Stepping from the front porch to the drawing room felt like walking between two different worlds. Outside, the air was thick with the smell of diesel fumes and goblin malice. Inside, it smelled of lavender polish and old money.
Victor closed the heavy oak door, muffling the thud-thud-thud of the siege tank's idling engine to a polite, rhythmic bass. He smoothed his lapels, took a breath that he hoped didn't sound like a gasp, and turned to his guests.
"Right this way," Victor said, gesturing towards the seating area. "I believe the tea is steeping."
Greymane walked with the casual confidence of a creature who could buy the building or burn it down, depending on the quality of the refreshments. He paused to examine a portrait of a 19th-century Corvinus ancestor, tilting his head.
"Inter
