Door of Stone: Book One of the Juniper Holt Series

By Meghan Anne

Juniper Holt is eighteen years old.

She has very little to worry about — getting good grades, overdue fines at the library, and avoiding her annoying neighbor, Brad. But when a quick trip to the library on a blustery winter day turns into a car accident and an abduction, everything changes.

Now Juniper has to w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meghan Anne
• Release date: Jan 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734412222

Book preview

Chapter One

January 6

Day 1 Behind the Door

It didn’t snow in Boston all winter long, but today it was coming down in heavy sheets. Winthrop, the small town outside of Boston where I lived, was eerily quiet, the muted silence of snowfall settling over everything, and it was bitter cold. A sigh escaped my lips as I watched the fat snowflakes land in a fresh coat over my neighbor’s rooftops, the window of my bedroom fogging from my breath. It looked magical, but the cold of the glass bit at my fingertips, and I desperately wanted to get out of the house. Snow was nice to look at, but I didn’t necessarily want to go out in it.

The window reflected a version of myself back at me, my long red hair bright and wild, the blanket wrapped around my shoulders distorting the shape of my body. I brushed my fingers through the wetness on the window, wishing I could wipe away the reflection with the condensation.

My skin was prickling with a sense of unease that I’d woken up with, and the hand that was gripping my blanket pulled it tighter around me as a chill ran down my spine. As far as I could tell, nothing should’ve been making me feel so out-of-sorts, but I was blaming cabin fever, since I hadn’t left the house in a couple of days.

There was a small plant on the windowsill, a Peperomia in a tan pot. As my thoughts drifted, I trailed a fingertip over one of the dainty leaves, and it quivered for a moment. There were a few browned spots around the edge of the leaf, and I swear they faded a little at the touch, the leaf looking greener than before, healthier. I shook my head at the notion. My dad always did tell me I had an overactive imagination.

June-Bug, you might notice a foul odor! my father called up from the kitchen.

Speak of the devil.

I rolled my eyes and left my spot at the window to run down and investigate, dropping my blanket on my bed as I went. My dad was trying to bake again, which wasn’t exactly a skill of his, and who knew what would happen if I left him down there for too long. The house could already be burning to the ground.

The moment I pushed through the yellow swinging door that led to our kitchen, my nose was assaulted by a sharp burning smell, and smoke wafted out through the doorway in a huge plume.

Dad, I coughed, pulling the collar of my shirt over my nose to keep from inhaling too much of the smoke. What on earth did you do?

My dad vaguely gestured with his hands as he rushed around the kitchen, waving a rag as he tried to dispel some of the smoke. The windows had been thrown open, as well as the back door, and the large room was slowly beginning to clear out, a brisk cold seeping in from outside.

I was making a cake, he explained. I swear I followed the directions perfectly.

It was then that I spotted the box of Betty Crocker White Cake Mix sitting on the granite countertop of the island in the middle of the room, looking far too innocent.

I glanced back at my father, who was looking at me now with a completely hopeless expression, eyebrows tight and his shock of ginger hair—the exact same shade as my own—sticking up every which way.

Dad, maybe you should try to find a different hobby, I suggested gently, letting my shirt drop back down from my face. Clearly this isn’t the one for you.

It’s not supposed to be a hobby. He shook his head and went about wiping the mess of baking ingredients off of the counter. I wanted to make a cake. Anybody can make a cake. It’s not that hard. I should be able to do it.

Hey, it’s alright, I said. It’s not a big deal if you can’t make a cake. You can always buy one. Besides, none of us really care for it much.

He paused in wiping the counter and his shoulders slumped in good-natured defeat. I caught his gaze and gave him a smile.

Fine, he sighed. You’re right.

My smile widened and I clapped my hands together. Alright! I sang, sliding onto one of the stools at the island counter, You have to show me how bad this cake is.

My dad rolled his eyes but went to grab the dessert off of the stove and brought it over. My excitement quickly depleted at the sight of what he dropped on the counter in front of me.

It looks like a cow pie, I said, nose wrinkling at the sight of the burnt, sludgy cake. How did you manage this?

His grey eyes told me he was at a loss for an answer. Instead, he responded with, Why don’t you go call Ivan?

What has that got to do with your cake?

He shrugged, flipping the dirty towel he held over his shoulder, and leaned a hip against the counter. Nothing. He crossed his arms. You just haven’t seen him in ages, and I know you’ve been bored out of your mind.

Well, he’s been on vacation. Ivan was my best friend, and he had been since 7th grade. His family had taken a trip out west to see Oregon and the northern part of California, to escape the freezing temperatures for the winter holidays. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks.

Right, he nodded, but they got back last night, right? I’m sure he’d like to see you. Come on, Juniper. You’ve got less than half of winter break left, and you’ve been cooped up in this house the entire time. I think you should get out.

I slumped back in the stool, knowing he was right. Ivan was not only my best friend, but he was my only close friend, among a few classmates and acquaintances that I didn’t really hang out with. Plus, I didn’t see much point in wandering the city by myself in the winter. I was a freshman in college now, a supposedly social period in most people’s lives, but the majority of my time off of school had been spent sitting as close as I could to our fireplace, a cup of coffee and a book in hand.

You’re right, I eventually responded, sliding off of the stool. I’ll go call him.

I wandered out of the kitchen, back through the bright-yellow door, and into the living room, sliding my phone out of my pocket. I found Ivan in my contacts and hit the green ‘call’ button.

It only rang once before he picked up.

Juniper! he yelled as he answered. I quickly jerked the phone away from my ear, laughing.

Ivan! I replied as enthusiastically. What has you so excited?

It’s been so long since we’ve talked, he replied, far quieter this time. It was good to hear his voice.

It’s only been a day. I was texting you last night.

Sure, but I wasn’t in town, and texting isn’t the same as hearing that pretty contralto of yours. Please tell me you’re calling to see if I want to hang out because I’d really like that.

Of course that’s why I’m calling. How do you feel about Bianchi’s at 12:00? I asked, checking the clock that hung over our couch. It was only just past 10:30, so I’d have plenty of time to pull myself together before facing the public.

That sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there, June-Bug.

See you then. I smiled again and hung up the phone, tossing it on the couch.

The front of our house consisted of mostly windows. My mother had had them installed for all the natural light. She’s a neurosurgeon, but an artist on the side; sitting in the airy living room and painting is one of her favorite things to do. The windows gave me a view of the snow, which was coming down even harder now, nearly a complete white-out.

A distant memory lingered in the back of my head, when I was younger and stood, staring out the exact same windows at a different winter storm, but that was all I could really remember. I only had a handful of memories from my childhood, after a bad car accident at age twelve, and the rest of them were just as vague. They left me itching for more, wishing I could remember those years, but for all of the stories my parents have told me, I couldn’t summon up anything new.

There were also times that I thought my parents might not be telling me the entire truth. Of course I loved them to death, but some of the memories they shared with me didn’t settle correctly in my gut. A detail here or there wouldn’t line up with the glimpses of memory that I did still have, but I had been young, and maybe I wasn’t remembering things correctly.

Admiring the lovely weather?

I jumped a little and turned to see my dad coming down the last few steps of our staircase, dressed in a fresh set of clean clothes, face and hands scrubbed clean. He still had speckles of flour in his hair.

Lovely? I shook my head, looking back out of the huge windows. It’s snowing. Why is it still snowing?

Science. Funny.

"Dad," I complained.

It hasn’t come down this hard in a long time, he continued, ignoring my whining. He came to stand next to me, arms folded across his chest. "You have to admit this winter has been awfully warm. Besides, I thought you liked the snow.

I do like snow. I just want to be able to leave the house without turning into an icicle.

We stood in silence for a few moments, watching the drifting snowflakes. I could see Mrs. Strauss outside of her little brick house, across the street, trying to catch her giant, white, Persian cat, presumably trying to get him inside before he got buried in the snow.

When did mom leave for work? I asked, breaking the calm silence.

My dad sighed. She left just before three. I was only half awake, but I think she was called in for some emergency.

That’s what she gets for being one of the best neurosurgeons in Massachusetts.

He smiled tiredly. The hospital is lucky to have her. Did you get ahold of Ivan?

I nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Yeah, we’re getting pizza later.

Bianchi’s? He gave me a knowing look.

I grinned. None other.

My father chuckled and nodded. You guys have been going there for almost six years.

It’s delicious! Plus, now it gives me that warm and fuzzy feeling of nostalgia.

His grey eyes, the same color as my own, gave the blustery weather one last glance before he plopped on the couch, letting out a long breath. Well, what are you going to do until you guys meet up?

I’ll have to shower and get ready first, and then I thought I might run by the library to pick up my holds.

And pay those outstanding fines?

My eyes rolled so far back it was a shock they didn’t get stuck in the back of my head. Maybe one day, I responded, heading for the staircase, but not today.

I took the stairs two at a time, grabbing a clean towel from the linen closet on the way to the bathroom. I was still wearing my pajamas - a pair of soft shorts and a tank top - and the stone tile floor of the bathroom was freezing under my bare feet. I started the shower, turning it up a bit too hot so the bathroom would fog up.

I set my towel on the sink and stripped quickly out of my clothes, shivering, before hopping in the shower. I hissed and skittered out of the way when the scalding water hit my back and turned down the temperature before washing up.

Minutes later I was hopping back out and heading to my bedroom across the hall, wrapped in my fluffy blue towel. I dried off and threw on a pair of jeans, a plum-colored knit sweater, and my old, beat-up black Vans. I topped it all off with my thick, grey winter coat and left my hair down to air dry, but slipped a hair tie on my wrist for good measure.

There was a stack of library books atop my headboard, most of which were probably past due. I snatched them up and tossed them in my Lord of the Rings book bag, grabbed my keys and wallet from my desk, and ran back downstairs.

My dad was still sitting on the couch, now donning his black-rimmed reading glasses and clutching an old copy of ‘A Tale of Two Cities,’ in his hands.

Ugh, I scoffed, coming to a stop right in front of him. How can you read that? It’s so boring.

My dad paused in his reading and looked up at me over his glasses, a mask of judgement on his face. Dickens is fantastic.

Dickens is dull.

Aren’t you supposed to be heading to the library?

I smirked and grabbed my phone off of the couch, giving him a peck on the cheek as I slid it into my back pocket. I’m about to head that way. I’ll probably meet up with Ivan right after, so I’ll see you later this afternoon.

Alright, I love you, he responded, returning his attention to the book. Say hello to Jake for me.

Jake worked at the library, and with how frequently my father and I went through books, we’d gotten to know him fairly well over the years. Will do. I moved around the couch and toward the front door. I love you too.

Outside, the chill of winter caused the hairs at the back of my neck to stand up, and I crunched across the fresh snow to my yellow Jeep Wrangler, realizing Vans might not’ve been the best choice of shoes, not to mention my still-wet hair, which would surely turn to icicles.

The Jeep was an ancient vehicle that had been my dad’s when he was younger. After getting my license, my parents had offered to get me a cheap car for my birthday, but I’d told my dad I wanted his Jeep. He’d laughed and handed over the keys, thinking I would regret my decision, but it had been two years, and she’d never let me down. However, I was willing to admit it wasn’t the best option for our stormy winters, but I usually opted to take public transit, so I didn’t see any point in replacing it with something different.

I climbed in and started the old vehicle, blasting the warm air as soon as possible, rubbing my hands together. My dad had been right; for the winter we’d been having, it was a particularly cold day.

The drive to the library was a short one. Winthrop was a tiny, ocean-side, suburban area just outside of Boston, where everyone knew each other, and everything was a short drive away. On a regular day, even with the ice and snow, I would’ve walked to the library, but today I wasn’t in the mood to freeze down to my bones. Within six minutes I was pulling into the crowded parking lot and ended up having to park in one of the farthest spots from the building.

I slid out of the Jeep and moved as quickly as I could across the parking lot. The wind whipped snow into my face, and I narrowly avoided slipping and falling on several icy patches in the parking lot, the heavy bag on my shoulder not helping with my balance. The fact that I made it inside without incident felt like a small miracle.

As I slid to a halt inside the front doors, I was almost able to let out a breath of relief, until I noticed him.

Shit, I cursed under my breath, darting to my left to duck behind a bookshelf. I took a second to catch my breath and peered around the corner of the shelf, wincing at the sight.

Bradley Strauss, the son of Mrs. Strauss from across the street, had been my neighbor for my entire life, and I had dated him off and on for a couple years in early high school. We were the same age, him being about a month older than me, so I’d always gone to school with him. Now we were both attending Boston University, but lucky for me, I didn’t see him nearly as often on the University campus as I had in grade school. What he was doing at the library was a mystery to me; he’d never seemed big on reading.

After a little thought, I decided to play it cool. My time at the library was sacred - it was just about my favorite place on Earth, aside from the beach - and I wasn’t about to let Brad ruin it for me. I stepped back out from behind the shelf, acting as though I hadn’t seen him, and walked briskly towards the ‘holds’ section. Unfortunately, this brought me even closer to him.

It didn’t take me long to find my stack of holds - after all, they were usually in the same spot - and I scooped them up before moving to the return dropbox. As I slowly began to slide my old books into the return slot, I smiled to myself, relieved Brad hadn’t spotted me. Now all I had to do was check out my new books, and then I could make a quick escape to -

Juniper!

Oh no.

I turned on my heel, and there was Brad, heading toward me, all golden-blond and glorious, a brilliant, stupid smile plastered to his stupid face. Gah! I’d nearly made it out alive, and now my metaphorical death was imminent.

Brad, I muttered, pushing the last book into the dropbox as he stopped to stand next to me, what brings you here?

What do you mean? he asked cheerfully, leaning against the wall. He smiled down at me, looking like some kind of dumb underwear model.

I mean, why are you at the library? I challenged him, looking up with one hand on my hip, the other cradling my stack of books to my chest. Sometimes I really wished that I was a bit taller.

I’m looking for a book. What else would I be doing here?

I lifted an eyebrow at him. You read?

Of course I read, he retorted, grin only widening. He really was good-looking, with wavy, golden blond hair that was just getting long enough to start curling at the ends, and olive-green eyes. He was also a part of the university’s Mens Rowing team, as well as the Hockey team, providing him with arms that could make almost any girl’s (and many boys’) heart race.

That was beside the point though. He was also an annoying idiot.

When I didn’t respond, he continued, I assume you’re also here to look at books, but we can make out behind one of the bookshelves if you would rather.

I snorted unattractively and took a step back. You’re a pig, you know that? I’m leaving now, Brad.

I turned on my heel and marched away, heading directly to the check-out counter, and Brad laughed, sending me off with a loud ‘See you around, Juniper!’ that made me want to choke him.

Jake, my very favorite librarian, gave me an amused smirk as I approached. I slammed my books on the counter, hoping the expression on my face was murder.

Don’t you dare say a word.

He put his hands up in defense, grinning broadly. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.

Good.

There were many reasons why I preferred to go to Jake to check out. He’d started working at the library when I was twelve, and of course at that age, I’d been dead sure I was in love with him. He was attractive, friendly, and I felt a strange sort of pull towards him. Plus, he’d been eighteen at the time, which only made him more attractive in my twelve-year-old eyes.

In the six years since then, I’d gotten to know him, and I’d almost go as far as to call him a friend. I still found him attractive, between his thick, dark hair, sharp bone structure, fit body, and bright golden-brown eyes, but I knew I wasn’t in love with him.

Dad told me to say hi.

Tell him hi back. You ready for school to start back up? Jake asked as he carefully scanned each book.

Not really, I responded, leaning my elbows on the counter. In some ways I am, because it keeps me busy, but at the same time I enjoy spending every day curled up with a book. On the other hand, I’m taking a class with Ivan this semester, so I don’t know… I trailed off thoughtfully. I guess it won’t be so bad.

Jake nodded and slid my books into my bag, before glancing up at me over his glasses. His eyes looked a little withdrawn, lacking their usual warmth, and I wondered if something was wrong. It felt presumptuous of me to ask, though, and kept the thought to myself.

I’m sure it’ll be great, he said, sliding the bag over the counter to me. It would probably be even better if you paid your library fines.

I grabbed the straps of my bag and pulled it off the counter, narrowing my eyes. Jacob, paying my library fines has nothing to do with how this semester at school will go. I promise I will pay them… some other day.

Jake hung his head in defeat, giving a small laugh. Whatever works for you, Juniper. Have a good day.

I said goodbye and pushed out the front doors into the freezing cold. I slid back to my Jeep and climbed in, hair already turning stiff and trying to stick to my warm face. I swiped it out of the way, breathing heavily, wondering what this sudden weather was all about. Now it was not only snowing heavily, but the wind had picked up to a whole new level, and dark clouds hung low in the sky. It looked like we were going to get hit with a huge nor’easter.

I shook my head and started the Jeep, thanking whatever god would listen that