The driveway was long and narrow and wound through a forest of lovely old trees. They were a random mix of pine, rowan, and ash, and the desire to stop and sit at their feet, drawing in their song and their beauty, was so strong I actually lifted my foot off the accelerator.

It was a good minute or so before the house finally revealed itself. It was a long, stone-built gable-ended farmhouse centered in a small clearing, with chimneys either end, a whitewashed front, and a bold red door. There were two windows either side of the door on the ground floor and five above. Wisteria covered the front of the building, and though it was bare now, it’d be postcard perfect in spring.

There was a car sitting in one of the bays of the open-fronted shed to the right of the farmhouse, so I stopped in front of it. If anyone in that house intended to run, they certainly wouldn’t be using the car to do so.

I dug my knives out of my purse, tucked them through my belt at the back of my jeans, then pulled my sweater and shirt over them. I really didn’t expect my aunt or cousin to whack me with magic, but it was always better to be safe than sorry, especially until we knew exactly what we were dealing with.

Thunder rumbled a warning overhead, so I grabbed my coat and climbed out of the van. The air was cold and filled with the promise of rain, but I had plenty of time before it unleashed. I walked across to the other car and pressed my fingers against the hood. There was no heat coming from the engine, suggesting it hadn’t been used for at least a couple of hours. That didn’t mean Vincentia wasn’t here, of course, just that she hadn’t arrived in this car.

I slung my purse over my shoulder and walked over to the front door. The curtains hadn’t moved, but I nevertheless had the vague sensation of being watched.

I paused at the doorstep and didn’t immediately press the bell, briefly frozen by uncertainty and perhaps a touch of fear. Mom had been betrayed by someone she trusted; I didn’t want that person to be my aunt. I really didn’t.

I took a deep breath to get a grip of my fears, then pressed the doorbell. A chime rang deep inside, but for several seconds, there was no response.

Then, finally, almost reluctantly, footsteps approached.

I forced a smile. She was my aunt. I owed her respect, at least until I knew for sure she wasn’t worthy of it.

The door opened and, once again, it felt like someone had punched me. For several seconds, I just stood there, staring at my aunt, my eyes wide and stinging.

She looked like Mom. So like Mom, and I just hadn’t expected that.

She had the same silver-streaked red hair, drawn up into a messy bun. Same careworn but beautiful face. Same green eyes. Hell, she was even wearing the same shade of red lipstick.