“Okay,” said Alora, because there was nothing else to say, really, to such instruction.
The guard nodded his satisfaction before reaching behind him to pull a lever. The adorned gate swung inward. Alora sucked in a breath.
There was nothing like it. Not in all of Enver, the town in which she currently resided, or Eirian, the town in which she was born. The pale-pebbled path continued, straight and shining. On either side, in place of trees, were manicured lawns and even further manicured topiaries. Each was different, trimmed into shapes without names and creatures she didn’t recognize. It made her brain fuzzy trying to rationalize each one, so she stopped, focusing instead on Opulence Mansion itself rising beyond like a storybook castle in all its goldenglory. Turrets flanked either side of its hulking expanse, a singular crimson flag stretched taut atop each, and the front steps were steep and imposing. If rumor could be trusted, the mysterious mansion held many rooms—more than any building she'd visited before, and each one unique from the last. A person couldn’t enter except by membership or appointment, and as Alora could not afford such a membership card, she pulled out a letter instead.
“Go on then,” came a reassuring voice.
Alora, not realizing she’d been staring for an exorbitant amount of time at the scenery and then the letter, turned back to the guard with a quick smile forged and perfected to bolster confidence in those she sought to win over. “Of course. Thank you.”
She stepped beyond the gate.
The mansion shone enough to hurt her eyes, and now she understood why she’d been told to mind them. Latticed windowsobserved her approach with a rather haughty gaze. The steps were wide before the building and led to twin, oversized doors, with no further guards that she could see. In fact, the grounds were eerily vacant. There were no birds in the hedges, no butterflies flitting about in an attempt to drink from her dress, not even a whisper of a breeze, and a strange feeling had just begun to settle in her chest when a person sprinted by.
He came from behind her, running outright, his face not turned toward her at all, but staring ahead. His boots raised whorls of white glitter where they smacked. He was dressed well enough, but certainly not in any sort of finery one might attempt for an appointment such as hers, and when he suddenly fell to the ground, Alora thought he'd tripped over his own shoes. That was until she noticed the dart protruding from above his collar.
Alora whirled back to the gate, to the guard standing there. Gone was the warmth she'd found in his eyes only a moment before. An unfamiliar weapon lowered to his side as his gaze met hers, and then his head dipped, following suit. A contrite gesture. She wondered about it, even began to call out, when his hand reached for the lever and the gate shuddered closed between them.
He surely hadn’t meant to—
She’d been left alone…with the darted man!What was she meant to do? Remove it? Call for help? Of course, she must dosomething.
A fortifying breath filled her lungs, enough for her to finally close her mouth and turn cautiously back around. It abandoned her a moment later with a startled yelp.
A rake of a size she’d never seen eased across the lawn. The unconscious man was beingdraggedalongbeneath it. She ran to the edge of the lane, one boot poised to step onto the grass, when the guard’s words returned to her. She’d taken them for instruction, but perhaps they were a warning? Replacing herfoot, she leaned instead, peering into the hedges to make out an extremely large and hairy forearm as it snaked around the man’s torso, tucking him in as simple as a loaf of bread to bring home. A moment later, and both of them, including the rake, disappeared from sight.
Good god! What the devil goes on here?
But she was aprofessional. She had anappointment. And there was nothing else to do, really, except continue down the lane.
Chapter Two
The doors of the renowned Opulence Mansion were a hodgepodge of conflicting ideas carved in gold. Normally, Alora wasn’t opposed to mismatched decor so long as it carried along a basic thread of theme at its core, but the doors, not unlike the topiaries, simply made her insides feel wrong. As far as she could tell, it didn’t tell a story, and it didn’t hint as to what she’d find inside once she'd dredged up the courage to knock. Or she hoped it didn’t.
She’d not put the letter away regarding her appointment, and she clutched it now with both hands, palms damp with sweat. It was a hot day to be sure, and the entrance to the mansion offered no relief from the elements—which, in her opinion, was a design flaw, and if this Mr. Merridon asked for her thoughts on the matter, she’d tell him. When it came to her professional opinion on either aesthetic or functionality, she was never shy. No, the reason her palms sweat now had nothing to do with her profession, but a myriad of other things she’d rather not focus on.
So instead, as per instruction, she knocked three times. The doors swung in.
A smartly dressed woman, whom Alora would guess to be of a similar age to her mother, stood ready to greet her. Alora took in the matching gold skirt and blouse as well as the crimson vest buttoned tightly across the top. It did not complement her, with her sallow complexion that hinted at a life spent mostly indoors. “Miss Pennigrim,” she said. “You’re expected.”
Alora held the letter between them. “Yes. Eleven o’clock.”
The woman didn’t take it. “I know the time. I’m management, after all, and the letter’s architect.” Penciled eyebrows turned down at her, examining her from piled high chestnut hair to brown boots. “Well. No gold or crimson.”
Alora, who had chosen a periwinkle blue dress to bring out the ice in her otherwise gray eyes, pondered for a moment. Her hand covered a particularly large silver flower stitched across one hip. “No.”
“Hmph,” sniffed the woman. “This way.”
Alora, insecure now over her choice of outfit, smoothed her skirt as she walked. There were several blooms across the bodice of a dusty pink. In the right lighting, they might be mistaken for crimson. Good grief, was this to be her only color palette to work with on this project? She sincerely hoped not.
Worry could not distract her for long, though. Observance had always been in her nature, and Opulence Mansion's style certainly would not be ignored. It shouted for her attention.
The walls were textured gold paper—expensive—and the marble she walked on dyed crimson and cracked with gold veins—moreexpensive. Golden chandeliers hung the length of the wide corridor. Each one spilled yellow light onto rows of spiraled staircases corkscrewing from the floor below. There was no grand staircase. Unlike the main entrance, each set of stairs took the climber through a different door numbered with blackon gold plates. And for every door on that strange second floor, there stood one directly beneath.
Alora struggled to keep her eyes trained ahead and not spinning in all directions like some broken doll, but some things could not be helped. When the fiercely-eyebrowed woman stopped, Alora’s entire body smacked into her back.
“Oh! So sorry!”
A deep groove had ground itself between the woman's eyes with time, but it was impressively pronounced now. She straightened her vest in a slow and exacting fashion while she glared, causing Alora to fear that at any moment, she herself would feel the sharp sting of a dart to the neck for her blunder.
