Member-only story
The Hall of Faces
He was a collector of otherworldly things.
Isabella stood before the large oak door with its lion’s-head door knocker. After taking a gulp of air, she slowly reached out and put her hand in the lion’s mouth. Its jaws clamped down, inciting a gasp of pain from her, but the golden lion did not draw blood.
Then the lion’s maw released her right before the door opened inward.
“You’re early,” came the voice that invoked the fear of many in the little town of Westhaven.
“Yes,” Isabella said, her tone a little breathless, “I thought it would be best, given this is my first day.”
The man himself, Trent Aberforth, stepped out of the shadows. He was taller than she remembered at her interview at the library down the street. Even then, he had been discrete, careful to share as few details as possible about the collections she would be handling.
“You’re eager,” he said, nodding in approval. “I need that in my newest curator.”
Trent Aberforth was a collector of otherworldly things, and the rumors about town went that he was a magician from another realm. Isabella was not one for gossip, though one couldn’t help overhearing things in a small town like theirs.
