Page 128 -- XIV.

Chapter Fourteen: ‘Foul souls, gather ye wits...’
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Timothy Swank ducked into an alley and held his breath. In a cold sweat, he listened for the footsteps to pass. They did not.

“Are you trying to hide from me?”

He saw the figure there and screamed. “Please...! D-don’t...!”

“Oh, stop your shrieking,” said Geoffrey. Only, it wasn’t Geoffrey. It was one of his expressionless puppets. This one was a girl, and she might have been cute before, but now her sickly pale skin and listless eyes just made Swank want to run away. “I am not going to kill you, Mr. Swank. You are much more useful to me alive.” The rest of her face didn’t match the words coming out of her mouth at all.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to shrink into the brick behind him. “You can make them talk,” he said, trying not to tremble too visibly. “You weren’t doing that yesterday...”

“Yes, I know.” The puppet girl’s smile made Swank cringe.

“I s-still don’t know where Colt is... so, u-um... I mean, I’m looking. Of course I’m looking. But he’s just--no one’s seen him, so, ah, I d-don’t... please...”

“I see. How unfortunate. I just wanted to check in. I am about to go into a meeting, but please keep searching in the meantime.” A red vapor released from the girl’s skin like a kettle just gone off, and she collapsed to the ground, twitching.

Swank thought he might vomit.

The past few days had been hell. He’d barely managed to escape the Rofal mansion with his life. Between Geoffrey, Colt, and that freaky kid in the mask, that place had been an absolute minefield, but somehow, shitting his pants in the corner of the room had been enough to render him beneath notice.