Leo took a breath.
Inside, the air smelled of wet wool, old woodsmoke, and something else—something sweet and musky, like overripe pears. The hallway was long and dim, lined with mismatched wallpaper: roses here, stripes there, a patch of faded nautical anchors near the ceiling. A grandfather clock ticked in the silence, but its face had no hands. Welcome to the Peeg House-
Cheap was the only word that mattered. He’d spent his last seventy dollars on a bus ticket to this city, and the shelter had turned him away for the third time. So when the old woman with the milky eye and the lavender perfume had pressed the flyer into his hand at the depot, he hadn’t asked questions. He’d just followed the address. Leo took a breath
The third was just a suit of armor. Empty. But it was rocking gently in a chair by the fireplace, and every few seconds a muffled snore came from inside the helmet. A grandfather clock ticked in the silence, but
“For you? The first month’s free. New peegs always get a trial.”
“Mr. Morning,” the pig said, finally lowering its newspaper. Its eyes were small and kind and terribly old. “He comes by on Tuesdays. Nice enough, for a thing that collects debts in screams. You’ll be in Room 7. Rent’s due on the full moon. We take cash, canned peaches, or secrets you’ve never told anyone.”
The second was a woman—or had been, once. Her skin was the gray-green of a thundercloud, and her hair moved in slow, separate strands, like seaweed in a lazy current. She was knitting what looked like a scarf made of fog.