Kant took half a step forward and raised his hand to indicate the people gathered around them. “Nora and Ray Palmer handle tourist sales and sales to local businesses. You can usually find them in the store.” He moved his hand toward a tall, ruddy-complexioned woman. “Sonya. In charge of showings at fairs, reordering stock, and sales outside of Leafell. Then we have the crew for fermenting, casking, and bottling…”

Margot smiled and nodded at each face in turn as they were introduced. The names blurred together. She wished Kant would slow down. Sometimes men and women reached out to shake her hand, and she lost the train of words entirely.

“That’s it for the crew,” Kant said at last. They’d come to a halt beside one of the massive metal containers. It stretched more than twice Margot’s height. She thought she could detect the tang of grape skins and something yeasty in the air. A set of movable stairs had been pressed against the tank’s side to allow access to the top, where a paddle was perched, to mix the concoction inside.

The steel, freshly cleaned, reflected Margot’s image back to her. She was distorted, her shoulders pinched tight and the top of her head stretched as though she were about to explode. A funhouse mirror improvised in a fermentation tank.

Kant noticed her staring. “Merlot,” he said, as though that explained its presence. He pressed one hand against the metal. “Our last batch for the year. Whites are processed first, then reds. This will be ready for casking soon.”

“Right.” Margot was too aware of the eyes on her back, watching her, taking the measure of her responses.

“You’ll want to see the cellars.” Kant turned from the tank. He crossed the work floor, and the bodies parted to let him through. Margot hurried to keep pace with him, her bag jostling against her hip, a coil of hair tickling the back of her neck as it came free from the clip.

She was aware of her own twisted image playing in the metal tanks she passed. She wasn’t alone this time; Kant and the others were captured in the curving metal. None of the other reflections seemed as badly warped as hers, though. Her body stretched and broke, deforming repeatedly and never quite fitting back the way it was supposed to.

A set of double doors, very similar to the main ones, was at the back of the work room. Kant put his shoulder against the wood to open them. Margot fixed her eyes ahead, refusing to look at the reflections any longer.

The doors grated open. Beyond was a tunnel leading downward. Stone walls and floors faded into darkness. Margot blinked and saw the stairs in her own home the night before. The stairs…and the pair of eyes waiting at the base of them.