The Bloodline Deception
The gate of Blackwood Plantation rose before me like the mouth of something that had been dead too long to rot properly. Iron scrolls twisted into shapes that might have been magnolias once, before kudzu took them. I pushed through the gap where the latch had given up, and the gravel crunching under my shoes sounded too loud in the Louisiana silence. I was sixteen years old, and I had come back...
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