Hanover House: Kickoff to the Evelyn Talbot Chronicles

Chapter 5

Fortunately, Evelyn had slept for most of the ten hours she'd been on the plane. Without her mother sitting next to her, brooding, it'd been a lot easier to relax.

After she reached Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, she had to grab a bite to eat, rent a car and drive an hour to Hilltop—and yet, because of the time difference, she arrived before nine-thirty, when the sun was just setting. In June, on the longest day of the year, Anchorage received twenty-two hours of sunlight. But from the beginning of August to the end, the days grew rapidly shorter—by almost three hours.

Evelyn had yet to visit Alaska in mid-winter. There'd been no reason to brave the weather. It wasn't as if she needed to decide whether she'd be willing to come; she knew she'd go wherever the government built her a facility. She'd heard a great deal about the prevailing darkness, however, and wasn't looking forward to it.

She called Amarok as soon as she spotted the straggle of buildings that constituted Hilltop from the ridge above, and asked him to meet her out at Hanover House, which was ten minutes on the far side of the valley. He agreed, but she beat him there, and she was glad. It gave her an opportunity to stand alone in the dwindling sunlight—before she had to view the damage he'd told her about—and admire the huge stone edifice where she would soon be spending the bulk of her time. Her dream was becoming a reality; this proved it. Fortunately, she couldn't see any graffiti on the front. The portable toilets weren't here, either. She could only guess all of that was inside or in the back.

Maybe the people of Hilltop had room to complain about the type of men she'd be bringing to the area, she thought, but they couldn't say anything about the beauty of the facility itself. The old-world architecture of Hanover House made it look as if it would stand for centuries, like a castle. There were no gargoyles or gothic embellishments, thank goodness, but the lines were a bit Draconian—something others had noticed, too. She'd seen one cartoon that depicted HH as a medieval torture chamber. She'd been lampooned in the same cartoon as the "mad scientist" who was "turning the screws" on the "poor, unfortunate souls" who fell within her power, which was frustrating. If the general populace only knew how well she tried to treat the men she studied, they could never make such an imaginative leap.

She heard a vehicle pull into the lot behind her and turned to see Amarok get out of his government-issued 4x4, which sported a winch and a snowplow. When she saw that he was dressed casually in a flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans instead of his uniform, she realized that she'd probably pulled him out of whatever he did for enjoyment on a Friday night.

"I'm sorry, I—if you were busy, you should've said something," she told him as he came toward her with that long, confident stride of his. "This could've waited until tomorrow."

His lips twisted slightly. "Don't tell me you're surprised that other people don't work twenty-four hours a day."

She couldn't help noting the sarcasm and feeling slightly defensive at the implication. "I don't work twenty-four hours a day."

He cocked an eyebrow as if he'd refute that statement, so she glanced away to remove the challenge. That was an argument she'd most assuredly lose. "I agree I work too much," she admitted, "but there's no need to exaggerate my hours to that degree."

"From what I've seen, if you're not working, you're thinking about work. It's sort of one and the same."

"Excuse me?" she said. "You don't even know me."

He ignored her response. "What happened to your head?" he asked, indicating her stitches. "Were you in an accident?"

"Not exactly."