One

Maison de Minuit. The House of Midnight.

The name alone seemed ominous, but the forbidding Louisiana plantation symbolized Selene Albright Winston's first serious step toward freedom.

Gathering her courage, Selene left her sedan, apprehension shadowing every step while she walked the flagstone path that led to the lengthy porch. Not even the whisper of a wind ruffled the leaves and only the occasional sound of a cicada disturbed the eerie silence. Ancient gnarled-finger oaks, dripping with Spanish moss, covered the lawns like sinister sentries warding off intruders. The tall grass held a cast of brown and a spattering of milkweeds, and no flowers adorned the overgrown beds lined with withering hedges.

She stopped a few feet from the porch to study the house that seemed as if it had been abandoned, too. In many ways it had, at least superficially. The Greek Revival mansion's pale yellow facade showed definite signs of aging, and so did the shutters, trim and the six massive columns supporting the structure—all oddly painted as black as the entry sign. She hoped the interior had fared better than the exterior, otherwise not even the most curious person would dare step foot in this place. In fact, turning around and heading for safety was Selene's initial instinct. Not this time. Safety also came with a price.

When she ascended the first wooden stair leading to the entry, it groaned as if it might buckle. Yet the abrupt assault on her psyche proved to be much more disturbing.

Eyes. Ice blue eyes. Intense eyes.

Selene closed her mind as well as her own eyes against the image until it disappeared. But when she scaled the second step, the vision came back, stealing her breath and her confidence. She refused to let this happen. Refused to invite this into her world, not when she had tried so hard for years to keep it reined in.

She drew in a deep breath and raised the invisible mental shield she'd developed for self-protection, relieved to discover it didn't fail her when she took the third and final step onto the porch.

After only a slight hesitation, she rapped on the peeling black door then smoothed a hand down her tailored sleeveless red dress. Though the fabric was lightweight, she felt as if she were wearing a winter parka. She'd pulled her hair back into a band low at her nape, yet that, too, provided little relief from the relentless June heat. Of course, a solid case of nerves contributed to her discomfort, and so did the fact that no one answered her summons.

She knocked one more time, both relieved and anxious when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She had no idea who might be on the other side of the door. No idea if she would find friend or foe—or maybe even the owner of the disturbing eyes.

The door finally opened to a woman with keen dark eyes who appeared to be in her sixties, her black-and-silver hair styled in a short, severe cut. She wore a loose-fitting pale green shift and a guarded expression, but she didn't appear to be at all threatening. "May I help you?" she asked in a soft voice that contrasted with her sharp features.

"Are you Ms. Lanoux?" Selene asked.

"Yes, and you are?"

At least Selene was in the right place, even if the woman didn't seem to have a clue as to why she was there. "Selene Winston. I'm here about the restoration."

The woman's hand fluttered to her hair. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

When they'd spoken last Friday, Selene could have sworn they'd agreed she would interview for the job on Monday. Maybe she should return to the local inn where she'd been residing for the past ten days since her spontaneous escape from Georgia. Maybe she should consider this misunderstanding as a Do Not Enter sign. "If it's not a good time, I can come back tomorrow."

"I wouldn't hear of it," she said as she stepped aside and gestured Selene forward. "Welcome to Maison de Minuit…It's Mrs. Winston, isn't it?"

"Winston's my married name, but I'm divorced." Selene internally flinched over the bitterness that resonated in her tone. "Actually, I'd rather you call me Selene."

The woman thankfully maintained a pleasant demeanor. "And you may call me Ella. Now let's get you out of the heat."

When Selene stepped inside the wide foyer, she immediately noticed two things—the house wasn't much cooler than the porch outside, and the light was all but filtered out by heavy shutters covering the windows. A gloomy atmosphere encompassed the area, along with the scent of aged wood and musty air.

She followed Ella down the vestibule where they paused at a small parlor that proved to be as dark as the entrance, any natural light blocked by thick blue drapes. The Federal-style antiques set about the room were most likely original furnishings, and worth a fortune, Selene decided. Nothing she hadn't seen—or owned—in her former life. A life she had gladly left behind. Still, she'd always had an affinity for all things historical, and the pieces were definitely worth investigating.

"This is only one of the common areas," Ella said. "And like the rest of the house, it needs refurbishing." She fanned her face in a rapid succession of waves. "Inside and out. You would have to obtain estimates on a new cooling system and most likely a new roof, which means you'll have to find a suitable contractor."

"Wait a minute," Selene said as soon as the woman's words registered. "I had no idea the job would be quite this extensive."

"My dear, you can hire anyone you'd like," Ella said. "Unless you have a problem supervising workers."

Copyright © 2006 by Kristi Gold, Susan Crosby, Michelle Celmer.