Goblins took their tea very seriously.
Beau shook his head and didn’t answer until they had passed the strange couple. “Those aren’t Goblins. They’re Pretties. It’s the strangest thing, but the, ah, nontraditional style of Goblins has spread throughout the city. It’s the latest fashion craze.”
Anouk looked over her shoulder at the couple’s ears. It was true; not even the slightest point. “I didn’t think the Pretties knew about Goblins.”
“They don’t. They’re dressing up like creatures they don’t even know exist. The Goblins are just messing with them. You know how Goblins are.”
They passed another Pretty girl dressed in garish Goblin fashion. She was winding the pocket-watch chain of her teacup lazily around one finger. Her eyes fell on Anouk.
“Hey, cool jacket.”
Anouk beamed. She followed Beau to an unassuming door that opened onto a foyer filled with mailboxes and a narrow staircase. It smelled of something stale and spicy. Beau started up the stairs. The two of them climbed until Anouk was out of breath.
Beau stopped at a door and knocked hard. “Cricket,” he called. “It’s Beau. Let me in: it’s important.”
The rest of the apartment building was filled with the gentle sounds of people starting to stir, slippered footsteps and percolating coffee. Morning light poured through the grimy window in the staircase. Anouk wondered if they’d be waking Cricket—?she seemed the type to sleep in. But the door cracked open, a chain lock stretching taut, and music with a sharp beat came through the crack. Cricket was dressed in leggings and a white tank that showed her black bra beneath. Her curly brown hair was pulled back with yellow headphones. Her eyes were bleary, like she hadn’t slept.
She gave Beau a sharp look. “Whatever that witch bitch wants, tell her to wait until morning.”
“It is morning,” Beau pointed out.
Cricket squinted up at the sunlight coming through the hall window as if she didn’t trust it. She started to close the door, but Anouk thrust her shoe in the crack, preventing her.
“Let us in, please!”
“Anouk?” Cricket’s voice rose in surprise. “I hardly recognized you! Hang on.” Anouk moved her foot, and Cricket slammed the door closed. The chain lock clinked, and then the door opened fully.
Cricket stared at Anouk. “What’s going on? How did you get out of the house? And whose jacket is that and where can I get one?”
Everything rushed back to Anouk—?the terrible image of her mistress’s bloodless hand, the mad dash through Paris. She pressed her hands to her mouth, not sure if she was about to be sick or about to cry. Cricket waved them in, checked the hallway, and locked the door.
The apartment smelled of mint tea and something more pungent, like overripe fruit. It was small, a single room with an unmade bed and a kitchenette with a boiling kettle. A clock in the shape of a black cat sat on the toaster, its circling tail ticking away the seconds. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. Ferns hung from the ceiling, books were stacked on the side table, and there were dirty clothes strewn around that didn’t help with the smell. The music came from a desk by the tall front windows out of twin speakers on either side of a laptop computer that flashed with swirling bright images, casting the entire room in a rainbow of neon colors.
Cricket went to the desk and hit a few keys, and the music stopped. She threw back the curtains.
“Whatever happened, it’s bad, isn’t it?” she said.
Without the music, the black-cat clock’s ticking filled the room.
Anouk’s fingers itched to pick up the dirty piles of clothes. To run a sponge over the sticky kitchen counters. To do something normal, something routine. Cricket rested her hands on Anouk’s shoulders.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Anouk couldn’t help it; the tears started before she could stop them. Cricket pulled her into a hug, smelling of mint and something sharper, coffee maybe, her kinky hair tickling Anouk’s shoulders.
“She’s dead,” Anouk choked out.
Cricket tensed. “I should have known. That’s the only way you could be out of the house. What happened? Is Luc back? Did he send you here?”
“He’s still missing,” Anouk said quietly.
Cricket’s eyes widened. “Oh. Merde. Give me the details.”
Beau turned to Anouk. “Maybe you should go into the bathroom. You don’t need to hear this.”
“I saw it, Beau. I can handle it.”
He looked as though he’d prefer to lock her away somewhere so safe that even unpleasant memories couldn’t reach her, but he sighed. “I found Vittora in her room,” he explained quietly. “She was already dead. It was ugly. Blood everywhere. We didn’t know what to do.”