On the desk, next to the typewriter, lay the parcel. It was still heavy, and when Lin shook it, something slid around inside. She emptied it into her palm.
Out tumbled two keys, held together by a thin metal band.
One was a little old and had an orange plastic tag that said “cellar.” The other was large, as large as the length of her hand, and blackened, as if someone had tried to burn it. Its head was fashioned as a petal, and the stem was that of a rose, with three curved, sharp thorns. Across the petal, there was a name engraved: “Twistrose.”