The last bend in the road revealed Blackwater House all at once, rising beyond the reeds like a stranded ship.
Mara gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles blanched. Rain ticked against the windscreen, and the wipers dragged the grey afternoon into two blurred halves: black water on one side, moorland on the other. Ahead, the house stood on a low island of stone and dead grass, its windows tall and narrow, its roofline broken by chimneys that leaned like rotten teeth.
“Tell me that isn’t it,” Elise said from the passenger seat.