The cold was back with a vengeance; she almost expected to see her breath hanging in the air like a frosted cloud. Very carefully, Ivy looked around the room, peering into the corners and shadows. She only saw her various twinned shadows twitching as she turned her head, tiny whirlpools of dust spinning at her feet. Nothing else.
“Demi?” Ivy whispered.
The word scattered across the room, returning in whispers and echoes. The silence did nothing to reassure Ivy that the room was as empty as it seemed.
She took a shallow breath, feeling her fingers digging into the handle of the briefcase. Suppose there was something in the room that didn’t want Ivy’s attention. Like Carillon, sitting in her empty chair. ~Court of Twilight, Mareth Griffith
A ten-year resident of Seward, Alaska, Mareth Griffith bounces between summers along the Alaskan coast and winters in various warmer locations. When she’s not writing, she works as a naturalist and wilderness guide, leading adventurous souls on epic quests to seek out glaciers, bears, and whales in the wilds of Southeast Alaska. She’s also lived and worked in New Zealand, Scotland and Northern Ireland – where her nearest neighbors included two thousand puffins and the ghost of a spectral black horse. Originally from West Virginia, Mareth attended Smith College in Massachusetts, and the University of Glasgow in Scotland, studying music and theatre. She is a member of 49 Writers and the Seward Writer’s Circle.