Its stone steps were swept clean, the ironwork polished and the miniature evergreens flanking the door had been replaced with urns of hardy bamboo. The stalks rattled in the wind as Ink rapped the brass knocker twice. Kurt answered the door in his crisp black suit with white mandarin collar. Joy was overly conscious of her dusty clothes, but she’d arrived in worse states before. The butler stepped aside, making just enough room for Ink and Joy to enter past the bulge of his gun under his jacket. Today, Joy took comfort in Kurt being cautious. She was about to say hi but then noticed that they were not alone. A strange woman sat in one of the foyer’s wingback chairs, her fist pulling a hooded cloak tightly around her face. She looked nervous, her yellow-gold eyes wide. A strange sort of squiggle ran along the edge of her jaw. She tucked her feet under her chair, politely allowing Joy to pass, but kept staring at the sword in Ink’s hand.
