PROLOGUE
“Do you know who I am, Miss Cole?” the man asks as he lowers himself into the blue vinyl armchair beside my hospital bed.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together so tightly I can feel the blood squeezing out of them. Everything in my skull rattles from the motion. I’ve been slowly adjusting to noise and light, but too much too fast can throw me off-balance.
“My name is Mr. James E. Lampitt. I’m the attorney for your grandfather’s estate and the executor of his will.” He levels his lake-water gaze on me, flat and brown, and my pulse begins to pound out a rhythm of terror against my wrists and temples.
Does he know?
“I imagine you know why I’m here.” His thin lips turn down at their pasty corners.
He’s here to accuse me.
I swallow, pushing my head back into the pillows, drawing the pilled thermal blanket up over my sweating palms. A flash of whiplash orange licks its way up the back of my eyes and I force it down, my stomach souring with the effort. The fire that devoured my home and destroyed my family—killing my mother and grandfather and all seven of our live-in staff, everyonebutme—still rages inside me, hot and hungry. It likes to surge against the quiet moments, rounding out the contoursof my dreams with bubbling black heat and eating away at the edges of my reality until they are blistered and raw. “No,” I manage.
“It’s my job to see to your grandfather’s affairs in the event of his demise,” he tells me. “And your mother’s.”
Relief slackens the muscles in my jaw, causing my fingers to relax their grip. He isn’t here to lay blame at my feet, even if I deserve it. “Oh.”
My mother. A golden ghost now. My eyes sting.
He sets an enormous metal case with a silver handle—could a briefcase be that size?—on his lap, as if to make a point. “As your grandfather and mother have both perished, you are now the only living descendant of Macallister Bates. Do you understand what that means?”
I shake my head again, slowly this time, so as not to stir the flames.
“It means you are the sole inheritor of your grandfather’s estate, Miss Cole.” His expression pinches in the middle, as if this fact causes him great pain.
“Solidago,” I whisper.
He frowns again. “Yes, or what’s left of the house. And much more besides.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and see the waving goldenrod roll past them. A place of tall trees and sea breezes and burnished, brackish beauty. And a place of secrets and horrors and death. I don’t want it.
“I don’t expect you to fully comprehend the scope of what you’re receiving at the tender age of sixteen, particularly under such troubling circumstances, but, suffice to say, your grandfather was an exceedingly wealthy man. While other arrangements are being made for the oversight and continuation of his corporate operations, you will become the single beneficiary of all his personal holdings—real estate, stocks and shares, things you will grow to understand in time, because this means I work foryounow, and I will see to your education in these matters.” He drumshis fingers across the top of his bulletproof case, which on second glance is absurdly large to hold mere papers. It must contain something else. But what?
I stare at him. The idea of this man as my employee is illogical. We both know who holds all the information, and therefore all the power, in the room.
“Right now, you’re still a minor—a small complication your grandfather never accounted for, but one we will easily overcome thanks to the trust. As you come into possession of his assets, you won’t need the assistance of the state. You will, in fact, be a ward of the trust. And I, your custodian.” His fingers, uncharacteristically long, drum across the case again.
“I’m sorry?” My throat is dry despite the constant cups of water and ice chips the nurses bring me. The words sound like they’ve spilled from a gravel mixer.
“It simply means I’ll oversee the details of your…care. But you will be in possession of the assets, I assure you. I do not benefit from my position beyond the usual retainer, which your grandfather has already seen to. So, if you are worried…” He suddenly looks remarkably uncomfortable, stiff and itchy, a red flush creeping its way up his slender neck. “I mean, if you were wondering where you might go after this, or rather, who would look after you… well, I’m no babysitter, but we can get comfortable arrangements made somewhere safe, in the state of Oregon, of course, until the house is rebuilt.”
“Rebuilt?” My eyes feel glossy, slick with fear.He can’t mean…
“Yes. Per your grandfather’s instructions, Solidago will be rebuilt according to its original specifications on the exact same site as before. It’s likely to take more than a year for a house of that size and status, but you’ll have the finest craftsmen working for you. And when it’s finished, everything will go back to normal. Well,mostlynormal,” he amends, as if the deaths of everyone I know are a mere inconvenience.
Solidago in perpetuity. It is unthinkable. I dig my hands into the mattress and force myself up, the air coming thin and fast inmy lungs, tainted with smoke. I can’t keep the reptilian panic from crawling up my throat. “What?”
“Please, miss, relax. I will take care of everything.” He tries to reassure me even as his eyes bulge at my reaction. “Should I call a nurse?”
“No,” I grind out. I don’t want anyone else hearing this. I am alone in the world now, present company excluded, and it’s better that way.
“Okay”—but his eyes dart to the call button all the same.
“I meannoto the house,” I say, refusing to lie back down. “No to Solidago.”
“Miss Cole,” he begins.
