Sure enough, I received the email, that too, exactly at 12 a.m. midnight, not a second too soon or a millisecond too late but precisely on time. I know this thanks to the fact that my cramped little rat-cage of a dining room houses a rather fancy little wall clock, a gift from one of my most generous clients.

  .........

  A stormy morning followed by a rain drenched afternoon does little in uplifting one's mood, especially during trying times, owing to such circumstances I arrived at the location with a weather beaten umbrella and particularly sulky mood, cursing myself for the bad job I had done in covering up my trails.

  Upon reaching, a monstrously large estate with high bricked walls loomed before me. Despite the dense cloud cover, there was still ample daylight in the sky, and if not for it, it would be hard to fathom the existence of mortals in such a ghastly place.

  The towers were guarded by bolted iron gates at least three meters in height, I glanced at my wristwatch, whose arms hovered around 5:56, all-the-while wondering how on Earth I should enter.

  My answer came running..or trotting... or both in the form of an elderly gentleman with grey hair and a grey moustache, dressed in formal attire with a black umbrella in his hand, the type of person you expect to see in this sort of place. He undid the bolts in a habituated manner and stepped outside.

  'My apologies for the wait. If you'll kindly follow me, the young master is waiting upstairs.'

  One of my greatest follies that day was underestimating how 'up' the 'upstairs' really was. All I can recall is that I climbed and climbed up a damp old stair case, which wound up at dangerous angles until my feet felt like they were made of lead.

  From the condition of the stairs, one may safely deduce that no civilized life could exist in the lower quarters. According to my sources, the Viscontinis were a celebrated lot, that is, until most of the family died in a tragic accident. In any case, the last generation's wealth should have been enough to guarantee a good life to its descendants, but the sorry state of the mansion definitely spoke otherwise.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I concluded my thoughts as the flight of steps came to an end and gave way to a rather abrupt landing space from where the path bifurcated into two hallways, and I was glad to note that the elderly man walked into what appeared to be the less foresaken and more solid one of the two, for the other looked as if it would crack under the weight of even one person much less two.

  We walked down a dimly lit hallway . The walls had tall glass windows, and occasionally, a painting, presumably works of the old masters, would break the monotonous gloom of the eroded wallpaper. So as to not let the beholder forget about the rich history of the floors beneath their feet and the roof above their heads. As if to let them know that they were in no ordinary place.

  After a while of walking and quite a few confusing turns, the medieval ambience started to fade, and modern furnishing seeped through. The walls on this part were renovated, and not a speck of poor maintenance was in sight.

  This way, m'lady,' said the old man as he led me into what appeared to be a banquet hall. A long dining table ran across the room, but there was no cutlery or even table cloth. The table was made of white marble, and golden designs decorated the sides. It went well with the rest of the room, which shared a similar colour palette.

  There were ten chairs, five along each side of the table, two of which were occupied by people I hadn't met before. One was a woman with a single long braid sitting at the nearer end while the other was a man with a long coat and lush locks of hair sitting at the farther end on the opposite side, they both seemed to be preoccupied by some troubling thought.

  'I have brought her,' said my escort, but he addressed someone other than the two people sitting at the table, I followed his gaze to a long window on the other side of the room, there stood the man I had met at the gallery, his back facing us as he was looking outside.

  'Thanks, Mr. Harner, you may leave,' he said without bothering to turn.

  The elderly man, who I figured was the butler of the estate, turned on his heel and trotted out without a moment's delay.

  'This is her?' Asked the woman, her head was raised to look at me, but the question was addressed to someone else, probably the man at the window. Now that I had a clear view of her visage, it occurred to me that she looked young but quite fierce, with a piercing on her right eyebrow and searing eyes that stared into my soul.

  'It is' the man who identified himself as Vittori looked away from the window .

  The woman got up from her chair and walked in my direction, I could tell she was appraising me and wasn't happy with what she saw.

  She stopped in front of me, a few inches taller .'Are you sure she was a predator in the underground? Seems more like a drenched kitty to me,' she mocked, bending to my height. I figured the weather beaten umbrella had done a really poor job to inspire such a remark. Just as I opened my mouth to say something, I was interrupted, likely intentionally .

  'Elda, don't be mean to our guest.' This time, the speaker was the other man at the table. Although he spoke in my favour, his voice made it clear that he enjoyed the show.

  'Enough, you two, she is the one I told you about, and there has been no mistake.' The last remark was addressed at the woman named Elda.

  'Fine, fine, i was just teasing. We'll be on our way now. The rest is up to you, Vittori.' Elda motioned to the other guy as they made to leave.

  'You don't have to see us out.'

  'I won't'