Comfort the Wolves

8. Smoke and Mirrors

That night, Ivan woke to a scream. His first thought was William; his second—where was Lianne?

Curt was at his side before he sat up. "From next door, Beta," he reported. "I can confirm it's the Miss, but I sense no other presence besides Miss Betsy and the child."

Ivan tore the sheets off his body and stumbled over a cat, yanking on his suspenders.

Across the matted, oily carpet of the landing, he found himself at her door. Still locked.

Ivan pounded on the red paint, a grey-blue in the dark. "Miss Finn?" he called. "Miss Finn, it's Ivan."

Across the hall, he heard Mr Martinez bolt his door shut.

There was another scream from the flat; less shrill and more angry, but it still scraped up his bones like panic. Curt was behind him, shifting his weight on his feet, nervous. Thomas was off and out for the night.

Ivan pounded on the door again. "Miss?" Ivan said. "I will break down the door." Another knock. "Miss Betsy? Are you in there?"

All his senses reached through the door. He could hear Lianne's breathing, heavy and through clenched teeth; could smell her scent all twisted with fear, and Miss Betsy and the child. There was a shuffle inside and then the sound of locks clicking.

Ivan stepped back, relief taking the edge off his alarm.

The locks took longer than they should have. Three bolts, one chain, two keys.

When the door finally opened, the chain was still in place and Miss Betsy watched them warily through the crack. Helene was on her hip, eyeing the wolves with curiosity and a finger in her mouth. Apparently, the screams and struggles for breath inside were too common to cry about.

"May I come in?" Ivan asked, forcing himself to relax back on his heels. There was another smell now, a more sulphur-sour stench crawling over the carpet like roots. The smell wasn't William, but it tasted like fire and death.

Betsy glanced behind her to Lianne's bedroom. "No, you can't," she said. "The Lady said you couldn't."

Ivan bowed his head to her, all gentleness. "If this has to do with William—"

Lianne spoke from inside, as if to someone in the room with her. Her voice was whipped into a fury between her panicked breaths. "Two dreams in one night? Touch that baby and I'll kill you."

Ivan frowned. "If it's about William, then I really ought to—"

"It's not, then, sir." Betsy resituated the child on her hip. "It's just a demon, sir. Making nightly rounds."

Curt stilled behind Ivan.

"A demon," Ivan repeated; he tried to remain skeptical, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled. "On nightly rounds."

"Yes," Betsy sounded nervous. "What with no moon and all."

A great crash came from inside, something large toppling to the floor. The child startled and Betsy flinched.

Lianne laughed at the sound, a hollow, mean laugh. "Oh, I don't cow so easy." Her voice was just as cold; he could almost see her eyes flinting like hate in the dark. "I know your kind. And I won't let you leave until you explain the second one to me."

That sulphur smell intensified, slipping like a rope down Ivan's throat so fast he choked.

Betsy turned back to them, a line of sweat dampening her brow. "You should go now."

Curt covered his nose. "What in the—"

But he was cut off by a popping, gnarlish voice from inside; somewhere between a rasp and a whine. "Lady, Lady. We both know it doesn't work that way," it said.