Dorian surveyed the parlor, silently classifying people—beautiful or ordinary. As he stood in the entryway, he knew all eyes would be gazing in his direction. He was an elegant specimen of a man, blond with piercing blue eyes, porcelain, sculpted features, and a tall, chiseled form. No one could compare to his beauty.
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Beyond the laughter of the party and the company of her odious fiancé, Kytt crept through silent halls until she came to a door. There were many doors, but this one bore a Stormer & Sons detector lock. Her source was correct: Sir Dorian Gray was hiding something.
She pressed one ear to the polished wood. Nothing.
“As you can tell, the Wild West was a very fascinatin’ place,” the teenaged tour guide said with a fake cowgirl accent and a tone that sounded like she would rather be anywhere else. “And over here, you can see an original journal entry that shows just how superstitious these folks really were.”
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Dorian staggered as he dropped unceremoniously from the portal. With one hand, he clutched at the strap of the leather portrait tube slung on his back, ensuring that its precious cargo survived the trip. With his other, he gripped the scroll containing the spell that brought him to this place.
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Dr. Miranda sucked in a breath of crisp autumn air and eyed the park across the street from her office. She’d had a long morning, and the sight of elm trees, limbs clothed in golden leaves, eased the tension in her shoulders.
I’ll take a walk, clear my mind, and—
“Doctor Miranda!”
Doctor Miranda’s shoulders instantly tensed again. Tilli.
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