Taylor woke from her nap feeling groggier than ever. She rose from the bed and stretched, then checked the clock. It was nearly four. She went to the window and pulled back the curtains. The estate had transformed while she’d been asleep. Baldwin was right about the storm. Snow gathered in piles; there was at least six inches on the ground. It was falling fast.

She went to the television and turned it on, surfed around until she found the BBC. After five minutes the weather update came on. The storm was getting worse by the minute—there could be up to three feet of snow overnight. Airports and railways were closing throughout Scotland. Which meant neither Memphis nor Baldwin would be getting up to the estate anytime soon.

Lovely.

She turned the television back off and pulled out her laptop. It was early back in the States. Sam would be in her office, prepping for the day’s autopsies. Maybe she could catch her before she got lost in the land of the dead.

But Sam didn’t come back right away on the chat, which meant Taylor had already missed her.

Oh, this was for the birds. All she had wanted was to get away, and now look at her. She was alone in a castle in Scotland, locked up in a snowstorm, desperately trying to reach the people in her life who’d apparently gotten on with things. Like she couldn’t handle herself alone.

Maddee’s voice rang in her ears: you’re here because the people around you don’t trust you anymore.

God, that hurt. She didn’t know whether to believe it was true, either. She knew people had been talking about her. About her actions. Asking questions. Maybe she was deluding herself. Maybe they all knew.

The truth of the matter was she’d taken things into her own hands and gotten Sam’s baby killed. There was no escaping it anymore.

There was a knock at her door.

She crossed the room and opened it. Trixie stood there, the ever-present tea cart to hand.

“Dr. James said as you may be feeling poorly. I brought ye tea to help. Will you be having dinner outside the room tonight, then?”

“Hello, Trixie.”

Taylor stepped aside and let her bring in the tea. It was a job for the serving maid. Taylor wasn’t sure why Trixie was continuing to handle it. But tea sounded good. It would wash the pills down just as easy as beer.

“You’re not looking well, lady, if I may be so bold.”

“I’m not feeling so well, Trixie. I think I’ll go back to bed. Thank you for the tea. I’m going to skip dinner.”

“Aye. I’ll have a maid fetch your breakfast. Just ring if you need anything.”

She lingered by the tea cart.

“Can I help you, Trixie?”

“Will you be needing me to draw a bath, or help ye with the tea?”

“No, Trixie, I’m fine.”

The woman was nervous and jumpy. What was going on?

“All right then. You sleep well. Make sure you drink your tea.”

God, this place and their tea.

“Good evening, Trixie.”

She saw Trixie to the door. The corridor was cold as ice. Tendrils of freezing air reached into her room, winding around her wrists as if it wanted to drag her outside. Taylor felt the ghost before she saw it. The cold became a wall between her and the hallway, then she blinked and it appeared.

The Pretender. Standing across the way from her.

She jerked back into the room and slammed the door. The red wave coming on. Taylor latched the door behind her, breath coming short. Trixie was calling out. Oh God, it was happening again. She was allowing another innocent to be tortured, when all he wanted was her.

She breathed deeply through her nose and flung open the door, ready to charge.

But the corridor was empty.

And Trixie was nowhere to be seen.