“But there’s a black cat,” he said quickly. “His name is Baryshnikov.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but that’s it. I’ve never seen anything witchy.”
George mightthinkthe Big House was normal, but there had to be secrets lurking inside, waiting to be uncovered.
“Can you show me?”
“You want to come over?” I could tell he couldn’t believe it—that he thought I might change my mind.
“Yes!” I said. “I’ve been waitingagesfor something interesting to happen.”
“I’m not interesting.” His blush ripened like summer berries.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said. “Please. I’m utterly desperate for an adventure.”
He laughed—a bright, bursting sound, like bubble gum popping. “You’re utterly desperate for an adventure?” he asked.
“Yes,” I told him. “Aren’t you?”
He looked at me, considering, and nodded. “Come on, then. Follow me.”
So I did. I followed George into the Big House, and nothing was ever the same.
For either of us.
TheManor
Chapter One
Everything glitters tonight. The ornate crystal chandeliers with their shimmering teardrops. The fairy lights strung in the trees outside. Even me.
I’m surrounded by my most cherished friends and family members, seated like a queen among her subjects, in the elegant dining room of a historic country manor. The table before me is laid with French linens, golden cutlery, and dozens of votive candles, each ringed in a glowing halo. I watch their flickering reflection in the brass urns that brim with peonies.
My eyelids are gilded, my honey-blond hair is freshly highlighted, and my dress is made from champagne silk as light as meringue. On my left hand is a colossal pale yellow diamond I haven’t had time to get used to. I’m as polished as an opal, but I feel like I can’t breathe.
I never thought I’d get married, yet here I am, two days before my second wedding.
Not that the first one counted.
A pianist in a tuxedo and bow tie is playing something gentle on the Steinway, but for a moment, all of it falls away. Time slips, and I’m at that first wedding under the apple tree.
We recited our vows beneath its branches, a confetti of fallen fruit at our feet. My gown: fashioned from an old curtain as if I were a von Trapp child. My bouquet: a posy of violets plucked from the garden, stems tied with kitchen twine. There was a thumbprint-sized stain on his sweater from my mother’s apple-berry crisp—he was always eating and always making a mess of himself. I remember studying that tiny purple splotch before he started speaking.
Frankie, I promise…
A cool hand settles on my wrist.
“Frankie?”
I blink back to the present. I feel the scaffolding of bobby pins digging into my skull as they hold my lion’s mane in a polite French twist. Taste the sticky cotton candy flavor of my lip gloss. Feel the slide of silk over my thighs. Sense my bridesmaid’s concerned gaze.
“Frankie?” Aurora says again, her espresso eyes narrowed on me. “Are you all right?” Her fingers are like five tiny icicles against my skin. I swear she’s half lizard—she’s always cold.
Her braids are swept off her face on one side, a waterfall of black morphing to purple and then pastel pink. Her lips are painted in a blush similar to her one-shouldered dress. Aside from the tattoos that cover one arm, she looks like woodland creatures and a fairy godmother helped her dress this evening.
“I’m fine,” I say. My gaze shifts to the empty chair, and the knots in my stomach tighten. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
