Chapter Fifteen
ProserpinaPresent Day
Two weeks later
Kernstow Farm is a lonely mess of mud and stone at the northern head of the Thorne Valley.
Rather than sheltering in the valley itself, the farm hunkers against the wind and the rain out on the moors, surrounded by stark, sullen hills and a few stunted trees. Although the roof is long gone, along with any doors and floors and other finishings that would mark the building as a house, the sturdy stone doorway is still intact, and it beckons to any strays who pass.
I’m no stray, though. I belong.
When I stoop under the lintel to step inside, Sir James Frazer at my heels, I can see a cove in the far wall that could be a tumble-down fireplace, and a flat, moss-covered expanse that must have been a hearth-stone at the bottom. When I
