Addison opened her eyes and looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The room she found herself in smelled like whiskey and rotting earth, even though it was decorated in rich, elegant décor. Thick, burgundy drapes adorned the windows; Persian rugs had been arranged under a room chock-full of antique furniture; and on the opposite wall, a polished grand piano waited to be played. Every item in the room appeared to be centuries old and was reminiscent of something Addison expected she’d see if she toured the Palace of Versailles.
Questions abounded.
Whose house was she in?
And why had she been brought here?
She needed to find out.
Addison approached a large, oversized window, and glanced down at acres of lush, manicured gardens stretching as far as the eye could see. Wherever she was, it appeared the home she was in was massive, as was the property itself. She released the window latch and pushed it open, hoping to breathe in a lungful of the cool evening air. But the air was still and quiet—too quiet—as if trapped inside bottled glass.
As she surveyed the grounds, the door on the opposite side of the room creaked open. Addison approached it and stepped out, peering into the hall.
She saw no one, heard nothing.
She cupped a hand over her mouth and said, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Silence.
Addison stepped into the hallway and reached for the light switch on the wall. It flickered a few times before surging to life, offering her a glimpse of a long, broad hallway. A series of rooms lined both sides. Addison counted ten in all. Slipping in and out of them, she found each was a bedroom, and most were similar in décor. None of the dust-laden rooms showed any signs of being in use, a fact Addison found odd.
Curious about the rest of the home, Addison descended the circular staircase. When she reached the bottom, she found herself in a foyer. Large, ornate portraits in gold frames hung on both sides of the walls. Each portrait had been painted, the oldest dating back to 1535. No names accompanied the paintings, but as Addison surveyed one after the other, her eyes came to rest on a man who needed no name placard to identify him.
The man whose portrait she’d stopped in front of was Samael.
Goosebumps stippled across Addison’s arms, and she whipped around, her head throbbing, mind racing.
I am not where I think I am.
I am not in my father’s house.
I can’t be.
And yet, what if she was in Samael’s lair, and he had somehow brought her here? Had the letter from Eve been real? Or was it all an elaborate trick—a scheme to get Addison alone, at long last?
Sitting in the center of a table in the hall was an album. Addison approached it. The front had been embroidered with words: Crawley Family.
I must be inside Crawley Manor.
Before Addison could turn the album’s pages, a woman’s scream bellowed through the air. It sounded like it came from inside the house, but which part? Addison wasn’t sure. She ran from one room to the next, poking her head in and out, shouting, “Hello? Where are you? Who’s there? Please, answer me!”
A second scream followed, and Addison spun around, sprinting in the opposite direction. She entered the dining room and found a man hovering over a woman in a wheelchair. He had his backside to Addison, concealing his identity.
“Please,” the woman begged. “Don’t do this.”
“Tell me what I need to know, and I won’t,” the man snarled.
The woman shook her head.
The man jerked his hand back and slapped the woman across the face—hard. “Tell me, Eve!”
Addison ran toward him, shouting, “Get away from her! Leave her alone!”
But neither Eve nor the man acknowledged her presence. It was then Addison realized she wasn’t in the current moment as she had first assumed when she’d arrived at this place. She was seeing Eve’s past, or her future. But which one? She wasn’t sure. Helpless and unable to intervene, all she could do was to stand back and watch the events unfold.
As the man’s face came into view, Addison looked him over. He was unfamiliar, someone she didn’t recall having met before. Who was he? Why was he here, threatening Eve’s life? And most of all … what could she do to stop him before it was too late?
“I’ll never tell you what you want to know!” the woman cried. “Never.”
The man bent down, grabbing Eve by her wrists, snarling, “You thought you were safe, didn’t you? You thought the spell your mother cast would protect you, even after her death. How does it feel to know you were wrong, that when she died, the protection spell on Crawley Manor died with her?”
The woman closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t tell you a thing. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Do what you need to do.”
The man snapped his head back, emitting a vile roar that echoed through every corridor of the manor.
“So be it,” he said. “It’s too late for her and for you anyway.”
“If it was too late, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I will find her with or without your help, Eve,” he said.
“And she’ll be ready for you when you do.”
“This is your final chance. Tell me where she is, and I’ll spare the rest of your pathetic life. Do it now.”
“Never.”
“All right, Eve. You’ve made your decision, and I’ve made mine.”
The man lifted a finger into the air, and it lit up, teeming with static energy, like lightning about to strike. He pressed the finger to Eve’s head, and she began to disintegrate in front of Addison’s eyes. Moments later, all that remained of her was ash. The man stood, cursing over not getting what he wanted. Then he twirled his finger in the air and vanished.
Standing there in shocked silence, Addison’s attention was drawn to a tapping sound on one of the windows. She turned toward it, clapping a hand over her mouth as she locked eyes with a big, black raven. A raven that was staring right at her.