The chaotic energy of the room was thankfully not present. The area was calm, the scent of fresh linen overrode even the smells of the park and the city beyond. The feeling of being wrapped up in a soft cloth basket was amplified by the subtle, artistic weave of the cloth strips as well as their surprising thickness.
Laura paid him no mind, staring out at the alley, the street, and the park beyond without so much as a twitch of her hair.
Olivier stepped close the girl, bent down and spoke in her ear with commanding tone. “I am Olivier, Prince of hell, General of the Host, seeker of Redemption. I stand beside you in the Name and ask that you identify yourself.” The words flowed from him, not so much a sound but a lyrical staff of gold and black scribbled into the air and transmitted as a string.
Laura stirred at this. Her legs straightened and her grip shifted from the bars to the top of the rail. She pulled herself up, turned and looked Olivier straight in the eye. Her affect remained flat, her motion less that of a girl and more of a marionette driven hastily and clumsily. Her head twitched to the left, her eyes drooped, and her tongue lolled. A guttural sob began to pour out. Tears flooded her face. Suddenly, she bolted upright as if electrocuted and a sound took shape above her head.
It grew. First in size, then in complexity. A writhing, snarling mixture of golden script and a lyrical staff that erupted in a chorus. The walls shook and the bulbs of the flood lights popped. The fire escape rattled as the sound reverberated between the buildings and crept through the iron stairs. Then, silence. A distant car alarm spilled into the silence and then the rest of the sounds of the city and street returned.
Laura turned away from Olivier and resumed her vigil.
Olivier stepped back and turned to the French doors as James ran into the room.
“What was that?” James was shaking, his arms raised defensively.
Olivier addressed the man as one would a puppy. “Mr. Wilks, return to the parlor and wait for my return. I will have questions for you and Mrs. Wilks.” He looked to Laura then back to James. “I’ll also provide an explanation. Please, sir.”
James took a step back to the door, the talismans catching his eye and he took another step back.
Olivier kept his tone even. “Yes, I’ll explain that as well. To the parlor, Mr. Wilks.”
James turned and walked away.
Olivier waited until the sound of footsteps on the stairs had ceased. He moved to Laura’s side and whispered his gold on black script into her ear. “I will find answers.”
He stepped back to the threshold, focused and adopted his aura to cross through the bedroom. He looked around, studying the details he had noted on the way in. Then he saw it, a single change. The building next to the door now featured another figure. It was not attached to the building but hovering to the side about a quarter of the way up. It was difficult to make out exactly what was intended. At a glance it seemed as if the arms were drawn hastily, outstretched as if falling, but there was another set pointing straight down, as were the legs. It was clear to Olivier this was a crude child’s rendition of an angel. What wasn’t clear was whether the figure was rising in flight or falling.
Olivier stepped into the hallway and checked the talismans along the door. They remained unchanged. He took out his notebook and wrote down the pertinent details of his observations, timing his notation to finish as he reentered the parlor.