Free Spirit Mountain by J. K. Drew, Alexandra Swan Page A

although old, was well-decorated with aged furniture. Shifting my gaze from the walls, which I’d noticed had no pictures whatsoever, to Edith’s only grandson, I shook my head. “Logan, your grandmother has nothing in her desk drawer, trust me.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “It’s like a feeling I get, Logan. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s just there. And my gut is telling me that we need to go into her attic.” I knew nothing about clairvoyance, and part of me was still doubtful I had this mystic ability. I’d always chalked up my correct instincts as just that, good instincts. But the fact remained that I did have a dream before my mother’s death and that dream had played out in the exact way she’d taken her last breath on Earth. Like a movie in my head, the dreamed details had been as vivid as the reality.
    Logan huffed out a deep breath and gave me a sideways look. He glanced up at the peeling white ceiling before staring at me. “You better be right about this, New York, because there’s no telling what’s up there.”
    He dragged me down the hallway of his grandmother’s single-story home. Placing a tall kitchen stool just under the attic trapdoor’s position and climbing on it, he reached toward the ceiling and pulled a string that brought down a squeaky, attached ladder. Each time it made a noise, Logan slowed down and tried to muffle the sound. His grandmother’s room sat at the end of the hallway. With her door closed, we didn’t think the unoiled hinges would wake her up. That didn’t stop us from being anxious, though. Even though Logan was related to Edith, legally, this was still a break-in.
    Once the wooden ladder extended as far as it could go, Logan raised his hand for me to wait so he could go first. Climbing carefully, he stopped when his head poked through the hole. He scanned the interior of the attic.
    He gasped. “Whoa.”
    I glanced up at him as my heart jolted. “What is it? Hurry up.” My eyes kept darting from the attic entrance to Edith’s bedroom door. If we didn’t wake her, it would nothing short of a miracle.
    Logan whispered down to me, “You’ve gotta see this, Beth. It’s crazy.” He slipped up into the attic and disappeared.
    Swallowing nervously, I took the ladder rungs behind him, scared that Edith might wake up and see us climbing into the attic of her home. Once inside, I reached down and pulled up the ladder, securing it in place. The odor took me back to another era—the scent of mothballs, mildew and basil wafted through the air, singeing my nostrils. But that wasn’t what scared me. It was the lived-in appearance of the place. The old rocking chair in the middle of the room, an ancient throw rug in front of it and an oval floor mirror with burn marks around the edges of the glass made me feel like I’d traveled back in time.
    Although the place looked lived in, it wasn’t the kind of cozy dwelling that reflected the rest of the house. It was creepy, to think that someone might sit in that rocking chair and stare at themselves in the long mirror with unusual symbols embroidered along its wooden frame. I noticed red candles scattered about the attic.
    “Hey, Beth, take a look at this.” Logan motioned for me to come closer.
    I carefully moved across the planks of wood toward the corner of the room where he found mortars and pestles stacked one on top of the other. Glancing at the peculiar rocking chair, I stopped and ran my hand over the wooden seat. It felt warm. When I stood next to Logan, I swiped my finger inside the mortar and brought my finger to my nose. “Smells like thyme.”
    Four old boxes stacked in the corner caught my attention. “Logan, can you grab the third box and bring it down?”
    “Why the third box?”
    “I don’t know. It’s like that box is calling me to open it.” I could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Just do it, will you?”
    “Fine.” He moved the two top boxes from the stack and pulled out the