The strange, handsome man smiles softly, watching your expression, as if he’s perceiving all your concerns right there on your face.
He’s got dark hair and eyes, and he’s wearing a deep gray suit with a black tie, gray vest, and a scarlet shirt that matches the decor of the establishment around you. He’s even got a matchingred handkerchief folded elegantly so that it protrudes from his suit pocket in a silken triangle.
What a strange, strangely well-dressed man.
“What is this place?” you blurt, and he laughs, a smile twitching at one side of his lips.
“Straight to the point,” he says. “I like that.”
Uncrossing his legs, he stands, bowing slightly in an old-fashioned manner as he offers you his hand to shake.
“Welcome to The Crimson Palace. I am Malcolm, and I am the proprietor of this fine establishment.”
His grip is firm and his hand warm, but you can’t help but feel a chill as you shake.
There’s something about the way he smiles that makes you thinkvampire, though you can’t get a good look at the points of his teeth.
And just because his hand is warm doesn’t mean he can’t be a vampire.
After all, Ziros’ hand was plenty warm.
Ziros. Just thinking his name sends another twisting pang of loss shooting through you.
Malcolm frowns, pulling his hand back. “You’re looking for something.”
You flinch.
“How did you know that?”
“How?” His smile arches slightly into a subtle smirk. “Why, it is perfectly obvious. I know you are a sorceress. I know you have a magical sword tucked in your pocket, and I know you are searching for something—or someone—you have lost. Something important to you. And…” He pauses, watching your face before adding, “And I know you need money. Perhaps we can help each other.”
You shiver, keenly aware that youshouldbe afraid, yet unable to make yourself turn around and leave.
Not yet.
Not when he’s clearly not a normal person.
No normal person would find all those details obvious, even if somehow they knew about magic. He must have some sort of sixth sense about him.
Maybe that means he can help you locate Ziros.
“What exactly are you proposing?” you ask, feeling like you’ve just taken some sort of bait.
He smiles. Not a predatory smile, but a smile of someone who is keen on good business. Although perhaps those two things are more often the same than they are not.
“I’m glad you asked. Please,” he gestures to a set of crimson upholstered chairs beside a warmly glowing lamp on a sleek, black metal stand. “Have a seat.”
You sit down as instructed, hoping you’re not making a mistake.
Every moment you stay feels like you’re tangling yourself further in a spider’s web, and yet…and yet you can’t bring yourself to want to leave.
Not yet.
Not until you find out what this strange man is proposing.
Malcolm leans back in his chair.
“The Crimson Palace is, as you may have guessed, a rather unique establishment.” He pauses to watch your expression. “Our guests prefer something deeper than wine.”
