The Howling

Chapter Six

        The address on the back of the business card took them back into the city. It was well past midnight when they arrived, the car huffing and puffing as if threatening to blow some poor pig's house down. Villette thought it was a miracle that it hadn't died on them sooner. 

        Tendrils of fog were just beginning to appear, blanketing the ground and coiling around the few cars still out driving. Thick clouds hung over the sky, blocking out the moon and the stars. A chillness crept into the air. A mist of crystal brushed past Villette's lips as she stepped from the warmth of the parked car. 

        She glanced at the card in her hand and then up at the building before her. Once elegant, the building now stooped under rot and decay. The bricks were cracked and the paint along the trim was peeling. Vines crept up one side and weeds choked the sidewalk between the gaps. One railing of the few steps leading to the front door had been removed while the other sported a thick layer of rust. All the windows were dark except for one. 

        A note of uncertainty crept into Al's voice. "The address is correct?" 

        Villette checked the card again, but she knew the address was correct. She had read it so many times that the address was burned into her brain. "This is the place," she said as she marched up the steps to the front door. 

        The door had been repainted recently in a desultory attempt at renovations, in a dark color that melted into the shadows of the entryway alcove. Only when Villette was standing right in front of the door did she noticed the placard. Nearly a yard tall and six inches wide, it displayed the names of the tenants. She checked the card one last time, more out of habit than needing it for reference, and found his name on the placard. 

        "Here," she pointed at his name. "Reinard Oberon." 

        The elevator beyond the front door was broken so they were forced to take the creaking stairs up to the fourth floor.  The old building groaned in protest as they walked down the hallway, the floorboards grumbling as Villette went and loudly crying under Al's weight. 

        All the rooms seemed vacant. An eerie silence hung over everything, heavy and ominous and angry at being stirred by the sounds of their footsteps. No one stirred behind the shut doors. Usually, the paper thin walls of apartment or office buildings allowed someone to hear everything happening on the floor, but Villette heard nothing. Not even the sound of a cricket chirping or a soft television playing. It was as if the entire building were deserted. 

        As they neared the door, Villette wondered what kind of man Reinard Oberon was. He could be another human, just like her, who knew about magic and those born with the ability to wield it. She doubted that though. More likely, he was a magician, though it would be dangerous to assume anything until she met him. But, if he were a magician, then what would he do, if even her own grandfather had refused to help her? 

        Reinard Oberon's door was just like the others lining the hallway except that his name was written on the front in a block type, pronouncing the name of his firm. Oberon Detective Agency. Villette reached up the rap on the door with her knuckles, then stopped. She hadn't given much thought to the time, but it was late-after midnight, at least. Perhaps he wouldn't want to be disturbed. Maybe he wasn't even in there at this hour? 

        But she didn't have time to waste. Emil was gone and she was losing time. Who knew how long that young magician would keep him alive until he took the blood of the Amsel from him. 

        So she knocked. She was grateful for Al's reassuring presence behind her. If there was a magician on the other side of this door, and resented being bothered at such an hour, then at least she could rely on Al if things turned violent.