Isolde had opted to take the stairs rather than the lift. She needed the time to still her heart and reign in her emotions. By the time she reached the designated floor, her cheeks were pink with the exertion and her eyes were sparkling again.<br/><br/>She refused to let Erlind’s lack of response to bother her in the least. He was simply a business deal gone back, nothing more. A small voice in the back of her head laughed at her stupidity. Holding her head high, she thought back, I prefer to think of it as a positive attitude.  Straightening her clothing, she rapped on the door.<br/><br/>A young Jewess dressed in a maid’s uniform opened the door and said, quite respectfully,<br/><br/>“Fraulein Devereaux? You were expected. Won’t you come in?”<br/><br/>Isolde smiled regally at the young woman whose glossy black hair was nearly hidden by a neat white cap.<br/><br/>“Thank you. I believe you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?” Isolde said, extending her hand. The maid only looked at her hand in perplexity. An older woman rushed over to her side to join her.<br/><br/>“The mister is waiting for you in the dining salon. Please, please, come in.” she said, tugging at Isolde’s arm.<br/><br/>Sensing no danger from these two ladies, Isolde allowed herself to be ushered into the intimate dining room. Candles glowed. The gilded mirrors reflected the light, turning the few candles into a multitude, like stars in an angelic choir. The red haired witch relaxed. Candles signified power and spells and control. She stopped short when she saw the man. Black slacks, a crisp white shirt with a green silk tie and a crimson smoking jacket. He was well favored and the little feminine voice in her head reminded her that she was a fit compliment for his finery. She in her tightly fitted skirt and jacket that hugged her curves and made her own unique coloring look like an autumn celebration.<br/><br/>Ignoring that bit of vanity, Isolde stood looking at the man, waiting for him to state his name and his purpose. He was a mortal, an innocent, that she could deduce although his eyes looked to have bottomless wells of ancient wisdom. Men like that were dangerous. Isolde liked dangerous.<br/><br/>“You have said you were an ally. Can I trust you?”