The Mistress
There were twenty-six of them, each one engraved with an intricate, beautiful letter of the alphabet.
I slid out of bed, ignoring Zander’s protest, and walked over to the crate. I picked up the letter ‘A.’ The wood was dark, heavy, and had a very specific, smoky aroma.
“This isn’t just pine,” I whispered, my thumb tracing the grain. “It’s Alpine Cedar. From the high ridges.”
“How do you know that?” Zander asked, his eyes narrowing.