The woman’s head snapped around.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hoffmann.” Celeste composed herself. “How are you doing today?”

Madame Hoffmann gave the woman’s pink hair a hard look, scarlet lips twisting into a sneer. “Degenerate,” she muttered.

Celeste’s phone chimed, and she glanced down at the screen. “Duty calls,” she said, shooting Lia an apologetic glance. “Let me know if you need anything. And welcome to the building.” She pushed herself off the railing and vanished down the stairs, triggering another hysterical tirade of barking.

Lia used the distraction to retreat into her apartment and close the door behind her, abruptly enveloping herself in a stuffy darkness but saving herself from further conversation.

“No wonder you’re angry,” she muttered in the direction of the nude canvas that rested somewhere in front of her. “I’d be angry, too, if I’d lived across from a neighbour like that since 1943.”

She didn’t get an answer.

The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of age and dust, suggesting that the apartment had been unoccupied far longer than the six years Celeste knew about. Lia set her belongings down and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. Deeper in the apartment, on the side that would face the wide, sunny street, faint lines of light were seeping around what Lia surmised must be heavy curtains covering the windows. Enough light to give the suggestion of shapes but not enough for her to see anything clearly.

Carefully, Lia inched forward out of the foyer, past the dim outline of the canvas, and made her way toward the windows. The floor beneath her creaked with each step as if it, too, resented her intrusion. She reached the curtained wall and extended her hand, the tips of her fingers colliding with a heavy fabric that felt like damask. So far, so good. Nothing had jumped out or fallen on her head or run over her toes. She found the edge of the curtain, rings rattling on their rod somewhere above. Without hesitating, she pulled the curtain back.

And regretted it immediately.

As blinding sunlight spilled through the antique panes, thick, choking clouds of dust billowed around her. Lia gagged and coughed, her eyes instantly watering. She fumbled frantically with the latch on the window, relieved beyond measure when it reluctantly gave way. She pushed one of the leaded-glass panels open a crack, ignoring the groan of protest from the hinges, and pressed her face out into the fresh air.

She stayed that way for a good minute, her head stuck out the window, gasping and hacking and trying not to imagine how ridiculous she must look to people passing by down below. Perhaps she should have just left the apartment door wide open. Perhaps she should have sent the charming Madame Hoffmann in first.