Page 29 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“There’s no way to plug the drafts,” Audra supplies.

I stop in the doorway, letting the house take my measure. It doesn’t like me here. I can feel it. At least they do.

Helene glances back at me once in a sharp, assessing manner, then holds out her arms for her sister. “We’re on the second floor. It’s small, tucked up the flight of stairs, but it’s clean.”

“I curse it every morning.” Audra is the cheerier of the two, stifling a groan when Helene helps her out of the chair. “I have a hard time walking. I do it, but my legs aren’t what they used to be.”

She grips the newel post while Helene angles the chair into a closet.

“Mrs. Anderson’s carved up the old place into boxes of apartments. I hate these steps and I hate watching Audra fight them but the rent’s cheap. And Anderson doesn’t ask questions. So come on up.”

The sisters mount the staircase with practiced difficulty. Helene fumbles for the keys a second time to unlock the door to their apartment, and the hinges moan.

I say nothing about the stains on the wood or the whisper of pipes in the background. The rooms here smell like old cedar and dust and yes, the wind cuts through the cracks in the exterior, a slow and reluctant breath.

A stack of books greet us from their entryway.

Here, the decay stops at the threshold, masked by the ripeness of Macintosh apples and cinnamon.

“I’ve got it from here, you go start dinner. Or shower.” Audra breaks away and lands heavily against the door to the left. A bedroom?

She smiles at me and my own features twist and lift with awkward slowness.

“Sounds good. I’m gonna scrub and change first, but Forrest, you can go inside and get comfortable. The sofa’s old and functional. I’ll be along in a minute to get you something to drink.”

“Sounds good,” I repeat.

The walls close in on me, the ceiling sinking by the second. I’ll be buried in this place. A flash of light from the panes ahead draws me forward one heavy step at the time.

The lodging is closed off, cramped, but the view⁠—

“You should have said something,” I mutter.

Helene pauses at the same door Audra disappeared behind. “About?”

“This. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” She hesitates, then sighs. “Yeah, it really is something special.”

A sliver of moonlight skates the three mullioned windows, taller than they are wide. The second floor apartment affords a view of the odd angle of the street. To the left is the darkened front of Chapelwait Antiques.

Below, the arched roof of a small coffee roaster attaches to a patch of green resting for the season. And beyond⁠—

From this vantage point, I’m face to face with the watchful gaze of the forest. All the carnage of the troll attack and the mocking festival are hidden from view, the sharp bones of this place rising in the opposite direction, but the woods stretch.

Are the men I saw earlier still out there? Are they waiting for me? Or for her?

I stand at the window longer than warranted until Helene clears her throat. She pads louder than normal on bare feet across the creaking floor to announce herself.

Clean, fresh faced, the awful costume discarded and her hair slightly damp…she’s breathtaking.

“I hope you like spaghetti.” Her tone lifts despite the redness in her eyes. Tears. Hastily scrubbed away. “I’m not saying it's great, but Mom’s meatball recipe never fails to impress.”

“Didn’t you have enough meatballs today, Helene?” Audra scoffs and limps over to the couch, falling gracefully into a worn nook in the corner.

She fluffs pillows around her, a mountain, a shield.

“I’m happy to accept whatever you’re offering,” I say. “I enjoy pasta.”