Chapter 2

Aurora

AS IT TURNS OUT, THERE isn't a hole in the roof—there are two. The first is in the parlor, and the second is up the set of creaking stairs in the bedroom. The hearth in the kitchen looks like it was at one time a den for a family of something , and the windows are caked in such a thick layer of grime and dust that the scant light that does manage to slip through appears murky and gray, as though it's a dismally snowy day despite the brilliant springtime sun beaming down onto Brookside.

"It's going to be fine ," I tell Harrison as I lug the second trunk up the creaking porch stairs and into the foyer. I'm somewhat surprised the trunk didn't fall through the steps, but I don't tell Harrison this; he's enough of a realist as is, and I don't need to toss fuel onto his fire.

"I'm not sure I like it here, Aurora." He looks down at himself where he's sitting in the parlor doorway. "My paws are getting dirty. And it's cold. "

"Oh, it'll be good as new in no time. I brought plenty of cleaning supplies. They're in here, I think."

Flipping the big buckles on the trunk, I unlock it, then open the heavy wooden lid. Inside these two trunks is everything I own—literally. When Auntie passed away and left me Brookside, I was living under Mama's roof and wondering when my life was ever going to begin. Now I feel like I have an opportunity for something more, and it's all because of Auntie.

I only wish she were here with me. Perhaps I'll have a chance to speak with her on Samhain, when the veil is thin enough for those who've passed to stop by for tea and a bit of chat. The idea fills me with excitement. I've plenty of time to get this place cleaned up before then; it's only March, after all.

Sure enough, I find a stack of cotton cloths in the bottom of the trunk, along with a few bundles of sage and a sachet of crystals.

"Can you see if there's a bucket and a broom around here?"

"There's a bucket outside by the well," Harrison says without moving. "I saw it on our way in."

With a sigh and a wince—I may be young, but those trunks were heavy —I head back outside to find the bucket. When I step onto the porch, I notice that the blue sky has started to turn gray, and clouds are rolling in over the tall mountains in the distance.

It's no surprise—Wysteria is known for its sudden storms and volatile weather patterns—but a spring snowstorm is going to make this a whole lot harder .

The bucket is exactly where Harrison said, and by some stroke of luck, the well still has a hook and a sturdy rope. At least something here isn't in an utter state of disrepair. I loop the metal hook around the bucket handle, then lower it down into the stone well. The splash of water gives me hope, and I remind myself that everything is going to be just fine. With positivity and a bit of elbow grease, I can accomplish almost anything.

I spend the rest of the afternoon sweeping and wiping and scrubbing everything I can get my hands on. Harrison eventually ceases his concerned staring and goes off to explore the cottage, leaving perfect pawprints in the dust where I've not yet cleaned.

Without him here, this would be much harder. But having my best friend with me makes everything a tad bit easier—even if he has no interest in actually helping me clean.

"It's getting colder in here, Aurora," Harrison says a while later, drawing me out of my cleaning frenzy. He's lying on his bed on the kitchen floor, his soft white hair puffing out all around him, making him look like a cat loaf without legs. I made sure to sweep and clean the area before digging his bed out of my trunk and setting it down, and he's been there ever since.

My gaze flicks to the kitchen window, and the sun is already slipping past the horizon, casting the cottage into deep shadow. It'll be dark soon, and I've not yet started a fire.

Thankfully, Auntie always kept her woodshed stocked, and I'm able to quickly run outside and grab a few logs before the sun completely vanishes, leaving us in darkness .

I already cleaned the hearth in the kitchen, and I scoot Harrison's bed—with him still in it—aside so that I can kneel on the cold wooden floorboards and light a fire. As soon as the flames catch, a feeling of calm washes over me. There's something about the energy and company of a crackling fire that can make even the most trying times feel more manageable.

Harrison and I sleep on the floor in the kitchen that night, since I've not yet been able to clean the upstairs, and Auntie's old mattress is moth-eaten and in tatters. I'll need to get quite a few things when we go into Faunwood tomorrow; hopefully the coin I brought with me is enough to cover everything we need.

As the fire dances in the hearth, chasing the cold from the kitchen and tossing shadows along the walls, Harrison abandons his bed and crawls under the heavy pile of blankets with me. Despite how uncomfortable I know he must be here, in this strange and unfamiliar place, he starts purring when I put my arm around him.

"Good night," I whisper, pressing a kiss against his snow-white head.

But he's already fast asleep.