Page 4 of An Inheritance of Monsters

And towards the manor with a three-hundred year history of death, torture, destruction, and despair.

Chapter2

Juno

Duskwood Manor was an imposing fortress, a confection of stone and ivy set within the interior of the island. Turrets pointed to the sky and a high stone wall surrounded the mass of the house itself.

We jogged up the doors with thirty seconds to spare, all of us sweating and out of breath despite the coolness of the spring day.

I rapped hard several times on the enormous oak doors, a twist of fear knotting deep in my belly.

What if the owner considered this late?

What if they were a hound for punctuality and our invitations had expired fifteen minutes ago?

The sound of a lock unclasping on the other side of the door quelled my fears. One of them opened with a creak, and I turned my raised fist into a wave. “We’re here! I’m—”

“Juno Weaver.”

I was momentarily speechless. I’d been expecting… well, I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting.

It wasn’t an older woman who exuded elegance like it seeped right out of her pores. Her pure white hair was pulled back into a thick but stylish twist, and there were real diamonds sparkling in her earlobes. Even her voice was smooth and slightly husky.

I felt like I was looking at a 1940’s movie starlet who had somehow walked into real life in front of me.

The only oddity about her was the twisted skeleton key she wore on a black ribbon around her neck. The dull iron clashed against her silk shirt, and yet it seemed like it belonged on her perfectly.

“And friends,” she added, her clear green eyes taking in Sierra (red-faced and breathing hard) and Crispy (staring at her with his mouth open).

“Sierra Maloney,Spirit Squadco-host, and Crispy Hernandez, our cameraman.” I waved a hand at each of them in turn, but the elegant woman hadn’t opened the door yet. “Are we… too late?”

That penetrating gaze turned to me, and I found myself temporarily off-kilter. She was eighty if she was a day, and yet… she seemed young, in a strange way.

“You’re right on time, Juno,” she said with a smile, and opened the door wider to allow us in. “I’m Mrs. Elizabeth Marsh.”

My breath caught in my throat as I took the invitation and stepped inside. A gleaming foyer of dark oak and polished black marble rose in front of me, nearly three stories, until it opened on a series of decorative skylights.

When my gaze dropped, I thought I saw something peering out from the closet door across from me.

A strange shadow, blacker than the shadows around it, something gleaming like pale fire… I frowned, wanting to get closer—

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you in person.” Mrs. Marsh closed the door behind Crispy, cutting off the cold breeze and drawing my attention from the closet door.

I’d been imagining things. Possibly.

I offered her a hand, and she took it, her eyes still on me.

I supposed it was only right that I should be strangely creeped out by the reclusive owner of this particular manor. From my research, I knew she was known for never leaving the island; shipments of food and goods were delivered via ferry.

It was just that I’d anticipated a windblown crone, not someone with more poise in her little finger than I had in my entire body.

“The pleasure is mine,” I murmured, shaking her warm hand.

It might have been my imagination, but for a moment, I was sure her long, lacquered nails had caressed the inside of my palm.

Like claws.

She didn’t bother offering a hand for either Sierra or Crispy.

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