The receptionist examined the document and shot Erwin a puzzled glance. He recognized the address immediately—a barren wasteland with no apparent value.
"Mr. Erwin, there's something off about this spot," he said, his sense of duty kicking in.
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
"Local legends say it's haunted," the man replied. "Folks have spotted eerie lights there, and some who've wandered in never came back the same. They return dazed, memories wiped clean."
Erwin just smiled. "No worries— that's our destination. Drop us off and head back. We'll make our own way from there."
The receptionist fell silent. He was only there to provide courtesy transport. Erwin's arrival in America had been arranged through official wizarding channels; as an English earl, he warranted respect, but his itinerary was his own affair.
Word from Britain had been clear: American authorities weren't responsible for his safety. Erwin would have to fend for himself unless he explicitly asked for help. If trouble found him here, that was on him.
The car hummed along, and Erwin settled back, unfazed. The "haunting" was no mystery—it was the Demos family's domain, laced with Muggle-repelling charms to keep outsiders at bay.
Beside him, Cassandra voiced her concern. "Patriarch, are we heading straight to the Demos estate? Seems a tad bold."
Erwin chuckled softly. "You think the biggest family in America wouldn't catch wind of my visit before my broom even touched down? They've known for hours. If we don't go to them, they'll drag me in anyway. Better to seize the initiative."
Cassandra nodded, dropping the matter. She knew Erwin's plans cold—protesting wouldn't change them. And he wasn't one to charge blindly; every move was calculated.
The car pulled up to what looked like an empty field to the driver, but to wizard eyes, it was a sprawling manor house shrouded in concealment charms. At the gates, a group of figures awaited.
Erwin stepped out. "Thanks for the ride. We'll Apparate back to the hotel later."
The agent nodded, eyeing the vacant lot with a shudder. He wasted no time speeding away after they disembarked.
The waiting wizards approached, wands at the ready but manners intact. "Lord Cavendish, welcome to Demos Manor. The patriarch has a feast prepared in your honor."
Erwin's smile held a hint of steel. "Perfect timing—I'm starving. After you."
The lead wizard bowed and gestured them inside. As they crossed the threshold, Cassandra felt a subtle magical probe ripple through her—a loyalty ward, testing for threats. Her eyes narrowed, but Erwin strolled on as if oblivious, his face a mask of calm.
The sensation eased, and Cassandra relaxed. Patrols dotted the grounds, their gazes sharp with barely veiled hostility as they spotted the newcomers.
Erwin noted it with amusement. "The Diggorys don't pull punches, do they?"
Their escort inclined his head. "Apologies, Lord Cavendish. As you know, our houses have a long-standing grudge."
Erwin let it pass. He'd read the old blood feuds in the family vaults back home.
The manor glowed under lantern light, leading them straight to a grand dining hall. At the long oak table sat two men: a stern middle-aged wizard and a youth of eighteen or nineteen, his features twisted in disdain.
The older man's face stayed neutral as Erwin and Cassandra entered, but the young one's darkened with raw malice.
Erwin took the seat at the table's far end, Cassandra to his left. The patriarch watched, a knowing glint in his eye.
"Erwin Cavendish," he said, voice smooth. "A true rising star."
Erwin grinned. "Patriarch Demos, you're too kind."
Patriarch Demos leaned forward. "Your father was the last to claim that chair. But you outshine him—sharper, bolder."
"I recall," Erwin replied lightly, nodding toward the young man. "You were in his spot when Father arrived here."
Nott laughed. "Allow me to introduce my son, Valerius Demos. The next generation's business is yours to handle."
Erwin's gaze flicked to the youth. "Only if he proves worthy to lead. Right now? Not quite."
Valerius's face flushed crimson. "Who do you think you are, Cavendish? This is Demos territory—show some respect!"
Erwin stayed unruffled. "Uncle Nott, is this your heir speaking for you? Charming welcome."
Nott's tone sharpened. "Valerius, mind your manners."
The young man balled his fists. "Sorry, Father."
Erwin observed the exchange, intrigued. Nott waved it off. "Forgive him, Erwin. Valerius's been cloistered here, training under the family elders. Outsiders unsettle him."
"No harm done," Erwin said with a shrug. "He's young—I'll cut him some slack."
Valerius's jaw clenched, eyes burning with fury, but Erwin ignored him entirely.
"Uncle Nott, when do we eat? Truth be told, the flight's left me famished."
"My oversight," Nott admitted, snapping his fingers. Servants bustled in, laying out platters of roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, and treacle tarts—traditional British fare, hearty and familiar.
"I recalled your fondness for these dishes," Nott said. "Prepared specially. Dig in."
...
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