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Gryla waited for the tavern landlord to leave her room before straightening up and revealing her shark teeth. The human suspected nothing, just as she had intended. Nevertheless, lodging in official quarters before a job always made her nervous. She preferred the corners of alleyways, hunkered in a heap with her shawl thrown over her elongated body. There were fewer witnesses that way. Fewer do-gooders to link her face to the disappearing children.
Still, her instructions were clear; she had to get close to the workhouse in South London and watch over its entrance without being seen by the workers. The Broken Horse Shoe Tavern was the only place that gave her the view she needed. Anywhere else would have meant risking failure, and that wasn’t an option. Her employer didn’t gi
