A GENTLE GOLDEN LIGHT shone from the lone window in the ruined watchtower at the outskirts of Rayburn, serving as the single point of illumination against the dark fields of grass that stretched across the low plains. Julie rode her bike up to the decrepit tower, which appeared like a poor sketch of a medieval garrison and looked completely out of place between the RV park before it and the cowfield across the road. She looked to her left and saw a 1960s Ford convertible and wondered if that was the wizard’s car. She parked her bike in its shadow and stepped up to the door. She looked for a doorbell, then berated herself for thinking a tower should have one, even if it was in eastern Texas. Upon seeing none she raised her hand. Her knuckles rested on the door as she gathered her courage.
