Where the Blood Lies

Previously

…He took a step forward, and the shadows shifted, revealing a hint of a smile playing on his lips. It was a predatory smile, devoid of warmth. “A debt is being paid,” he said, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seemed to vibrate in the very air. It was a voice that promised no mercy, only a chilling, methodical justice. My hand closed around the letter opener, its coolness a small comfort against the heat of my fear. My mother’s journal lay open on the desk, the words about the ‘key’ and the ‘roots running deepest’ echoing in my mind. He was here. He had found me. And the game, the deadly, intricate game, was finally reaching its climax. The Weaver had come to collect.