Chapter One
MINA
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Morning sun streamed through the trees, breaking into dozens of separate beams. Mist drifted under the lowest boughs, and pine needles crunched beneath my running shoes. A bird called from overhead, but otherwise, the only sounds were my short, steady breaths as I jogged along.
It was a beautiful, if overcast, morning. So beautiful, I could almost convince myself I’d done the right thing by moving to France. Inheriting and refurbishing a château in Burgundy — the chance of a lifetime, right?
I glanced back over my shoulder, and there it was, Château Nocturne, all the way at the end of a tunnel of trees. From a distance, the manor house was gorgeous, even postcard-worthy. But up close…
I turned away, doing my best to outrun the doubts, debts, and cobwebs.
The previous day had brought a deluge of autumn rain, so I slalomed around puddles for most of the way. The first mile tookme through the deep, dark forest, and the second, along rolling, open fields. By the third mile, I was jogging through the little village of Auberre, with its town hall, church, andboulangerie.
I stopped and stretched before the scent of freshly baked bread and croissants lured me inside. The bell over the door chimed, and three people turned to greet me.
“Wilhelmina!” Madame Martin, the baker, called cheerily.
I preferred Mina, but my grandmother had always used my full name, and most older folks in town — and hence, most folks in town, period — stuck to that.
Madame Fontaine, the former schoolteacher, echoed her, then tut-tutted good-naturedly. “Running again? You’re always in such a rush.”
Jogging was more like it, and the onlyme timeI could fit in to my schedule these days, but I didn’t try to explain.
“And so thin,” Madame Martin agreed. “No wonder she still hasn’t found a man.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Back in Maine, I was the outspoken one who didn’t shy away from gently calling out comments of that nature. In rural France… Well, I’d learned to cut the locals some slack, as they did for me.
“The usual for you?” Monsieur Martin asked.
I nodded. “A baguette andpain au chocolate, please.”
“What about that big order you placed yesterday? Are your sister and cousin finally joining you?”
I forced a smile. We three had jointly inherited the château, though the other two were still untangling themselves from commitments at home.
“Unfortunately, not yet. But soon, I hope.”
Mesdames Martin and Fontaine glanced at each other, and I steeled myself for rumors to fly. Something along the lines of us arguing over a huge inheritance, no doubt. Too bad that huge inheritance didn’t exist. We were the stressed — er, proud — newowners of a château, but the estate hadn’t come with enough cash to pay for basic upkeep, let alone the long list of urgent repairs.
I waved at my tiny backpack. “I’ll leave the rest for Madame Picard to pick up later today.”
Madame Picard was my grandmother’s housekeeper —myhousekeeper, technically — and as much of a fixture as the fireplaces, paintings, and furniture. My childhood memories of summers with my mother’s family in France all featured a middle-aged version of Madame Picard. Now she had to be positively ancient, though she moved with the energy of someone half her age.
It’s the eagle shifter in her,my grandmother used to say.
Yes,shifter, as in capable of changing into animal form and running — or, in her case, flying — away.
A shifter, like we used to be,something inside me mourned.
Our family had lost its fortune almost a century ago, and the ability to change forms had petered out at about the same time.
I’m all for a healthy mix of new blood, but somewhere along the line, the different species canceled out each other’s powers,my grandmother used to lament. According to her, our family line held a blend of dragon, wolf, and eagle shifters, along with a number of magic-wielders.
But the only supernatural traits we had these days were, well…not much. We healed quickly, possessed incredibly acute senses, and could mind-speak to each other. But that was about it.
