It represented prosperity, too, so it was no accident that the Tulpa’s home was achromatic from rooftop to doorstep, a blank slate against the sea of pastels and dusty stuccoes that otherwise dotted the valley floor. It wasn’t, however, an ivory tower. The Tulpa was reluctant to remove himself from the source of all his energy and strength. Human emotion, particularly negative, fueled him, though most mortals steered clear of the soaring pale home without even knowing they were doing so. Even Shadow agents didn’t darken the doorway without invitation. Zoe had been the only agent of Light to even get close enough to peer in a window, and since her infiltration sixteen years earlier, paranormal sensors and precautions had been added to further secure the place. But, as Warren drove her to the drop point a block away, she didn’t worry about those. She was mortal, and the only monitor that would pick her up was attached to the security camera tucked high above the entrance’s alcove.
