Page 5 of Beyond the Cottage

When the clock in Ansel’s office chimed ten, he yanked off his spectacles and tossed them on the desk. He’d been sitting there since early afternoon, and in that time, the invoices and correspondence piled around him seemed to have bred, multiplying by the hour.

He pinched his eyelids into the bridge of his nose.

The cost of antibiotics had gone up—again. Clients complained about his product quality going down—as always. The last batch of hypodermic needles had come in rusty, and if his supplier didn’t replace them by the end of the week, business would come to a standstill.

Let it. You’re sick of this shit, anyway.

Soon. In a matter of months, maybe a year, he could light the paperwork scattered across his desk on fire.

Ansel put his spectacles back on and removed a logbook from a cluttered shelf. With a hand shoved in his overgrown hair, he dipped a pen in ink and started adding up columns.

A glowing green blob dripped from the ceiling, landing on the page. He dabbed it with his cuff. Everything in this damned facility was wet, slimy, or decomposing, and keeping up with repairs was more futile than patching a sinking ship with chewing gum. He put an empty coffee mug under the drip and continued scrawling.

Two raps came at the door, and his cousin entered without waiting for an invitation.

Ansel didn’t lift his head. “If you don’t have the needles, don’t bother coming in.”

Jonas tossed a package on the logbook and settled into the battered chair across the desk. The package bore the stampMontel and Co. Medical Supply.Ansel tore it open to find a box of gleaming steel needles. Satisfied at least one problem was solved, he tucked the box in a drawer.

“How did the rest of the run go?” he asked, sifting through the mail Jonas had handed him.

“…Fruitful.”

“Yeah?” Ansel flipped open the newest edition ofPhlebotomy Quarterly.“I hope that swindler Carmichael didn’t try to take us for a ride again. I have no problem finding another grocer.”

“Flour went up a little. And sugar. Other than that, prices were the same.”

Ansel grunted. “Bring everything to the pantry. I’ll look it over tomorrow.” When Jonas remained seated, Ansel looked up. He frowned at his cousin’s wry smirk. “What?”

“I got something else while I was in town. Something that wasn’t on the list.” Jonas scratched the back of his beefy neck. “Not sure how you’re going to feel about it.”

“What.”

Jonas slapped the armrests and got to his feet. He left the office and returned with a lumpy burlap sack draped over hisshoulder. Wearing a shit-eating grin, he dumped the bundle on the floor.

“Jonas. What is it?”

“Open it up.”

The unease in Ansel’s gut warned him he did not want to deal with whatever was in that sack. Surprises from Jonas usually carried the risk of a long-term prison sentence, and their legal standing was gray enough as is.

He opened another periodical. “Get rid of it. Neither of us has time to fence stolen garbage.”

“At least look at her.”

The page Ansel had been turning froze in place. His head came up slowly. “What?”

“I said at least look at—”

“Tell me you aren’t that deranged.”

Grin widening, Jonas tugged the sack off the bundle. Ansel hurried around the desk before faltering to a stop. His cousin was, indeed, that deranged. On Ansel’s floor, in the middle of his goddamn office, lay a petite woman with a long, brown ponytail.

Anunconsciouswoman.

Panic climbed Ansel’s chest as he crouched beside her. He tamped it down. Now wasn’t the time for one of his episodes, he needed tothink.

“Is she injured?” he demanded, feeling around the woman’s scalp.

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