“It’s four blocks away,” I told Finn, giving him a knowing look. He was loving this.
The boy’s mother rushed up a moment later. Her eyes widened when she saw what he was doing. “Is that a—” she started.
Before I could answer, Finn gently disengaged himself from those dimpled fists and strode off. Making a strangled sound of relief, the woman snatched up her child and bolted in the opposite direction. I followed Finn, suppressing another smile. I couldn’t exactly blame the human for thinking her son was about to get eaten—I’d just realized there was blood on Finn’s teeth from the rabbit he killed earlier.
Once I caught up with him, Finn didn’t leave my side. He kept us at a brisk clip, though, his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. His buoyancy made me feel lighter, too. I knew what he was feeling, just as he could sense my own emotions and thoughts. Finn and I had been to Hell and back, but here we were, surrounded by palm trees and birdsong. Sunlight beating down on our heads and a warm breeze slipping past. I couldn’t imagine how hot Finn was under all that fur. Well, I could now that I had access to his mind, but I didn’t want to.
Using the bonds still made me feel guilty. I’d never say it out loud, but I regretted making the connections with Gil, Finn, and soon, Lyari. All of them were attached to me not by choice, but necessity.
For most of my life, I’d questioned people’s love for me and doubted their sincerity when they wanted me. Now three of the closest people in my life would be no different, except their minds were being influenced by a spell instead of a Nightmare’s allure.
Despite these dismal thoughts, I’d been reading the numbers on every mailbox we passed. At 1021, I stopped, tracing those painted white figures with my eyes. The house was tiny, its siding the color of damp sand. Every window had curtains drawn across it and the flower boxes were empty. The front yard was mowed in perfect rows, but beyond that, there was no outward sign that anyone actually lived here.
“Think we found it,” I said, sounding as dejected as I felt.
Finn lifted his nose and smelled the air. This place stinks of fear, he said. At the sound of his voice, I jumped for what felt like the umpteenth time. It was going to take a while to get used to that. Once his words registered, hope returned in a rush.
“Would you mind waiting outside again?” I asked, staring at the house. If Jacob Goldmann was already in a state of constant anxiety, bringing a werewolf to his door didn’t seem like a good idea.
Finn sat down in silent agreement. I knew he’d be inside within seconds if I needed him. I focused on the front door and let out a short, ragged breath. Why was I so nervous? If there was someone living here, the house looked ordinary enough. Then again, I knew better than anyone how deceiving appearances could be.
Oh, gee, maybe your anxiety has something to do with the fact you tracked down a total stranger, that inner voice pointed out. She was really starting to piss me off. I approached the door, and with each step, a quake went through me. The old Fortuna wouldn’t have been so afraid, and I had Belanor to thank for this new caution. He may have been dead, but my memories of him were as permanent as the scar on my back. What if this entire venture was one of Dracula’s tricks?
But I couldn’t walk away now. I’d come too far. Thinking of everything that was at stake—learning more about my abilities as a Nightmare could teach me how to control them, to harness them well enough to bring Oliver over into reality—I forced myself to raise a fist and knock.
A minute passed, and no one came. A car drove down the street. Somewhere overhead, a crow’s harsh, raucous call echoed through the air. Hesitantly, I knocked again, louder now. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
This time, footsteps creaked on the other side. Ten more seconds ticked by, as if the owner of this house was hoping I’d give up and leave. I didn’t budge. When the door opened, the sound the hinges made had the cadence of a sigh. I lifted my head, preparing to blurt the awkward explanation I’d come up with during the walk here.
When I saw who was standing in front of me, though, my jaw slackened. Whatever I was about to say just… faded.
I knew him.
He’d been in one of the memories I’d found in the dreamscape. The man who’d opened that red door and whose wife had helped to put a binding spell on me as a child. He was older now, much older, with deep lines across his forehead and around his mouth, his hair gone gray at the edges. But it was him.
He recognized me, too—terror filled the space between us.
My instincts stirred, drawn to it like a beast to its prey. I resisted the hunt by picturing them. My anchors, the faces of people I loved. I regained control within moments. Or most of it, at least. I managed to form a coherent string of baffled thoughts. Was this an extraordinary coincidence? Or had Dracula known, somehow, that Jacob Goldmann and I met each other in another life?
“My name is Fortuna,” I said when the silence became a beat too long. “I got your information from… someone who thought you could help me.”
Other questions battered at my control, and only caution kept me from saying them out loud. Why are you so frightened? Why aren’t you saying anything? Why did Dracula lead me to you?
Oblivious to the hornet’s nest buzzing within my skull, Jacob glanced up and down the street. There was nothing welcoming in his tone as he replied, “I think I know which friend you’re referring to. Would you like to come in? I just made a pot of fresh coffee.”
“Sure. Thank you.” I stepped over the threshold, trying to hide my trepidation, and Jacob immediately closed the door behind me. Rigid with nerves, I tried to note every detail as the man stepped around me. My unease worsened when I quickly discovered there weren’t many details to find. There was a closet to my right, and coat hooks across from it. Both were empty. There were also no framed pictures hanging up or immediate scents in the air.
“Should I take my shoes off?” I asked. My mind was still spinning.
Jacob continued down the hall. Without looking back he said, “No need.”
I moved to follow him, and in doing so, I passed an arched doorway. Light poured through it and spilled across my tennis shoes. A mezuzah hung on that slender piece of wall between hallway and living room. Besides this, there was still nothing else in sight to reveal who Jacob Goldmann was. Everything in front of me was nondescript—the brown furniture, the unadorned wooden floors, the white walls. It was as though he was a visitor to his own life.
I didn’t need to ask whether Tamar was here. From the looks of this house, she’d either left him or she was dead.
Refocusing, I turned and walked toward the doorway that obviously led to the kitchen. But when I reached it, there was no sign of Jacob. Frowning, I went right. A cluster of doors stood at the end of another short hallway, two of them open. I peered into each room. The first was a bedroom. The second was a bathroom.
Jacob was in that one, his body halfway out a window.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded. I reacted instinctively. Rushing over, I yanked at the back of Jacob’s wool sweater in an effort to pull him down. The loose material only stretched, exposing a long expanse of skin, and suddenly I found myself staring at marks on Jacob’s flesh. Marks I recognized instantly. It was a brand.