PROLOGUE
DANNI
In my dream, I walked through the dim cottage, wondering if it could really belong to me. The warm smell of fresh baked bread teased my nose but instead of the sunny kitchen, I found myself drawn to the shadowy bedroom.
The door was already cracked and it creaked as I pushed it all the way open. Inside was a massive four-poster bed covered in a familiar, checkered quilt.
I recognized it as one my grandmother had made. It was always on my special bed in her house when I came to visit her but I hadn’t seen it in over thirty years. Now, here it was again, looking as fresh and clean as it had the last time I’d seen it, when I was only ten.
I leaned over to touch the quilt and that was when I heard it. A deep, dark voice rumbling from under the bed.
“At last you’ve come home, my little witch. I can’t wait to hold you again…”
1
DANNI
THE DAY BEFORE
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Forester, but I’m afraid there’s nothing left,” the lawyer said.
“Nothing except a mountain of debt,” I muttered, looking down at my hands.
They were nice hands—the nicest thing about me, actually, with slim fingers and tapered nails. The rest of me was showing my age. I was in my forties with no kids, no friends, and now, no husband.
Life had officially passed me by.
A glance at the reflection in the mirror on the wall showed a tired looking woman with long, curly dark hair that had glints of silver that hadn’t been there even a few months ago. The patches under my eyes looked bruised—the last few months with Craig had been brutal and I had been his only caretaker. He was gone now, though and I hardly knew what to do with myself.
That’s not true—I knew what I had to do—I had to go back to work. But since I had quit my job as an office-manager to nurse my husband while we lived off our savings for the past three years, I didn’t think my old employer would be very eager to welcome me back. I was going to have to find someplace else to work to try to pay off the mountain of medical debt my husband’s losing battle with prostate cancer had left me with.
“I’m very sorry to mention this right now, but you need to know that all your investments are depleted and the bank account is empty,” the lawyer told me.
“Yes, I know.” I sighed and ran a hand through my messy curls. “So there’s nothing left at all?”
I couldn’t imagine going out to look for a job only a month after my husband’s death, but it seems that was what I’d be doing. Time to brush off that resume and get out there.
The thought made me feel so tired I wanted to cry.
The lawyer’s eyes softened slightly. He was a family friend—well, a friend of Craig’s anyway—and I could tell he felt sorry for me.
“I’m sorry, Danni,” he said, losing the formal tone. “But it’s all gone. There was one thing Craig left you, but I don’t know how helpful it will be.”
He slid a large white envelope across the table to me. It clinked softly and for a moment I had a flash of hope—what if my late husband had left me some jewelry I could pawn?
But when I ripped open the envelope, the only thing I saw inside it were two keys. One was big and brass with an elaborately carved head. It looked like it might unlock an ancient castle or maybe a set of those huge gates you see blocking the long drive that leads to a mansion.
The other key was smaller, more like a house key, and it was strung on a chain like I was supposed to wear it around my neck.
I looked at the two keys in silence for a while before asking the lawyer,
“Do you have any idea where these go to?”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry. All I know is that the envelope was in your husband’s paperwork along with his will.”
I turned the envelope over again and saw that it had my name written on it—but not in my late husband’s handwriting, which had been tiny and precise. These letters were flowing and beautifully formed—the kind of cursive you just don’t see anymore. It looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know why. I was just too tired to think about it right then.
