Page 1 of A Vow of Shadows

Chapter 1

Katrin

Iwas not prepared to meet Death at the tender age of twenty.

At the time, I was convinced the only way I would leave this life was kicking and screaming, that whoever came to claim my soul would need to drag me to the Afterworld and bar the way back. I couldn’t comprehend how anyone passed peacefully, or that still othersyearnedfor death.

Naive thoughts of an entitled mind.

They ran rampant as I darkened the corner of the sunlit drawing room, wishing I could drown out the vexing noise.

The bluebells were ringing again.

Like all the times before, my mother gave no indication she also heard them.

No one ever did.

Could they truly not hear them? Or did we all suffer from the same shameful silence, too concerned by what others thought to speak up when something was amiss?

I stalked to the window, determined to find the source of the phantom chimes. Those pesky little flowers needed to be pruned.

Ornate bronze hooks held back the brocade drapes, providing me a clear view of the manor’s lush gardens. They blossomed with asters, chrysanthemums, and coneflowers. Almost every color of the rainbow sprawled before me in artful patterns: pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows.

Noticeably absent was blue.

Though unsurprising, the absence of the late spring bloom failed to explain the persistent ringing.

Suppressing a shiver, I balled my hands into fists and squeezed my eyes shut. Darkness greeted me like an old friend, its comforting embrace somehow muffling the haunting melody.

I sighed, and the scene on the back of my lids transformed. The darkness shifted, swirling and pulsing like living shadows. As though sensing my attention, it expanded, preening like a peacock before its mate. It welcomed me, enticed me with promises of peace and quiet.

An escape.

An eternity.

My eyes shot open, frantically searching the sunny drawing room for any trace of shadows, wishing I could claw off those that marked my skin. I would take the incessant ringing over the beckoning dark.

“Katrin.”

I jolted at my mother’s voice and turned toward where she sat at the other end of the parlor. She stared back, concern pinching the space between her brows. The needle in her hand hovered forgotten over the cloth she’d been embroidering.

“Do you hear that?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

The ringing had grown distant, but I couldn't shake off the chill that permeated deep into my bones. Even the sunlight felt cold on my skin.

She angled one ear toward me, suspicion evident in the purse of her lips. Her brown eyes darted around the room as she listened then shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

I nodded in understanding, willing my lips to curve upward. Smiling was such an effort anymore, but I managed it for an instance.

Mother’s gaze softened, and she gestured toward the envelope clutched in my hand. “It won’t bite.”

I sniffed. “That’s what you think.”

I'd all but forgotten the invitation that had arrived shortly after lunch. Though nearly an hour had passed, I still hadn't opened it.

I brought the offending paper up to eye level, holding it up to the light like I could reveal the secrets within. There was no danger of it sprouting teeth and attacking me, but letters like this caused a different kind of pain. One that cut deeper than the eye could see.

I offered my mother another smile and sat at the small writing desk by the window. Satisfied, she returned to her needlework. My breath came easier the moment her eyes left me. The weight of her expectant gaze never failed to affect me.

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