We’d been driving through the Whimsy Warehouse District for over an hour when my muse pointed at a nondescript, three floor high cement block building.  “There it is, over there.” 

     “It had better be the right building this time.” 

     “I’m sure it is.”

     “That’s what you said at the last half dozen or so buildings.  Just for the record, I’m not fond of being chased by vicious trolls with huge teeth.”

     “You don’t have to be mean.”  My muse’s lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears.  “I told you I was sorry.  I haven’t been out here for over a quarter of a century.  ”

     “No need for waterworks.”  I parked in front of the building.  A small sign with ‘L&F’ crudely painted on it hung above door.  “It really doesn’t look as if they want this found.”

     “They don’t.”

     “Does that mean more trolls?”

     “Um, not so much.”

     I hesitated on opening my door.  “What does that mean?”

     “Red tape.  Lots of red tape.”

     “No trolls?”

     “No trolls.”

     I got out of the car but my muse didn’t.  Red flags went up.  “Are you coming?”

     “I’d rather stay in the car.”

     “Why?”

     She refused to answer.  I shrugged, trudged through the flags to the door, and rang the tiny doorbell that was nearly out of my reach…