There’s nothing like the brisk autumn nights of the North.
As cold winds rattled through broken windows and loose doors. Farnum’s Castle felt like an icebox. Marielle Brandt couldn’t complain to the landlord – she was the landlord, having inherited her husband’s mounting debts and title to the weirdest apartment building in the history of human habitation.
The plumbing was shot, the stairs were treacherous and the place was haunted. The tenants were a raggle-taggle group of refugees, witches and warlocks. But he weirdest part was that Farnum’s Castle felt like home, and the tenants like family. Especially Simon Zebriskie, who gruffly dispensed help and advice, and felt like someone Marielle had been seeking all her life to warm her heart on even the coldest Chicago night.