“She just spoke to me,” I replied.

The wind hissed through the bare branches of the oaks.

I looked back at the main house, its dark windows staring down like empty eye sockets.

“She said we are looking in the wrong direction,” I said.

“What about the well?” Daniel asked, checking his watch.

“The well is a distraction,” I said.

The real threat was inside the house, deep in the foundations.

“We need Caleb,” I said.

“Marcus has him in the cellar,” Daniel said.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We turned back toward the side entrance of the estate.

The cellar door was heavy oak, reinforced with iron straps.

I pushed it open, the cold smell of damp earth and old stone hitting us immediately.

We hurried down the spiral stone steps.

The air grew colder with every step we took.

At the bottom of the stairs, a single yellow bulb hung from a frayed wire.

Marcus stood outside the iron gate of the old coal room.

His hand rested on the butt of his holster, his face grim.

“He hasn’t made a sound,” Marcus said, nodding toward the dark room.