Page 37 of Kill the Beast
THEY EMERGED FROMa brick wall in a little town called Sunnyside. It looked to be about six o’clock in the evening, though one would hardly know it in this sleepy suburb. Warham would have been teeming with bankers and lawyers and their clerks heading home from the office, but Sunnyside was as empty as if it had been the early hours of the morning.
Lyssa checked the position of the setting sun and went north, walking up and down identical streets until she found the one she was looking for.
The sight of the house was always jarring, at first—the exterior a dull gray instead of the soft blue her mother had loved so much, the white fence that had replaced the wrought iron her father had installed himself, the hedges that now lined the short path to the door. She wondered if the roses had been too much work for the new owner, with winters this cold. Few had the patience—or the green thumb—that her mother had been blessed with. The ash tree was still towering over the back fence, though, same as always, and that was all that mattered for their current purposes.
Brandy whined, and Lyssa tightened her hold on his collar. The bullmastiff strained against her grip, his entire body wagging with excitement at the sight of their old home.
“What’s gotten into him?” Alderic asked, and Lyssa flinched. She had been so lost in memory that she’d forgotten he was there.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “There must be rodents around. He only gets like this when there are rats to chase.”
“Too bad we can’t use a gnawed-on rat as one of our items.” He turned to look at her. “What ash wood are you going to use?”
“A branch from that tree across the street,” she said, pointing with her chin since she was still wrestling with a dog who wanted very much to visit the house where he had spent his puppyhood.
“Ah. What significance does it have? Did one of the victims live here? Or is it a place you—”
“You don’t need to know its significance.”
“I suppose I don’t,” he said, but he sounded hurt. “What’s the plan, then?”
Lyssa studied the house, the empty streets. “I’ll hop the fence and take a branch before anyone notices. You stay here with Brandy and act as lookout. If you see anyone, make a bird noise or something.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Alderic said. “Someone will certainly notice a gargantuan woman climbing over the neighbor’s fence and alert the authorities.”
She glared at him. “Do you have a better idea?”
“As a matter of fact, I think I do.”
And to her horror, he strode briskly across the street toward the house. Brandy whined and lurched forward with such fervor that Lyssa almost lost her grip on his collar. “Al, wait! What are you doing?” she hissed, but it was too late. He had already knocked on the door. “Ungharad’s flaming sword,” she swore, then took off after him, still hanging on to Brandy’s collar as best she could.
A girl in servants’ dress answered. “I’ll fetch Mrs. Jensen,” she told Alderic with a broad smile and a curtsy, vanishing back into the house. It wasn’t long before she was replaced on the threshold by a small-statured woman with graying curls framing her face and a prominent birthmark on her cheek.
“What do you want?” Her tone was clipped, impatient. She clearly did not have time for them.
“Hello, madam,” Alderic said with a little bow. “My name is Al, and I’m from A and L Arboreal Health Services. I’m here to speak to you about the tree in your backyard.”
“What about it?” Her gaze darted past him, to where Lyssa was struggling to keep Brandy from barging into the house, and hereyes narrowed. “I’ve seen her before. Always lurking about, staring at my house. I don’t know who you lot are, but—”
“A and L Arboreal Health Services,” Alderic repeated. “Or AHS, if you prefer abbreviations. We simply—”
“Whatever it is you want, we are not interested.”
But Alderic wasn’t deterred in the slightest—maybe because Mrs. Jensen hadn’t slammed the door in his face yet. “My companion here has been ‘lurking about’ because it is her job to monitor the health of the trees in this town, and she has grave concerns about the ash in your yard.”
That seemed to give Mrs. Jensen pause, despite her harried attitude. “What kind of concerns?”
“We’re not certain yet,” he said. “In fact, I was wondering if we might take a sample. A twig or a small branch would be sufficient. You’ll hardly notice it missing. That way we can bring it back to our laboratory and test it for wood lice, termites, things of that nature.”
“It looks fine to me,” Mrs. Jensen said sharply. “Been here since we bought the house, over a decade ago. Doesn’t look any different than it did then.”
“Infestations, infections, and arboreal influenza are all invisible to the untrained eye,” Alderic said. He gestured to Brandy, who was straining so hard against Lyssa’s hold that his front legs were in the air, his collar pressing against his windpipe in such a way that his panting sounded like hoarse coughs. “The dog has been trained to detect such things by smell alone, and as you can see, he is quite agitated. If the tree is not treated soon, it’s possible that it might come down at the slightest provocation. You wouldn’t want a tree falling on your house the next time the breeze picks up, I’m sure.”
“Of course not,” she snapped, “but we simply don’t have the money to spare for—”
“Oh, it’s free of charge, madam,” Alderic said. “I should have mentioned that before. Our only concern is the health and safety of this neighborhood and the trees and people populating it.”
For some reason, that seemed to upset her further. “If only everyone were so concerned about our health as to provide services free of charge,” she said bitterly. “Come back in a month or two. I’ll deal with the tree then. I’ve more important concerns right now.”
