“Do you have a better idea?” His question held enough chill to form ice crystals on Adwin"s thin upper lip.
“I do.” I held up a brass key I"d found secured to the underside of a staircase banister.
Ignoring Percival"s outstretched hand, I unlocked the door. Despite its thickness and size, the door swung inward as easily and lightly as if it were a feather fan.
Adwin slipped in first, lighting the way for several feet. “Wow.”
The round room was filled with artifacts and curiosities and Prunella"s “oddments”. “Wow” didn"t begin to describe it. Numerous showcase pieces, made primarily of bone and horn, were so simple and crude they could only have been homemade. But made in whose home? The mad scientist, Dr. Moreau"s?
A tiny control, cleverly camouflaged to blend into roughhewn bricks al
