At the time I only knew that I did not want to go upstairs and be managed to bed like a child, and that for the first time I was angry enough, under all the tiredness, to do something other than comply.

Chapter 4 — A New Brass Lock

So I did not go up.

I went out the back door instead and crossed the damp gravel path to the carriage house, the salt and the smell of decaying seaweed heavy in the dark, telling myself I only wanted the old box of seating templates I had stored out there.

The carriage house was cold, the concrete chilling my feet through thin slippers, and I was reaching toward the corner for the box when my eyes went, instead, to the back of the garage, to the heavy oak door that led down to the old wine cellar.

I pulled the black iron handle.