Chapter Seven
Callan followed Matt, drenched and panting, up a long driveway. The mansion emerged from between the trees like something out of a Jane Austen novel. Only the darkening sky gave it an aura of ruthless might, biding time for battle.
They could’ve been in Bath with the symmetrical Georgian architecture and elaborate friezes. Gargoyles stared at them with dead eyes, mouths green with moss.
Matt led him around the building, leaving the ostentatious entrance with two symmetrical flights of stairs behind.
Callan deduced they used the servant’s entrance, especially since it had no gargoyles or friezes, only cold walls and floors.
They hurried up a staircase, emerging into a corridor with pastel-green walls and gold-framed paintings.
‘Are ye sure we should drip rainwater on the
