In the StoryThe Collection
Paris, 1882. Before anyone can understand the impossible, its witnesses must be kept from disappearing. Letters, séances, unsettling accounts pass through the hands of people trying to distinguish trickery from what resists explanation. But preservation means more than stacking documents. A family wants an artifact withdrawn. A name puts someone at risk. Evidence already has a price.
Open the novel ↗A moment in the opening pages
Marguerite pressed her palms onto the table. Her hands still bore a thin red line where the string had bitten into them. She thought of the workshop rent due Saturday, the two calfskin invoices Gabriel had placed on the mantel, her mother pretending she no longer coughed whenever anyone looked at her. Henri knew. The doctor paid regularly, but his death had halted the final cataloging invoice halfway through a month. The balance represented six weeks of work.Read the excerpt ↗