Chapter Sixteen
Gasping, Mandal took a step backwards, for what was presented to her was the entire sprawling six thousand square feet of Mal’s loft, which stunned her to the toes of her scuffed work boots.
From floor to his bowed ceiling some thirty feet high were panes of glass and the entire place was lit with dozens and dozens of Art Nouveau, Art Deco and other low burning transparent ceramic lamps that she was certain the artist must have made himself. The Loft was so welcoming she felt this must surely be what the womb must be like before a child’s birth.
Turning her head, she glanced left and through the windows of the oddest kitchen she had ever seen, she saw the lights of Fremont Street and beyond that The Vegas Stripe illuminating, glowing, hiding it’s depravity within a light
