17
Reine
Lawrence put his hand on the small of my back when my foot hit the first stair. I didn’t show it, but some pretty angry butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach. I recognized the arrival procedure for what it was—a power move designed to impress and intimidate me. If it had just been Lawrence, I had no doubt he would have been brought in through a side door or garage, like family.
The foyer turned out to be as impressive as the facade of the house with marble floors and staircase, and brass accents over mahogany and other dark wood. The butler led us beside the staircase and into a parlor, where Agnes stood talking to a tall older gargoyle, who turned, then bowed when he saw me.
“Your Highness,” he said.
“Doctor Renee River,” I corrected him. “Although you can be forg
