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His jaw was set, his expression vacant. “We should follow,” he replied coolly and motioned for her to step ahead of him.
Agitated and completely embarrassed, Gwen stomped forward. It was only after several clomping steps that her heated blood began to settle, and she began to take in her surroundings. Levian had mentioned that Abigail’s chateau was grand, but it was beyond that. It was a palace.
Gold and marble filigree covered nearly every surface. Lush pale blue and yellow floral rugs ran down the length of the checkered marble hall, accented by matching silk curtains, which hung along each of the many high windows.
Outside, she could see a massive, sprawling garden dripping in yellow and red roses. Everything was perfectly groomed. Tall, potted topiaries ran along the edge of a gravel walkway that led to a very large fountain spewing water in the distance. Elaborately manicured hedges of varying sizes were trimmed into shapes and mazes. Beyond the garden lay a rolling green lawn that pressed against a small pond and a patch of trees. Gwen had thought Levian had champagne tastes, but Abigail made the mage seem almost plain.
“Ah! Henry!” Levian chimed ahead of them, drawing Gwen’s attention. “It’s been too long.”
Henry was Abigail’s valet or bodyguard or something. At least, that’s what Levian had told her. He had to be nearly as tall as Barith, well over six feet, but far more slender in build than the dragon, and far more stylish. He wore a tailored three-piece gray suit, polished black shoes, and had his intricately braided shoulder-length hair bound at the back of his head.
He leaned in to accept Levian’s air kisses, one on each cheek, but he didn’t reciprocate the gesture. “You’re late,” he noted in a voice so deep Gwen could barely make it out.
A hollow feeling opened up in her chest when he pulled away. The left half of Henry’s dark ebony face was brutally scarred with long, deep gashes, like some animal had tried to claw him to ribbons. His eye had been replaced with a gold orb that matched his rows of golden earrings.
“Tosh,” Levian replied with a playful slap on Henry’s arm. “You expect me to believe Abigail is ready to receive us on time?” The mage stood aside. “Henry, this is Gwendolyn.”
A ripple of nerves shuddered through her under his appraising gaze. “A pleasure,” he offered, not making it sound like a pleasure at all.
“And you know Sirus, of course,” Levian added.
The men looked at each other but gave no other acknowledgment or greeting. “She’ll receive you in the lounge,” Henry told them, turning to guide them down the hall.
Levian wrapped her arm through Gwen’s as they strolled their way along the lavish halls. They passed room after room, each seemingly more done up than the one before. At some point, Gwen lost track trying to count the number of crystal chandeliers.
“Have you grown anything new this season?” Levian asked, her voice echoing over the marble. “Henry is an avid gardener,” she explained to Gwen. “He’s got quite the green thumb.”
She wondered if he was the one responsible for all those beautiful roses.
“The tomatoes and carrots did well this year,” he replied rather flatly. “We’ve had a problem with rabbits.”
Henry stepped off the hall and opened a set of double doors that led to a large sitting room full of pale green accents, along with tons more marble and gold. Not one, but three sets of sitting furniture were placed around the room. None looked like they were actually comfortable.
Everything was cast in a pink and purple hue as dusk seeped in from the high, arched windows that stretched from floor to ceiling at the back of the room. In the middle, two sets of doors hung open to a terrace that appeared to lead down to the garden.
Gwen had come to terms with the idea that going back to New York and forgetting this had ever happened would be basically impossible. Which left her to deal with her new reality head on. It wasn’t going well. Her anxiety was so bad, she felt like she had a swarm of angry bees living in her stomach.
As Henry made light conversation with Levian about his issues with the rabbits, Sirus came closer to Gwen. Each of his steps made a little jolt of nerves flutter through her chest.
“Are you well?” he asked when he was next to her.
She fiddled with her necklace. Was she really that obvious? “Fine,” she clipped, trying not to be so fidgety.
“Abigail can be trusted,” he offered. “I wouldn’t have brought you otherwise.”
Gwen believed that much, but it didn’t make her any less rattled with nerves. Levian had told her that Abigail was a gifted scryer, but she hadn’t exactly explained what that meant. At this point, Gwen was willing to do whatever she could to find out how she’d ended up like this. To find out about her family, whoever they were.
She looked sideways at Sirus, hating that having him so close made her feel a little calmer. “I told you, I’m?—”
“Hello, my dove!” chimed a shrill voice that nearly caused Gwen to jump out of her shoes. She bumped into Sirus’s arm then immediately took a half step away from him. He eyed her movements then turned his attention to their hostess.
Abigail came sweeping into the room like a queen. She was dressed in a floor-length dark green silk dress that clung to her plump, tan figure like the casing of a sausage. It was cut so low, her giant breasts looked like they were about to burst out at any moment. Her overdone eyeshadow and deep red lipstick were the most subtle things about her. She was draped in diamonds, her dark hair done up in large, sweeping waves.
Gwen couldn’t pinpoint it, but she looked oddly familiar.
“Levian, Gwendolyn, and Sirus to see you,” Henry dryly announced.
The witch gasped with dramatic flair, stopping dead in her tracks to clutch her necklace. “By Hecate, it cannot be,” she scoffed, glaring wide-eyed at Sirus. “I must be seeing things.” Abigail propped a hand on her wide hip and looked the vampire up and down, as if he were a rather delicious-looking snack.
