The Pale Garden
The mud on the hallway floor was fresh, a dark smear cutting through the white paint like a wound. I stood in the entryway of Blackwood Manor, my constable’s coat still damp from the rain, staring at the trail that led to the sealed garden door. I had come to settle the estate of my brother, Julian, who had died three months ago of a fever that no doctor could name. I wanted the deed, the...
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