I looked like a homely, misshapen doll. But at least I didn’t look homeless. The last thing I wanted was Mr. Rochester to know he’d pulled me directly from the street.

If there was a clock in the room, I didn’t bother looking for it—years of being charged by the hour for my work, even if most of it had just been tagging along with Jember, had helped me develop an internal one that worked just as well. So, at ten minutes to the hour I headed downstairs to find the dining room.

There were fireplaces blazing in every room, but otherwise there was no light or warmth. I’d never seen a house decorated so colorfully lack so much … color. There were rugs and pillows, baskets and tapestries, woven in traditional green, yellow, and red. But they were all lifeless, dulled by the sun and age. All that beautiful handmade craftsmanship was paired with walls and furniture that seemed like they were from another world. Too much gold and filigree and embellishments, excessively crowded patterns that left little room for the design to breathe. Not to mention, everything seemed a bit, well, off. A tapestry wasn’t on the wall straight, a couple rugs weren’t centered, furniture sat in strange places … whomever had decorated didn’t care at all about the order and aesthetic of the rooms.

The main hall was one large square, and when I finished wandering and made it to the other side of the stairs Peggy and three others were standing at the bottom, whispering. One of the people—an older man with a mustache—saw me coming and nudged Peggy, prompting the other three to look at me. For a split second I bristled, feeling for the knife under my dress, but logic quickly calmed me down. They were standing with Peggy, which meant they probably worked here, same as me.

I could tell instantly that Peggy was the only one who didn’t do any work out of doors, because her face was the color of concrete while the faces of the other three were rosy from the sun. Never in my life had I seen so many white people in one place. We hadn’t been colonized like other countries, so my experience was limited to the occasional missionary or activist, who were all nice enough.

But I supposed it made sense. No local would dare step foot in a house so saturated by the Evil Eye. Hiring foreigners who were unfamiliar with the curse guaranteed employees would stay, as long as they were paid well.

“This is Andromeda,” Peggy said. “The debtera.”

“You finally picked the right one.” The middle-aged man with grey on the temples of his black hair slapped Peggy on the back—maybe too hard, because she scowled and shooed at him.