Comfort the Wolves

6. Napkins and Wallets

Three wolves waited outside Miss Finn's door for dinner; hair slicked back with water, shirts tucked in, vests buttoned up.

Ivan knocked on the red paint and waited.

"Jess!" Miss Finn called from inside.

"Just a minute!" Jess called back, her voice muffled but just as shrill.

Autumn had set her shadow over the city. The window on their right had been left open, chilling the hall and making the warm smell of dinner seem all the more inviting. Ivan breathed in through his mouth and a ghost taste of broth curled on the back of his tongue: chicken, garlic and thyme—maybe some rice.

All three wolves swallowed the thin taste back down and shifted their weight on their feet, hunger making them restless.

Ivan knocked again.

Miss Finn's voice sounded a second time. "Jess! Now, please."

A door inside opened. "Look, Lady," Jess snapped back. "You want this thing fixed or not?" And the door slammed shut again, vibrating out into the hall.

"Fine," Miss Finn said, though she didn't sound fine. "Damned drains. Damned pipes. Damned river." The locks turned, and the door swung open, the chilly autumn air gusting through and tugging on Miss Finn's yellow cotton skirt.

She had been wearing the same thing the first time they'd met, with the daisies embroidered on the hem. Only the yellow top had been forgone for a loose white blouse and open neckline that slipped past the dip of her collarbone. So different from the black, stayed things she wore to work.

Ivan bowed. "Good evening."

He thought the colour suited her, especially with the yellow scarf tied around the back of her head, pushing all her curls to spiral at the top of her head.

She ran a critical eye over the wolves before opening the door for them. "Come in then. Though, mind the salt."

"The salt?" Thomas muttered.

"On the threshold, you idiot," Curt muttered back.

Sure enough, there was a thin line of salt where the door met the carpet in the hall.

Ivan carefully stepped over the white line. "May I ask what the salt is for?" he said once they were through the entryway. His eye followed the line of salt around the border of the room.

"Demon prevention," Miss Finn answered, her tone refusing further questions.

"There's no moon tonight is all," said a new voice from their right. "Demons are worst here when there is no moon."

A woman emerged from the kitchen, offering the wolves a genteel smile. "I'm Elizabeth Miles. But, please, call me Betsy."

If Miss Jess was a tabby from some dinky alley—all orange fuzz and tattoos—her sister, here, was as elegant and poised as a lioness, her red hair faded to a cascade of bourbon gold.

Ivan gave her a deep bow. "Madam." Curt and Thomas, slightly awestruck, followed suit. Thomas hit his head on a hanging bouquet.

A toddler teetered out of the kitchen, catching herself on Miss Betsy's skirt.

"And this little one is Helene." Miss Finn swept the child into her arms and kissed her blonde curls. "Bet's daughter, in for the weekend. Say hello to the wolves, now, Lyn."

The girl gave the wolves a twisty wave.

"Good," Miss Finn kissed her little fist. "Now. Wolves are bad. You stay away from wolves."