Gideon offered the key, and Avery snatched it a little too eagerly. She hesitated only after it was already through the lock. “I’m not saying yes,” she warned curtly.
“I know.”
They stepped inside, Gideon having to duck ever so slightly as he passed through the threshold. To their immediate right was another blue door, emblazoned with the letter C.
Avery’s hand rested on the doorknob but Gideon shook his head and pointed up the staircase. “Apartment B.”
Avery reluctantly stepped back, giving Gideon a suspicious glance before taking to the stairs.
The first step creaked.
Curiously, Avery moved her foot along it, easing weight on and off it.
Over time the timber had shrunk, and now the tread had either warped or merely unstuck as a result. Thorough testing revealed the loose step only emitted the squeak when pressure was applied to just right of center. One could hug the far right of the stair and ascend silently. The second step made no sound at all, but the third audibly complained if someone stepped anywhere but the exact center of the tread.
Fascinated, Avery repeated this process with every level of the stairs, testing each in various places until she found where she would need to step in order to climb silently. This took several minutes, but Gideon merely patiently watched the exercise. At the top, she timidly fiddled with the keys once more, then opened the door to 221 B.
It squeaked.
Avery sighed, defeated.
“It can be oiled,” Gideon offered.
Avery sniffed at him before pushing the door back into darkness.
Gideon snapped his fingers and candles lit within, revealing familiar sights.
The walls were lined with books—some so old they were falling apart at the spine. It smelled like paper, ink, and bay leaf. The hardwood floors had been covered in rugs, some threadbare with a route paced into them and scattered droplets of candle wax.
“Do you approve?” Gideon asked expectantly.
Avery marveled. She recognized every object. Even the curtains. She ran the fabric between her thumb and forefingers. “You brought my things.” There was something tight in her throat, something close to appreciation.
“What was left of them,” Gideon remarked delicately, noting that many of the items were worse for wear even without the centuries between them. “We thought it might better help you acclimate if you had as many familiarthings around you as possible.”
Avery ran her hand across a dresser, finding a framed illustration of familiar faces. The Irregulars, they had called themselves. All human save for Avery. Two hundred years had passed, and they would all be gone now—struck down by humanity’s mortal flaw. Her face contorted.
“You were quite the group.” Gideon attempted a genial tone, but it did not suit him. “I regret to say they weren’t much able to keep up without you. The whole operation must have fallen apart—we didn’t see them after you went under.”
Avery’s jaw set. “I want to see the body.”
He’d overstepped. The best thing to do now was to give her back her space and avoid touching anything. “Tomorrow.” Gideon took a step out of the threshold and back into the hallway. “Tonight you will enjoy your first restful sleep. Meet me outside of Hudson’s at ten o’clock.”
“Ten thirty.”
The corner of his mouth tugged at the barest hint of a smile. “As you wish.”
“Gideon.” Her knuckles whitened around the frame. “I did not say ‘yes.’”
“Did you not?” He allowed the smile to cross his lips entirely before he turned to descend the stairs.
1Despite its name, a glamour does not require the illusion to be glamorous by any means. It is considered the magic equivalent of a phony pair of glasses and fake beard. Much in the way one too many drinks may persuade you your bar companion is attractive, a glamour will have you convinced a fey is human, or that curiously magical shop is an accounting firm.
