PROLOGUE
Bekah Swindill sank down into her large, enormously comfortable desk chair and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. She tilted the seat back on its axis, letting her head rest against the back of the chair top. It squeaked in protest as she rolled it back a few feet or so to allow for more room before propping her feet up on the edge of the desk and settling her book into her lap. She snuggled down into the seat as far as it would allow, leaning forward to pick up her mug from next to the small, stained glass lamp. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of the vanilla chai make her mouth water before taking a careful sip of the hot drink.
The kids were finally asleep, safe upstairs in their small apartment above the bookstore she and her husband owned in downtown Portland, Oregon. It had been a long day for all of them, a busy day in their small used bookstore, Magical Minds. Bekah couldn't sleep that night: insomnia, she supposed. All people had a night every once in a while that way, didn't they? But you don't know much about normal people, do you, Rebekah? She thought to herself, turning her head to gaze out of the second floor window at the mostly empty street below. The streetlamp next to her window flickered a bit, like it always did, water droplets dripping from the plastic covering of the light as a heavy drizzle of rain covered the city in a blanket of water. A couple across the street walked by slowly, clothed in jackets and scarves and hats, kissing awkwardly as they tried to walk side by side. She sighed wistfully, wishing not for the first time that Richard wasn't staying late at the school again. Being married to a literature professor had its pros and cons, one of the cons being that he often stayed late to work on papers, living by his belief that bringing work home was one of the most unhealthy things a person could do.
Bekah sat her book of collection of Poe's stories back down on her desk and spun her chair around slowly, placing her head in her hands as she gazed lazily out of the window, waiting for Richard's car to pull up in front of the curb downstairs. It was a quiet night in Portland, a romantic one, if there was such a thing. A night where all one wanted to do was snuggle under some warm covers with someone and fall asleep to the sound of the rain dancing overhead on the rooftops.
Bekah was considering taking her tea and book to bed when a small sound behind her jerked her out of her thoughts. She spun around in her chair to look, frightened momentarily. When she saw no one standing in her small office, her heart slowed. Her office was small, holding a few file cabinets, a large antique mirror covered in a blanket in the corner of the room back by the second window, and an old ivory birdcage hanging from a hook on the ceiling full of candles. Framed sketches and paintings cluttered her walls, making obvious her artistic talent to anyone that entered the room. Stacks of books cluttered her desk, some paperwork was spilling off of the edge and onto the floor, and an antique telephone with a round dial that she had bought years ago at a garage sale sat next to her lamp. Bekah pulled her small, battered cell phone out of her shorts pocket and sent a quick message to Richard before leaning back into her chair. Glancing up, her heart nearly stopped mid beat.
Someone was standing in front of her desk. Terrified speechless, she stumbled to her feet, her chair skidding backward up against the wall.
"It's raining at home, too, you know," the figure said, reaching a gloved hand out to straighten the papers falling off of the desk. "The weather doesn't seem to be so very different here."
"How did you find me." She said it as a statement, not a question. Nervously, she smoothed the front of her shirt down over her stomach out of habit.
"It wasn't so hard, dear Rebekah. Gossamer should have done a better job at hiding you."
"It's been twenty-two years. I thought that after so long---"
