CHAPTER ONE

RAVENSWOOD SPA
HOT SPRINGS, ARK.
HEALING WATERS
EST. 1876

So read the sign, in gold lettering against a black metal background. It was affixed to a ten-foot stone wall to the left of a black iron gate that opened onto the property. Unlike most of the spas in town, Ravenswood was not on Bathhouse Row. Instead, the property sat closer to Hot Springs National Park, home of the town's internationally famous waters, which many believed had healing properties.

Carl Anderson, 21, paid his stagecoach driver and walked to the gate. A guard stood in front of it. He wore a uniform composed of black boots and pants, a red turtleneck, and a scarlet cape.

"Yes, sir? How may I help you?"

Carl showed the guard a piece of paper. "I won a free weekend."

"Ah, yes! One of our lucky winners." He unlocked the gate. "Welcome to Ravenswood, Mr. Anderson. I hope the train ride from Chicago was all right."

"Yes, it was fine." Carl entered the property.

"Shall I carry your luggage for you?"

"No need for that." He handed the guard a coin. "Thank you."

"Enjoy your stay, sir!"

Carl made his way toward the building, a stunning white antebellum mansion. Per the brochure, the property had belonged to a prominent family, but the mansion was severely damaged in the Civil War. The owners had fled the state and never returned. After the war, the town government took over the property and eventually sold it to a new owner, the Ravenswood Company, who converted the mansion to a spa.

A doorman stood at the massive front entrance. He wore a uniform identical to the guard at the front gate. As Carl approached, the doorman smiled and opened the door for him. Carl thanked the man and handed him a coin.

The inside was stunning! The front room was at least twenty feet high, with an elegant chandelier overlooking the lobby. At the far end, a round crystal sunroof adorned the ceiling while a picture window with stately gold curtains filled the back wall. On either side wall were doorless entrances to other rooms. The wide corridor was bedecked with chairs, credenzas, sconces with oil lamps, and reproductions of classic paintings—at least, Carl assumed they were reproductions. Clearly, the owners had spared no expense in making Ravenswood as alluring as possible.

A woman approached Carl. She was young and beautiful, with golden brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a face that radiated sensuality. She wore a uniform composed of black boots and pants, a red turtleneck, a black vest with gold trim, and a scarlet cape with black epaulets.

She flashed a radiant smile. "Mr. Anderson! Welcome to Ravenswood. I'm Lorraine Creasy. We're so happy to have you!"

"Thank you, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."

"You must be exhausted after that train ride! I'll show you to your room."

Carl certainly had no complaints about his accommodations! To call the room "perfect" did not give it sufficient credit. The four-poster bed was nearly the size of his bedroom back home. The wall-to-wall carpeting was red with gold trim. Several velvet-lined chairs ensured that young Carl would always have a place to sit. The fireplace was the biggest he had ever seen, though he wouldn't need it at this time of year. The room even had a private water closet where Carl could wash up and relieve himself.

"Dinner," said Lorraine, "is at five. That gives you two-and-half hours to rest—unless you'd like a tour of the grounds now."

"No, thank you. I'd like to relax a bit."

"Of course! And tomorrow, we'll take you to the springs. Even if nothing ails you, I guarantee you'll love the therapeutic effect."

"I look forward to it, Miss Creasy."

"Please, call me Lorraine. And there's one more thing." She reached into a pocket inside her cape and produced a small jewel box. From it she removed a golden ring fitted with a raven's head. "We give all our guests this souvenir. Your right hand, please."

When the young man held it up, Lorraine slipped the bauble onto his ring finger and exclaimed, "There! Doesn't that look nice?"

"Yes, ma'am, it's beautiful! I can't thank you enough."

She gave him a radiant smile. "I'll see you at dinner."

xxx

It was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten! Carl never had smoked lamb before, but he hoped to have it again.

He sat in the middle of a long wooden table that currently seated a dozen people: himself, Lorraine Creasy, nine other guests, and a middle-aged man named William Sepulcher. He wore a uniform similar to Lorraine's, but without the vest. Sepulcher had graying black hair and sideburns, with a face that implied perpetual anger and disgust. And he spoke with booming pomposity.

After dinner, they retired to the lounge, where whiskey was served by a gruff-looking young blond man in a uniform identical to what the guards wore.

An elderly woman asked, "How is Mr. Vetchy?"

"Quite well, thank you." This from Lorraine.

"Who's Mr. Vetchy?" Carl wanted to know.

Sepulcher replied, "Oran Vetchy, our founder."

"I'm sorry I can't meet him," said the old woman.

Lorraine offered her sweetest smile. "You know the rules, Mrs. McGillicutty. No one meets Mr. Vetchy; he's very reclusive."

Mrs. McGillicutty sighed. "Oh, well. As long as I get my treatment."

"That you will," Sepulcher promised.

xxx

Carl was sound asleep when a tapping on the window woke him up. He got out of bed and saw a raven on the sill. The full moon shone on the winged intruder. Carl opened the glass to shoo the bird away, but instead it came inside and flew around the room.

Waving his arms defensively, Carl demanded, "What are you doing? Get out of here!"

As if to defy young Carl, the raven landed on his right shoulder and sat there as if waiting for something to happen.

Carl suddenly felt weak. Unable to remain standing, he fell to his knees and placed the palms of his hands on the thick red carpeting. His breathing became labored and rasping, his vision blurred, and he suddenly had trouble hearing. Horrified, Carl saw that his hands had become withered and were dotted with liver spots, and that his veins had turned blue. A moment later, he lay face down on the carpet, dead.

"Rawk," said the raven, still on his shoulder. The bird made its way to Carl's right hand, removed his ring with its beak, and flew out the window to the main office below. There, Oran Vetchy accepted the ring with a self-satisfied grin. He made a kissing sound at the raven, who cawed and flew to its nearby perch.

Lorraine Creasy and William Sepulcher were in the office with Vetchy, who handed the ring to the young woman. Lorraine deposited it in the same pocket of her cape from which she had removed it earlier.

In a slight British accent, he ordered, "Dispose of the body."

"Right away, sir." This from Sepulcher, who quickly left the office.

Vetchy smiled at Lorraine. "Mrs. McGillicutty will soon recoup her investment!"