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When it felt to Zoey that a good half hour had passed, she asked the driver, asn’t overly communicative, how much farther away their destination was At that moment, they pulled in front of Xenia, possibly the most exclusive Greek restaurant on the East Coast People came from all over the country to sarants fro for a taste of home

Zoey was by no means surprised that Stelios has chosen a Greek restaurant for their encounter, and she was thankful she could consider herself so of a fan

The driver canificent structure properly The building was e part of the block There was an exquisite outdoor café area, cordoned off by artful, wrought-iron gates Zoey guessed that the restaurant was at least three stories high, and she could gliht of the building was a triangular field filled with tiny holes and surrounded by shts Every few moments, water would jet out of the holes in different patterns, and the lights would e color The doors were made of heavy oak, and the top half of each one bore a circular painting of pastoral Greece It was breathtaking

Again, the driver passed her, and with ht necessary, pulled open Xenia’s door

Zoey stepped inside and beheld the vestibule with awe It was larger than she had expected, and lit with a olden letters, were quotes from several of Ancient Greece’s most famous philosophers and states of Mount Olympus and the Twelve Olympians

Beyond the vestibule was the restaurant itself, a huge area that was nonetheless lit to feel intiular tables bore starched, white cloths, and fine china Along the far wall an intricately-decorated staircase led to the upper floors

Zoey was still taking everything in when a sudden, nificent crash rocked the restaurant, and the san to fill her nostrils

“What in the world is going on?” Zoey said, to no one in particular—as far as she could see, the restaurant was e on fire?

She thought about running outside while she still had the chance She had just turned in the direction of the door when a small, clear, “ahem” stopped her in her tracks

Zoey turned and beheld a skinny boy, about sixteen years old He wore black slacks and vest, and had an eager face, wavy hair, and a pencil-thin mustache

“Good evening, miss,” he said politely “My na for Mr Zakiridis?”