“The murdered do haunt their murderers.”
-Emily Bronte, “Wuthering Heights”

“I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems, got to open my eyes to everything…”
-Evanescence, “Bring me to Life”

One

The Hotel Lambert in the Ile-St-Louis was the most beautiful house in the most beautiful city in the world. At least, Schuyler Van Alen had always thought so. Although “house” was putting it mildly. “Castle” was more like it, something out of a fairytale, its massive river walls and grey mansard roofs rising from the surrounding mist. As a child she had played hide-and-seek in its formal gardens, where the conical-sculpted trees reminded her of figures on a chessboard. She remembered staging imaginary productions inside the grand courtyard and throwing breadcrumbs to the geese from the terrace overlooking the Seine.

How she had taken that life for granted. Tonight she would not enter its exclusive, exalted domain as an invited guest, but rather as a humble servant. Like a mouse creeping into a hole, hoping not to be noticed. Story of my life, Schuyler thought.

She wore a pressed white shirt buttoned to the neck over slim black pants and flat black shoes with rubber soles. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and except for a hint of lipgloss she wore no make-up. She hoped she looked identical in every way with the rest of the catering staff who had been hired for the evening. They were all sitting quietly in a motorbus taking them to the estate.

Schuyler was used to being invisible. But this time her life depended on it.