Chapter 1
ROWAN
Whoever said road trips were fun never had a ferret riding shotgun with them. Especially not one with a flair for drama and zero respect for personal space.
Archie, my fluffy-tailed menace of a companion, darts across the dashboard, launching into a full-blown war dance like he’s hopped up on caffeine and chaos. His brown tail flicks across my face as I grip the steering wheel, doing eighty down the interstate and praying we don’t end up as roadkill thanks to his antics.
The sad part? This vermin is the closest thing I have to family now.
For twenty-nine years, my mom was the only person I could depend on. But now she’s gone—fuck cancer by the way—it’s just me and ol’ Archie. My elderly-by-ferret-standards sidekick, who looks more like a mischievous raccoon with his onyx face mask, and refuses to acknowledge normal lifeexpectancy. Sixteen years old, and he is still acting like a trash panda on espresso.
“We’re almost there,” I mutter as he wiggles his butt defiantly. “Can’t you chill for five minutes without risking vehicular manslaughter?”
Archie chitters at me before leaping into the passenger seat, curling up inside his green Snuggie like the smug little rascal he is. I flip him off and take the next exit.
My stomach flips the moment the towering trees of Raven Hollow close in around the two-lane road. I’ve never been here before, but my skin prickles, my chest tightens, and sweat slicks my palms.
Why the hell does thisfeelfamiliar?
I shake off the sensation. I’m here for one reason: to get the house papers signed.
I can’t believe Iris forced me into this. My grandmother—selfish to the bone, even now—holds the last key to my future. I didn’t want to cave to her demands, but grief has kept me stuck long enough. Two things stand in my way: my immortal ferret and Iris’s signature on the deed.
The house I grew up in. The place Mom and I filled with memories, until it became the prison where I watched her fade piece by piece.
It’s been over a year since she passed. I’m ready to be free. To travel. To find whatever’s waiting beyond that small Montana town.
Now, after nearly eight hundred miles, an aggressive amount of coffee, and a questionable gas station burrito, I’m almost there.
The GPS drones its countdown as I turn deeper into the Oregon forest. Trees knit overhead like skeletal fingers, swallowing the last of the sun. The road shrinks to a single lane, mist creeping low across the asphalt.
By the time the wrought-iron gates loom ahead, my headlights flick on, cutting through the twilight.
The black metal of the entrance is twisted and intricate, looping into an elaborateNSat the center, and opens automatically to let me pass through.
NightShade.
Even hearing the name in my head sends an uncomfortable ripple down my spine.
Back home, it was practically a curse word. A whispered secret my mom never wanted to explain, tucked between vague warnings and empty answers to my questions. She would only ever tell me, ‘If Iris ever sends for you, run in the opposite direction and don’t look back.’
I always thought she was being dramatic. Now I’m not so sure.
Mom swore no one—not even my grandmother Iris—would control my future. And yet, here I am, because Iris still holds the deed. After a year of probate dead ends, I’m out of options.
I should’ve known that meant Iris wasexactlythe kind of woman who would try once she got the chance.
The tires crunch over gravel as I follow the winding drive, trees parting just enough to reveal the place I’ve been told to avoid my entire life.
NightShade Manor. Supposedly a hotel, though from here it looks more like a gothic fever dream. Toweringstone walls rise like they’ve stood for centuries, clawed by ivy and cracked with age. Windows glow a faint amber on the upper floors. And turrets. Actual turrets, reaching like they’re trying to pierce the sky.
The whole thing looms, daring me to regret stepping inside.
I roll to a stop in the circular drive. No crickets. No birds. Just the rustle of wind—and something else. A low hum, faint as a heartbeat, raises the hairs along my arms.
Beside me, Archie stirs. I’d thought he’d finally fallen asleep, but his tiny pink nose is twitching like crazy. He stands up on his back legs, beady eyes unnaturally wide.
“Hey…” I reach over, brushing a hand down his back. His fur is puffed, muscles tense beneath my palm. “What’s wrong?”
