The Howling

Chapter Three

        They already knew where to meet.  Their father had insisted upon a designated 'safe zone' to meet in an emergency, if anything happened to their first choice, the bakery.  The summer their father decided that, Villette and Emil had spent most of their time cooped up in the library.  With stacks of books wedged between them and pilfered pastries in their pockets, they had spent hours upon hours of reading.  So it had become the natural choice at the time.

        Riding on the trolley, Villette ruminated over every decision her father made, wondering if he had known all of this was going to happen.  All the disaster preparations, the hidden supplies riddled throughout the city--her father had made her memorize each location--and even Balthazar's existence.  The young man's words kept repeating in a loop in the back of her mind.  Clever Lord Amsel left safeguards for his children.  Clever Lord Amsel left safeguards for his children.  Clever Lord Amsel--

        Al's metallic voice cut through her thoughts.  "Please don't.  It's very old."

        Villette leaned around Al's body to see a small girl in a pink tutu with pigtails regarding Al with the skepticism of a child.  "What you dressed up for?"

        "A costume party," Al answered immediately.

        "What kind of costume party?  Halloween was months ago."

        Villette realized that a good portion of the people around them were eavesdropping on the conversation, lured in by their own curiosity at Al's odd appearance.  Too abashed to ask themselves, they instead had paused the music blaring from their headphones or had shifted slightly in their seats so that they might hear Al's answer.  One man even used a newspaper to hide his face, which might have been convincing, if he wasn't holding it upside down.  The only person seemingly not interested in a five person radius was the mother of the child, too wrapped up with texting to care.

        "A fun one," Villette answered when Al glanced in her direction for help.

        The girl narrowed her eyes at Villette, still clearly unconvinced.  "Then why aren't you dressed up?"

        "I am dressed up."

        "Oh yeah?  Who are you then?"

        Villette's mind grasped for a name, but in the usual manner, none came to mind now that she needed one.  Lying awake tonight, a deluge of names would undoubtedly come to her.  At the moment though, they were slow in coming.  She blurted out the first one that skittered by.  "Arya Stark.  This is my bodyguard, um, the Dog, wait, no, Hound.  He's the Hound."

        The girl eyed her, and for a second, Villette thought the child was satisfied.  Then, "You can't be Arya.  You're too old and you don't even look like her.  Did you mean Sansa?"

        Villette gaped at the girl, stunned.  Al began laughing but quickly pretended to cough to hide his amusement.  "How old are you?" Villette demanded.

        The child squirmed up straighter and tilted her head back in a haughty manner.  "Eight and a half."

        The trolley began to slow.  Villette rose to her feet and turned to the girl's mother, who had just been jostled out of her texting conversation by the deceleration.  "And you shouldn't be lettering her watch things like that yet.  Honestly."

        Villette and Al stepped off the trolley as the woman blinked after them, brow creased in confusion.  They had taken a roundabout way of reaching the library, just to make sure the young man wasn't following them.  It took longer but Villette knew Emil would wait however long it took.