She poured him another cup of freshly made tea from the fat, brown teapot and he sat at her scrubbed kitchen table and cupped the enamel mug in hands. Mugs in the kitchen. China in the parlor. “How are you, Mrs. Finn? How is he?”
“He’s dreaming,” she said. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Dreaming?”
“I think he’s dreaming of the Creature. He talks in his sleep. It’s only started since the weekend.” She paused. “I wanted to ask you. Do you think it’s coming back?” She wouldn’t meet his eye. “I heard you saying there was a person come through. Have they brought one with them?”
It was a valid question, Lew thought. He let the silence ride, thinking it all through. “No,” he said, finally. “No, I don’t think she has. She feels safe. Very powerful, but not evil. Not that greasy,
