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“I know I can,” I assure him. “Thank you, Charles.”
I end the call and dress for the day in a pair of black slacks, a white button-down, and a bright blue sweater vest. Dogs can only see a limited range of color, but blue is one of them, and almost every canine I’ve chatted with has offered a compliment when I wore blue. I would have taken Charles’ advice and worn blue jeans, as well, but I can’t find a pair in my closet. They must still be in the laundry.
I’ve been wearing jeans more often now that I regularly spend time in the Wonderfullys’ backyard, climbing into the treehouse and leaping into piles of leaves with Amy.
I hope we’ll be able to get back to that routine soon, before…
I drop the thought before it can reach its conclusion, but it doesn’t matter. It has the desired effect. Outside the interrogation room, I roll my shoulders back and reach for the door with renewed purpose. The sooner we sort out how deep this betrayal goes; the sooner we can get back to business and fun as usual, and Annabelle is one of the few creatures who might be able to shed light on the situation.
Inside the small space, I flick on the light, illuminating the pale gray walls and the blanket-shrouded cage in the corner. Before I can offer a good morning to its inhabitant, a low, ominous growl rumbles from beneath the yellow fleece.
“Now, now, no need for any of that,” I say in my most soothing voice. “I’m here to help. I’m Edmond and I can speak with you if you’d like.”
That’s a key part of human-animal communication—the creature has to be open to the experience. If Annabelle has decided not to cooperate with the people holding Sultan captive, or just isn’t in the mood for a chat, this could very well be an exercise in futility.
“Edmond,” she croaks, her lips smacking as she tries my name on for size. “I know you. You’re the pretty one.”
I drag the blanket off the cage, revealing a tiny chihuahua with a black coat, lighter brown markings above her rheumy eyes, and gray around her muzzle. “So, I’ve been told,” I say with a smile. “And you’re Annabelle, the only dog brave enough to call the Blackmore estate home. It’s nice to properly meet you at long last. It’s a shame you’ve been kept hidden away for so long.”
Her eyes narrow as she smacks her lips again. On the third smack, her tongue flops out and stays there as she grumbles, “Well, I wouldn’t have to be such a recluse if lady vampires didn’t eat dogs for breakfast.”
My brows lift, but I maintain a neutral tone as I ask, “Who told you that?”
“My papa,” she says, tipping her chin until her tongue slides back into her mostly toothless mouth. “They do it to keep their hair shiny.” She shudders and shrinks deeper into the corner of her cage. “Every day, a dog loses its life to appease their wretched vanity. Monsters. Every one of them.”
“They would be monstrous, indeed…if that were true.” I wince sympathetically in response to her sharp look. “I hate to be the one to break the news, Annabelle, but Sultan was lying to you.”
“Why would he?” She growls low in her throat. “And why should I believe you? You probably eat dogs, too. That’s why you’re so much prettier than the other men.”
“I’m not that much prettier than other men.”
She grunts. “You shine brighter than the golden toilet in Papa’s secret room.”
A secret room. We’re getting somewhere already! And things will go even faster once I win Annabelle’s trust. She doesn’t seem to be an unreasonable or cruel beast. She’s simply been misled.
“Well, thank you? I think?” I smile. “I’ve never been favorably compared to a toilet before, but I’ll take the compliment in the gracious spirit it was given. But I assure you, I haven’t dined on anything but freely given human blood since the day I was turned. I’m not that sort of man. And I’m not the kind to lie to a friend, either.”
“We aren’t friends,” she says, but she’s no longer wedged into the corner. And when I reach into my back pocket and pull out the small tin I swiped from the kitchen in preparation for our meeting, she seems intrigued.
“But I hope we will be,” I say, holding my gift out for inspection. “I brought liver mousse, the finest in the pantry. And I’m happy to answer any questions you have about how things are really done around here or why Sultan’s been imprisoned. I know how disconcerting it can be to learn a person you’ve trusted hasn’t been honest with you.”
“And in return you want my papa’s secrets,” she says, proving she’s no dummy.
“I would appreciate your cooperation, yes, but this isn’t a quid pro quo situation. The treat and the answers are yours regardless.” I motion toward the door to her kennel. “May I?”
After considering me for a moment, she tilts her head, sending her tongue flopping out of her toothless mouth again. “You may.”
Ten minutes later, Annabelle has finished her treat—somehow managing to lick the tin clean with her unwieldy tongue—and I’m making headway convincing her that Sultan hasn’t been painting a clear picture for her of the world outside his apartment.
“So, there aren’t banshees in the woods who run off with little dogs?” she asks, sniffing the tin again, though she’s already checked it twice for mousse remnants. “Papa said there were, and that’s why I could never go outside.”
“Not to my knowledge, no, but there are owls and larger birds of prey. Could be he was trying to keep you safe from those and…embellished a bit to ensure you stayed out of trouble. He seemed to love you very much.”
She grunts again. “Not as much as he loved the man with the red lips.”
I lean closer. “Man with the red lips?”
“He came to Papa in the day when we were napping. Papa would put me in the kennel for hours and when he finally let me out, the bed smelled of sulfur and ash.” She wrinkles her graying muzzle. “Filthy scent. I had to hide in the sitting room under the couch it was so foul, but Papa didn’t seem to care. After the man with the red lips came, he was too busy to notice me.”
