Enchanted Hill

Prologue

The first time Cora McCavanagh saw the zebras grazing at the base of Byrd Castle, she told herself that they were a trick of the light, or perhaps her own eyes.

She had paused on the terrace of a mansion set atop the sloping Santa Lucia mountains and second-guessed herself. But there they were: a dazzle of black-and-white zebras, ambling free and uncaged in the lush mountain grass while the Pacific Ocean glittered behind them.

And unlike almost everything else at Byrd Castle, the zebras were exactly what they appeared to be.

Truman Byrd’s famous guests often stood on the Castle’s balconies, getting drunk on salt air and the scent of star jasmine as the sun caught in mosaics of cut-glass tiles beneath their feet.

A visiting statesman once watched the horizon carve into the sunset like a knife and declared it paradise found—an enchanted hill.

But seeing those black-and-white stripes roaming amongst the waves reminded Cora less of paradise and more of the most infamous prison in America, Pelican Island. It was a thought that held no fear or revulsion in it. Instead, it sent an echo of longing through her.

It reminded her of home.