Brooke Beretta -

Brooke turned the page, but the next hundred or so had been cut out, leaving only ragged stubs. Then, near the middle of the book, the writing resumed, this time in a different hand—a man's, sharp and angry.

And then there was the basement.

Some buildings, she had learned, were better left unrestored. But others—others just needed the right person to walk through their doors. brooke beretta

But the hunger is still there. It is patient. It wants out. And every time someone repairs the house, they are not locking the door. They are oiling the hinges. Brooke turned the page, but the next hundred

Brooke deleted the message. Then she called the firehouse in Portland and put in an offer. Some buildings, she had learned, were better left unrestored

The blueprints showed a house of twenty-three rooms, including a ballroom, a library, a conservatory, and something labeled simply "The Space Between." She had no idea what that meant. The architect's name was listed as E. Blackwood, a name she didn't recognize, which was unusual—Brooke knew most of the major architects who had worked in the Pacific Northwest during the Gilded Age.