After driving eight hilly miles northwest from Lake Superior—the last two on a road cut through a thick forest of pines and birch trees—the massive house appeared, set on an island of grass in an ocean of trees. Built of rose-colored stone with enough gray overtones to eliminate any hint of warmth, it featured a black roof and trim, three circular towers, dozens of wrought iron stakes, and several gargoyles. Although it looked as if it had housed Nathaniel Hawthorne’s contemporaries, Max had built Nevermore himself more than forty years ago. He’d claimed the place had cost him a fortune—especially the ghosts he swore he’d bought to haunt it. After parking in the circular drive and popping the trunk, Catherine stepped out of her car. The relative silence, broken only by trees rustling and creaking in the slight breeze, provided an ominous sound track. She hugged herself against a chill that had little to do with a temperature at least ten degrees cooler than in Lakeview. “It looks like something out of a gothic novel,”
