It sat in the center of a patch of land in the center of a bigger patch of bayou, and had a twisting driveway that circled around a fountain large enough to swim in. Maybe it was the hazy rain fog in my mind, but I wondered if anyone ever had. If any of the Slythe brats had shucked their pearls and suits to skinny dip in their grandma’s fancy fountain under the watching gaze of a fat, marbled wyrmling in the center.
