Alaster stood outside the main door of Constantine Booker’s opulent home. The home and surrounding grounds could have been an ancient European castle hidden in a dark forest. Instead, it was in the harsh northern mountains of Canada’s Northern Territories. Alaster would admit that the thick stone walls, similar to those of his own cottage, would help keep out the cold and help to regulate the temperature in the summer. Still, the structure felt overbearing to him, much as his own did.
He sighed as he took hold of the old cast-iron knocker. Alaster banged it on the thick wooden door, sending a resounding echo through the house. It was later, and Alaster braced himself for what might happen when the door was opened. If it were one of the many servants he had seen, things would be fine. If i
