But then again, this was just a dream, just one of many terrible memories I’d collected over the years, and no doubt more were on the way.

“Paranoid much, Gin?” I said.

Of course, no one answered back. The house was empty. All the whispers of the stones told me so, but for once, the soft, familiar sounds didn’t soothe me. I lay there and closed my eyes, but it was a long, long time before I was able to sleep once more.

Chapter 3

3

Two nights later, Finn pulled his Aston Martin up to the back of a long line of cars.

“See?” he said. “This isn’t so bad, is it? I’ve got a new car, you’ve got a new dress, and we’re going to have a fabulous time lusting after all of Mab’s loot. What could be better than that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “Sitting at home having a nice, quiet evening. Reading a book. Making some sort of sinfully rich and decadent dessert.”

“Spoilsport,” Finn huffed.

I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. Despite the fact that I hadn’t really wanted to come, I still found myself peering out the window. Curiosity. It was one emotion that always seemed to get the best of me, even tonight.

The exhibit of Mab’s loot, as Finn had so eloquently dubbed it, was being held at Briartop, Ashland’s largest, fanciest, and most highfalutin art museum, located in the uppity confines of Northtown. But what really made Briartop unique was its placement on a large island in the middle of the Aneirin River.

The island, also called Briartop, was like a miniature version of one of the Appalachian Mountains that ran around and through the city. The museum itself was perched on a wide plateau at the very top of the island. A series of stone walkways led out from each one of the three wings into the lush gardens and immaculate lawns that flanked the main building. The paths spiraled down the rocky hillsides before the landscape gave way to dense woods choked with briars and brambles. Back before the museum had been built, blackberry and other briars had covered the entire island in a thicket of thorns. Hence the name. Even now, the museum gardeners waged a constant battle to keep the briars from creeping up and overtaking the colorful flowerbeds and intricate copses of trees they’d worked so hard to cultivate over the years.

An old-fashioned, whitewashed, covered wooden bridge spanned the Aneirin River and led over to the island. The bridge was the only way to get to the museum, although it was only wide enough for cars to cross in single file, which is why Finn was waiting in line, along with a dozen limos and several luxury town cars.