Chapter 70: The Maddening Landlady, Part One
Chapter 70: Chapter 70: The Maddening Landlady, Part One
Chapter 70: The Maddening Landlady, Part One
Cyrus yawned not long after leaving The Full Moon Lounge.
It came out of nowhere, sudden enough to make him stop under the streetlight and immediately reassess his life choices.
That was a warning.
When he got home, he would make a hot drink, take cold medicine, and go to bed before his body decided to become dramatic again. Getting chilled, feverish, and helpless once had already been enough. If it happened twice in a short stretch and a certain woman ever heard about it, she would probably laugh until she forgot to breathe.
A Frostborn still needed dignity.
The road back to the apartment was calm. Storefronts had begun to darken, traffic had thinned, and the damp night air carried the faint smell of salt from the coast. Cyrus stopped at a convenience store on the way and bought two hot chicken sliders to start with. They were cheap, warm, and small enough to count as an appetizer rather than a real meal, which meant they would not interfere with the packed dinner Daphne Whitlock had prepared for him.
Life, under the right conditions, could be very pleasant.
He had award money tucked away, dinner waiting, work finished, and no one dragging him back into a locked room. Once the weather grew colder and his wallet grew a little less tragic, he might even look around Grayhaven properly. People kept saying the city had good places to visit. There were old coastal trails, lookout points, little museums, and streets near the water that tourists apparently found charming.
Cyrus had never been a tourist anywhere.
Maybe Grayhaven would be a good place to start.
He walked beneath the quiet moonlight, thinking of future plans that depended on money, good health, and nobody finding him too quickly.
The apartment building came into view before long.
Cyrus climbed to the third floor, took out his key, and had just reached his door when the apartment beside his opened.
The hallway light was poor, the old bulb above the stairs leaving half the corridor in dull yellow shadow. Even so, Daphne Whitlock’s figure was easy to recognize. She stood in her doorway, dressed for home rather than school, her posture relaxed enough to look casual if someone did not pay attention.
Cyrus paid attention.
"You’re back now," Daphne said.
"I got off work a little while ago."
She closed her own door behind her and stepped closer.
Only then did Cyrus notice how steadily she was watching him.
Her hands were behind her back.
Daphne was a little shorter than him without classroom heels, but the difference did not make the exchange feel easier. The main obstacle between their attention was still his bangs, which he appreciated more than usual.
Cyrus put his key into the lock.
"Is something wrong, Ms. Whitlock?"
"It is nothing serious."
That answer did not improve anything.
Daphne came to stand beside him as he opened the door. Her attention passed over his shoulder and into the apartment before he could move inside. A thin draft of cool air leaked through the doorway, brushing the hallway.
Cyrus felt her notice it.
Then Daphne brought her hand forward.
A familiar food container rested in her grip.
Cyrus was about to thank her when she spoke first.
"Someone in the building reported that a tenant might be keeping a small pet," she said. "Do you mind if I check your unit?"
Cyrus paused.
Before he could answer, Daphne placed the container into his arms, turned sideways, and slipped past him into the apartment.
The building did have a no-pets rule. Cyrus remembered seeing it in the lease paperwork, somewhere near the parts about noise, trash, and not blocking the fire escape. He had no pet, unless a handheld game console and several bags of snacks counted as living creatures with rights.
Daphne reached for the light switch.
The room brightened.
She began checking the apartment with the focused calm of someone who knew exactly what she was searching for. The bathroom door opened. The small balcony curtain moved aside. She checked near the window, behind the curtain, beside the couch, and under the bed. She even crouched low enough to inspect the space beneath the frame.
Cyrus remained near the entry, holding the food container.
"I’m not keeping any pets."
"I heard you."
Daphne opened the closet.
That was less like looking for an animal and more like looking for a person.
Cyrus’s grip tightened around the container.
Something was wrong.
Had Daphne discovered something? That should have been impossible. He had been careful during the entire Cory incident. He had not left evidence in her apartment, had not used anything that could tie Cory to Cyrus, and had not left so much as a strand of white hair behind.
At least, he thought he had not.
Maybe this really was about a pet.
Cyrus stayed by the doorway and let her search. Daphne had landlord access to the building, and that power mattered more than fairness while she was already inside. The apartment was supposed to be his space, but the keys, cameras, rules, and maintenance notices all reminded him whose name stood above his on paper.
He could object later.
Preferably after she was no longer inspecting every place someone could hide.
Daphne checked the last corner, then straightened.
There was no Cory anywhere in the room.
There was no white-haired child tucked under the bed, hidden behind the curtains, or waiting in the closet.
The result did not ease her expression.
Her first theory had been wrong.
The camera footage had shown Cory entering Cyrus’s apartment and never leaving again, at least not in any form Daphne could identify. Cyrus’s room did contain the game console she had given away. It also held snacks that matched what Cory liked. Those details connected them, but they did not explain where the child had gone.
That left the more impossible possibility.
Daphne walked back toward the entrance.
Cyrus stepped aside to make room.
"Thank you again for dinner," he said belatedly. "You went through the trouble after work, and I appreciate it."
"You’re welcome."
The reply was even.
Cyrus assumed she would leave and close the door behind her. He turned toward the small couch, set the food container on the low table, and sat down.
The door shut.
Then the lock clicked.
Cyrus’s head lifted.
Daphne had not left.
She stood inside the apartment, one hand still near the lock, her body between him and the only normal exit.
The pressure in the room changed.
Cyrus’s appetite disappeared.
"Is there something else, Ms. Whitlock?"
"Yes, there is."
"What did you need?"
Daphne did not move from the door. Her voice stayed light, almost conversational.
"Cyrus, did you know the apartment hallways have cameras now?"
That was bad.
Cyrus kept his face steady through effort alone.
"I know now. Thank you for telling me."
"You’re very welcome."
She sounded as if she might be smiling.
Cyrus did not find the matter funny.
When had the cameras been installed? Why had nobody warned him? Should there not have been a notice in the lobby, an email, a paper taped to the elevator, some small mercy for people who occasionally had supernatural problems in public spaces?
If he had known there were hallway cameras, he would not have played that trick even with ten extra lives.
The room itself had no camera. That mattered. As long as nobody had recorded the transformation directly, he could deny everything. Normal people did not jump from a missing child to a Frostborn body changing size. They would think of family trouble, trespassing, costumes, runaway kids, hidden relatives, anything before the truth.
The balcony was also an option.
Third floor or not, Cyrus could survive the drop if he jumped correctly. The landing would hurt, and it would ruin dinner, but it would not kill him.
Then again, Daphne was only one woman. He might not need to run.
Daphne’s attention shifted toward the balcony for half a breath.
She had seen him look.
Her phone appeared in her hand.
"By the way," she said, "did you know a tenant reported a missing child?"
Cyrus’s chest tightened.
"I know that now too."
"I checked the cameras."
He said nothing.
Daphne lifted her phone.
The screen showed the emergency call keypad, already open to the number nine-one-one.
Her voice lowered, carrying a calm finality that made the small apartment feel much smaller.
"I wonder what Cory has to say about this."
The name struck harder than the phone.
Cyrus looked at her.
So she knew that much.
Or she thought she knew enough.
"I can explain."
Daphne’s attention sharpened at once.
Cyrus stood and walked toward her slowly.
Her deliberate emphasis on Cory had made the situation clear. Before anything else, he needed to remove the word kidnapping from the room. A teacher calling the police over a missing child was a problem. A landlord with hallway footage and a locked door was worse. A report that somehow connected Cyrus Calder to Cory would be disastrous even if no one believed the supernatural part.
The phone had to go first.
Daphne stood her ground.
That confidence made things simpler in one way. If she panicked, shouted, or retreated into the hall, the situation would scatter beyond his control. If she stayed close, he could take the phone, calm her down, explain just enough, and appeal to her sense as a respected teacher and an adult.
At minimum, he needed to avoid being labeled a kidnapper.
The distance between them narrowed.
Cyrus’s hand moved.
He reached for the phone.
Daphne caught his wrist before his fingers touched the screen.
The speed was wrong.
The strength was worse.
A force far heavier than her frame should have produced wrenched his arm aside, turned his balance against him, and drove him down before he could correct his footing. His shoulder hit first, then his back, and the food container on the table rattled from the impact.
Cyrus found himself pinned against the floor.
Daphne stood over him, still holding his wrist.
Her voice carried a teasing note that did not belong in the situation at all.
"Oh, so you really want me to call the police?"