Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

T he local animal shelter is my sanctuary, a place where failed dates and work stress melt away. I'm coaxing a skittish tabby from its carrier when Darla, my fellow volunteer and resident animal rights warrior, sidles up next to me.

"So," she begins, a mischievous glint in her eye, "how was Mr. Perfect from Tinder?"

I groan. "Not nearly as perfect as his profile would make you believe. Let's just say his love for his ant farm surpassed his interest in me. Or in asking me a single question all night. On the bright side I can tell you all about ant farms now. What do you want to know?"

Darla chuckles, shaking her head. "Oh, Zoe. At least these little ones appreciate you." She gestures to the cats around us. "How's the museum gig going?"

"It's..." I pause, searching for the right words. "My new boss is...challenging. But the opportunity to work with my Great Aunt Charlotte's collection is amazing."

As I check my phone, reality crashes back.

Glancing at my watch, I yelp. "Crap! I'm late for the special Saturday meeting at work! My real work!"

I grab my things, and my fresh coffee, I do my best to semi-sprint to my beat-up Corolla. Somehow, I manage to keep all the precious liquid in the cup. But as I peel out of the parking lot, my initial care seems to have all been for nothing. In my haste, I turn too hard and half of it ends up on my blouse.

"Perfect," I mutter, eyeing the growing stain. "Just in time for my presentation."

And as I navigate the short trek to Winthrop House, as the estate is called, I have plenty of time to think about the upcoming staff meeting where I'll finally get to pitch my ideas regarding Great Aunt Charlotte's mansion and its eclectic collection of artifacts.

My idea will be the perfect way to both honor her legacy and passion for adventure and cryptozoology while also really bringing history to life once the house is fully renovated and opened to the public as a museum. If only professor Peabody were still around. He was my biggest supporter, and really, half the reason I even got hired on. But his replacement, Douchebag Dan, I mean, Mr. Patterson is another story. I will never for the life of me understand how someone like him got put in charge of this project.

The sprawling Victorian mansion looms before me as I pull into the parking lot. Even after months of working here, it still takes my breath away. While my parents never seemed to care a bit for it, I've always been enthralled with the place and the history it practically oozes., and I've always been enthralled by it. Charlotte's adventurous spirit seems to radiate from every brick and gable. When my parents, to my great despair, decided to cash in on my mother's inheritance, and just sell the place I was mortified. I had just assumed it would be kept in the family as it had been for over one hundred years. At that point I figured it was the last I would see of any of her treasures, or the mansion for that matter. Never in a million years did I think I would get the chance to one day work on the collection myself. My annoyance with the new boss fades into the background as I remember what got me interested in history and adventure in the first place.

I nearly collide with Amanda Frost, head of PR, as I rush through the entrance. Her perfectly manicured eyebrow arches as she steadies me, her gaze falling to my coffee-stained blouse.

"Cutting it close, aren't we, Zoe?" she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. " Meeting's already started, and you look like you just wrestled a cappuccino machine. Might want to cover that up."

"I know, I know! Animal shelter ran late," I explain breathlessly.

Amanda sighs. "Hmm, not sure how that ties in, but whatever...there are no donors visiting today, so I guess beyond a fashion faux pas, it's no harm no foul." She gives me a friendly wink before striding away, heels clicking authoritatively.

I shake my head, marveling at how Amanda always looks board room ready, even on a Saturday morning.

I barely make it to my tiny office slash glorified storage closet before said boss pokes his head in.

"Ah, Zoe," he says, his tone dripping with condescension. "So glad you could join us today. I trust you are prepared for our meeting. It's starts in five minutes you know..."

I paste on my brightest fake smile. "Absolutely, Dr. Patterson. I can't wait to share my ideas. Mr. Peabody said they capture my Aunt Charlotte spirit perfectly. And I..."

"Mr Peabody, has sadly passed on my dear. And we are all so very impressed and grateful to have you here, given your family connection to the estate. I am sure your family must be proud that you have opted to dedicate yourself to bringing the collection to the public."

"Not really, sir, they just wanted the money ..."

"Yes, yes, be that as it may, please remember, that I am in charge here now. I will decide what and how we display things."

"Yes sir"

Did he even listen to what I said?

With barely a nod he spins on his heel and heads toward a sitting room of the estate, which now serves as the conference room. As I follow, I catch the eye of Olivia, our resident historian and my closest ally here. She gives me a reassuring smile, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she nods.

Now fifteen minutes late, Dan finally strolls in and launches into a monotonous spiel about budgets and scheduling. When he opens the floor for new exhibit ideas, I practically launch myself out of my chair.

"So," I begin, willing my voice not to shake, "I have a few ideas. In keeping with my great aunt's interests..."

" Ms Winthrop's you mean," he interrupts me,

"Umm yes, in keeping with Ms. Winthrop's interests, I've been researching mythological creatures from various cultures. I think a comparative exhibit would be fascinating! We could explore the similarities between creatures like the Greek chimera and the Hindu makara, or-"

As I speak, I notice Olivia nodding encouragingly, her eyes bright with shared passion. She can be a bit straightlaced at times, but she always has my back.

"Ms. Bennett," Dan interrupts, not even bothering to look up from his phone, "Need I remind you that we are developing a history museum, not preparing for some sort of fantasy convention?"

I feel my cheeks burning, but I press on. "But sir, mythology is history. These stories have shaped cultures for thousands of years. Plus, many of the artifacts she collected would tie in perfectly -"

"Zoe, that's all very interesting." I can tell by his tone he has already dismissed it. "You said you had another idea?" His tone says he thinks he is doing me the biggest favor in the world just to let me speak. I need a word worse that "douchebag" for him. Maybe "Dicksicle?"

But determined, I continue. "Yes, we could create a really engaging exhibit, like one of those tableaus you see in the Smithsonian. We could have my aunt...Ms. Winthrop in her rocking chair, reading to my grandmother as a child! My Grandmother repeated the stories to me, but she said the way my Aunt Charlote told them you almost felt you were there on one of her adventures! I think it would really bring the collection and her passion to life..."

Dan's bark of laughter cuts me off. "Miss Bennett, as I said, we are all very impressed with your connections to the Winthrop Collections, but we need to focus on hard sciences and anthropology, not indulge in folly and feelings."

Folly and feelings!

There were times as a child, I swear, my grandmother and those stories were all I had.

I feel the tears immediately threaten to spill onto my cheeks, but thankfully I am able to prevent that further humiliation. The rest of the meeting blurs by as I struggle to keep a smile on my face. As it draws to a close, I try one more time to stand up for my ideas.

"Mr Patterson, could we just talk about..."

"We'll discuss this later," he cuts me off. "Right now I need you to catalog that box of Victorian doorknobs Cheryl found. They're somewhere in the sub-basement storage I think she said."

Before she leaves Olivia catches me. "I think your ideas are great, Zoe," she whispers. "Don't let that tool get you down."

"Thanks Olivia, Don't know what I'd do without ya,"

"I imagine you'd survive, though it would be difficult," she quips.

"That's no lie," I say with a wink as we part ways and I trudge down to the gloomy sub-basement, muttering under my breath.

"Victorian doorknobs. My fancy college degree at work. Maybe if I'm really lucky, I'll get to sort 19th century coat hooks next."

Just as I begin to descend the second set of creaky stairs, I hear the chime of my phone. Pulling it out I see it's my best friend Mia.

Mia: Hey how's things?

Me: Don't ask.

Mia: That bad?

Me: Yes. Send help. I'm being held hostage by antique hardware.

Mia: Lol what?

Me: Long story. Remind me again why I turned down the Guggenheim for this?

Mia: Because your great aunt was a total badass! Besides, the universe has bigger plans for you than a stuffy museum like that! You're where you need to be! ???

Me: Maybe if my plan is to discover a new strain of black mold. Anyhow the doorknobs are calling. Love ya.

Mia: Black mold needs love too! Sparkle on, sister! ??

I tuck my phone away as I reach the bottom of the stairs. The sub-basement is a maze of towering shelves crammed with dusty boxes and oddities that haven't seen the light of day in decades.

"And he's got me looking for doorknobs, of all things," I mutter.

I wander deeper into the labyrinth, coughing as I disturb years of accumulated dust. My eyes water, and I bump into a rickety shelf. A small avalanche of papers rains down on my head.

"Seriously?" I sputter, brushing cobwebs out of my hair. As I bend to pick up the mess, something catches my eye. It's an old map, the edges crumbling with age.

I squint at it in the dim light. It shows the wider region around the museum, but something's off. The estate is actually at the edge of a vast government owned wilderness. But on this strange map, where there should be just rolling mountains, hills and valleys, the map depicts a whole town.

"What the..." I mutter, looking at a little blow-up section, highlighting it, tracing the unfamiliar streets with my finger. A shiver runs down my spine. What is this? I turn the map over as if the answers might be on the other side. There is nothing of course.

According to my grandmother, my great aunt Charlotte had a kind of catch phrase. It flashes through my mind now. "The world is full of hidden wonders, you just have to know where to look."

Aunt Charlotte was an archaeologist back when female Indiana Joneses were practically unheard of. Her wild tales of adventure fired up my imagination as a kid. Looking at this bizarre map, I feel that old spark of excitement flare to life again.

I carefully tuck the map into my bag, determined to investigate further later. For now, I still have doorknobs to find.

Sigh.

But as I round another corner, a cool breeze hits my face.

That's odd.

Out of curiosity, I follow the source of the air current, rounding boxes and dodging piles of bric-a-brac. Pushing aside a heavy shelf, my breath catches. Behind it, I discover a hidden archway carved into the stone wall. Above it, barely legible letters spell out: "Enter all who still believe."

Enter? Enter what? Archway or not, there's nothing but a solid stone wall here. Which doesn't really explain the breeze either, but there's definitely a breeze. I still feel it, coming straight off the wall.

This is getting odder by the minute.

My heart races. This is straight out of one of Aunt Charlotte's stories. Part of me wants to push the bookcase back in place and hightail it upstairs. But a bigger part—the part that's seen too many movies probably—begins to examine around the edges.

I read the sign again.

Should I?

Don't be ridiculous, Zoe.

But maybe…

No, it's silly.

Oh, hell…

"I still believe," I whisper aloud to the empty room as I touch the weathered stone.

Suddenly the breeze intensifies, whipping my hair around my face as the archway takes on a faint glow.

I inhale sharply. "What's happening?" I take half a step back.

I need to get someone else down here to see this. But who? Olivia? Before I can turn tail and beat feet, I'm struck by a strong blast of wind followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

And then everything goes white.