Chapter 2 - THE RULES OF THE ESTATEThe interior of the manor was a labyrinth of mahogany, dust, and secrets. It was freezing, despite the summer heat outside. Vane led me to a small servant’s quarters that smelled of lavender and something metallic, like blood mixed with ozone.
"Your duties are simple," Vane said. "You will clean the west wing. You will keep the temperature at exactly sixty-two degrees. And you will feed the dog at six sharp. But most importantly, you will never enter the cellar. The cellar is sealed for a reason. There is a lock that requires a blood-print. Do not touch it."
"Why did you hire me?" I asked, looking at the ornate velvet wallpaper. "There are people with better resumes."
Vane turned, his gaze intense. "I hired you because you have a talent for preserving things that should have rotted long ago. You’re a conservator, Clara. You understand that some things are only valuable because they are dead."
He turned on his heel and left. I sat on the edge of the stiff bed, the walnut box clutched to my chest. I knew why he’d hired me. It wasn't my cleaning skills. It was my silence. He knew I was a woman who didn't ask questions unless I absolutely had to.
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But as I lay in the dark, I heard it: a soft, rhythmic scratching coming from beneath the floorboards. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
It wasn't a mouse. It sounded like someone trying to write a letter with a fingernail.
