He left his estate as usual, warded it with twenty-one enchantments of varying potency and effect (Acid charms, piercing curses, a few poison tentacle...pits, the usual stuff), tossed his man-at-arms a bulging sack of coins, entered his two horse carriage, and off he went.I approached from the west of the estate, bypassing several alarm spells as I skipped over the hedges. Dressed as a member of the gentry in silk brocade and riding boots, I strike a dashing figure. Under the waistcoat is a vest. I’ll buy.”“Have you talked to Jack yet?” Dalton asked.“No, my first call was to you.”“Okay, I’ll call Jack and see if he can join us. Tomorrow night around eight at Plato’s Place; sound okay?”“Sounds good to me.”Dalton called Jack as soon as he hung up with Dave. Jack Northrupe was an investigative reporter for a major Chicago Newspaper. He and Dalton met and became friends years prior when Dalton worked on the same paper as a press photographer. Since then, Dalton had moved on and opened his. More

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