THE TREK DOWNSTAIRS is much shorter, and Hadley realizes this because one whole flight of stairs has disappeared. Molly's breathing—because hey, she breathes—has eased, somewhat, as if a leash has been untied.
How much of magic Hadley would've dismissed so easily, if Molly didn't exist. Ever since he stepped in here, so long ago, every goddamn doubt about the existence of magic he's ever had has disappeared. Shown him that magic could exist anywhere, in places, things, people, people as bland and boring as Hadley. He'd never have thought of houses as living things, but then came along David, pulling back the curtain to a world Hadley'd heard of but never paid attention to.
Shame that the same guy who showed him all of this has disappeared, so conveniently.
Salome's in front of Hadley, slowly taking one step at a time, considerably slowing down the both of them. Hadley would tell her to hurry the hell up, but he fears that if Salome goes any faster than this she might fall down the stairs and fall flat on her face.
"You good?" Hadley asks.
"Yeah," Salome says. She takes another step. "I don't want to hurt Molly."
The stairs creak in appreciation.
"I didn't know she got hurt when people walked down the stairs."
"If you were a house," Salome says, "wouldn't you want people to walk gently?"
No, Hadley thinks. I'd want them to leave.
"Sure," Hadley says.
When they get close enough to the ground floor, Hadley hears several voices in conversation. No. Just one voice, dominating the conversation, which doesn't sound like much of a conversation at all. He hears fragments of sentences, among them: 'unacceptable conduct', 'reckless risk-taking', 'what was he trying to do?', 'Charlie's going to kill him,' and 'David should have known better.'
"Wait," Hadley says, and Salome nearly falls over stopping herself, but he catches her just in time. "Easy. Just wait."
Salome looks at him in bewilderment. "Why?"
"Nothing," Hadley says. "Just wait here."
Salome obeys, and when they reach the door, Hadley opens the door as quietly as he can.
The first thing he sees is Francis, leaning against the wall right next to the staircase. Francis's are eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. In the flickering firelight of the room, he looks striking, painted in strokes of gold and shadow—but, too serious. Hadley's not sure if he's ever seen Francis like this, though granted, he hasn't seen Francis all that much.
Francis notices Hadley, and with a laconic expression, he holds up a finger to his lips, and with the same finger, points at the scene before them.
Hassan, Benji and Jeanne stand like loyal troopers behind Vic and Shani, both of whom are talking to a tall and imperious looking woman—olive skin, hair twisted into a braid, her profile sharp and Etruscan in the murky glow of the room—and there's a boy standing next to her. Everything about him is washed out; from the pale blond of his hair to his whitish-mouse skin. And when he looks straight at Hadley, Hadley sees that his eyes are a pale and frightening blue.
Vic, Shani and the woman are talking. The boy, however, is staring at Hadley.
"Don't mind him," Francis says, tilting his head towards Hadley. "He does that a lot."
