The Golden Oath
Chapter One Did anyone else hear the wind counting the bottles in the crates? Geertje de Vries stood in the back room of the nail salon, the air thick with the sharp, chemical bite of acetone and the low, droning hum of the ventilation fan, watching the light from the streetlamps stretch long and thin across the linoleum. She was thirty years old, and her hands, usually steady enough to file a...
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