New Release June 13, 2025

 

Ravenclaw Manor

Friday, June 13

Late 1800s

 

E

ighty-year-old Felicity Firestone dipped the tip of the brush into the watercolor for the last time, smiling at the reflection in the mirror. The tear slipping down her cheek reflected the lie of her smile. Nothing would ever be the same now that love had broken her heart for the last time.

Like the others before Samuel, Felicity only had to look in the mirror to see the reflections of those who broke promises of loving her forever.

“You’re all mine forever and no woman will ever come between us again,” she chanted repeatedly with each brush stroke.

As the last bit of color on Samuel’s image glided across the tarnished surface, the antique gold mirror crackled into thirteen pieces, each broken section a reflection of one of the twelve man who had broken her heart.

The well-used horse-hair brush slipped from her fingers and Felicity’s soul faded into the thirteenth broken piece, her reflection alongside those she loved and were betrayed by.

 

Ravenclaw Manor
Friday, June 13, 2025

 

C

arousel Ryder pulled onto the road leading to Ravenclaw Manor, flashing red lights reflecting inside her car. Parking next to the wrought iron fence meant to keep people out as much as to keep them in, Cari knew the coroner’s vehicle meant one thing.

Death.

When she’d started on this journey some months ago to learn more about the legend of a the Ravenclaw haunted mirror, she didn’t think that it would lead to finding death on the manor’s door. But there it was, mocking her efforts yet again.

Another dead end—no pun intended—for her to work through.

All her research surrounding the disappearance of Felicity Firestone, the one-time heiress to the Firestone fortune, always led Cari back to Ravenclaw. And then there were the rumors of Felicity being a practitioner of the black arts, the disappearance of twelve men who at one time or another had romanced her. Could one of those twelve have fathered the only child of Felicity Firestone?

Knock. Knock.

Cari jumped. She was so deep in thought that she never noticed someone stood next to her car door.

“Can I help you?” she asked after rolling the window down several inches.

“You need to move your car. This is a crime scene,” the handsome dark-haired man with a far too serious look said with an air of privileged authority.

“By whose authority? I’m parked on the street, not on the property,” she huffed, daring him to challenge her.

“This is my property, and you need to get off of it,” the man quietly ordered, his gaze piercing hers.

“I’m supposed to meet someone here,” Cari said, pulling out a slip of paper from her notebook. “A man by the name of Jackson F. Clairmont.”

“And you are?”

“Carousel Ryder, I’ve been doing research on the disappearance of Felicity Firestone in the 1800s.” Cari answered, closing her notebook. “Do you know Mr. Clairmont?” 

 

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