The Doll in the House (Episode 5)

The Lost & Foundry: Where Heirlooms Conceal Secrets

Don’t miss a bit of the story:

The Lost & Foundry ✍️ Table of Contents

What family stories shape your view of the present? How might untold secrets challenge your perception?

Share how memory and ancestry can clarify and confound our understanding of ourselves.

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Opening her eyes just before dawn, Cassandra’s teeth begin chattering so violently that she can hardly catch her breath. Only three days into the construction of her new bedroom, she can hardly wait for the work to be completed. Her friend Finn’s crews cut away a section of the roof of her grandparents’ former home on Friday, covering it before leaving for the weekend. On Sunday, a surprise winter storm buried Haven’s Hollow in a blanket of snow. Full of hearty folk, the small town was caught off-guard this early in the autumn, and the frigid air crept inside her usually comfortable oasis above the premises of The Lost & Foundry.

Extracting herself from her downy cocoon on the sofa, Cassandra hurries into the kitchen, eager for the warmth of a cup of tea. Despite Finn’s promises that she wouldn’t feel the cold during the work, it is decidedly warmer on the other side of the lounge door. The building itself is old, an inheritance once belonging to her mother’s grandparents and passed through the Voss family until it reached the last remaining heir, Cassandra Wilkins. Her family’s history had always intrigued her, but now it looms, intensifying the chill creeping into her bones.

Raised an ocean away from Haven’s Hollow by her father, Owen, Cassandra’s only link to her mother, Elinor Voss, was a locket which she’d never been able to open. The golden pendant had long been a comfort, only recently revealing more sinister secrets. Cassandra suspected her mother’s lineage was the source of the second-sight that gave her the ability to hear memories imbued into everyday objects.

Some items whisper, while others hold memories so vivid they fill Cassandra’s dreams, transporting her to another time and place. When the visions were intense, she found her way back on the lilting notes of a music box melody that she had only ever heard in her mind. Another of her comforts that recently lost its luster after a mysterious stranger, known only as The Collector, appeared in The Lost & Foundry, humming the same tune. Whoever he was, his presence hinted at a danger surrounding her Voss ancestors.

On account of her second-sight, Cassandra had never seen herself reflected in a looking glass until recently. When she encountered a hand mirror that once belonged to local ghost legend Evelyn Harrogate, her reflection in the mirror opened the locket they both wore, revealing pictures of Elinor and her father, Elias. Cassandra often wonders whether they shared her same gifts, but recent events transformed that curiosity into an urgent need to uncover the truth.

It wasn’t uncommon for the memories tied to an item to charge Cassandra with the previous owner’s unfinished business. Usually, she found comfort in making peace with the past; however, the recent spate of connections to Elias Voss couldn’t be coincidence. The first was a golden compass, a gift from her grandfather to the late Edwin Thorne, who followed it to his death in the forest that now bears his name. Next, a flashlight belonging to Finn’s grandfather revealed it was issued by the Voss Supply Company. Finally, virtuoso Theodore Heifetz’s violin gave Cassandra visions of the musician’s murder at her grandfather’s hands. Though she has no proof, Cassandra is convinced the mirror from Evelyn’s silver vanity set must somehow be tied to Elias as well.

While the electric kettle roils its way to a boil, Cassandra smiles at how quickly the narrow galley kitchen has become Marlowe’s domain. Left to her own devices, Cassandra subsisted on herbal brews and the occasional biscuit. After the boy snuck into her second-hand and antique store several weeks before, he quickly took up residence in her heart as well as her home. A precocious eleven-year-old, he is slowly mastering the art of French cooking after finding the quintessential book on the subject on The Lost & Foundry’s shelves. A vegetarian by preference, even she had to admit there was something magical about Marlowe’s beef bourguignon.

Showing signs of the same preternatural abilities she possesses, Cassandra had rather impulsively invited him to stay, only to discover he was a runaway from foster care. Not wanting to hide him forever, she filed the paperwork to become a foster parent. Neither she nor Marlowe was sure how long the process might take, the unspoken tension slowly working its way between them. The stress of the construction is a necessity: another bedroom will make her apartment a suitable home for two. Sleeping in the lounge hadn’t seemed like that big of a sacrifice, but that was before she needed to wear gloves and a stocking cap to bed.

Taking her first sips of Darjeeling and feeling its warmth spread through her, Cassandra takes the cup into Marlowe’s bedroom to dress for the day. As sweet as the boy is, she quickly realized sharing a bed with an eleven-year-old was madness, even if they kept to opposite ends of the clock. He keeps watch on The Lost & Foundry overnight, sleeping while the store is open. Admiring how tidy he keeps the space, she is glad the cold hasn’t penetrated this far.

Cassandra looks longingly at the mattress, realizing she could make use of it while the construction is ongoing. To keep out of sight and away from the noise, Marlowe has been sleeping under a table next to the shop’s display case, but much like the kitchen, the bedroom now feels like his. As long as Finn can get the temperature sorted, Cassandra thinks she can survive a few more nights in the lounge. Zipping her flannel-lined jeans, she runs her hands through her blonde hair to free it from the warmth of a thick sweater before making her way downstairs.

The morning sun is just starting to peek through the picture window, illuminating the treasures awaiting new owners in The Lost & Foundry. When she arrived in Haven’s Hollow three years prior, Harrison Construction converted the parlor, hall, and dining room of the old Voss home into a retail space, transforming the old scullery into what she dubbed her keeping room. Still anchored by the original hearth, it has pale green walls, emerald cabinetry and trim, and a long, battered pine table at its center. The shelves and drawers lining the walls brim with inventory awaiting assessment, provenance documents, polishing supplies, and a small toolbox belonging to Finn.

Stopping in the doorway, she’s touched to watch the two pouring over the construction plans together. Finn’s brawny, tattooed exterior belies his gentle nature, and though he always made frequent visits to The Lost & Foundry, they’ve become a daily ritual since he met Marlowe.

“Morning, Cass,” Finn smiles, nudging today’s pink pastry box toward her. “I brought you a scone, though it nearly fell into this little bottomless pit.”

“She won’t eat this early,” Marlowe says, placing a knowing hand on Finn’s forearm. “And I don’t like them—too dry and lacking icing.”

“What are we looking at?” Cassandra asks, taking a seat at the table and winking at Marlowe as he inhales another gooey Danish from the box.

“Proof that I was right,” Finn says. “I knew there had to be more to that basement, and these original plans show there were several more rooms.”

The lowest level was sealed when Cassandra took possession of the building. During the initial renovation, she refused to let Finn at it lest he take on more work and refuse to let her pay him for it. The crew painted over the door, and she forgot about it until the last few weeks, when it showed signs of opening itself. Despite the layers of paint over the sealed aperture, golden screws began appearing, each engraved with her grandfather’s initials. After the last metal fastener worked its way out of the woodwork, the door fell off the hinges. It has since rebuffed Finn’s attempts to replace it, and the mystery at the bottom of the cellar stairs continues to beckon.

On first exploration, all that seemed to be hidden beneath the keeping room were a few empty Voss Supply crates. But, in a small chamber, Marlowe discovered the origin of the melody that echoed in Cassandra’s dreams: a rosewood music box bearing her mother’s name that, much like the locket, refuses to open. Currently in her dresser drawer along with the locket and Evelyn’s looking glass, Cassandra wonders when its secrets will be revealed.

“Where did you find these?” she asks regarding the yellowed paper—a contrast to the modern blueprints Finn had been teaching Marlowe to read.

“Simple, I asked Vivian,” Finn says with a Cheshire cat grin.

Until recently, there was no love lost between Finn and Vivian Crenshaw—in a town like Haven’s Hollow, histories run deep. Besides being the town librarian, the violet-eyed redhead is also the secretary of the Historical Society. Collected in the attic of the former Thorne mansion turned municipal building, Vivian has unfettered access to vast amounts of local history. Always up for finding answers, Cassandra realizes she’s asked her friend for help with every mystery except her own.

“Every few decades, the city transfers the oldest files up to the Historical Society archives. According to these, there should be at least four more rooms down there. There’s no record of anyone pulling a permit, so it must have been sealed off by someone in the family.”

Looking more closely at the older documents, Cassandra suspects any modifications were Elias’s doing. Shivering despite the warmth of the mug in her hands, she fears the music box was only a prologue. “I think we should leave well-enough alone.”

Seated in front of the open doorway leading to the basement, her portly feline companion Gus utters a low warning.

“You think so, Gus-Gus?” Even though Marlowe supplanted the orange tabby as the night watch over The Lost & Foundry, the creature imprinted on the boy and the two are rarely separated. The cat chatters and meows, Marlowe listening intently. “He says there’s more down there and we should definitely explore.”

“Absolutely not,” she says quickly. “Marlowe, you’re not to go down there on your own. Do you understand?”

“But—” Marlowe begins.

“No,” she says forcefully. “Someone went to great lengths to hide whatever is down there, and I don’t want you getting hurt by things we don’t understand.” The boy reluctantly nods, and Gus meows softly from the top of the basement stairs. “Besides, I can’t take more than one construction project at once. Finn, whatever the crews did isn’t keeping the cold at bay. How long until we have a proper roof again?”

“That storm was no match for our temporary seal, but they’re already up there working,” he says, donning his jacket. “I’ll go check on their progress.”

Opening the door, a large wooden shipping crate blocks his path.

“Whoa, is it a present?” Marlowe exclaims.

“I’m not expecting anything, but bring it in and close the door,” Cassandra says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I can’t make out who it is from, but it is definitely addressed to you.” Finn hoists the large wooding shipping crate over the threshold, sliding it across the keeping room floor.

“Can we open it?” Marlowe asks, running his hands along the wood.

“The sun is up, and I’m afraid that means it’s past your bedtime,” Cassandra says. “Whatever is inside will keep until this evening.”

“But—”

“Finn, would you mind taking the crate down to the basement until we are ready to open it? This room is getting crowded enough as it is.”

Lifting the sealed box as though it were a pillow, Finn descends into the cellar. Marlowe sulks out of the room to his den beneath the long table used to display ormolu clocks and marble busts. Cassandra winces when she hears the clattering of porcelain as he pulls the drape behind him. Gus leaves his post at the cellar doorway, yowling at her before waddling after Marlowe.

“Seems a bit chilly in here, too,” Finn says quietly as he reenters the room.

“I don’t suppose your crews have a fix for that?” she replies.

“There are bound to be tough days. You’re doing the best you can,” he says, squeezing her hand. “If it stays this cold, you and Marlowe can stay at my place for a few days. I have more than enough space.” Gus hisses from the shop doorway. “I suppose you can come too, fluff bucket.”

“Thanks, Finn,” she smiles. “I’m sure we will be fine, but if I have to spend another night sleeping in my winter gear, I may take you up on that.”

A metallic clang signals something has fallen from the scaffold into the alley. Before closing the door behind him, Finn shouts to the workers above, “Can’t I leave you unsupervised for five minutes?”

After unlocking the shop’s front door, Cassandra honestly hopes she won’t see any customers. Following a media frenzy sparked by solving a century-old disappearance, she suspects the snowfall will mark the end of the ensuing tourist boom. Returning to the keeping room to finally tackle the backlog of new inventory she has let accumulate, she’s barely started sorting when Finn pops back inside.

“Look, I’m really sorry about the temperature,” he says, blowing into his hands. “The wind ripped the temporary seal right off and took a few boards along with it.” Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a small porcelain figurine and places it on the keeping room table. “Clearing the snow, the guys found this and I thought you’d want to take a look. You know…in case.”

An ardent skeptic of her extrasensory perception, Finn became a believer after seeing the foggy remembrances emanating from his grandfather’s flashlight. Since observing the visions himself, his disbelief vanished in favor of a reverence for the things he couldn’t understand.

“How curious,” Cassandra says. “I wonder how she got lost up there.”

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s you. Look, just give Marlowe a little space and he’ll come around,” Finn says, pecking her on the cheek before stepping back outside.

By the time she’s returned to the doll, Gus is on the table swatting at its thin, blonde hair and the yellowed lace of its nightgown. Grabbing it out of his reach, she is overcome by the strangest sensation as soon as she touches it. Gus screeches and disappears into the cellar. While not every object carries a story, this one is different; she can sense the absence of something—a blank space where memories would be. Puzzled, Cassandra sets the doll on the mantel above the hearth and busies herself with the pile of new inventory awaiting her assessment.

After Evelyn Harrogate’s hand mirror, Cassandra was too preoccupied to look through the jewelry from the heiress’ steamer trunk. Each object resonated with a malice she wouldn’t allow to spread any further. Brushing each of the rings and necklaces gently to wipe away any vestiges of their former owner’s cruelty, she considers reaching out to The Collector, since he purchased some of her most expensive pieces on his first visit. While she could use the income, she’s more interested in luring the stranger back so she can learn more about him.

Much like the violin showed echoes of her grandfather’s violence, the accompanying bow revealed The Collector had a hand in the death of Cassandra’s friend, Harmony Jenkins. Feeling guilty about withholding that detail from Sheriff Crenshaw, she is determined to find him herself. She asked Vivian to visit his premises when she was in the city, but she only found a warehouse. Now knowing The Collector is capable of murder, she regrets asking Vivian to unwittingly risk her life.

While soaking a pair of golden cuffs, Cassandra enjoys the scone from the pastry box before returning to the antique doll. Hoping it will reveal something now that she’s less frazzled, she’s disappointed by the same nothingness, as though whatever memories the object held were somehow erased. Slipping the figurine into her pocket to keep it from Gus, she sighs at the appearance of yet another clue in the mystery surrounding her enigmatic grandfather.

Despite the occasional thumping from the roof, Cassandra is grateful for the quiet day, her nerves soothed by the meditative process of preparing items for sale. After documenting the provenance and pricing the pieces of jewelry, she turns to the box delivered by park ranger Chet Williams. Overtaken by the memories from Edwin’s weeping way finder, she ignored the other compasses in need of polishing and the sets of binoculars whose screws need tightening. Noticing the sunlight has already begun to fade, she sets them aside and brings the jewelry into the shop. In hopes of making peace with Marlowe, she places everything onto the display case, making just enough noise to wake him.

“What time is it?” he asks sleepily from beneath the table, his voice muffled by the thick damask drape.

“Closing time,” she says softly, going to the front door and lowering the shade before Marlowe lifts the curtain and emerges from his den, yawning. “If you’re up to it this evening, would you mind putting these into the display?”

He nods excitedly, immediately inspecting the new inventory. “Gus will tell me if I put anything where it doesn’t belong.”

“I’m sure he will,” Cassandra says. “It sounds like they’re finished upstairs for the day, why don’t you make yourself something to eat before you get started? It will just be you tonight; I’m going to Ferndale for dinner with Vivian.”

Marlowe’s knowing smile is enough to make her blush. From the moment she met Vivian Crenshaw, Cassandra felt a spark between them—one she tried to ignore, assuming they could never be anything more than friends. Looking back, the signs had always been there; she had simply been too afraid to acknowledge them.

Upstairs in the flat, Cassandra is glad to find the temperature in the lounge returned to normal. One worry off her shoulders, she texts Finn to say thank you. While Marlowe works in the kitchen, Cassandra slips the doll into her dresser drawer along with her mother’s music box, the locket, and Evelyn’s hand mirror. Nervous about her date, she changes clothes three times before settling on a turtlenecked gray cashmere dress. Brushing her long hair, she wishes she could see her reflection to apply some makeup, but all the mirror shows is the hairbrush floating in empty space. Smoothing her blonde locks over her shoulders, she smiles at the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“I hardly think the vet would approve,” she says, returning to the kitchen in time to catch Marlowe slipping the cat a bite of his fluffy omelette.

“Gus says the diet is too strict,” Marlowe protests, and the portly feline defiantly licks his chops.

“We both know that that’s you talking,” Cassandra says, scooting the portly orange tabby off the second chair and joining the boy at the narrow bistro table. “Marlowe, I’m sorry about this morning. I know you’re eager to help, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“How can I learn to protect myself from danger by hiding from it? If I have to stay in the store all the time, can’t I at least try to understand what it means to hear stories in objects?”

“I know it’s hard being cooped up, and you do have a point,” Cassandra admits. “Look, I’m new at being a parent, and I just want to keep you safe. As soon as I’m ready, we can explore the cellar and open the crate together. Okay?”

“There’s a ruby pendant that would like nice with your dress, downstairs in the case,” Marlowe smiles and Gus chitters in agreement. Kissing the top of his head in farewell, she descends to the shop to add the necklace to her ensemble before bundling up against the cold.

Tucked away at a corner table in the softly-lit Ferndale Tandoor, the mood between the two women is stilted. Instead of the effortless conversation they usually share, both are sensitive to their becoming more than friends. Spending most of the meal in small talk, they discuss the snowstorm and the restaurant’s ambiance as if they were meeting for the first time. The two are sipping masala chai by the time they’ve relaxed enough for Cassandra to share the progress of her new bedroom construction.

“And what about the cellar?” Vivian asks. “Has Finn begun excavating down there?”

“Though I am glad you and Finn are getting along, I was rather surprised you didn’t mention anything to me,” Cassandra says with a tinge of hurt.

“You’ve seen that attic, dearest, and the collection has never been catalogued. If anyone, blame pig-headed Helen Daniels for refusing to digitize!” she replies. The rivalry between the Treasurer and Secretary of the Historical Society runs all the way back to primary school. “Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are when Finn came to see me, but it got me digging and I uncovered a few more treasures that I think belong with you. Besides the incorporation papers for Voss Supply and everything to do with the house since it was built, the Historical Society also had the family Bible.”

“For the second time in recent memory, I could kiss you, Vivian Crenshaw,” Cassandra says.

“They say the third time’s the charm,” Vivian purrs.

The couple ride in companionable silence back to Haven’s Hollow, lingering in the Subaru parked at the edge of the alley behind The Lost & Foundry. Though she doesn't want the evening to end, Cassandra is excited to discover what she can learn from the records Vivian has uncovered, compiled in an old cardboard file box. Instead of the customary bises on the cheek, their first real kiss is chaste and gentle, but warms her heart in a way no cup of tea ever has. Promising to text in the morning, Cassandra waves goodbye, feeling at ease if not a bit joyful.

Unlocking the back door, she sets the box on the keeping room table and hangs her coat before noticing the shop feels empty. “Marlowe?”

Thinking perhaps he’s upstairs, she takes the Voss family Bible with her. Calling to him, her pulse begins to rise until, at last, she hears a voice replying to her from below. Rushing to the stairs, she’s relieved to see Marlowe back in the keeping room, calmly rifling through the box of Voss family papers.

“You frightened me—where were you?”

“Come see what Gus and I did with the jewelry!” he says, tugging her into the shop and proudly showing the arrangement of the new pieces.

“My goodness, you have quite the talent,” she says, the excitement in his eyes giving her another idea. “Would you be interested in helping me with something else? There are a few compasses and some binoculars in the keeping room that could use some attention.”

Eager to begin, she answers his litany of questions about polishing techniques and the optimal tension for the hinged bridge on field glasses. Studying him as he works on a compass, she remembers how exciting it was when objects began to speak to her. She had been around his age, but there hadn’t been anyone who could help her understand. Taking a deep breath, she sits down at the table to join him in the work.

“Did you sense anything from the jewelry?”

“Their former owner wasn’t a nice lady, but the jewels won’t hurt anyone else now that we’ve cleaned them.”

“You must be careful. Objects can be dangerous, especially ones bearing marks left by evil hands. If something calls out to you, don’t rush in until you understand what they are trying to say. I could never be angry with you for listening to the items. I only wish you’d listen to my warning and keep your guard up.”

“I understand, but things only have power over you if you allow them. They don’t torment me the way they do you.”

Marveling at his instincts, she wonders why she’s been resistant to helping him explore his gifts. While objects seem to overwhelm her, the boy seems to befriend them with ease. His trusting nature makes her uneasy; she worries it will lead him into trouble—if it hasn’t already. From his new perch in the open cellar doorway, Gus lets out a yowl. Looking at the cat, she notices a light coming from below, rather than the usual darkness.

“Marlowe, were you in the basement when I came home?”

“Don’t be mad,” he replies, his eyes widening. “I heard it—”

“We agreed to wait!”

“It was calling me. I tried to ignore the crying, but the sounds grew louder. Gus said it wouldn’t hurt to open it.”

“Marlowe, you mustn’t blame the cat for your mischief!” she exclaims.

“I wasn’t!” he shouts indignantly.

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, Cassandra kicks herself for being so quick to anger. “Well, I suppose the damage is done. Would you like to show me what is inside?”

Casting his compass aside, he rushes to the door. Tufts of woodwool dot the cellar floor. Atop of the crate sits a perfect replica of The Lost & Foundry as it would have looked when it was her great-grandparents’ home. The main floor is divided between the keeping room and parlor, much as they looked when she inherited the building. Cassandra marvels at the detail, the intricately furnished interior protected by a delicate hinged frame. Unlatching the brass hook and swinging open the thin glass, Cassandra senses nothing coming from the miniature replica of her home.

“I don’t hear any crying,” she says, inspecting the tiny furnishings more closely in hopes one of them will reveal something to her.

“But it’s so loud,” Marlowe replies, shaking his head. Handing her a cream envelope addressed in spidery cursive, he adds, “Maybe this says something about who sent it?”

“You didn’t open the card as well?” she teases. Inside the envelope, she finds a crisp sheet of paper decorated with the same angular script:

My dear Cassandra,

Felicitations on the enlargement of your home and my regrets that I was not available when your friend came to see me. I believe this doll house once belonged to your ancestor, and I have gone to great lengths to acquire it for you. Please accept this token of my appreciation in celebration of your growing family.

Your faithful servant,

The Collector

A shiver runs down her spine at the sinister promise hidden between the kind words. Dropping the letter onto the crate and putting her hands on Marlowe’s shoulders, Cassandra steers him away from the doll house. “Upstairs, now.”

“But—”

“Do not argue!” She guides him up into the keeping room. He watches wide-eyed as she stands the door back in the frame and braces it with one of the chairs. Her guilt over her role in Harmony’s fate haunts her, fueling her desire to protect her young ward. “The man who sent that doll house is dangerous, Marlowe. I saw a vision of him killing my friend, and now he’s targeting us for some reason. Promise me that you won’t go back down there.”

“Fine,” he says, resuming his seat at the table and taking over the compass she’d been polishing.

“I’m sorry, Marlowe, but this is for the best. We can take a look together again in the morning.” Regretful of being so harsh, she tries to give him a hug. He stiffens, shrugging her away, and she hurries upstairs before the tears begin.

After changing into her silken pajamas, she brews a potent blend of lavender and chamomile teas with valerian root, hoping to soothe her frustration. She wonders at the timeliness of Marlowe’s appearance—everything started to spiral out of control after his arrival. Feeling frayed and weary, she nestles into her soporific nook on the sofa in her perfectly temperate lounge. Intending to open the thick leather scripture to study her family history, sleep claims her almost instantly.

In her dream, Cassandra finds herself in her home as it was before renovation. The furniture is older and the fixtures less sophisticated, yet there is no mistaking it. She is lying under crisp white linens in a narrow bedroom, the walls adorned with pale pink and green striped paper.

A crushing weight presses down on her, as though an iron band tightens with each breath, her lungs thick with resistance. A cough rattles her chest; the metallic taste of blood is sharp on her tongue. The door creaks open, and a familiar man steps inside. Still in the clean-shaven flush of youth, Elias Voss’s wavy dark blonde hair is tousled and his lips are a thin line of concern.

“Augustina, save your strength,” he says as he places a machine the size of a vegetable crate on the table at the foot of her bed. He lifts a clear plastic triangle from a box, attaching it to a tube that leads into a glass bottle atop the coils of an air compressor. “This is called a nebulizer. See, this machine builds the pressure and creates a fine mist from the medicine.”

“You must let me go, Elias.”

“No! You will be well again,” he vows. Wiping at his eyes, Elias turns away, busying himself with plugging in the machine and switching it on; the slow rattle of the compressor soon grows louder than her wheezing. As the force builds, a medicinal cloud slowly fills the clear bulb. “I have a plan, but you must hang on until everything is complete.”

Her breathing becomes agitated as he explains his intent to transfer her soul into another vessel until he can restore her to health in another body. Despite his reassurances, she can feel terror bearing down on her. Once the glass is full of yellow mist, Elias’s face is full of kindness as he gently places the mask over her nose and mouth. The gas hisses its way through the tube, and she can smell camphor and the pungent tang of iodine.

The compressor’s staccato pulse resonates in the air, lingering in her ears and becoming the notes of the familiar music box melody as the world dissolves around her. With a lingering taste of coppery blood in her mouth, Cassandra opens her eyes to find herself back on the sofa.

Looking at the clock, it’s nearly five in the morning even though the sun won’t be up for more than an hour. Not leaving the sofa, she pulls the Voss Bible into her hands and eagerly scours the names recorded inside. At the end of generations of Vosses came a set of twins, Augustina and Elias. While Elias died years later, in a fire along with Cassandra’s mother Elinor, the Bible records that his twin sister died at the age of seventeen.

Closing her eyes and recalling the scene from her vision, Cassandra remembers the doll in her bureau and the perplexing void she sensed emanating from it. Rushing to the bedroom, she opens the drawer and gasps. The porcelain figurine’s emptiness is no longer just a feeling; it’s now visible. Its edges are a yawning void of shadow, crackling as though reality itself were carving it away.

Downstairs in the shop, Marlowe is nowhere to be seen. The sight of the cellar door moved aside brings her blood to a boil. Rushing down the stairs from the keeping room, there’s no sign of the boy. Instead, she finds Gus on the crate, his tail curled around the edge of the miniature Lost & Foundry. His golden eyes meet hers, alive with an unnerving expression of knowing. The air in the basement is cold, raising goosebumps on her skin, which had been flush only moments before.

The orange tabby bunts his head against the doll house, eyeing a room on the upper floor. Cassandra studies it more closely, recognizing the pastel pink and green wallpaper from her dream. Retrieving the shadow-stricken doll from her pocket, Gus meows in affirmation of her unspoken thought.

A splitting wave of energy knocks her backward the moment she returns the shadowy figurine to the tiny brass bed. The emptiness that once threatened to consume it erupts, crashing over her with the weight of a powerful memory. Catching herself against the cellar wall, she watches in wonder as the doll fades into nothingness.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” a familiar voice says. Blinking her eyes rapidly, Cassandra covers her mouth in shock when the orange cat opens its mouth to speak for a second time. “My brother tried to save me, but he was meddling with forces he refused to believe lay beyond his control.”

“A—Augustina?”

“Who else?” Cassandra can see a new light in the familiar gold eyes. “For as sensitive as you are to the otherworldly, there’s quite a bit of hardheadedness about you, my child.”

Cassandra’s heart pounds with the question she’s afraid to have answered, “Where’s Marlowe?”

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