The map on my car comm led me north of the city along a rural road. When I arrived at a tall, wrought-iron gate, I pushed on a panel at the entrance. The door swung open without anyone questioning me via the speaker. The long driveway wound through a dense woodland, finally opening up to several cleared acres and a sprawling mansion—no, a castle at the end of the path. The driveway circled around a fountain where the statue of a Morgon woman bathed herself at the center. I parked along the side, powdered my face one more time in the mirror, especially under my eyes, and straightened myself before stepping up to the door. Before I could knock, the door swung open. A man dressed in formal black, typical of household servants, held the door open and bowed. “Ms. Barrow. You’re expected.” “Oh. Um, thank you.” Walking across the threshold, I heard the steady stride of Paxon crossing the stone foyer to greet me.
