make it safely. Watch out for the bears. Otherwise, you should be fine.”

Bears? My head jerked up like I’d misheard him. But no. He’d said it with all the calm indifference of someone warning me to mind the potholes. Just bears. Casual man-eaters.

“What the hell am I supposed to do if I run into a bear?” I muttered under my breath, voice curling out in a puff of frost.

The man gave me a thumbs-up like we were old friends parting ways at a gas station, not him leaving me in a goddamn blizzard.

There was something almost smug about it—like he knew this wasn’t normal.

Like this whole setup wasn’t exactly what it looked like: a girl getting dropped off in the middle of nowhere with no working phone, no backup plan, and no clue what the hell she was walking into.

I fixed him with a dead-eyed glare. “You, sir, are the single most helpful man I’ve ever met in the entirety of my deeply unfortunate life.”

He didn’t respond. Just rolled the window up and let the bus swallow him.

“Thanks,” I said anyway. Because I didn’t know what else to do.

Because he was leaving, and I was not. With a sick grinding sound the bus pulled away with a horrible kind of finality.

The tires spun briefly in the snow, then caught, and just like that—I was alone.

I stood in the swirling cold, trying not to panic.

This was fine. Totally fine. Half a mile wasn’t long.

I could walk that in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen in this weather.

My decidedly un-gloved hands gripped the handles of my bags tighter.

This was the start of everything. A new home.

A husband. A life. It just... didn’t feel like a beginning.

It felt more like an ending. This was it.

The walk to forever. My shoes immediately betrayed me.

They weren’t built for snow. Not this kind of snow.

Not the kind that dragged at your ankles like a live thing, slipping between the seams and numbing your toes from the inside out.

They were cheap, stiff, and already wet.

The frayed hem of my jeans clung to my calves in freezing strips.

Still, I kept moving. Marvin had paid for my ticket, yes.

But even that had made me feel like I had a debt I couldn’t afford.

Even the $400 he had given me was stretched thin with what little bit I had to buy.

I hadn’t asked for boots. Or gloves. Or anything beyond what was absolutely necessary.

I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Or worse—needy.

The coat had been a gift. A thick wool thing with a faux fur collar and brass buttons that didn’t quite match.

It was too big in the shoulders, and it smelled faintly like cedar and something darker.

Something old . But it was warm, and right now, warmth was all that mattered.

I wrapped it tighter around me and ducked into the wind.

The stakes were where the driver said they’d be—tall and orange, poking through the drifts like bones.

They guided the eye in a shaky, staggered line down what might’ve once been a road.

There were no lights. No buildings. Not even fence posts or barbed wire.

Just snow. Endless, blinding snow. It didn’t look like a road so much as a corridor carved through the void.

Every step made my muscles scream. Every gust of wind stole my breath and turned it into something sharp.

I kept my eyes on the stakes and told myself this was temporary.

That I wasn’t crazy for agreeing to this.

That Marvin was trustworthy, and the ranch—wherever the hell it was—was real.

That someone was waiting for me. That this wasn’t some stupid horror story opening in real time.

I didn’t believe it. Not completely. But I needed to.

Because the cold was starting to feel alive.

And the further I walked, the more it felt like something was watching.

Just one foot in front of the other. Just keep going. You’ve made it this far. Half a mile isn’t that far. It’s nothing. You can do this. You wanted this.

The words looped in my head, desperate and hollow as the wind.

A mantra spoken through chattering teeth.

I tried to hype myself up as I dragged my frozen feet through the drifts, but every step felt like it might be my last. My thighs burned.

My toes had gone numb hours—or minutes?—ago.

Time was warped out here, swallowed by white.

It was supposed to be beautiful. The snow. That’s what I told myself. I had dreamed of it. Romanticized it. Virginia rarely got snow like this—powdered, soft, cinematic. But this wasn’t that. This was weaponized winter. This was survival.

I trudged on. Step. Step. Crunch. Step.

Then—light.

Faint at first. Distant and flickering. But real.

And ahead of me. My breath caught. It didn’t feel like hope exactly, but it was something close.

Something sharp. Urgent. I picked up the pace, legs nearly giving out beneath me.

The cold wasn’t just around me now—it was in me.

In my joints. In my chest. My fingertips burned as the nerves came back to life.

Just a little more. Just a little more. Almost there. As I got closer, the shape of the building came into view. Not a sprawling ranch like I’d imagined. Not some sun-warmed farmhouse with a wraparound porch and lights glowing from every window. No. It was a cabin. Small. Square. Plain.