“I’m Violet,” she says, almost as an afterthought, as though she’s too busy appraising me to pay attention to small pleasantries. “Well, you’re a bright and pretty one, aren’t ye?” She looks me over, her thin, dry lips curving up at the corners as the fragile skin around her eyes fans at the sides. “Young, strong, and made of good, healthy stock, I imagine. How old are ye?”

“Seventeen.” I wrap my arms tightly around me, wondering if she’s ever going to get around to inviting me in.

“Well, you’ll do just fine here, ye will.” She nods, ushering me inside and exchanging a look with the driver I can’t quite interpret, adding, “Hurry on, now, you’ll catch yer death out there,” and leading me into a foyer so warm, so cozy, it feels just like home.

Well, not my home exactly. Not the overcrowded condo that used to be perfect back when it was just my dad and me—before Nina and all her “stuff” moved in—but the kind of home I wish I had. A house of mystery and history—filled with dark polished woods, antique rugs, large chandeliers, and bouquet after bouquet of those amazing red roses with long, thorny stems—pretty much the opposite of what I’m used to.

“Wow,” I say, my voice barely a whisper as I gaze all around, looking forward to exploring every nook of this place over the next few weeks. “This is just so…grand,” I add, surprised by my use of the word. I mean, really? Grand? What happened to awesome, or amazing, or—

“Yes, ’tis comin’ along, ’tis.” Violet nods, yanking my coat off my shoulders, the chill of her touch lingering long after she hands it to the driver, who disappears with it upstairs. “Almost finished now.”

I look at her, wondering what could possibly be left undone when it seems so finished, down to the last old-timey detail. Watching as she worries the odd, shiny, black pendant that hangs from her neck, her eyes raking over me as she points toward the ballroom and says, “That’s where it started—the fire.” She continues to scrutinize me. “As you can see, the restoration’s not quite—complete.”

I squint, gazing into a large room that really does bear a good deal of damage, and as I peer a little closer at the rest of the house, I see it’s also showing a good deal of wear and tear I must’ve missed in my initial excitement.

“Come now,” Violet says, her tiny, cold hand pressing against the small of my back. “I’ve made ye a nice supper and some tea before bed.”

Bed?

I stop, my eyes seeking a window, but they’re all covered by thick, heavy drapes. Wondering why she’d say such a thing when I know for a fact it’s still light out—still morning, for that matter.

“Ye traveled a long way, ye did.” She nods, as though she’d made the transatlantic journey sitting right alongside me. “Must be a bit jet-lagged, no?”

And just as I’m about to say no, that I’m not at all jet-lagged, that I’m completely wide awake and ready to explore until the other students arrive, she turns to me, watery blue eyes meeting mine as I hear myself say, “A bite would be good. I really am rather tired, come to think of it.”

It’s cold. Frigid and bitter and cold. But it’s not like I feel it, so it doesn’t really affect me. All my awareness is focused on the insistent pounding of my heart as my feet cross the polished stone floor. Pushing through a mist so thick, so dense, it practically pulsates with life—as though it’s a real, living thing.

It won’t stop me, though. No matter how bad the visibility gets, I’ll just keep moving forward, making my way toward that glowing red light. He’s in here…somewhere…and he needs me to hurry….

I flip the switch, squinting as the room fills with shadow and light. Noticing a thin layer of mist hovering all around, and wondering how it found its way in when the door is closed and the windows are covered with heavy, fringed drapes.

I toss my sheets aside and slip into the robe that was left at the foot of my bed. Pausing to run my fingers over the soft, silky feel of it, so different from the scruffy flannels I usually wear, and tying it snugly around my waist as I take in the large space before me—the dressing table covered with delicate lace doilies and silver-handled brushes and combs, the crystal chandelier hanging overhead, the stone hearth with embers still glowing from the fire Violet set, the small velvet settee just off to the side. And an easel that awaits me—all set up and ready to go with a fresh, new canvas just begging for me to bring it to life.

“Paint your dreams,” I was told, and so I do. Wondering briefly if I should try to call home, let them know I’ve arrived, but just as quickly abandoning the idea. Now that Nina’s moved in, my father’s too busy for me, has probably forgotten all about me. Besides, I’d rather paint. I need to paint while the images are still fresh in my mind.

I retrieve my bag from the bench at the foot of my bed, glad I was smart enough not to check my very best brushes and paints along with the rest of my luggage. Squeezing color from the tubes marked black, white, and red, knowing that for this particular dream, a dream I’ve had before, but only in pieces, fragments, never as vibrant as this, it’s the only palette required. And I’m so immersed in my subject, I hardly notice when Violet peeks in.

“Sorry fer disturbing ye, miss, but I heard ye moving about and thought you might like somethin’ to eat?”

She comes toward me, placing the tray on a small table beside the velvet settee, as I frown at my painting. I’ve been struggling with the mist for over an hour, and it still doesn’t feel right. In my dream it felt so alive, but here, it’s just a blotch of white static.

“I say, I’m no expert, but that seems to be coming along just fine, miss. Just fine indeed.” She comes up alongside me and squints.

I shrug, twisting my lips to the side, wishing I could agree. Even though I’ve always been my worst critic—the fact is, it isn’t quite there yet. Not even close.

“Maybe just a touch more…red. Right ’ere, miss.” She points toward the center, the only place where any real color exists. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

I glance between her and the canvas, noticing how she looks so much younger than she did earlier—her face rounder, fuller, with a spot of color on each cheek. Blaming my earlier impression on a combination of dim lighting and jet lag, I focus back on my canvas and do as she says, then the two of us stand back to scrutinize it.

“As I said, I’m no expert, but it looks better now, doesn’t it? Gives it a bit more…life—wouldn’t ye say?” Her blue eyes light up as her cheeks flush bright pink, and for a moment she’s so transformed I can’t help but stare.

“It is better.” I nod, glancing between her and the painting. “I thought I’d get dressed and head into town, have a look around and pick up some stuff to tide me over until my luggage arrives. Can you lend me a map or something? Or at least tell me where the shops are located?”

She bites down on her lip and narrows her eyes. And for a moment she seems upset by the question, but it’s soon erased by her words when she says, “Sure, miss, I’d be happy to. But now’s probably not the best time. Best to put it off for a while still, yes?”

I tilt my head, paintbrush dangling by my side, wondering what she meant by that.

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, ’tis still dark out, and a long ways from morning.” She heads for the window, drawing the drape in one quick move, showing a flash of pitch-black landscape before closing it again. “Oh, and you might want to watch yer paints there, miss.” She points toward my feet. “A lot of work went into the restoration, and we’d hate to mess it up so quickly.”