Samara’s Game
Boris L. Glebov
Samara and Valentine strode up the steps of a gothic manor. Accented by sparse gas lamps, the street was sinking into a comfortable darkness. The large veranda, its sides overgrown with ancient vine, was growing sticky with shadows. Feeling chilly, Samara stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her burgundy frock. Valentine pulled a pair of brass-rimmed goggles over his eyes and kneeled in front of the massive front door.
“How does the abjuration look?” Samara peered into the impenetrable windows.
“It’s Lion’s Paw.”
“Is it trouble?”
“For a simple man, maybe.”
“Should we give up now, then?”
Valentine said nothing in an annoyed sort of way.
Pacing the worn sandstone patio, she fished a large bronze beetle from her coat. It fit neatly in her palm.
“How
