5

A narrow road snaked up the steep face of Watch Hill, winding back on itself in hairpin bends. Although I've been called an

aggressive driver, Mr.Balfour guided the Mercedes roadster up the peak at a speed that intimidated even me. A time or two

I was certain we would roar out of a blind curve and vault airborne off the cliff's edge, but he handled the subtle bank of

each turn superbly, accelerating with precision, decelerating rarely.

"The manor you stand to inherit," Mr.Balfour told me with pride as we scaled the ascent, "stands on five hundred and seventy-two

acres. Most of it is virgin forest, with spectacular live oaks that have been standing for centuries. The Sylvan Oak is the

eldest, at three to four hundred years, with a limb spread of nearly two hundred feet."

I'm not a woman prone to gaping; at least I wasn't before today. The largest yard my mother and I ever had was half an acre,

and we'd gardened every inch of it, putting up corn and squash, canning beans and pickles. Nearly six hundred acres seemed

an entire town to me. I could get lost on my own "lawn."

Oblivious to my shock, he breezed on. "We can discuss the details of Juniper's investments and business concerns, and the trust she established, once you've settled in. The estate itself is a lot to absorb. The manor occupies the west face of the hill. The old cemetery, Watch End, is out to the east. Watch Marsh is a hundred-and-twenty-acre wetlands preserve to the north, and Watch Burren is a cluster of caves—do be careful to let someone know if you go exploring—to the south. Don't hike too far past the cemetery, or you'll find yourself in the Bottoms with the Littlehollows, which is never a pleasant experience." He grimaced. "We tend to avoid that area. That town—and I'm being generous calling it such—is as dark and unpolished as Divinity is bright and inviting."

"The Littlehollows?" I echoed.

"A family those of us in Divinity tend to give a wide berth. Their ways are not ours."

As we coasted through an elaborate gate that opened via a key fob he passed to me after using, I was surprised to find the

courtyard within the Gothic enclosure welcoming, with a tiled circular drive that looped about a mossy three-tiered fountain

surrounded by flowers.

I stepped from the car and moved to the fence, pushing my hair from my eyes and twisting it back into a knot, as there was,

indeed, a bracing breeze at the peak of Watch Hill. Grasping the iron rails, I peered between them and caught my breath at

the picturesque sprawl of Divinity, tiny and tidy, far below. As I'd imagined earlier, the house presided over the town, an

imposing sentinel: Watch Hill watching every detail.

Laid out with mathematical precision, the streets ran crisply parallel, divided into neat blocks. At the center of the town

was the Commons, through which I'd passed earlier. The spires of four churches loomed, sharp and dark against the gloaming,

and lights in the windows of countless homes twinkled. It was charming and idyllic, just the type of town where one might

raise children and enjoy a good quiet life. No crime to speak of , Mr.Graham had said.

I was turning to tell Mr. Balfour the view was as spectacular as he'd claimed when something exploded from the sky, descending on me, battering my head and clawing at my shoulder. I flung up my arms to protect myself, ducked and shook vigorously, but was unable to dislodge the attacker, so I fisted a hand and took a blind punch at it.

Mr.Balfour cried, "Ms.Grey, that's Rufus! He won't harm you. Don't hurt him. Calm yourself this very instant!"

Something about being told to "calm myself this very instant" tends to have the opposite effect on me, but I went still, doubled

over, protecting the sides of my face with my fists while the creature shifted awkwardly on my shoulder and growled. "What

exactly is Rufus?"

"An owl. Rufus was Juniper's pet."

I exhaled slowly, collecting myself before straightening. As I stood, the raptor stabilized on my right shoulder, and I turned

my head to inspect it. The owl regarded me intently with a single fierce bloodred eye. It had a positively demonic face, its

long black ear tufts fluttering in the breeze. But of course , I thought dryly, why would I expect the old woman's pet to be any less forbidding than her house?

"That's not an owl. I've seen owls, barn owls, snowy owls, great horned ones. They don't look like that."

"Rufus is a Stygian owl. They're unique, and in certain light, their eyes appear crimson. You'll find his are actually a warm

yellow-orange in daylight, not that he often opens them in daylight."

The raptor rotated his head in the uncanny way of owls, swiveling to regard me with first one disturbingly scarlet eye, then

the next, before leaning in to peck my head. "Ow!" It didn't hurt so much as it startled, but rebuffed by my cry, the owl

pushed off my shoulder and flapped to the cleft of a nearby oak, where he sat ruffling his feathers and whuffing softly. I cast Mr.Balfour a dark look. "Warn me next time."

He raised his hands in apology. "Had I any idea Rufus might descend to perch on you, I'd certainly have cautioned you, but I've never seen him approach a stranger before."

"Does he live inside the house? Am I expected to bring him in at night?"

"No. He roosts in the conservatory during the day. Devlin must have let him out for the evening. He'll return near dawn."

"Devlin or the owl?"

"Rufus. He knows to wait in the cubby outside until someone lets him in. Whenever you normally get up is fine. He's a nocturnal

beast, his comings and goings crepuscular." He paused before adding with some irritation, "Much like Devlin's."

I'd inherited a monster owl along with a monstrous house. "Who's Devlin?"

An expression of distaste was quickly masked behind what I suspected was his courtroom smile, all teeth and not much else.

"He does carpentry about the estate and he's often just... around, as if he considers himself entailed with the property.

He's not. He's here at your discretion," he added, cutting me a sharp look. "And he works only on the exterior of the house.

Any interior work you want done, call me. He does no work inside." Then his gaze warmed as he fretted, "I do hope Rufus doesn't frighten you away from us, my dear. You must at

least see the house."

"Not at all. I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

"Come. I'll show you in," he said brightly.

"No need. I'll let myself in, grab a bite, and go to bed. I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning." My desire to be alone

so I could ponder my unfathomable situation was only slightly greater—and I do mean infinitesimally so, by perhaps a hair—than

my dread of walking into the dark, forbidding house by myself. Since learning of my alleged inheritance, not a single flashback

of sex with Kellan had crashed, uninvited, into my mind; I was that stupefied.

"I'll give you a proper tour," he insisted. "I know the manor and can show you how everything works. The house, landscape, and pool are controlled by a Lutron lighting system that offers a variety of themes, but the panels that operate it are a bit complex."

"Thanks, but I'll give it a go tomorrow and call you if I have questions." I was so overwhelmed that I was going numb. Even

my she-dragon was slumped in a silent stupor.

His features tightened at my refusal, and he hesitated a moment before saying, "But of course, Ms.Grey. I'm sorry. On the

heels of such a tragic loss, I've given you quite a lot to think about, and, my dear, you must be overwhelmed and exhausted,

wanting your privacy. Do try Lennox's chicken pot pie casserole with a side of biscuits before you nod off. It's good old-fashioned

comfort food. You'll also find a pan of shrimp and cheese grits with pork chops, and if you've a mind to fry eggs and slice

tomatoes, you'll have a proper southern breakfast. Lennox tucked slices of red velvet cake into the freezer if you find yourself

peckish for a sweet. Forty-five seconds in the microwave warms the cream cheese frosting to perfection. Till tomorrow, then."

He handed me the keys to the house, got in his car, sped about the circular drive, and roared back down the hill to Divinity.

I peered up past heavy drapes of Spanish moss fluttering in the breeze, into the tenebrous depths of the oak. Two eyes stared

back, round, vermillion, and unblinking, reflecting the light cast by the lamps behind me, which had flickered on when we

arrived.

"Sorry about that, Rufus. You startled me," I murmured. I loved animals and had always wanted a pet, but we'd moved so often

and I'd had so little free time between school and work, it was never an option. "Stick around. I could use a friend."

The owl blinked twice, made a loud clak-clak-clak sound, and thrust aloft to soar beyond the treetops, vanishing into the caliginous sky.

Bracing myself, I turned to face the other beast at Watch Hill.

The House.

Its macabre presence was amplified by proximity, and—so much for Mr.Balfour's glowing tribute to the beauty and charm of

Juniper Cameron's manor—the fortress was no more inviting up close than it was from a distance. The turrets were ears on a

face as dark and demonic as the owl's; the windows sinister, pale eyes; the double doors a mouth with fangs that might snap

me in two were I foolhardy enough to attempt to enter.

It towered over me, jutting into the sky, shades of obsidian against cobalt, and I had a sudden premonition of how inconsequential

I was going to feel wandering around inside alone. I decided I would leave the lights on all the time, and if the estate had

a problem with the utility bills, perhaps they'd reconsider my desire for a roommate.

I thought back to the details Mr. Balfour had provided on the drive. The original cabin, built over three hundred years ago, was preserved within the house, precisely as it had once stood. The manor had been added on to repeatedly, revamped and expanded in the late eighteen hundreds, expanded and updated again in the nineteen twenties. The exterior was refreshed, and the main floor had been extensively renovated five years ago, along with much of the second floor, but at ninety-seven years of age, Juniper had lacked the stamina and patience to continue, and more than half the house remained as it was over a century past, with the exception of the costly addition of central air. He'd warned me there'd been a "small bit of a charring" due to a rapidly contained fire and parts were in dire need of repair; a few million should cover it, he'd told me, and the estate would see to the expense should I choose to commence the work during my initial three years.

"A few million," I whispered, as I stood staring at the house. He'd mentioned the sum so casually, a pittance. I supposed

the return on investments of 147million dollars might reach that figure annually, making no dent in the principal.

Lamps lit the walkway to a set of wide, curving stairs bracketed by enormous oaks dripping silvery moss, at the top of which

a shadowy porch stretched north and south behind an elegant cast-iron balustrade draped with wisteria. The double doors were

topped with a stained-glass transom and matching sidelights. Above an assortment of wicker patio furniture, a gently whirling

ceiling fan suspended from a tropical blue beadboard ceiling lent the porch an inviting air. If only the house weren't so

ominous.

I strode briskly forward, heels tapping on smoke and cream pavers, ascended the stairs, and was halfway across the porch to

the door when a flicker of movement to my right wrenched a startled cry from my lips. I whirled, bracing myself for another

attack by Rufus.

"Easy, Ms.Grey," a man murmured, approaching with his hand outstretched in greeting. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Devlin

Blackstone."

I hadn't seen him in the shadows. Shirtless, glistening wet, and beautifully muscled, he had a deep voice with the trace of an accent, not quite Scottish, not quite British, but a blend of things, similar to Este's, as if he, too had been exposed to multiple dialects at an early age. For a moment I simply stared wordlessly. In the vicinity of thirty, give or take a few years, he was tall and broad through the shoulders with the lithe yet powerful build that wasn't found in a gym, but rather laboring in a field or on a construction site. His arms were sleeved in ink and, beneath a six-pack, a T-shirt dangled from the waistband of his jeans, tucked in by a corner. His hair was dark as coal and slicked back as if he'd taken a recent swim. Though decidedly masculine, his face was beautiful, nearly otherworldly in its symmetrical perfection. Something about his eyes, besides their unusual color—a rich burnt umber, blending whisky with copper and a kiss of sun—held an attribute I found equally striking. Mom used to call eyes like his those of an old soul.

He flashed me a smile that nearly made my toes curl. "I'm accustomed to using the pool in the evenings, but as it's yours

now, I'll curtail that habit. If you wish. I hope to continue, if you don't mind."

I hadn't yet decided if I planned to stay; I couldn't conceive of this place or the pool as mine, and it was instinctive to

be polite and protest he needn't give up the liberty, but his jeans weren't wet, I spied no trunks laid out to dry, and the

last thing I needed was this man swimming nude beyond my bedroom window, especially with my volatile emotions. I wondered

if the 103-year-old woman had watched with aged eyes and failing body, desire burning in her veins, if we held on to lust

that long. "Thank you."

As our hands connected, our eyes locked and something passed between us. A nearly tangible current, like a shock of recognition,

familiarity. Yet I'd never seen him before.

"Does that mean I can or can't continue to swim?"

He was so damned beautiful I imagined women granted him whatever liberties he wished and had done so all his life, which made

it easier for me to grant him none.

"It means no swimming," I said firmly.

Despite the disappointment in his gaze, he inclined his head and said, "As you wish. Mr. Balfour told me you'd be arriving tonight. I suspected you might find the house overwhelming."

"A bit."

"Most do, at first. It's a lot to take in. Then you fall head over heels in love, and wild horses couldn't drag you away."

He noted my expression and laughed. "With the house, not me."

I said dryly, "But I imagine many women do. Fall in love with you."

Smiling, he employed a thick brogue. "Aye, the lassies do seem a wee bit fond o' me, Ms.Grey, I'll no' be lying tae ye about

that. It's a hardship I try tae bear with grace."

I laughed. "Are you from Scotland?"

"I've passed a fair measure of time there. Women have a thing for the brogue, especially of late, and accents come easy to

me."

"So, Mr.Balfour was the official and you're the unofficial welcoming committee."

"Something like that. Rest easy tonight with no worries on your head. I'll be here if you need me."

"You can't mean the whole night."

"I do."

"That's not necessary," I said with a conviction I didn't entirely feel. "I'll be fine."

"I've no doubt of that, Ms.Grey. You've a look of fierceness about you."

I glanced at the wicker sofa. It was too small for him and there were no pillows or throw. "I can't have you sleeping on the

porch the entire night. That's absurd."

"I don't sleep much. Besides, I'll be working out back in the garage most of the night. I'll give you a tour of the manor,

if you'd like me to accompany you in?"

I arched a brow. "Perhaps I find you scarier than the house."

"Not possible," he said, and we both laughed. "How about the tour? Would you like me to come in?"

I shook my head.

"Well, then, go on, have a look about. Lock up and relax, knowing you're not alone your first night on the hill. I wouldn't

be comfortable coming here for my first time at night, staying by myself in the manor. I'm not sure anyone would."

"So, it's not just me. The house really is big and dark and scary."

"Humor me. Go back down on the walkway."

I glanced askance but did as he suggested.

"Turn around and look up at the house."

I did, and there was that damned instinctive shudder again.

He noticed it. "Now picture it painted white. Or, if you really want to neutralize it, paint it a light green or lilac."

My eyes widened. It felt like an entirely different house, merely by mentally changing the paint color.

"The townspeople never stopped trying to get Juniper to repaint it, but she was wed to history, and those are the original

colors. Perhaps you'll make the change. It's the size, the height of it, the towers coupled with the darkness that's so off-putting.

Until you discover what lies within. Then you see the beauty. Appearances can be deceiving."

I ascended the stairs. "Thank you. You helped me see it as just a house."

"I wouldn't go that far," he murmured. "Sleep easy, Zo Grey."

"You too." Devlin Blackstone , I didn't say. I liked his name. I liked his accent. I liked his body. A lot. And he knew it. I'd have to curb my interest around him. Impossible to flash him one of my seductive looks, unless I fired him afterward, which wouldn't be fair. As a woman who'd lost her job too many times to unfair circumstances, that wasn't a line I'd cross. Yet another of my unbreakable rules.

I pine for the days I used to have them.

He was smiling faintly, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking about him. "If I can do anything, Zo, anything at all to help you settle in, feel more comfortable, less alone, you've only to say the word. Whatever you need. I'm here

for you."

"Appreciate it. Good night." I injected the coolness of dismissal into my tone. The man was too attractive for any woman's

peace of mind, and I was too overwhelmed, too exhausted by a sleepless night last night, to deal with him.

Amusement glinting in his gaze, he inclined his head, turned, and loped down the stairs, disappearing around the corner of

the house.

I glanced at the door and paused a long moment, bracing myself. Then I slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and slowly

pushed open the door. It slid soundlessly inward, revealing a grand, high-ceilinged foyer with a marble-topped pedestal table

adorned with a large crystal vase of cut flowers.

As I took my first step across the threshold, I was assailed by sudden severe vertigo, and, to my astonishment, I fainted.

It was brief, so transient a lapse some would have dismissed it as a stumble of exhaustion, perhaps low blood sugar, but it

was more than that. I felt the complete and total interruption of circuitry in my brain, and the instant it happened, I pivoted

sharply, positioning my back toward the jamb so the frame might break my fall and prevent serious injury.

That was all the time I had before the darkness at the perimeter of my gaze expanded, obliterating my vision. Blackness swallowed

me, and I knew nothing more.

Then I was there again. So temporary was the disruption, I'd only had time to slump against the jamb and melt halfway to the floor. Much to my surprise, my eyes were still open. I was simply there after having not been, as if I'd been vacuumed from my body, then shoveled swiftly back in.

I continued my descent to the floor and sat motionless, assessing myself, unwilling to rise if there was a chance I might

faint again. I didn't feel weak in any way. The moment had seemed more mental than physical, for I'd had an explosion of thoughts

as I stepped through the doorway: of Mom's death ending the only way of life I'd ever known, and this strange, unexpected,

mind-boggling new beginning; of inconceivable sums of money, cemeteries and swamps and caves; of perhaps finally having a

place where I might get to stay and belong; of forked paths, roads traveled and not taken, choices and consequences, accompanied

by a ponderous sense of finality and inevitability, as if deep in the marrow of my bones a voice had whispered, But of course, all roads lead here.

As I pushed up from the floor, I decided perhaps there'd been so much going on in my brain that it had simply shut down, a

physically mandated time-out, the shock of so many recent changes congealing in a moment of incapacitation.

"Strange," I muttered, closing the door behind me.

Concealed in shadows on the lawn at Watch Hill, a man said quietly into his cell phone, "It's too late. She crossed the threshold.

She staggered, but caught herself and, after a few moments, closed the door. All the lights in the house flickered, but I

don't think she noticed. Whatever spell they placed in the entry worked."

A pause, then he growled, "I'm aware it needed to be done before she entered the manor. But Balfour was with her, and I couldn't get close. You know I don't have the power to go up against that one."

He listened a moment. Then, "We tried at the hotel. That rogue bastard got in the way. There wasn't a single house that didn't

have witches stationed at the Monteleone, awaiting her arrival. Some for her life, others for her blood. Most wanted both."

After listening again, he replied, "They'll accept her. With Juniper gone, they know the danger they face. The carrion creatures

have begun to flock. Some have arrived." He laughed. "And, as you know, some of us were already here to begin with."

Another pause. "Yes, he's on the grounds. Nothing we can do about it. There's never been any controlling that one. Of course,

I understand how much is at stake. I'll keep you apprised."