Wizards in the mansion?

George ran a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. He began to pace, his footsteps quick and agitated on the plush carpet.

"You're telling me there are others out there? More dangerous witches and wizards?" His voice rose with each question, a mixture of disbelief and growing alarm. "And they're just... what? Running around unchecked?"

He turned to face Reginald, his face pale and his eyes wild. "How is that possible? How does the world not know about this?"

George's breathing became more rapid as the full weight of this revelation bore down on him. He leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly dizzy.

"This is... this is insane," he muttered, more to himself than to Reginald. "I thought I'd seen the worst of it with the witch that killed my wife and cursed me but you're saying there's a chance there are way more powerful ones?!"

He looked at Reginald, searching the butler's impassive face for any sign that this was all some elaborate joke. Finding none, George felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat.

"So what you're saying is, I've barely scratched the surface of this... this magical world?" He shook his head in disbelief. "And all this time, it's been hidden right under our noses?"

George's mind raced with the possibilities and dangers this new information presented. The world he thought he knew suddenly seemed much larger and far more terrifying than he had ever imagined.

They continued walking while George sipped his tea still reflecting on what Reginald said. Before he knew it, George found himself back in his room. Somehow they had made their way back and without a doubt he knew going back out was highly unlikely. So without much convincing, he decided to take a seat on the bed.

Reginald stood before him. The conversation and the lingering sweetness of the tea had left him feeling slightly disoriented.

"Do you mind a seat?" George offered, gesturing to a nearby chair.

Reginald's response was immediate and firm. "Not really, I can't sit with my master," he stated, his tone brooking no argument.

George's eyes widened in shock, his body tensing as he processed Reginald's words. He leaned forward abruptly, nearly spilling what remained of his tea.

"Master?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of disbelief and confusion. "What do you mean, 'master'? I'm supposed to be a hostage here, aren't I?"

He set the teacup down with a clatter and stood up, beginning to pace the room. His hands gestured wildly as he spoke, his voice rising with each word.

"This doesn't make any sense! First, I'm attacked in an alley. Then I'm... I'm turned into some kind of monster. After that, I'm brought here against my will by a witch. And now you're calling me 'master'?"

George ran his fingers through his hair, his breathing becoming more rapid. He turned to face Reginald, his eyes searching the butler's impassive face for any explanation.

"Is this some kind of sick joke? Some twisted mind game?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly. "Because I've got to tell you, I'm not finding it funny at all."

He took a step closer to Reginald, his confusion giving way to a simmering anger. "I want answers. Real answers. Why am I here? Why are you treating me like this? And what exactly does your mistress want from me?"

George's fists clenched at his sides, his whole body taut with tension. The contrast between his supposed status as a captive and the royal treatment he was receiving was pushing him to the edge of his sanity.

"Because let me tell you," he continued, his voice low and intense, "this back-and-forth between being a prisoner and being treated like royalty is driving me insane. So which is it, Reginald? Am I a hostage or a 'master'? Because I sure as hell don't feel like either right now!"

Reginald's expression remained impassive in the face of George's outburst. He stood perfectly still, his posture impeccable, as George's words echoed through the room. When George finally fell silent, chest heaving from his emotional tirade, Reginald spoke in a calm, measured tone.

"Sir, if I may," he began, his voice carrying a hint of gentle admonishment, "I believe it would be in your best interest to calm yourself. Such agitation is hardly befitting of your position, whatever that may be."

'Was that a threat? That sure sounded like a threat,' George thought.

He paused briefly, straightening an already perfectly aligned cuff on his sleeve. "While I understand your confusion, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to provide the answers you seek. Those matters are best discussed with the mistress upon her return."

Reginald's eyes met George's, his gaze steady and unperturbed. "In the meantime, might I suggest you take a moment to collect yourself? Perhaps another cup of tea would be beneficial. Chamomile, I think, to soothe your nerves."

Without waiting for a response, Reginald turned slightly towards the door. "Shall I fetch that for you, sir? Or would you prefer to rest for a while? I assure you, your questions will be addressed in due time."

His tone, while respectful, carried an air of finality that suggested further argument would be futile. It was clear that Reginald, despite his deferential manner, was not going to be the source of the answers George so desperately sought. He waited by the door for George's response to his question.

'Why are they treating me like this? Like royalty? I'm supposed to be their hostage...' George thought, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the empty teacup.

Noticing George's prolonged silence, Reginald spoke up. "Are you bored? I can do anything for you. Cook, play the piano, sing, dance..." he offered, his voice trailing off.

George's lips quirked into a small smile despite himself. "Sing? With that voice? No, thank you," he quipped, attempting to lighten the mood.

Then, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he leaned forward, his expression serious. "Do you know who I am.... I mean what I am?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Reginald met George's gaze steadily. "Of course I do," he replied calmly, his voice betraying no emotion.

George's heart rate quickened. "And you're not scared of me?" he pressed, searching Reginald's face for any sign of fear or disgust.

"Why should I be? There's nothing to be scared of," Reginald replied, his calm demeanor unwavering.

George's mind reeled, struggling to process Reginald's nonchalant response. A mixture of indignation and unease churned in his gut.

On one hand, George felt a flash of anger. Did this old man truly not grasp the danger he posed? The raw power that lurked just beneath his skin, ready to tear free at a moment's notice? It was almost insulting - as if Reginald saw him as little more than an unruly child throwing a tantrum.

Yet beneath that indignation, a cold tendril of fear began to coil around George's heart. If Reginald truly understood what he was capable of becoming - the teeth, the claws, the uncontrollable rage - and still remained utterly unperturbed... what did that say about Reginald himself?

George's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the older man's weathered face for any hint of deception or hidden motive. What could possibly give Reginald such unwavering confidence in the face of a literal monster? Did he possess some secret weapon or knowledge that rendered George's threatening nature moot? Or was there perhaps something even more dangerous lurking behind that placid exterior?

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to this puzzling turn of events.

Just as George opened his mouth to question Reginald further, they both heard urgent movements near the door. Reginald's head snapped towards the sound, his body tensing slightly. Without hesitation, he moved to open it.

George rose to his feet, his heart pounding with anticipation and a touch of fear. 'It's not evening yet, so it can't be the mistress,' he thought, his mind racing. 'Are the other wizards arriving?'

As the door began to open, George held his breath, bracing himself for whatever - or whoever - might enter.