The real estate agent’s car meandered through the mountains of Romania, over expansive hills of colorful crops.

“This final property,” the agent said, pulling the couple’s attention away from the windows, “is a great fit for you. A bona fide castle, just like we want—gorgeous gothic architecture, vintage, truly remote. Perfect summer getaway.”

They passed a small valley town full of celebration and life, so unlike the dreariness that had categorized it in the agent’s youth.

“I can’t believe you were able to find this for us,” the wife said, her British accent trilling and a bit hard to follow. “Don’t these castles usually stay in the family?”

“Well, you know…with the recent hike in vampire tax, a lot of older properties have opened up. It’s been disastrous for that community. They all had to sell their assets, many of them had to go back to work—under the table, of course—terrible.”

The couple hesitated, then giggled. “Vampire tax,” the wife snorted. Classic Romanian humor.

“So,” the husband asked, “Where is it?”

“Things around here like to hide in plain sight.”

Right on cue, the car turned a corner, and—yes, there it was, a sweeping castle. Dark spires, shrieking gargoyles, overgrown roses, and dramatic arches, all perched high on a mountainside. It was like something out of a fairy tale.

“Oh, my,” the husband said. In the rearview mirror, the agent saw him squeeze his wife’s knee in anticipation. If it was possible to do so, the agent’s heart would have skipped a beat.

The agent parked in the shade by the front door and stepped out of the car, pulling her collar up tight to her neck, her hat and gloves firmly in place. She tried not to get too excited as the wife twirled in the front entryway, as the husband gave the ancient brick an affectionate pat. The agent was hungry for a sale, but knew showing that hunger was never a good move. She didn’t start her own business to act like an amateur, after all.

The wife suddenly grabbed her husband’s elbow, nodding half a dozen times in two seconds, and the agent bit her tongue to keep from smiling—so hard, that if she were anyone else, she might have drawn blood.

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” the husband said, “especially since we haven’t seen inside yet…but I think this just might be the one.”

The agent finally let herself smile and held out the key. “In that case, I like to do a little tradition…instead of me inviting you into a potential house, why don’t you invite me into your new home? Go on. Invite me in. Go on.” She licked her teeth. “Invite me in.”