“Raven’s Nest Manor,” Ash says as I attempt to pick my jaw up off the floor. He drives around the circle toward it, and the closer it gets, the more impressive it gets. “A twelfth-century manor house that was converted into an inn. Home to Raven’s Pub, a favorite among locals and a meeting place for Strategia.”

“Meeting place…but aren’t we in Lion territory?” I ask, wondering how worried I should be.

“Technically, yes. But we’re on the outskirts. And in every Family’s territory there are places like this, meeting spots that have developed over the past thousand years that all the Families use to trade information and make deals.”

Ash stops the car, and before I have a chance to open my door, a butler in white gloves and a long-tailed coat opens it for me.

“Thank you,” I squeak, looking up at the imposing Gothic manor. There is an oversized wreath on the door and a single candle in every window, making the whole place feel magical.

The butler takes our bags and Ash offers me the crook of his arm. If I felt out of my element at Academy Absconditi, it’s nothing compared to this. We take the fanned staircase to the front door and Ash opens it for us.

The front foyer is an impressively tall room with ornately arched ceilings. The woodwork on the walls is accented with gold-framed paintings and garlands of pine and red berries, and there is a fifteen-foot Christmas tree that makes the one in my town square look plain. I would squeal if I weren’t positive Ash would kill me. Where is my effing camera?!

Ash leads us to a large antique desk at the far end of the room. A man with a neat full beard and a hunter-green tweed suit sits behind it.

The bearded man smiles. “Nice to see you, Mr. Ashai. I’m assuming you’ll want your usual suite?” he asks in a Scottish accent. He stands and pulls an old-fashioned iron key from one of the desk drawers.

“Exactly so, Murray,” Ash says, matching the guy’s Scottish accent. I do a double take. I never considered Ash’s ability with accents, or my lack thereof.

He takes the key. “But no need to see us up. Our bags are light.”

Ash lets go of my arm and takes our luggage from the butler who carried it in, giving him a tip. He heads for an impressive curving staircase. Each turn we make, there is some new grandeur, and I’m beginning to seriously wonder about my parents, who gave up this life of luxury and intrigue to live in quiet Pembrook.

Ash opens the door to his family’s suite and turns on the lights.