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The House on the tidal island keeps them - and for a fee, the kept receive visitors. The price is posted at the sea-door: one memory of the soul you visit, every visit, drawn out of you through the warden's hands. Stay ashore and keep your dead whole. Or cross at slack tide, and start to spend.
Two years ago, Maren Brack let her sister drown saving a boy who was nearer. What she has left of Liss is memory - and memory is the House's only coin. So Maren has never crossed. But her recall of her sister's voice is failing on its own, coin by coin, with nothing bought. Watching is losing. Paying is losing slower.
Her first visit costs Liss's voice - all of it, the live word and the print packed round it. It buys an hour that rewrites everything: her sister, kept and funny and furious, there, on the far side of a fee.
So when the House posts for a keeper - wages paid in visiting rights - Maren takes the post.
But the warden's hands are gentle, and the House is warm where it has no business being warm. The work pays in hours with her sister, and in evenings across a scrubbed table from the man who takes her memories at the door - the man she has every reason to hate, and doesn't. And lately Liss has been saying things Liss never knew.
The price of a visit is posted at the door.
The price of belonging to the House is not.
Book One of THE DROWNED HOUSES - a gothic dark romantasy of grief, slow-burn love, and a bargain you can watch closing. Complete in itself, with no cliffhanger. The trilogy ends with WHAT THE KEPT BECOME.
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Take 20% off your first order
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