Anouk scanned the room. “There, beneath the table.” She snatched it up just as Viggo jiggled the knob from the outside, trying to force his way in. Beau threw himself headfirst into the forest of Cricket’s clothes, sending the coat hangers clattering, and Anouk tumbled in after him.
“Cricket!” Viggo yelled. “Open the door!”
Anouk fought against coats and towels and the musty pelts that sent up a scratchy cloud of dust and made her eyes water. She stifled a cough as Beau eased the door closed.
Darkness.
She heard the little puffs of her own breathing. Clothes rustling as Beau moved closer. Pounding again on the front door.
“Let us in, Cricket. Now!”
Cricket hit the music again.
The low beats blared, pulsing in time with the thumping of Anouk’s heart. She pushed a dress out of her face. Her eyes were starting to adjust. The closet door was made of thick frosted glass, the kind that was easier to see out of than into. She could just make out Cricket’s blurry figure crossing the room.
She heard the lock slide open and the clatter of a chain.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Cricket demanded. “It isn’t even ten o’clock in the morning.”
Anouk pretended she was made of stone, trying not to move an inch. A belt was swinging from a nail, clanking softly, and she cringed and prayed for it to stop.
“You changed your locks,” Viggo accused. Anouk could partially make him out through the frosted glass, his unmistakable slouch and fair, mussed hair. He raised his hand, jingling his set of keys. “This apartment isn’t yours. It’s mine. You can’t keep me out.”
“What do you want?” Cricket spat.
“Are you alone?” Viggo was leaning close to Cricket, nearly pinning her against the kitchenette sink, while Hunter Black’s dark shape set to prowling around the room.
“Of course. Who else would be here?”
“I thought you were supposed to be out of town. A mission in Dordogne.”
“Yeah, well . . . I was, wasn’t I? Just got in a few hours ago.” The music increased a few notches in volume. Cricket must have hit the controls again. Maybe she’d heard the clank from the closet. “Why? What’s this about?”
Viggo didn’t answer right away. Anouk kept her eyes on Hunter Black’s shape moving beyond the frosted glass like some underwater monster as he stalked over to the bathroom. She heard the bathroom door open. The clatter of tin rings as he drew the shower curtain back.
Beau’s hand found hers in the darkness; his fingers squeezed hers protectively.
“Hey!” Cricket called. “Tell your trained monkey to keep his hands off my stuff. What does he think he’s goin
g to find under that bed, his missing couilles?”
It was just a matter of time before Hunter Black looked in the closet. The smell of their pelts was nearly choking. Anouk squeezed Beau’s hand back.
Cricket was right. They had to look out for one another. No one else would.
Viggo said something too low for Anouk to hear, but Cricket answered sharply, “Beau and Anouk? No, Beau hasn’t been by in weeks, and Anouk? I didn’t think that little bird was allowed to leave her cage.” She paused. “Why, what happened? Is it Mada Vittora?”
Anouk tried to ignore the memory of blood on her hands, wiped clean now, though a little was still caught under her fingernails.
“She’s fine,” Viggo answered. His voice drifted to a higher octave. He’d always been a bad liar. “In fact, she wants to see you. Tonight. She’s summoning all four of you to the townhouse for a meeting. No exceptions.”
He tapped her computer and the music stopped.
It was quiet. Too quiet. Anouk could practically hear her heart beating.
“And Luc?” Cricket asked sharply. “Where’s Luc? I haven’t heard from him in days.”
“We don’t know where he is,” Hunter Black said. “No one does.” His hand went to his neck, where, just last week, Luc had had to give him stitches. If Hunter Black had an affinity for any of the other beasties—?and Anouk wasn’t convinced that he did—?it would be for the boy who sewed his wounds and never breathed a word about it.