The rest of the journey disappears in a flash. The once-nightmarish Toronto traffic, eased by the introduction of driverless cars, gives way to long, empty country highways as we wind our way farther north, deep into cottage country. We pass by signs for summer camps, partially obscured by ice. Everything is a winter wonderland—pine trees draped in snow as if they are wearing thick fur coats.

After a couple of hours, we take a small turnoff, so discreet that I never would have noticed it. There’s no signage of any kind.

I keep my eyes peeled for any hint of the high-tech “security” Toby had mentioned. I wish Jinx was in the car with us, but, as we don’t know what security measures are in place, we decided it was too risky. How he was traveling—or how he was going to get past security—is beyond me. But I trust Jinx.

Then, there’s no more time for thinking. Zora and I both gasp at the same time.

The cottage comes into view—but “cottage” hardly seems like an appropriate word to describe it. Mansion? But it’s not like the mansion that Tobias lives in on Companioneers Crescent. Whereas that is a traditional building, all columns and red brick and big bay windows, this is an opus of glass and wood. Somehow, it’s designed in a way to complement the scenery all around, the pine trees seemingly blending into the architecture, the wooden beams painted a warm gray to match the bedrock of the Canadian Shield. Multitiered decks (all cleared of the snow) wrap around the outside of the building, the banisters themselves then all wrapped with greenery and bright red ribbons for the Christmas season.

“That must be a nightmare to heat,” is all that Zora mutters, but then she catches my eye and we burst into laughter. As we draw closer, we can see the interior is filled with fairy lights and there’s a giant Christmas tree decorated in white and gold beside a huge stone fireplace, with a chimney of gray and white brick that stretches up two stories. “Are we traveling to some sort of Christmas movie set?” Zora asks.