The funeral rain had been falling for three days when Arthur found the last page.
Isabella lay six feet beneath the Kentish soil, her white rose garland already wilting in the damp air, and Arthur Blackwood stood at the edge of the grave clutching a leather-bound journal he had discovered in her locked writing desk. The journal belonged to their ancestor, Silas Grey, an alchemist of the seventeenth century whose name had been whispered in the family like a curse disguised as...
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