Chapter Two
The doors of the renowned Opulence Mansion were a hodgepodge of conflicting ideas carved in gold.
Normally, Alora wasn’t opposed to mismatched decor so long as it carried along a basic thread of theme at its core, but the doors, not unlike the topiaries, simply made her insides feel wrong.
As far as she could tell, it didn’t tell a story, and it didn’t hint as to what she’d find inside once she'd dredged up the courage to knock. Or she hoped it didn’t.
She’d not put the letter away regarding her appointment, and she clutched it now with both hands, palms damp with sweat.
It was a hot day to be sure, and the entrance to the mansion offered no relief from the elements—which, in her opinion, was a design flaw, and if this Mr. Merridon asked for her thoughts on the matter, she’d tell him.
When it came to her professional opinion on either aesthetic or functionality, she was never shy.
No, the reason her palms sweat now had nothing to do with her profession, but a myriad of other things she’d rather not focus on.
So instead, as per instruction, she knocked three times. The doors swung in.
A smartly dressed woman, whom Alora would guess to be of a similar age to her mother, stood ready to greet her.
Alora took in the matching gold skirt and blouse as well as the crimson vest buttoned tightly across the top.
It did not complement her, with her sallow complexion that hinted at a life spent mostly indoors.
“Miss Pennigrim,” she said. “You’re expected. ”
Alora held the letter between them. “Yes. Eleven o’clock.”
The woman didn’t take it. “I know the time. I’m management, after all, and the letter’s architect.” Penciled eyebrows turned down at her, examining her from piled high chestnut hair to brown boots. “Well. No gold or crimson.”
Alora, who had chosen a periwinkle blue dress to bring out the ice in her otherwise gray eyes, pondered for a moment. Her hand covered a particularly large silver flower stitched across one hip. “No.”
“Hmph,” sniffed the woman. “This way.”
Alora, insecure now over her choice of outfit, smoothed her skirt as she walked.
There were several blooms across the bodice of a dusty pink.
In the right lighting, they might be mistaken for crimson.
Good grief, was this to be her only color palette to work with on this project? She sincerely hoped not.
Worry could not distract her for long, though. Observance had always been in her nature, and Opulence Mansion's style certainly would not be ignored. It shouted for her attention.
The walls were textured gold paper—expensive—and the marble she walked on dyed crimson and cracked with gold veins—more expensive.
Golden chandeliers hung the length of the wide corridor.
Each one spilled yellow light onto rows of spiraled staircases corkscrewing from the floor below.
There was no grand staircase. Unlike the main entrance, each set of stairs took the climber through a different door numbered with black on gold plates.
And for every door on that strange second floor, there stood one directly beneath.
Alora struggled to keep her eyes trained ahead and not spinning in all directions like some broken doll, but some things could not be helped. When the fiercely-eyebrowed woman stopped, Alora’s entire body smacked into her back.
“Oh! So sorry!”
A deep groove had ground itself between the woman's eyes with time, but it was impressively pronounced now.
She straightened her vest in a slow and exacting fashion while she glared, causing Alora to fear that at any moment, she herself would feel the sharp sting of a dart to the neck for her blunder.
“Door Zero. Master Merridon’s personal room and where he greets all his appointments. No matter how trivial,” she added with a healthy dose of spite. “Knock before you enter.”
“Three times, correct?”
The woman only lifted her lip in a sneer, successfully slicing through what was left of Alora’s confidence.
Imposter, said that look. Good god, she was, wasn’t she?
Through and through. She shouldn’t have been allowed past the golden gate, should have listened to the haughty windows pinning her like an insect.
She wasn’t experienced enough for the likes of this place.
Who might she be kidding? Herself, most of all.
“When the appointment is concluded, see yourself out. Do not touch any of the other doors unless your desire is slow torture and permanent damage.”
Alora’s mouth fell wide. “Was that the fate of the man outside?”
But her question went unanswered as the woman swept away.
“Delightful,” she muttered beneath her breath, and because it was likely after eleven now, and she might as well finish her flogging, she knocked three times on Door Zero.
“Enter,” said a pleasant voice.
Alora glanced down the overlarge corridor and again to the entrance before easing her palm across the back of her neck. There it stayed all the while she turned the golden doorknob. Just in case.
But she dropped her hand at the room’s interior.
The man behind the vast maple-wood desk was handsome, to be sure.
His hair, more gray than brown, was brushed back from his forehead, and when he stood, she noticed him to be tall and broadly built.
He wore a gold waistcoat with a crimson tie over a white shirt and trousers.
When he smiled, it lit his entire face. He was smiling still, as he took her in.
“Miss Pennigrim, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. I received your message in the mail. It was quite beautiful, all that embossing.”
If possible, the owner of Opulence Mansion beamed brighter, and Alora couldn’t help the flush to her own cheeks at the sight. “If anyone would recognize a beautiful thing, I am told it is you.”
“Oh goodness.” Alora palmed her cheek to coax some coolness back into it. Opulence Mansion was kept at a comfortable temperature, she’d noticed, but now she felt much too warm. “I do enjoy what I do.”
“Good. That is good. Forgive me, and I mean no offense, but you look rather young to have built such success in Enver. A town known for enchantment and wonder is no easy place to impress.”
Alora resisted the habit of adjusting her satchel, of adjusting anything at all. “It wasn’t easy, in the beginning. But small successes turned to larger ones, and now I’ve become comfortable with steady work and a growing portfolio.”
“Excellent. Hard work builds mettle, after all. Please, have a seat. I am told it is setting up to become blazing by afternoon, and I wouldn’t want your journey home to be uncomfortable. Refreshment?”
“Water is fine.” Alora sank onto the buttery leather across from him—expensive—dragging her satchel over her head and removing her portfolio.
After depositing the glass in front of her, the man took the seat opposite. “As I'm sure you know, I am Master Marshall Merridon. So as to keep things professional, I would prefer you refer to me as ‘Master Merridon’, or ‘Master’ if you’d rather. Many others do.”
Alora blinked slowly, unsure if she’d heard him correctly and wanting time to digest to be sure she had.
Refer to him as ‘Master’? She was a businesswoman.
She’d rather be raked into the hedges. But she smiled politely as this was an initial appointment, and there was nowhere better to hold one’s tongue.
Instead, she said, “Pleased to officially meet you, Master Merridon.”
“And I, you.” He sipped amber liquid from a short crystal glass, brown eyes trained upon her. They were hard to read, those eyes, almost too perfectly blank. “What do you think of this room?”
“Oh. Well—” So they were just to dive right into it then?
That suited her more than enough. She surveyed the space, examining the furniture, the decor, and the shades of each.
The familiarity of using a critical eye calmed her as she inspected, to the point where she eventually cleared her throat and said, “The pieces in this room are large, almost too much so. They cause the space to feel smaller, and thus the decor, too busy. I understand you have a preference for gold coloring, but I think such a strong color would be better suited in accent pieces, rather than papering every wall.”
For the first time, Master Merridon’s mouth pinched. “I see.”
Alora had seen similar expressions before and eased at once into her perfected smile. “But it is also a matter of the client’s requests, and I do take everyone’s unique tastes into account. I think in the end, you will be able to say you’re more than satisfied within your new office space.”
A long moment passed in which Alora felt regarded in much the same way she’d regarded the room: piece by piece. “That would be all very well, if I were interested in redecorating my office.”
A chill settled over her; she felt herself go pale. “Aren’t you?”
“Come. I think it’s time I show you my project.”
Alora stood as he did, scrambling to replace her portfolio as he made for the door. All the while, she withered with embarrassment. A seasoned professional would have asked for clarification before such a long-winded critique, Alora!
“I think you’ll find that the rumors about Opulence Mansion are untrue. If anything, they are tamer than the truth. Let us begin with Door One. Up the staircase, if you please.”
Alora eyed the aforementioned stairs as if they would grow teeth and bite at her feet.
They appeared either solid gold or gold-plated, though from what she’d heard of Opulence, the former was the likelier truth.
They were gaudy to her personal taste, but still so extravagant that the idea of stepping on them seemed almost blasphemous.
Master Merridon cleared his throat at her dallying, which prompted Alora to smile over her shoulder at him.
“My apologies. There is only so much to admire!”
Master Merridon offered her a small smile in return, though she thought she caught a twitch of impatience in the expression. “After you, Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora ascended ahead of him, much to her chagrin.
For the first time, she couldn’t ascertain how an interview was going, and it bothered her to no end.
Around and around, she followed the gold railing—definitely solid all the way through—until a crimson door with a gold plate presented itself.
She paused at the threshold. “I thought I saw Door One below.”
“You did. Each door below corresponds with the one above, a sort of…prequel. My favorite room,” said Master Merridon.
“The room in which Opulence Mansion, and myself, got its start. As you’re likely aware, we operate by membership only, opening our many doors at dusk and closing them at dawn.
These memberships are coveted, expensive, and limited, and soon you'll know why.” The scent of whiskey and tobacco enveloped her as he stepped around, sending the door sailing inward with a flourish. “Door One: Room of Forgotten Memories.”