A freeing thought blooms in his mind: Davey could be alive, too, and Lulu and Nora and maybe this is all a dream like with the pig farm or maybe this is my Hell – maybe I’m lost in the deep downstairs and this is what I see as I starve and die while wandering the Tangle.

His head swims.

Footsteps. The door ahead of him opens.

His heart hammers. His cheeks flush with a murderous hunger.

Werth.

To make matters worse, Candlefly steps in behind. His hands are in his pockets. He takes a slow heel-to-toe step. He is the very picture of nonchalance.

Werth paces in front of the table.

Mookie says nothing, just a rheumy, rumbling growl.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Candlefly says. “Take your shot.”

“I’m psyching myself up,” Werth says.

Mookie blubbers, “Hey, goat. Your master is tugging your leash.”

“Shut up, Mook.” Werth’s eyes flash.

“Don’t be a pussy, Werth. You wanna hit me, here’s your chance.” He thrusts out his chin far as his bonds allow. “I got a big melon. Easy target. You little gimp. Little weak-kneed limp-dick. Glad my daughter dug a bullet into your hip. How’d it feel to get owned by an eighteen-year-old girl in her school uniform, you fucking–”

Werth comes up on him – a fast hobble, one hand out, grabbing Mookie by the chin. Raspy calluses against Mookie’s stubbled jaw.

“There we go,” Mookie says through clenched teeth. “Cranky old goat.”

“How’s it feel to know your daughter’s upstairs, dying on a bed?”

The flare reignites.

Dying. As in, not dead. As in–

Alive.

Nora.

He almost faints.

But Werth shakes his head back and forth.

“Pay attention, you thick-necked piece of shit. People always said you were stupid but I always figured you were smart. How smart are you, Mook?”

It’s then that Werth raises a quivering fist.

Mookie looks up. Sees the old goat open the fist a little. Inside, something glints. Light shining off jewels. A ball. Davey Morgan’s teaball. Werth’s thumb pops the latch.

A glimpse of bright red powder.

Vermilion. The Red Rage.

Werth turns his thumb, tilts the teaball. Red powder coats his palm. As he works his hands, it greases the knuckles.

Then he hits Mookie hard in the side of the head.

And again in the face.

The jabs aren’t hard, but Mookie knows to make it look good. How smart are you, Mook? He rocks his head back, pretending the take the hit hard. Will the powder mingle with his blood? Will it look like part of the damage done?

With each strike, the thought clear and bright in his mind:

Nora is alive.

Candlefly’s hand catches Werth’s arm.

It’s then he realizes, it’s over. He’s busted.

The man says, “Good enough. Has to be something left of him for the Vollrath to eat.”