Babayaga

“Not a very romantic one. The woman has both the thickest ankles and the most equine features you’ve ever seen, but she does know a few writers I need to meet. I’d put it off if I could, but I can’t. Come by my place first thing tomorrow. I have a few notions on our case that I think will interest you.”

Will shook his head. “I can’t come by tomorrow, I’ve been out of the office too much.”

“Well, then, we’ll find some opportunity to catch up over the next few days, and in the meantime I’ll do some poking around on my own. For now you’ll have to excuse me. I would offer to share a cab, but I’m sure we’re going in very different directions.”

With that, Oliver gave him a small smile, jumped into a taxi and was off, leaving Will once again bobbing in his wake. This pattern was growing absurd. Will looked at his watch. He had told Zoya he would come after dinner, and it didn’t seem right to show up early. So, feeling a bit stranded, he wandered down to rue Monge and found a bistro where he ate a pile of moules marinières and drank a half carafe.

Afterward he hailed a taxi and gave the driver Zoya’s address. As the cab took him toward Pigalle, Will thought about Oliver’s last little outburst. It had only been a quick flash, but Oliver had seemed honestly hurt, angry, and almost human there for a moment. Will smiled to himself, it had been a refreshing sight.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of Zoya’s building, Will was a little taken aback. The hotel made Ned’s seedy Arc Hotel seem luxurious by comparison. He walked in and saw the clerk fast asleep at the front desk. Will looked down to double-check the address written there and found the room number, 5A. The elevator was out of order so he took the stairs. A little winded by the time he reached the top, he paused and looked down the hall. The door to 5A was slightly ajar. Inside he could see flickering sparks of light. Feeling a little cautious, he walked down the hallway, gently pushed open the door, and ran into a tremendous amount of electricity.

VII

VIII

Vidot was quite pleased with his perch. Elga had tucked Max the rat into the space between her sweater and blouse, resting him in her shirt pocket. Vidot had crawled up from the rat’s belly and now stood high atop Max’s skull. He felt like a Persian satrap riding atop a great elephant. The top of Max’s head sticking out from Elga’s hefty bosom gave Vidot an almost unobstructed view of the street ahead as they walked.