Chapter One
Paige Stanfield heaved the last box out of the backseat of her small Honda. Turning, she leaned against the car to catch her breath and gazed up at her beachfront home in satisfaction. The ocean crashed and rolled against the shore behind her in an even cadence, adding to the much-welcomed serenity she felt.
The simple, two-story cabin style home sat on a lone strip of sand along the Monterey Coast. Her nearest neighbor lived a half mile away. Tranquil and unimposing, the home invoked a sense of steadfastness and security within her she hadn't known in a very long time.
"And it's all mine," she breathed to herself in awe. It was still difficult for her to believe the sudden turn-around her life had taken in just a few short months. She didn't want to think of the steep price she might have to pay for her newfound freedom.
As she blinked the sobering thought away, something at the upstairs window caught her attention. There was a flicker of movement, a shadowy outline of head and shoulders at the glass. A silhouette that was definitely male stood looking down at her!
Her blood ran thin and quick, but before she had a chance to decide whether her feelings were of intrigue or fear, the figure was gone and the window empty again.
She gave a small laugh and hefted the box more comfortably in her arms. Probably just a trick of the sun as it reflected off the glass. "Or an overactive imagination."
There was nobody near this place and she had been in and out of the house enough times today, exploring every nook and cranny, to know that nobody except herself occupied it.
Shrugging off the incident, she carried the last of her things into the house, up the flight of stairs and into her soon-to-be art studio. Her easel occupied one of the corners where the picture window welcomed the early afternoon sun.
After setting the box on the floor, she looked around the nearly empty room and smiled. The lighting in here was perfect. She'd have many hours of painting pleasure—if the inspiration ever crept up on her again.
Looking down at the dusty crate containing her painting supplies, she felt hopeful, certain this beautiful house could work miracles.
Though she knew it was crazy to feel so passionate over a structure of wood and stone, the house literally throbbed with positive energy. Its open airiness was a stark contrast to the dark and stuffy one-bedroom condo she and Rex had lived in for the past seven years. His black demeanor had imprinted itself in nearly every corner. Now she was free and making this home hers.
She had fallen in love with it the moment she laid eyes on it two months ago. Situated right on the Pacific's doorstep, she was surprised the price had been so reasonable. For a house of this size and such a prime location she had expected to pay three times as much. The realtor seemed happy to get it off her hands, saying it had been on the market for over four years.
Paige supposed it was because the previous owner had died in it, but she didn’t care. She knew all too well that it wasn’t the dead who could hurt you, but the living.
Besides, her bank account was falling each day. She simply couldn't afford to be anxious or superstitious.
Pulling open the flaps on one of the cardboard boxes sitting at her feet, she reached in and gently lifted out a small newspaper wrapped figurine. Carefully unraveling the object, her most prized possession lay in her hands: a six-inch pewter wizard holding a multifaceted crystal ball in the palms of his tiny hands.
She had purchased it at the Los Angeles County Fair when she was just sixteen. It held a special place in her heart and always had an exclusive place in her homes.
Walking over to the eastern window, she placed the statuette on the sill. As expected, the sunlight struck the crystal ball, sending a thousand miniature rainbows all over the room and on her. The ceiling, walls and floor were sprinkled with prisms of festive light. Paige heard a soft sigh echo around her, as if the house itself was pleased with the cheery effect.
She smiled wistfully. This wizard and the crystal figurines still wrapped in the box on the floor were the only bit of fantasy she allowed herself. She cherished them as dearly as a piece of her soul.
Wiping the dust off her palms and onto her jean-clad thighs, she went back to work at emptying boxes.
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