They stood at a goat-hide gate. The Switchpoint, for that’s what Ell called it, made a kissing face at them. All around them well-kept lawns wound down to the lapping Barleybroom, full of gentle little paths and sedate violets nodding pleasantly. A sundial spun its shadow slowly around clusters of yellow peonies. Not at all what you might expect from a place called Pandemonium, really, especially the birdbaths and commemorative benches. It looked much more like Hanscom Park in Omaha than the outskirts of a Fairy City.
