one of the chimneys, carrying the acrid smell of
creosote. "She's here. Someone is, anyway."
He
headed for the front door, its granite sill scattered with ashes. An untidy
stack of firewood stood beside it, and a snow shovel.
"Hey,
Aphrodite." Toby rapped loudly on the door. "You got visitors."
I
felt a flicker of real excitement. I thought of the pictures in Deceptio Vivus ,
of a Medusa's frozen face gazing from a black-and-white photograph. Then the
door opened, and those Medusa's eyes were staring at me.
10
She
was so small and finely built that I felt huge and ungainly standing in front
of her, silver-white hair to her shoulders, white skin, bright red lipstick
carelessly applied. Her face was lined, but otherwise she looked remarkably
like the woman in the photo. Behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses the familiar
onyx eyes glittered, bloodshot but still challenging. She wore a black woolen
tunic, black leggings, scuffed-up moccasin slippers. She looked like a girl
headed for dance class, or a wizened geisha doll.
"Who
are you?" she demanded.
Without
warning a mass of dark shapes surrounded her, growling and whining. I backed
away in alarm. "Jesus—"
"They
won't hurt you." Aphrodite gestured at me impatiently then crooned,
"Runi, Fee—down, get down!'
The
writhing shadows resolved into three immense dogs, the biggest dogs I'd ever
seen. Toby put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Those
are her dogs," he said.
"No
shit." I pulled away from him. One of the dogs jumped toward me, its head
brushing my chest before I pushed it down. Another stood on its hind
legs and pawed at Toby's shoulders. It was so tall it looked as though they
were dancing.
"They
won't hurt you," Aphrodite repeated. The look she gave me was disdainful.
Toby
took a step back, toward the trees. "I better get going," he said.
"I'll see you later."
"Hey,
wait," I said and pushed at a grizzled, narrow muzzle. "I didn't pay
you yet."
"Not
to worry," he said. "You can catch me another time."
"Get
inside," ordered Aphrodite. "Fee! Tara, Runi! Now!'
The
panting dogs receded. As I followed them inside, one thrust its nose against my
hand and stared up at me with moist, imploring eyes.
"I'm
Cassandra Neary," I said as Aphrodite yanked the door shut. "Man,
those are some big dogs. Are they wolfhounds?"
"Deerhounds."
She
hissed a command, and the dogs pattered off. We stood in a narrow foyer, its
pine flooring scratched and furrowed, tattered rugs askew. A line of windows on
the opposite wall looked across the cove to open water and a gray prospect of
islands and gathering cloud. There was a bench heaped with yellow rain slickers
and boots, split kindling and old newspapers, aerosol cans of Deet, several big
flashlights. Kerosene lamps hung from the ceiling alongside coils of rope and a
pair of snowshoes. Aphrodite's small, black-clad figure was incongruous among
all this North Woods clutter. She stared up at me imperiously, finally asked,
"Who did you say you were?"
"Cass
Neary. Cassandra Neary." My mouth went dry. "I'm supposed to—Phil
Cohen said he'd spoken to you. About an interview for Mojo magazine."
"Never
heard of it. An interview?" She made a throaty sound that I realized was a
disgusted laugh. "I never give interviews. Who sent you?"
"Phil
Cohen."
She
continued to stare at me, shrugged and turned away. "Never heard of
him."
"You
never heard of him?" I asked weakly. I thought of what he'd told me.
She
specifically asked for you, God knows why.
Now
I knew why. She hadn't asked for me at all. This was another of Phil s
screwed-up plans, sending me on a fool's errand because he was too lazy or
chickenshit to do it himself.
Another
Phil Cohen favor. And I was so desperate, I'd fallen for it.
"Have
you had breakfast?" It was the same tone she'd used with the dogs.
"I—I
wouldn't mind some coffee." I felt sicker than before but did my best to
sound calm. "Thanks."
"This
way, then."
I
gritted my teeth and comforted myself with
creosote. "She's here. Someone is, anyway."
He
headed for the front door, its granite sill scattered with ashes. An untidy
stack of firewood stood beside it, and a snow shovel.
"Hey,
Aphrodite." Toby rapped loudly on the door. "You got visitors."
I
felt a flicker of real excitement. I thought of the pictures in Deceptio Vivus ,
of a Medusa's frozen face gazing from a black-and-white photograph. Then the
door opened, and those Medusa's eyes were staring at me.
10
She
was so small and finely built that I felt huge and ungainly standing in front
of her, silver-white hair to her shoulders, white skin, bright red lipstick
carelessly applied. Her face was lined, but otherwise she looked remarkably
like the woman in the photo. Behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses the familiar
onyx eyes glittered, bloodshot but still challenging. She wore a black woolen
tunic, black leggings, scuffed-up moccasin slippers. She looked like a girl
headed for dance class, or a wizened geisha doll.
"Who
are you?" she demanded.
Without
warning a mass of dark shapes surrounded her, growling and whining. I backed
away in alarm. "Jesus—"
"They
won't hurt you." Aphrodite gestured at me impatiently then crooned,
"Runi, Fee—down, get down!'
The
writhing shadows resolved into three immense dogs, the biggest dogs I'd ever
seen. Toby put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Those
are her dogs," he said.
"No
shit." I pulled away from him. One of the dogs jumped toward me, its head
brushing my chest before I pushed it down. Another stood on its hind
legs and pawed at Toby's shoulders. It was so tall it looked as though they
were dancing.
"They
won't hurt you," Aphrodite repeated. The look she gave me was disdainful.
Toby
took a step back, toward the trees. "I better get going," he said.
"I'll see you later."
"Hey,
wait," I said and pushed at a grizzled, narrow muzzle. "I didn't pay
you yet."
"Not
to worry," he said. "You can catch me another time."
"Get
inside," ordered Aphrodite. "Fee! Tara, Runi! Now!'
The
panting dogs receded. As I followed them inside, one thrust its nose against my
hand and stared up at me with moist, imploring eyes.
"I'm
Cassandra Neary," I said as Aphrodite yanked the door shut. "Man,
those are some big dogs. Are they wolfhounds?"
"Deerhounds."
She
hissed a command, and the dogs pattered off. We stood in a narrow foyer, its
pine flooring scratched and furrowed, tattered rugs askew. A line of windows on
the opposite wall looked across the cove to open water and a gray prospect of
islands and gathering cloud. There was a bench heaped with yellow rain slickers
and boots, split kindling and old newspapers, aerosol cans of Deet, several big
flashlights. Kerosene lamps hung from the ceiling alongside coils of rope and a
pair of snowshoes. Aphrodite's small, black-clad figure was incongruous among
all this North Woods clutter. She stared up at me imperiously, finally asked,
"Who did you say you were?"
"Cass
Neary. Cassandra Neary." My mouth went dry. "I'm supposed to—Phil
Cohen said he'd spoken to you. About an interview for Mojo magazine."
"Never
heard of it. An interview?" She made a throaty sound that I realized was a
disgusted laugh. "I never give interviews. Who sent you?"
"Phil
Cohen."
She
continued to stare at me, shrugged and turned away. "Never heard of
him."
"You
never heard of him?" I asked weakly. I thought of what he'd told me.
She
specifically asked for you, God knows why.
Now
I knew why. She hadn't asked for me at all. This was another of Phil s
screwed-up plans, sending me on a fool's errand because he was too lazy or
chickenshit to do it himself.
Another
Phil Cohen favor. And I was so desperate, I'd fallen for it.
"Have
you had breakfast?" It was the same tone she'd used with the dogs.
"I—I
wouldn't mind some coffee." I felt sicker than before but did my best to
sound calm. "Thanks."
"This
way, then."
I
gritted my teeth and comforted myself with
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