Nightworld

Monroe, Long Island

Sylvia recognized the old man's voice immediately. A wave of resentment surged through her.

"I hope this isn't about moving in with you in the city," she said, controlling her voice. "Pressure tactics won't work, Mr. Veilleur. I don't wear down very easily."

"I'm quite well aware of that, Mrs. Nash. And please call me Glaeken. That's my real name."

Sylvia didn't want to call him that. It was like a first name, and she didn't wish to be on a first-name basis with this man. So she said nothing.

"I didn't call to pressure you into anything," he said after a pause. "I merely wished to inquire as to how you and your household fared last night."

"We did just fine, thank you." No thanks to you.

She repressed the urge to tell him that the strange attraction Jeffy had developed for him had nearly cost the boy his life—and Ba's and her own as well; that if Jeffy hadn't become so fixated on Glaeken he wouldn't have wandered off last night. But in the back of her mind she knew Glaeken could crush her with the simple admonishment that a good mother should know the whereabouts of her child. She'd spent most of the night telling herself the same thing, berating herself for letting Jeffy wander off. If only she'd kept an eye on him, Rudy would still be alive and Ba wouldn't have dozens of healing wounds on the back of his neck.

"This is a tough old house," she said. "And with the metal storm shutters we installed yesterday, it's like a fortress."

The racket last night had been horrendous. Those things from the hole had pounded against the shutters incessantly until sunrise. Sealed in as they were, the silence from outside had been their only clue that daylight had arrived. She'd greeted the dawn with relief and exhaustion.

"Good," Glaeken said. "I'm very glad to hear that. I hope your defenses remain as effective against future assaults. But I called for two reasons. The other is to let you know that Jack, the fellow who let you in yesterday, will be stopping by later for a visit."

"I warned you about pressuring me."

"Have no fear, Mrs Nash. He's not coming to see you. He wishes to speak to Ba."

"Ba? What does he want with Ba?"

She vaguely remembered the wiry, dark-haired, dark-eyed man Glaeken had mentioned—a rather ordinary-looking sort. She had an impression of him and Ba standing at the back of the living room, speaking together in low tones. It was so unusual for Ba to speak at all to a stranger, she remembered wondering if they'd met before.

"Perhaps I'd better let Jack explain that himself," Glaeken said. "Good day, Mrs. Nash."