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sister?”
    Daisy twisted her mouth. “I didn’t say that, Betsy.”
    “And you? Are you a dog?”
    “Absolutely,” she said, rubbing Ringo’s side with the toe of her boot. “I’m just a loyal dog.”
    The psychologist made a note, her pen gliding over the white sheet of paper.
    A cell phone chimed.
    “You forgot to turn off your cell phone,” said Betsy.
    “Yeah, sorry. I got to take this.”
    Daisy fished a black iPhone out of her purse. Then a ruby-red cell phone.
    “Hello?…Dad, I can’t talk.… Yes, I am.… I’ll call you later.”
    Betsy noticed her patient wince.
    “…I don’t know…later.” Daisy punched the END button hard, as if she was trying to kill it.
    “Your father.”
    “Yeah, it won’t happen again. I forgot to turn his phone off.”
    “His phone?”
    Daisy hesitated.
    “He wants me to have this one with me, all the time. It’s got a GPS tracking device. Like he knows anything about where I go in the Roaring Fork Valley. Big deal. He gives me extra allowance if I take it with me everywhere.”
    “Doesn’t he live back East?”
    “Yeah, but like, he is so weird,” she said. “It’s part of the divorce arrangement. He wants to keep in contact with me.”
    She covered her mouth and coughed hard, phlegm rattling in her throat. Betsy handed her a box of tissues.
    “Spit it out, Daisy. Really.”
    “That’s gross,” she said, struggling not to choke.
    “It’s healthy. Like an athlete does. Don’t swallow, spit it out.”
    Ignoring her, Daisy swallowed hard.
    Betsy watched her struggle to clear her throat. Then, when she thought the girl had recovered, she asked, “Why do you think your father—”
    Daisy turned her face away.
    “I don’t want to talk about my dad now, all right?”
    Betsy knew she was testing the ragged edge of Daisy’s patience.
    “OK. We’ll talk about something else,” she said, scanning her notes. “You said you listen to ripples of the past. Your past?”
    “No. No, a long time ago. I dream of a castle. Jutting up into the sky from an outcrop of rock. Like something from a Dracula movie. Very Goth, right?”
    “Go on.”
    “Red velvet drapes. Heavy dark furniture. Enormous chests with big iron hinges. And—a strange smell, like…”
    “Like what?”
    “Like a coin purse. Like pennies rubbed together. Metallic.”
    Betsy scribbled down Daisy’s words.
    “Anything else?”
    “I see horses. Most times,” she said.
    “Are the horses comforting to you? Or are they menacing?”
    “Mostly comforting. But sometimes they are terrified, rearing and whinnying, like they smell a fire.”
    “Do they strike out at you?”
    “Oh, no. Never.” She paused. “They warn me.”

Chapter 4
    Č ACHTICE V ILLAGE , S LOVAKIA
N OVEMBER 28, 1610
    T he mud-splattered coach shuddered to a stop at the outskirts of the village of Č achtice. The crossroad led up the hill to the gray-and-ivory castle looming against the sky.
    The carriage horses snorted in the cold, clouds of vapor rising into the frigid air. Their eyes were ringed in white as they pranced nervously, straining at their bits.
    “Quiet now!” urged the driver. The brass lanterns on either side of the coach swung wildly, banging against the wood as the carriage lurched.
    “Passenger Szilvasi, descend at once!” shouted the driver.
    A flock of ravens exploded in flight from the castle walls. Their screaming call was answered by the ear-piercing whinny of the horses, rearing in unison, sharp hooves slicing the air.
    “Get out!” shouted the driver, wrestling the reins.
    Janos Szilvasi jumped down from the coach, throwing his sack into the snow beside the muddy road.
    “Let me quiet them,” he shouted up to the driver, as he approached the horses.
    “Get away!” said the driver. “They will strike you! Stay away from the mare—”
    Janos made a soft whistling sound, staying to the right of the rearing horses. The mare could not see the ravens now. She looked nervously at the human