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The wood of the frame was obviously swollen.

Sandra wasn’t about to give up, though. She gave the key another determined twist. “This lock has a little personality.”

“Does it?”

“These things happen with historic houses.”

“Historic lock failure, of course.”

She laughed as if Nate had tried to be charming and leaned her shoulder into the door.

Still, the house resisted.

Nate glanced up at the building. Was there something more than just old wood keeping the door locked? He couldn’t tell yet.

Holding his breath, he reached out with his senses. He felt nothing but a faint pressure behind his eyes. Not definitive proof, but encouraging.

The sound of wood scraping over old flooring pulled him out of his thoughts.

Sandra had finally managed to shove the door open.

“There we are,” she said brightly. “Wait until you see the foyer.”

Nate looked past her into the dim hall.

The foyer was gorgeous.

Of course it was.

A wide staircase curved up along the back wall, its railing dark with age and dust. The trim around the doors was original, thick and carved in a way people paid stupid money to fake now. Even under the peeling wallpaper and bad lighting, the room’s beauty could not be denied. You could just tell that history had happened here—even if you weren’t a medium.

Sandra turned to him with her hands clasped. “Isn’t it stunning?”

“It has good bones,” Nate said.

Sandra’s smile widened.

“But it looks like the roof is leaking,” Nate added pointing up.

A brown stain spread across the ceiling near the corner, faint but wide. It didn’t look like new damage, but not ancient either.

Sandra followed his gaze. She’d probably hoped he’d mistake the stain for shadows. “I believe that was from an old issue.”

“It’s been resolved?”

“I’d have to check.”

So no.

Nate took out his notebook.

Before he could write anything, though, he felt another hint of pressure.

There was definitely something there.

It was close to him too. On the staircase.

Nate kept his gaze averted.