Finally, she got across the footbridge—the place had an actual moat. Nestled on a cliff overlooking the North Sea, Arden Castle stood majestic and imposing even after centuries of neglect. Fortified by four towers, one on each corner, the castle was basically a giant rectangular outline protecting an open-air inner ward. Somehow, she’d accidentally come in at the back.
Riley didn’t have time to stop and admire the lush crop of wildflowers in the high grass. Later, she promised herself, slipping through a section of stone that looked to have been blown away by cannon fire at some point. Riley planned to learn all of this castle’s secrets.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, the scent of the curse hit her nostrils. A combination of smoke and metal and earth—ozone—buried beneath other, stronger odors. Wet stone and moss, the slightly sweet odor of decay.
Tracking was a learned skill like any other. One of the first tricks of the trade that Gran had introduced by hiding cursed objects sourced from all over the world for Riley to find. They’d started inside her tiny cottage, then later gone out into the forest, where there were so many more competing scents.
“It’s like hide-and-seek,” Gran had promised.
And it was—the same thrill of the hunt, the rush of discovery. Even now.
That training, her finely honed attuning to the scent of power, was how she knew a curse waited in this castle, banked but burning. Riley rubbed at her arms, trying to rid herself of sudden goose bumps as Arden Castle called to something deep in her blood.
Light refracting off the remaining stained glass in a series of windows sent colors glittering across the floor like the inside of a kaleidoscope. She held her breath as she tilted her head back, looking up and up and up to the vaulted ceilings where the skeleton of a chandelier swayed with the breeze. This must have been some kind of great hall.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed in the cavernous room. “Mr. Chen?”
The castle remained tomb silent. Layers of dust muted her footfalls as she wandered farther in, each step kicking up clouds that swirled and settled in her wake. It was easy, looking at the remnants of wooden benches withered to matchsticks, to imagine how many people had passed through this room, none of them withstanding the curse long enough to leave more than fading footprints.
As she got to the edge of the hall, she caught notes of conversation coming from somewhere down the corridor. Martin must have brought along a colleague to welcome her.
Picking up her pace, she managed to make out the next sentence.
“I can’t simply give her the boot,” someone argued. “She’s come all the way from America.”
Oh shit. Immediately, Riley hugged the wall, keeping an eye on where her shadow landed. She was a world-class eavesdropper.
“Come off it,” another voice objected. Both speakers sounded English, which made sense given the holding company’s London headquarters. “Have you been to her website? All those phony testimonials? The merchandise? Frankly, you should be embarrassed for having hired her in the first place.”
Riley dug her nails into the meat of her palms.
“I came here as a professional scientist, expecting to find a productive work environment.” The man’s voice pitched so low it was practically a growl. “I have a PhD from Oxford, for Christ’s sake. I refuse to allow a con artist to jeopardize the possibility of legitimate research. If the board of trustees from Historic Environment Scotland knew about this—”
“Respectfully,” the other voice cut in, “the HES contracted you to survey the site for artifacts a month ago, and so far, you haven’t turned up anything more than shards of broken pottery.”
“I know it may not seem like it to you, but I’m making progress,” the protestor grit out. “Extenuating circumstances have caused unexpected delays.”
Extenuating circumstances. Unexpected delays. Yeah, sounds like a curse, jackass.
Riley shifted her position, trying to catch the speaker’s reflection in the opposite window without giving herself away, but all she saw was a slice of someone’s back as they paced.
“I apologize that we didn’t alert you ahead of time.” The first speaker tried to console his companion. “But we’re all eager to see the castle cleared out and ready for development. Surely having her on-site can’t hurt?”
Wanna bet? Riley had heard enough. Time to give these jerks the verbal smackdown of their lives.
“Good morning.” She made a show of leaning against the doorway. “Sorry I’m late.”
Both men swiveled as one. The first she recognized as Martin from his headshot on the Cornerstone website. The second was—
“Riley,” Clark said, dropping his folded arms. He really did have a face made for looking pained.
Her stomach sank to somewhere down around her knees.
Because there was no mercy in this world, the hunter-green sweater he wore brought out his eyes.
She played back the conversation she’d just overheard like a slow-motion car crash.
“You work here?” Riley directed her question at Clark, even though Martin had stepped forward with a big smile that said he hoped to avoid a scene.
Clark winced. “I—”
“And you’re trying to get me fired?” For all her puffed-up anger of a moment ago, her voice came out traitorously weak. The same man who had made her laugh last night, who had bought her dinner and kissed her under the stars, had just called her a con artist with so much venom in his voice, Riley could still feel the sting of the bite.
Did he really hate her that much? Already?
She closed her eyes against bitter memories of her dad packing his bags the week after Gran’s funeral. He’d found the journal in her drawer while putting away Riley’s laundry and the whole family secret had unraveled like so much yarn.
I always knew your mother was heathen, backwoods trash. For nine summers you let her pollute our child with this voodoo shit?
Get out, her mom had said calmly in response to his vitriol. Even though she’d never picked up a charm or practiced a ritual. Had left the mountains the moment she turned eighteen.
Riley hadn’t touched Gran’s journal for twenty years after that. She’d tried to forget about it, only pulling the book from storage when her thirtieth birthday dawned and she decided she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as a bartender.
“You don’t understand,” Clark said, voice imploring.
“Oh really?” Riley’s blood boiled in her veins. She’d spent enough time letting a man shame her into ignoring her skills. “What exactly did I miss? That you’ve got a PhD from Oxford?”
He had the nerve to look at the ground.
“Do you lie to all your dates?” Riley had thought he was so generous, so sincere. A falling fucking angel. She’d practically thrown herself at him last night. Talking about that stupid movie, melting in his arms.
Something that might have been regret flickered across his face, but it was gone as fast as it arrived. “You didn’t tell me what you came here to do.”
“Are you serious? I told you I came for the curse. I told you my family—”