Mr. Vink didn’t look like what Zane thought a lawyer ought to look. He was round and stocky, with a tendency to talk a lot even when no one was asking him to. For some reason, Mr. Vink reminded Zane of a clown who hadn’t bothered to put on his makeup but was still confident he could put on a show without it.
“Thought I’d give you a house tour, so to speak,” the attorney said as he led them down a corridor toward the west wing of the house, the part that hadn’t been damaged by the workers. “Fortunately, the only casualties were part of the wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor and part of the roof above that. A blessing, really, considering we found the will inside the aforementioned wall. The mayor has assured me most stringently that all the destruction incurred will be paid for by the town itself, at no additional cost to you.”
“I’m surprised,” Zane’s father said. “The mayor doesn’t strike me as one who’d willingly pay up for anything—especially not to preserve the house.”
“Oh, I have my ways of convincing people to do what I like,” Mr. Vink said cheerfully, and rubbed his hands together. “That said, I do want another look at the documents that prove you’re the descendant of the Edward Atkins mentioned in the will. It’s not that I’m doubting you, of course—the copies you sent over have been thoroughly vetted—but I’d like to verify them again, just as a formality.”
“Of course,” Zane’s father said, pulling out a leather envelope. “This should have everything you need inside.”
Zane had already seen its contents: a collection of old documents that had belonged to their ancestor. There was a black-and-white photo of Edward Atkins in his sixties, his hair turning gray and his mouth framed by laugh lines. He was flanked by his wife, Mary, and his two grown sons and a few grandchildren, all of them smiling as they posed for the camera. There were letters to Edward and also several addressed to more informal, fonder nicknames like Ed, Ned, and Teddy, plus a few more penned to his wife and several to his sons.
There were travel documents proving where Edward had worked in the past, along with the deed to a house that he had built for his family. But the most important paper in their possession was a legal certificate declaring Edward Atkins as the son of one Elizabeth Traithe Atkins, written in the woman’s own handwriting and since confirmed by Mr. Vink to be genuine. This solidified Edward’s position as the nephew of Ginevra Traithe of Stilgarth Manor, and his only remaining descendants were therefore her closest living relatives.
“Everything appears to be in order,” Mr. Vink said after he perused the documents and handed them back. “It’s an odd clause, that will. It states that one Edward Emmett Atkins and his descendants stand to inherit the house for as long as it would take them to return and claim it as their own. Normally there would be a statute of limitations to consider, but such restrictions were uncommon back then and exemptions for deeds like these were made, which means you’re all in luck. Congratulations, Mr. Kincaid. The house is officially yours.”
He showed them the foyer, the dining hall, and the kitchen, then proceeded up the stairs to where three of the four upper bedrooms were located, the last still undergoing repairs. There wasn’t much furniture left, Zane noticed—just a broken mirror or two, and no curtains. “Reckon they’ve sold much of it over the years to pay for the upkeep,” Mr. Vink explained, leaving Zane to wonder who “they” were. No wonder the mayor had a personal stake in it, if the town had maintained the house all these years.
They had returned to the first floor when an odd jarring sound startled them, making Emma jump; it seemed to be coming from the room at the back of the house. A heavy mantelpiece was built over the fireplace there, though the grate below had long since gone unused. The strange noise—a cross between a rattling echo and a hard snapping click—emanated from somewhere inside the room.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Mr. Vink told them. “It’s likely nothing more than the sounds of a house settling—odd little bird, this manor, and there’s some confounded loose pipe or other that’s knocking hard against the wall and giving off that absurd song. It’s always the most audible when you’re standing inside this room.” Vink laughed suddenly. “The mayor’s zeal in trying to destroy the bedroom directly above this has only amplified its melody.”
“You said that the will was found inside that damaged room,” Zane’s father said. “Do you know who last occupied the house?”
“Why, none other than the Gravemother herself—or rather, Ginevra Traithe. She was supposedly a kind woman. That room was her quarters. A sweetheart, as far as everyone knew, until that whole nasty business involving those missing children cropped up.”
“Missing children?” Emma asked nervously.
“Ah, my sweet. It occurs to me that no one’s told you much of the legend of the Gravemother yet.” Mr. Vink crouched down so he was at eye level with her, and Zane found himself moving closer to his sister without thinking. “Everyone here’s so used to the tale by now that they expect you to know it by heart like they do. The short of it is that three children disappeared under mysterious circumstances right here in Solitude, and the blame fell quickly on poor Ginevra. They were orphans, you see, and were often found in her company, being the charitable young woman she was. She denied any wrongdoing, of course, but she, too, disappeared before anyone could haul her up before the magistrate to be duly charged. Now people say she’s come to haunt her old home, seeking more children to take. It’s why she’s called the Gravemother—she presides over their graves. A story amplified no doubt by rumors of the area being a graveyard.”
“Oh,” Emma whispered, wide-eyed.
“That’s enough, Mr. Vink,” Zane’s father said sternly. “Never mind all that, Emma. It’s a ghost story. That’s all there is to it.”
Mr. Vink laughed like he’d just told them a joke. “My apologies, Mr. Kincaid. And oh, don’t worry your sweet little head about it, my dear. No one’s tried to abduct any kids in Solitude in the last two hundred years or so, and as far as we know, she claimed only three victims. Only hearsay, of course.”
“Sure,” Zane said dryly. “And we’re related to her? Awesome.”
“There are relations and then there are relations.” Mr. Vink straightened up and turned back to their father. “What are your plans for the place then, Mr. Kincaid? The mayor’s eager to have you sell to him, and it seems to me that you’re not the type to settle down in any one place, judging by the employment record you provided.”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Zane’s father said. “Mayor Dietrichson’s quite adamant about buying, but building is both my job and my passion. I’d like to familiarize myself with the manor first, talk to some of the surveyors who’ve already looked it over. They said that this was some sort of private cemetery?”
“That they did, although who’s buried where is just as much a mystery as the Gravemother. They say Ginevra buried the missing children here, though it was excavated back when she was alive and nothing was found. In any case, the hauntings allegedly started almost as soon as Ginevra disappeared, and the people of old were always a superstitious lot—the manor was quickly abandoned by her husband, who moved away within a month’s time. Have you seen the memorial outside? Someone put it up in an attempt to appease the Gravemother’s spirit. Doesn’t seem to have solved the problem, at least according to people who swear they’ve seen her.”
“I have one other question,” Zane’s father said. “Who hired you to sort out all this business with Stilgarth on our behalf? I understand that the mayor has his own legal team, but I don’t recall anyone mentioning how you got yourself involved. I certainly didn’t hire you, even though you’ve been negotiating with the town for us.”
Mr. Vink grinned at him. “Let’s say that I have some vested interest in this old house, though more of a personal nature than it is financial. I’d like to see it go to someone who can navigate through the . . . unique issues that owning Stilgarth demands. And besides, the will itself is fairly straightforward. It was no skin off my back.”
“Still, it must have taken a while to find us.”
“Just a matter of researching names, and you’d left enough of a trail for that. A wondrous thing, names. Your name and what people choose to call you are two entirely different things, don’t you think?”
“I guess?” Zane’s father said, confused. Zane wondered if his dad was as irked by the lawyer’s odd, old-fashioned manner of speech as he was.
A loud sound caused Zane to look out the window. He blinked. “What are they doing?”
The workers had gathered around the memorial. They were armed with pulleys.
His father glanced outside and frowned. “Are they removing the statue? I didn’t give anyone permission for that!”
“Seems like the mayor is rather opportunistic,” Mr. Vink said. “A slippery fellow. I’d advise against doing business with him if I were you, unless you’ve got your own lawyer to consult.”
Zane’s father scowled. “Let me have a talk with them. I’m sure it’s all some misunderstanding.”
The workers had already lifted the memorial off the ground by the time they got outside. It was the first time Zane had seen the statue up close, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It looked like someone had attempted to carve something more substantial from the marble and then given up halfway through, leaving only the vaguest impression of something that could have looked human. The statue looked a bit like pictures of the Venus de Milo he’d seen online, if it had been a lady swallowed up by some kind of giant amoeba.
The workers weren’t the only people there. The bulk of the onlookers had surged closer, and they all seemed to have something to say. Apparently not everyone was excited about more job opportunities. Leila, Kev, and Hale were among the crowd, and they hurried toward Zane and his family, looking concerned.
“You’re not supposed to be taking anything out of the place!” someone yelled at the men. “What are you doing?”
“Everyone, please remain calm,” the mayor said genially, walking toward them with his hands raised. “We’ll only be relocating the statue temporarily, to allow the surveyors better access to the grounds so they can finish their report.”
“The town doesn’t own Stilgarth anymore, Dietrichson,” a woman called out angrily.
“Not yet,” the mayor said, smiling like it was already a done deal. “But once I have a talk with its current owner, I have no doubt that he’ll see things my way. Don’t you understand? I’m doing this for us. We can build the town up into something great, and none of you seem to realize that.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the ground underneath them rocked without warning, and Zane nearly lost his balance.
He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next.
He thought that the ground around the strange memorial shuddered.
He thought he saw something move from underneath the statue.
He thought he saw a hand shoot out from the soil and grab at its base, an odd clicking sound accompanying the movement.
He could have sworn he saw a face emerge from below. A woman, with wide staring eyes and a mess of black hair covered in mud and dirt. A woman who had no lower jaw, her mouth gaping open.
She made a low clicking sound again. And then she began to climb out from underneath the statue.
Her limbs were contorted, like every bone in her body was broken. She moved like a marionette tangled up in its strings, arms and torso twisting at unnatural angles.
And yet she was fast. Way too fast. She was dragging herself from underneath the monument’s shadow, crawling toward him at lightning speed. Zane backed away in fright, horrified, ready to run—
And then she was gone, and he was flat on his back.
Leila sprawled beside him, looking shaken, and while both Kev and Hale managed to remain upright, they were grasping on to each other, frightened. Zane’s father was at his side with Emma clinging to his waist, her eyes darting around in fear. “Are you all right, Zane?” he gasped, reaching a hand out to him.
“Yeah,” Zane said shakily as his father pulled him up. “Did you see that?”
His father looked at him quizzically. “See what? I sure felt it,” he replied.
Zane opened his mouth, then closed it again. Had he imagined the terrifying apparition? One thing was for sure: He had not imagined the tremors. They had felt like an earthquake. Several of the workers were on the ground, having been knocked off their feet as well. The mayor was clinging to one of the fences, face ashen. Oddly enough, Mr. Vink remained untouched by all the upheaval. The man’s hands were on his hips, and he was looking up at the manor with resigned amusement, like he was about to chastise some errant child for misbehaving.
Mr. Sevilla’s dark skin had gone pale, and he crouched on the ground, as if bracing for an aftershock. His arm was wrapped protectively around Garrett, who was huddled beside his dad.
Garrett’s eyes were trained on the memorial just like Zane’s had. He looked horrified. “The Gravemother,” he whispered.
Garrett had seen the woman, too, Zane realized.