I woke the next morning to the muted - but pleasant - singing of unfamiliar birds. The old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table, which I’d wound up in spite of Ken’s insistence that I sleep as late as I like and not worry about the time, told me it was a little after ten o’clock in the morning.

That surprised me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept past seven. I’d always been an early riser, but perhaps I’d been more tired - or, more likely, mentally exhausted - than I’d thought. This was most likely my mind and body finding ways to deal with the overwhelming oddities of the previous days.

Or maybe the bed was just that comfortable. I’d never slept in a better one.

I rolled over to look out the windows. Golden sunlight streamed in through the panes, making the room glow with gentle warmth. It was, I could see, another perfect summer day outside my windows. The sky was once more a perfect, bottomless blue artistically dotted with puffy white clouds.

That thought, combined with Ken's vague warnings about not going out through the window, made me wonder if someone, or something, was making the landscape so beautiful intentionally. I quickly put that unsettling thought behind me, sat up, stretched, and headed for the room’s attached bathroom.

Said bathroom was, as I’d expected, absurdly large for a single person. There was a long waist-high counter along the wall to my left as I entered, with two sinks and a tall mirror running the length of it. I noticed now, as I hadn’t last night, that the beveled edges of the mirror were etched with some kind of writing. I leaned close to squint at the letters, but didn’t recognize them.

Across from the counter was a shower stall, enclosed in smoked glass, and a huge claw-footed bathtub. Both looked large enough to comfortably hold two people at once, or as many as four if they were very friendly. I felt that I might’ve been able to do laps in the tub if I’d been a bit smaller.

Between them and the counter, a toilet. It was so mundane compared to everything else I’d seen so far that it had actually taken me a moment to absorb its presence the night before.

Then I noticed, blinking some of the sleep out of my eyes, that my toiletries - I’d left my kit bag on the counter - had been laid out around one of the sinks. In precisely the layout I normally used back at my flat.

Creepy. Cool, but kind of creepy.

I decided I’d best start adjusting to that sort of weirdness before it broke me, so I put it out of my mind. Or at least, I pushed it to the back of my mind. I closed the bathroom door, slipped out of the plain t-shirt and boxers I usually slept in, and into the shower.

It was heavenly. My apartment building always had problems with its boiler, so a really hot shower was a very rare thing, and I intended to enjoy it. I stayed in that shower for about a half an hour, letting the heat sink into me, unbraiding and washing my hair, which was about waist-length now and probably needed a bit of a trim. Generally, I was what I considered to be a bit hedonistic about the experience.

When I emerged from the shower, I was surprised to see that the hook on the back of the door - where I’d left my nightclothes - was now inhabited by a long, dark green silk robe. It definitely wasn’t mine, but it looked to be about the right size of me. Additionally, one of the huge, fluffy white towels on the shelf above the toilet had been neatly laid on the counter, ready for me to use.

I was reasonably certain that nobody had come in while I was showering. I hadn’t heard the door open or close. I suspected that Ken could have entered easily, simply by passing through the door itself without opening it…but then how would he have gotten the robe in with him? Once again, I pushed the unsettling thoughts to the back of my mind, and set about drying myself off.

I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in the (incredibly luxurious) silk robe, my hair bundled up inside a second towel. I love my hair, and I love keeping it long, but washing and drying it can be a bit of a chore.

I walked past the fireplace - a fire still crackling cheerily in it, though it threw very little heat - and stopped. I’d left my suitcase and laptop bag in front of the open closet the night before, intending to unpack this morning. While I'd been in the shower, my laptop had been set up on the roll top desk, which now stood open, and my suitcase was gone, the closet door closed. I wondered if the house had an Internet connection, and immediately doubted it.

I decided that I needed to ask Ken where the robe had come from, and who had unpacked for me. I assumed it was him, but…

As if thinking of him had summoned him, the bedroom door opened and Ken glided in, followed by the same wheeled cart he’d brought my dinner on. This morning, it was covered with a variety of breakfast foods; the heavenly scents of bacon and eggs, breakfast tea, and some sort of sweet fruit mix wafted over to me, making my stomach rumble a bit.

I smiled. I think he was trying to impress me.

“Oh good,” he said cheerfully, “you’re up. I hope you’re hungry!”

“Famished,” I admitted. “Ken, the robe…”

“One of your mother’s. You’re about the same size she was…I thought it would be nice.”

Suspicions confirmed. Thoughtful, helpful, and discrete. If he kept this up, he was going to spoil me. “It is, thank you.” I pulled out the desk chair and sat down as he rolled the cart over. “That’s an awful lot of food.”

“You have a busy day ahead,” he said with a smile, “and I wasn’t sure what you’d like. I hope this is all right. Do you need a hand with your hair?”

“Can you?” I asked, surprised. “And this looks wonderful, thank you.”

“I can,” he slipped around behind me, and I felt him undoing the towel that was wrapped around my head. “Your mother had long hair, and I helped her with it all the time. She claimed I was better than a hair dryer. Eat up, while I take care of this for you.”

I couldn’t see what he was doing, but as I ate I could feel the odd, tingly coolness of his hands moving over my scalp and through my hair. He worked his way down the length of it, never pulling, always smoothly caressing. By the time I was picking at the fruit - a mix of apple and pear pieces - and sipping the last of the tea, my hair was completely dry, silky, and shining like silver.

“Wow,” I said, running my fingers through it. “How…?”

He came around me and headed for the bathroom, his translucent body now containing globules of water ‘floating’ within him. “Just a moment, let me get rid of the excess water.”

I watched in astonishment. “That’s very clever, and very cool.” At this rate, he was definitely going to spoil me. Maybe that was his plan…make himself so indispensable to me that I wouldn't think of leaving.

Ken laughed, and I heard water draining in the shower. “Thank you, Mistress!” He returned, smiling. “Would you like me to braid it for you, too?” He looked a bit embarrassed for a moment as he continued, “I noticed you just had it tied with an elastic, so I took the liberty of collecting a hair-clip from your mother’s jewelry box.”

He laid an elegant silver clip of Celtic knotwork on the cart for me to see. “May I?” he asked.

I opened my mouth and closed it again, then nodded. “Yes, please,” I whispered. “It’s beautiful.” I felt a lump rise in my throat and quickly swallowed it…this was where my parents, who I’d never dared hope to know anything about, had lived. I needed to get used to the idea that I’d be seeing, handling, and using their belongings.

“It would be my pleasure,” Ken replied, gracefully ignoring my momentary…whatever it had been. He glided around behind me again, and after a moment I felt the tell-tale tightening that indicated my hair was being pulled back and smoothed into place. He was very good at it indeed, perfectly gentle, pulling it back just enough to keep it out of the way without it being severe. A moment later he delicately plucked the silver clip from my hands and secured my hair with it.

“There,” he said, returning to stand in front of me. “All set for the day!”

“Thank you,” I said with all the sincerity I could put in my voice. “That was much, much faster than I’ve ever been able to do it.” I turned my head this way and that, with nary a pull at my scalp. “And well done, this is very comfortable.”

He bowed gracefully. “I live to serve, Mistress. In a manner of speaking.” He winked. “Speaking of which, I took the liberty of unpacking your things and putting them away. Do you have more out in your car?”

I flushed with a bit of embarrassment. Not because the idea of Ken going through my clothes embarrassed me; somehow, that seemed perfectly natural. He was, after all, doing his job. And perhaps I was starting to adapt.

I was embarrassed because I simply didn’t have that much. I never have. I bought what I needed and little more, and in the splendor of this…and then I began to understand why Margrave and Ken seemed to capitalize the word ‘house’ when they spoke of it. The House was too grand for the word otherwise. In the splendor of the House, I felt almost entirely out of place.

Part of it was the simple fact that I wasn’t a splashy person. I didn’t spend a lot of money on clothes - I didn’t have a lot to spend on them - and didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions other than books, my laptop, some old gymnastics and fencing paraphernalia, and a few knickknacks.

“No,” I said softly. “The suitcase and laptop bag was all I brought. I have a couple of boxes of books and a few other things back at my flat, but that’s all.”

Ken seemed to sense my discomfort, because he just nodded. “Very good, Mistress. If you find the way I laid your things out in the closet and bureau not to your liking, feel free to rearrange them.” He smiled. “I tried to put them away in an order that made sense to me, but your mother’s method of storing clothing often drove me to distraction.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I replied with a small smile, wondering just how much of a mess this room had been when it had been my mother’s. I rose and went to the bureau first, opening the top drawer. Panties and bras, laid out in exactly the way I usually did myself, with socks nearby, neatly rolled up in pairs.

Except that there was almost twice the amount of undergarments that I had brought with me. They all looked like mine, and none of them were brand new…but I certainly hadn’t brought an entire drawer full with me.

“Uh…” I said. Very intelligent, Caley. Job well done.

“Problem?” Ken asked.

“I…no…I guess not…” I took out a pair of each and moved to the closet next. In an attempt to rise to Ken’s good natured teasing, I said, “For exploring magical houses, the travel guide recommends jeans, a short-sleeved blouse, and sneakers.”

Ken grinned and played along. “Very sensible, that guide.”

I realized that I liked seeing him smile. Somehow, somber and worried expressions didn't suit him.

I opened the closet, which I’d explored briefly the night before and had found what I’d expected…a walk-in nearly the same size as the bathroom. Absurd, and my clothes would leave it mostly empty.

Except that, as with the drawers, there was enormously more than I’d brought with me. It looked more like three suitcases worth of clothing. Again, all of it looked like mine; the types of clothing I preferred, in the colors I favored, and none of it brand new.

“Ken?” I asked weakly.

He stuck his head in and blinked in surprise. “I…have no idea,” he admitted, drifting up beside me. “I certainly didn’t unpack that much clothing.” He uttered a short bark of laughter. “Mistress, I do believe the House likes you.”

“Likes me?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “The House isn’t precisely sentient, but it’s very much aware of the people within it. It has…expanded your wardrobe, and done so quite expertly. So I’d say it must like you. Or is trying to be friendly, at least.”

I gave him a dubious look.

“Trust me,” he said with a smile.

I did. “I do.” God knew why, I hadn’t even known him for a full day yet.

He nodded. “Good.”

Shaking my head, I collected a pair of blue jeans and a forest green blouse, murmured a somewhat self-conscious “Thank you” to the ceiling, and stepped back out into the main bedroom. I gave Ken a pointed look, and he turned to face away from me with obvious good humor.

Once I was dressed and rolling up the blouse’s sleeves - I was quite certain it was silk of some sort, though all of mine had been cotton - I said, “Okay, you can turn around again.”

He did, glancing me over from head to toe before nodding approvingly. “You look ready to go exploring. What would you like to see first?”

I shook my head. “You tell me. I’m off the edge of the map here.”

He chuckled and nodded. “Shall we start with your parents’ bedroom? I think we can find something for you to carry the Master Key on there.”

I returned his nod. “That sounds like a good place to start.”

We went out into the hallway - it was a hallway outside the door this time, and not the foyer - and Ken stopped. “This is a good time for you to try finding a room. Concentrate on the room you want to find, and see what happens.”

I gave him a dubious look.

“It doesn’t matter that you’ve never seen it,” he said quickly. “Just consider what the room would be like, roughly, and what it was for.”

“All right.” So I thought about finding my parents’ bedroom. I thought about seeing where they slept, looking at their possessions, learning more about them…

The wall directly across the hall from my bedroom door suddenly flowed and rippled visibly, like water. After a moment a door melted out of the surface of it and became solid.

Ken’s mouth fell open a little. “That…is not what I meant to have happen. But that works too,” he added when I gave him a completely bewildered look. “It just means…” He trailed off, and after a moment said, “Actually, to be honest, I’m not sure what it means. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen before.”

“That isn’t very reassuring,” I said, feeling very unsettled. Why was the House reacting so strongly to me? Or was it as afraid of my leaving as Ken was, and was - in its own way - trying to be charming?

Ken flashed me a quick smile. “Say what you will, life is never boring when there’s magic involved.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

I was still a little apprehensive, but nodded and unlocked the door with the Master Key.

The master bedroom was magnificent. It was decorated very like my own, but was almost twice the size, and seemed to combine elements of a bedroom and sitting room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and there were night stands on both sides of the huge king-sized four-poster bed. Two comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs sat in front of the fireplace on the far wall, looking well-used and well-loved.

There was a large window beside the fireplace that was identical to the one in my room. It even seemed to be looking out on the same clearing that mine did.

The walk-in closet was like mine, but scaled up for two people…in other words, it was almost large enough to be a small bedroom on its own. Everything in the master bedroom felt that way…like my bedroom, but scaled up.

I suppose that made sense. But something still felt out of place.

After a moment, I realized that it was the simple fact that everything was spotlessly clean. My bedroom aside, everything I’d seen the day before had been dusty. Then I realized that the hallway had been dust-free as well.

“Ken,” I said slowly, turning to look at him, “everything is clean now?”

“Hm?” He gave me an innocent look.

“Someone dusted,” I clarified.

He smiled conspiratorially. “Yes.”

“You?”

His smiled deepened. “No.”

I sighed a little. “Magic?”

“You could say so,” he said, being rather evasive.

I tapped my foot a little. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The question seemed to delight him, eliciting a sunny smile. “All sorts of things. This, again, falls into the category of ‘things you don’t have the right framework to understand properly yet.’”

I sighed. “Ah.” What could I do? Margrave aside - and I didn’t know how much he knew - Ken was my only resource for figuring this all out. “Fair enough,” I said. “But you’ll tell me when I’m ready, right?”

“You have my word, Mistress.”

I grimaced a little, moving to examine one of the bookcases. “I really wish you’d call me Caley. If you keep calling me ‘mistress,’ I’m going to forget my own name.”

Ken drifted along beside me, smiling. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper, Mistress. Though I’m flattered you offered.”

“Is this one of those things I’m not ready to understand?”

He waggled a hand. “Partly, Mistress. Partly, it’s simple propriety.”

The first bookcase I came to was covered in an eclectic mix of collectibles. They ranged from delicate-looking blown glass fairies, like the one hanging on my door, to vintage Star Wars action figures that had been set up in various scene-like poses. There were stuffed unicorns, sculptures of fantasy wizards, and one particularly ugly garden gnome, among other things.

I gave Ken a weird look. “What…?”

Ken laughed softly. “Those all belonged to your mother. She always told your father that she categorically refused to grow up completely. She used to say ‘I may have to get older, and I may have to be responsible, but there’s no point in being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.’ Your father wouldn’t hear of them being removed after she died,” he added. “He told me once it helped him feel like she was still close by.”

“He must have loved her quite a lot,” I said.

Ken nodded. “They were beautiful together.” He smiled, probably remembering them. “Mistress Chessie - Franchesca, your mother - would say that he kept her feet on the ground, and she made sure he kept dreaming.”

I realized my vision was getting a bit watery and wiped tears from my eyes before they could fall. “Which…” My voice broke a bit on the word. Ken politely ignored it, so I cleared my throat and started again. “Which of them would you say I take after?”

He smiled. “You would appear, thus far, to be a blending of both, Mistress. You resemble your mother very strongly, but in personality you seem more like your father.” He reached out and touched the ugly garden gnome. “Mistress Chessie was a classic example of Attention Deficit Disorder, even after she grew up. Few things could hold her attention completely for more than a short time.

“Master James,” Ken sighed softly, “was quite the opposite. Most of the time. He would, like you seem to, take hold of a problem and worry at it until it presented a solution. Together, they were more than the sum of their parts, as the saying goes.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “Your father was never the same after your mother died.”

“How did she die?” I asked, fingering a stuffed dragon.

Ken was silent for a moment, then spoke in a frustrated, almost confused tone. “I know that I used to know, but…I don’t now. I have a vague impression of it having been an accident of some sort, but…” He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s one of the things your father made me forget. I occasionally run across gaps in my memory like that.”

“Why did he do that?” I asked. “Doesn’t it limit your ability to help me?”

Ken shook his head. “It was something I asked him to do. There were things he didn’t want you to know before you were ready, so I asked him to make me forget those things. I believe they’re still locked away in my memory somewhere, probably with a trigger to let me remember them when you’re better prepared.”

“It sounds like a plot device,” I said dryly.

Ken smiled. “It does rather, doesn’t it.”

“I suppose trying to pry them out would be a bad idea?”

“Quite likely, Mistress. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s all right, Ken. I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.” I wasn’t sure of that, and I suspected Ken hadn’t asked my father to do it at all. I was beginning to get the impression that my father had been in the habit of keeping secrets. Which I supposed made sense.

Sort of. I mentally marked it as a piece of the larger puzzle, and set it aside to try to fit it into place once I had more information to work with.