People assumed the mansion had been built for the customary reasons—to show off the owner’s success and to entertain on a lavish scale. But they were wrong. Griffin Chastain had been a brilliant magician whose stage tricks had become legendary but he had also been an engineering talent with a gift for manipulating light from the dark end of the paranormal spectrum. In the tradition of all great magicians, he had taken care to guard his secrets.

He had designed every room in the house as if it were a stage set. If you simply walked through the various spaces you would think they were normal, if wildly glamorous and theatrical. North knew his mother was right. The decorator had gone overboard with red velvet, gold satin and mirrored ceilings and walls, but he didn’t care. What intrigued him about the mansion was the part that was hidden.

Griffin Chastain had been inspired by the designs of ancient Egyptian pyramids and the great castles of Europe. There were hidden corridors and secret rooms everywhere. It was in those spaces, behind the scenes, that the magician had set up his private research laboratory.

During the construction phase Griffin had hired a number of different contractors. Each had been assigned to build a small section of the sprawling mansion. No one contractor and none of the people who had worked on the house had been allowed to view all the floor plans. No electricians were involved, because the house was powered by crystals, each of which had been personally installed by Griffin. The result was that by the time the mansion was complete, the only person who knew the overall layout was Griffin Chastain. And he had never told anyone about the secrets he had concealed inside.

The result was a house of mysteries. The Abyss would have made a great roadside attraction except for the fact that the mansion was designed to terrify anyone who was bold enough to enter without permission.

The only downside was that Lily Chastain was probably right when she claimed that no woman would ever want to live in the house. North knew he was going to have to face that reality sooner or later unless he wanted to live alone for the rest of his life. But at the moment he had a bigger problem on his hands. He was fully occupied with the task of trying not to fall into a state of panic or utter despair.

—

The following morning the vibration of his phone pulled his attention away from his third cup of coffee. He glanced at the caller ID and got a little rush of adrenaline. Victor Arganbright, the director of the Foundation. With luck that meant another job, which, in turn, meant another distraction.

Or maybe Arganbright was about to inform him he was being removed from the team.

North braced himself and took the call. “You’re up early, boss.”

As far as anyone could tell, Victor worked twenty-four-seven. He was obsessed. The object of that obsession had a name: Vortex.