There’s a moon over bourbon street tonight I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight I’ve no choice but to follow that call The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all I pray everyday to be strong For I know what I do must be wrong Oh you’ll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet While there’s a moon over bourbon street   Sting - Moon Over Bourbon Street

It was called the Castle, and for good reason. The estate that was built in 1882 by Potter Palmer for his wife, Berthe Honore, and was the royal center of society in Chicago. It stood on Lake Shore Drive between Banks and Schiller streets, its tall spire tower looking over the city that Palmer had helped build. Under the three-story tall Italianate glass dome stood Ulysses Grant, William McKinley, and James Garfield. The large English ball room could sit fifty, and was the center for fundraisers and demonstrations for the Columbian Exposition. The grand ballroom spanned over 75 feet, and hosted parties for the Duke of Veragua and the Infanta Eulalia of Spain.

In 1951 the Castle was demolished to make way for apartments, and then later condos. A colorful part of the city faded into the history books and legend. That is, until about a year ago, when a private investor bought the land, and began immediate construction. Most assumed, of course, that more condos were in the works. Perhaps a larger tower, perhaps something more grand then before. No one really expected what eventually took shape: the rebuilding of the Castle, down to its turrets and minarets.

One would have to wonder about the way that the building has been reconstructed – the last dump truck had barely pulled away before it looked as if there had never been anything else on the property. Ivy already crawls up the iron frence that wraps its arms around the estate. Large, knotted, trees reach up to the sky, as if they had been growing there for decades.  Even the facade has that slightly dusty look that most Chicago building develop over several years.

For the Kindred of the city, the same name linked to the history of the Palmers is that linked to the blood of the previous Prince. And Josephine Palmer Honore has done nothing to try to hide the fact that she has taken up residence in the estate. Rumor even has it that other Mekhet, including her Steward and the Crone Echo, also have also taken to calling the place home.   It is a Mekhat and Invictus cant that is woven into the lattice work that surrounds the doors: the black outline of a crown, two dark eyes shadowed under it.

Those that enter the estate can feel those eyes everywhere. In the morning room, the great hall, the salon, the library. It’s in the doors that open on their own to welcome guests, and the vines that reach up and grab at those who try to enter uninvited. As much as the Castle may be a reflection of a particular time in Chicago’s history, it also seems to have an intimate tie to those who have brought it back, brick by brick, and live behind its walls.