Finder's Keeper

By Shira Anthony

A Heart's Gate Story

The truth might ruin his dreams—or make them come true.

When Zane moves into an old gothic brownstone, he discovers the house comes equipped with a caretaker—Kit, who lives in the basement. Zane is immediately drawn to the charming and attractive Kit. But Kit is much more than he seems. He is a two-hundred-year-old half-human, half–red-fox spirit who guards a Gate between the mortal and spirit worlds—a fact Zane should recognize, but doesn’t.

Orphaned at a young age, Zane never learned he comes from a long line of mystical Keepers. Kit needs Zane’s help to protect the Gate, but how can he tell Zane of his legacy when that will crush Zane’s dreams of traveling the world? If he takes up the mantle, Zane will be bound to the Gate, unable to leave it. But when Zane realizes Kit’s true nature, and his own, he’ll have to make a choice—fight to protect Kit and the Gate, or deny his destiny and any chance of a future with Kit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635338782

Book preview

Finder’s Keeper

By Shira Anthony

A Heart’s Gate Story

The truth might ruin his dreams—or make them come true.

When Zane moves into an old Gothic brownstone, he discovers the house comes equipped with a caretaker—Kit, who lives in the basement. Zane is immediately drawn to the charming and attractive Kit. But Kit is much more than he seems. He is a two-hundred-year-old half-human, half-red-fox spirit who guards a Gate between the mortal and spirit worlds—a fact Zane should recognize, but doesn’t.

Orphaned at a young age, Zane never learned he comes from a long line of mystical Keepers. Kit needs Zane’s help to protect the Gate, but how can he tell Zane of his legacy when that will crush Zane’s dreams of traveling the world? If he takes up the mantle, Zane will be bound to the Gate, unable to leave it. But when Zane realizes Kit’s true nature, and his own, he’ll have to make a choice—fight to protect Kit and the Gate, or deny his destiny and any chance of a future with Kit.

Table of Contents

Blurb

Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

About the Author | By Shira Anthony

Coming October 2017

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Copyright

Zane stared at him for a moment, then laughed. Ralph told you everything about me, didn’t he? But no. Ren’s not an engineer. She’s a bit more… outside the box.

Kit smiled and made a mental note to be more careful. He felt comfortable with Zane. Too comfortable. Outside the box? In what way?

Zane chuckled, his expression lit with genuine affection. She owns an occult shop in Wilmington. Tarot cards, crystals, that sort of thing.

Oh. Interesting. Kit’s stomach dropped to his feet. Had he been wrong? Was the reason Zane knew nothing about the Gate because he wasn’t the Keeper?

Not possible. Already Kit felt stronger. Power emanated from Zane. And Zane, not Ren, had been drawn to the house. He’s the one. And after the binding ceremony…. He filled a clean mug with coffee and handed it to Zane. Here you go.

Thanks. Zane nibbled distractedly on a piece of bread, then looked at Kit. Are you a caterer as well as a property manager?

I… ah… well… sort of. At least he wasn’t lying this time.

Sorry to pry. I shouldn’t have—

It’s okay. Other than watching after the house, I’ve been… ah… out of work for a while now, Kit said. Almost true. He’d been barely holding on since Ralph passed on.

I can’t understand why. Zane picked up a muffin and smiled. You’re an amazing baker. I bet your cooking is just as good.

Thanks. Kit’s face heated. This wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. Listen, Zane?

Huh? Zane closed his eyes as he chewed on a bit of muffin.

I’m glad you like the food. Total and complete cop-out.

Chapter One

ZANE Mayer stared down the pair of oncoming headlights and blinked to clear his vision. For a split second, seen through the thick white snowflakes, the lights danced and spun like petals tumbling off a dogwood tree in spring. Then his half-frozen brain kicked in. He sucked in a hard breath and just managed to jump out of the car’s path.

Omigod. The teenager driving the SUV stopped and gazed down the embankment where Zane had landed on his butt. "I’m so sorry! I tried to stop when I saw you, but I skidded and—"

Don’t sweat it. Zane stood and dusted himself off. His soggy jeans and boxers clung to his ass for dear life. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a hot shower more. Or a comfy bed.

Do you need a ride? the girl asked.

Thanks, he said. I’ll be okay. He only had another half a block to go, and she looked barely old enough to drive. I’m almost there.

She apologized again and took off at a crawl down the street. Zane retrieved his wheeled bag, which had slid a few yards down the pavement. His feet felt frozen solid, and he shivered as a gust of wind cut through his thin jacket. He eyed the street warily before deciding the five inches of accumulation on the sidewalks looked far more dangerous.

He’d known Cleveland was cold, even known it got plenty of snow, but he’d been naive enough to believe he’d have time to buy winter gear before he had to bear the brunt of it. He’d barely made it in before they’d closed the airport with the first winter storm of the year. The Uber driver had refused to drive down the side street. Zane couldn’t blame him.

He glanced up. Buckeye Street. A few more minutes and at least he’d be out of the cold. Not that the house would be warm, but at least the wind wouldn’t be slapping him in the face. He’d figure out how to light the boiler and maybe—

The sound of a plow scraping asphalt behind him took him by surprise—the huge truck had rounded the corner and was headed directly for him.

Fuck! He tried to run but slid and fell on the ice. Headlights burned color into his retinas, momentarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, the edge of the truck’s blade was only feet away. He shimmied up the embankment and hit his back on something hard, maybe a buried hydrant. The truck barreled closer. He closed his eyes and heard something like flapping wings and someone shouting.

You can’t die. The voice in his head didn’t sound like his own, but he didn’t disagree with the sentiment.

The sound of tires skidding away from him brought him back to himself. The plow did a one-eighty and headed back where it came from. Zane gasped for breath and tried to slow his racing heart. He’d always been a little disaster-prone, but this double whammy was off the charts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

When he could think clearly again, he looked around. He was alone on the frozen embankment. The snow had begun to taper off. He once again rescued the suitcase—thank goodness there wasn’t anything breakable inside—and this time slid his way up a recently plowed driveway and onto the sidewalk. He’d take his chances.

The going was slow, but at least no more cars nearly ran him down. He arrived at the gated yard and stared up at the imposing Gothic brownstone. He fought back a wave of panic and reminded himself that no one had forced him to pick up and move.

What was I thinking? He’d never even stepped foot in the old building before he’d decided to leave North Carolina and take the job at the boutique architecture firm in downtown Cleveland. But since his second cousin, Ralph Carver, passed away and left the house to him and his sister five years earlier, Zane had dreamed about the place. After his last relationship had tanked like all those before it, those vivid dreams and the feeling of belonging that accompanied them seemed like good enough reasons to pick up and leave Raleigh. If he’d been in his right mind, Zane probably would have considered hiring a lawyer to challenge the restriction on the deed that the property could not be sold or transferred to someone outside of the family, and sold the place. He was well off, but his sister could certainly use an infusion of cash.

The photographs Jim Robinson, Ralph’s executor, had sent along with the deed to the house showed a huge crack in the foundation on the building’s side, crumbling sandstone cornices over the downstairs windows, and a downed tree blocking the front walkway. Fortunately, Ralph’s will provided money to restore and maintain the brownstone. As his suitcase wheels clattered up the smooth sandstone steps, Zane was pleasantly surprised to see the place was in really good shape. The tree had been removed and the stone railings repaired.

Zane smiled and ran a hand over the patinaed lion’s head knocker on the wooden front door. He’d thought the repairs were mostly meant to bring the property up to code, but the work done on the front of the house was amazing. The shutters were properly hung and painted in a chocolate brown that drew attention to the gorgeous old bricks. The foundation had been repainted a soft tan, and no evidence of the cracks he’d angsted over remained. The tension in Zane’s gut eased as he realized his diamond wasn’t as rough as he’d expected.

He fumbled in the pocket of his thin jacket for the key, shivering as another gust of icy wind blew across the deserted street and gathered snow and bits of ice that stung his cheeks. He forced the key into the lock and tried to turn it with numb fingers. The damn thing stuck. He jiggled it back and forth. Still nothing. He tried again, this time moving it as he pushed on the door.

The lock turned and the door flew open. Zane fell onto the hard tile floor and banged his left elbow.

Shit.

Faraway laughter floated in the open door on another gust of wind. Zane took a deep breath, got to his feet, and retrieved his bag. He closed the door and leaned against it, soaking wet and shivering. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and tapped the screen.

Ren, I told you I’d call when I arrived, he said.

You were supposed to be there six hours ago, his sister said. I got worried.

I got delayed in Atlanta. They had to deice the plane. He wouldn’t tell Ren about his near misses moments before. He didn’t want to worry her.

"It snowed in Atlanta? Ren loved snow, although they rarely saw it in their hometown on the North Carolina coast. Lucky. It’s just raining here."

I don’t consider a six-hour layover in Atlanta to be good luck. Zane rubbed his elbow and winced.

It’s an omen.

Not a good one. Zane looked around. Someone had left the hallway light on, casting shadows over the freshly painted walls of the entryway. And speaking of which, he continued in a voice that reminded him of their mother, if you were so worried about me, why didn’t you text me while I was sitting in Starbucks waiting on the crew to arrive for my flight?

How much snow do you have? Ren asked, her voice bright with excitement.

Here? Zane glanced out the window. Five, maybe six inches. He wondered vaguely if there was a shovel in the garage out back.

When can I visit?

Zane smiled. Give me a chance to get settled in? At least get the guest bedroom put together so you have a place to crash.

’Kay. Ren sighed through the receiver. But you know I can help if you need me.

Thanks.

Hey, Zane?

Hmm?

I… um…. There’s something I, ah, saw, Ren said. You know….

In the cards? Zane shook his head. Ren had always been obsessed with the supernatural. Recently she’d taken to reading tarot. They were both twenty-seven, Ren older than Zane by about four minutes, but she still acted like an overgrown kid. Ren had barely managed to finish high school, where Zane had gone to college and graduate school. Polar opposites and best friends.

Lara said she’s worried about you too. Lara was the clerk who worked with Ren at the tiny comics and games store in downtown Wilmington. The Tower is the harbinger of danger, chaos, destruction, and change. It means you—

Let it go, Ren. I know you worry, but it’s just an old house.

Ren remained silent.

Look, I’m beat, Zane said. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give Lara a hug and tell her not to worry.

’Kay. From the tone of her voice, Ren was unconvinced. But—

Love you, Ren.

Back at you.

Zane disconnected the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

The Tower. Harbinger blah, blah, blah. Total bullshit. Besides, change was a good thing, wasn’t it? The engineering job at McHugh & Weston Architects was exactly what he’d always hoped for, and leaving his cheating ex-boyfriend had given him the kick in the ass to take a chance on leaving North Carolina.

He ran a hand through his damp hair and unzipped his jacket. The caretaker Jim had hired to keep an eye on the place while it was empty had left the heat on, and the house smelled clean.

In the dim light, the stairs looked even steeper than in the photographs. Instead of threadbare carpet, polished brass stair rods anchored a wool runner to each step. Zane lovingly ran his hand over the curved banister at the bottom of the steps. The wood was perfectly smooth, surprising given the place was more than a hundred years old.

He hung his jacket in the front hall closet and glanced in the direction of the kitchen. He’d make a trip to the corner grocery store and stock up on cleaning supplies and food in the morning. He didn’t even want to think about how disgusting the fridge might be.

Tomorrow.

He made his way upstairs with his bag. He couldn’t find the switch for the overhead light in the master bedroom, but in the dim glow of the small lamp by the bed, he saw that the room was clean. The furniture had been dusted and polished. The new mattress set and bedding he’d ordered had arrived and had been set up. He probably had the caretaker to thank for making the bed.

He washed up and brushed his teeth in the master bath, happy to discover that the water heater had been turned on. He dried his face on a towel he found hanging by the door, changed into sweats, and slipped under the fluffy down comforter. The pillows felt like heaven. He closed his eyes and fell asleep a moment later.

ZANE woke to the smell of coffee and baking bread. He’d been dreaming of breakfast. Eyes still closed, he yawned and stretched. Then he realized he really did smell breakfast. Jim had mentioned the caretaker might stop by. But breakfast?

His stomach growled. Time to get your sorry ass out of bed.

He opened his eyes and looked around. The heavy brown drapes drawn over the windows made the room darker than he expected. He fumbled for the table lamp and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. The siren call of coffee too much to ignore, he slipped out of bed and walked barefoot from his room to the top of the stairs.

Plates clinked and the whistle of steam from a kettle sounded as he reached the bottom of the stairs. In the sitting room near the front door, the fireplace had been lit. The sweet smell of burning wood made him smile. Zane rounded the corner to the kitchen and found the table set for one. A french press filled with coffee waited next to a pitcher of steaming milk.

A tall man with curly red hair bent down and retrieved a pan from the oven. He wore a simple white apron over a pair of gently worn Levi’s and a pressed button-down shirt.

Hello? Zane ventured.

The man looked at Zane and smiled, his green eyes bright with pleasure. I hope you slept well, he said and set the pan on the stovetop. He then piled several muffins into a basket already half-filled with bread and placed the food on the table.

I…. Wow. It smells amazing. Zane looked around. The remodeled kitchen sported sleek tile walls, slate countertops, and stainless metal cabinets, not to mention stainless appliances and a professional-grade oven and stove. Ralph had clearly been better off than Zane realized.

I’m Kit. The man smiled and offered Zane his hand.

Zane, he said and shook Kit’s warm hand.

I’m glad you’re finally here. Kit smiled and tiny lines gathered at the corners of his eyes. In the bright morning sunlight, his hair looked like fire against his pale skin and flush of freckles. Hot milk and a teaspoon of sugar, right?

Huh?

In your coffee.

Thanks. Zane watched as Kit filled