4
Taedon hadn’t said much about what I had to steal. All I knew was that I had to enter the mansion of a recluse widower, who lived by himself—with a plethora of security—at a fancy golf club on the outskirts of Portland.
I drove there late at night, and wore all black—tank top, leather jacket, jeans, and my combat boots. It was cliché, but it was better to blend in with the dark.
The club was gated, of course, and I had to start using magic right at the gates. I had brought some ashwagandha dust in a small leather pouch. When the guard approached me, I threw some at his face. He blinked and became a perfect doll—the effect would last for a couple of hours. I exited my car, pushed him back until he was seated inside the small guard post, and then threw some of the dust on the computer.
