It had been a month since Rose had taken the bottles of werewolf blood to Daegol. A month of anticipation and waiting. And with not a single word with how he was progressing, Rose was growing more agitated with every passing day as always, the customer she was helping one morning not helping the matter. 

Standing atop the fitting platform in the middle of the shop, the patron, a woman with much girth and who clearly had money, said, 'Hulda Street is quite the dodgy place, isn't it? If I was you, I'd leave for better pastures. I'm sure my carriage passed some drugged up woman on the way here. Just absolutely filthy. Disgusting.' 

Any other time, Rose would have let the slight slide. Hulda street was more sinister than dodgy but it was home. 

With a measuring tape in hand, and wrapped around the hefty woman's waist, Rose squeezed it tight in redress. The woman yelped like a yappy lap dog as her bulging flab pinched and pressed. 

'Watch it there,' the woman squealed. 

'My apologies, Madame Calloway,' Rose replied, disguising a grin and the wicked glimmer in her eye. 'Now what kind of dress would you like me to make?' 

'A bodice and skirt would do nicely. It's for the First Minister's Ball in two months' time.' Madame Calloway looked down at Rose with an air of superiority. 'That's if you are up to the task.' 

Rather wishing the woman was a werewolf so she could end her morning suffering with a thrill, Rose just droned, 'I'm quite capable.' 

'We shall see about that. And you will only get paid if I approve of the finished product and you get it to me at the time of my choosing. You will still deliver it to me, however, if you fail at these conditions. It would only be right for wasting my precious time.' 

Well, that's how she stays rich, thought Rose. She's a miserly wench. 

After nodding in understanding, Rose threw the measuring tape around her neck and walked over to a rack. She then picked out a bodice and skirt she had previously made, its green fabric ruffled with flower prints and white lace. 'Would something like this do?' 

Madame Calloway tutted. 'No, no, no, dear. That looks ghastly. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing such a thing. I want to be the talk of the town, not a laughing stock.' 

At that, Rose had had enough. She could have used her magic to rid this woman from her sight but decided to do it the old fashioned way. 

'Get out,' she snapped instead, stuffing the bodice and skirt back onto the rack with much force to convey her displeasure. 

Taken aback, Madame Calloway almost fell off the fitting platform. 'Pardon me?' 

'You heard me, you hoity-toity cow. OUT!' 

'Well I never,' Madame Calloway croaked, her whole body shaking with umbrage. 'I will tell my circle of high society friends about this. Mark my words, you lowly scum. Your shop will flounder. You will be ruined. I may even write to the newspapers regarding you.' 

'Be my guest. Now, out!' 

Madame Calloway stumbled from the fitting platform and huffed to the entrance, opening it with a glare. But as she left, Rose waved her hand and the front door hastened her exit, hitting her on the backside. 

Her tumbling squawk made Rose smirk. And after hearing Madame Calloway depart in her carriage, the cab leaving a wake of terrified ramblers in the street, a special someone walked through the front door that instantly brightened the seamstress' mood. 

'Watch where you're going,' Emma yelled after the carriage, raising an arm. And after giving it a rude gesture, she turned to Rose, who was now wearing a warm smile, and said, 'Morning, Miss.' 

'Morning, Emma,' Rose replied. 'I haven't seen you in weeks. I hope everything is well.' 

'As good as can be.' 

'That's good to hear. And how may I help you? What brings you here?' 

'Just come to ask your opinion on something, Miss. After the whole shit-collecting didn't pan out for me, I've been looking through the classifieds.' Emma pulled out a newspaper. 

'You know my offer still stands. About you becoming my apprentice.' 

'And my opinion hasn't changed, Miss.' 

Rose snorted a laugh. 'Well, it will always be there if you want it. So, what do you want to ask me?' 

'I remember you telling me that you were a nanny when you were younger.' 

'That's correct.' 

'Well, there's an announcement looking for one and I was wondering if you think it would be a good fit for me.' Emma walked over and handed Rose the newspaper, pointing to the advertisement in question. 'There's an interview for the position coming up soon.' 

Rose stared down at the posting, surprised that it took up most of the page, but quickly learned the reason why. 

Nanny Wanted 

Mr Adam Bronfell of Bronfell and Associates is looking for a caring and responsible nanny. You must love children, be reliable, trustworthy, punctual and well-presented. You will be required to work weekdays. . . . 

Rose skipped the rest of the notice, her eyes resting on the portrait below. It was of Mr Bronfell and his two children, a boy and a girl, and below that was the time and address that the interviews would be held. 

'Can you believe it, Miss?' said Emma. 'Mr Bronfell. The Mr Bronfell. He's one of the richest people in the city. I'm sure he'd pay a fortune in wages.' 

'I'm sure he would,' Rose replied with a smile, but deep down her anger and agitation had returned, for she knew Mr Bronfell's secret, knew of the patriarchal beast residing in the man. And being that she didn't want Emma anywhere near him, she said to the girl, truthful or not, 'I'm sorry to burst your enthusiasm, Emma, but I'm sure Mr Bronfell is looking for someone with a tremendous amount of nannying experience. I'm sure he's also looking for someone with a higher education. Someone who went to a nanny or governess school. And someone who is much older. Even if I went for the interview, I probably wouldn't get the position.' 

Emma slumped her head at the words, sending Rose's heart plummeting. 

'Yeah, I thought it would be a long shot,' Emma finally replied. 'Oh, well, back to the drawing board I guess.' 

'You know, if nannying is what you want to do, you could go to school and get the education that you need.' 

'School? I think you're losing it, Miss. You need a lot of money to go to school and as you should know very well by now that I have little to my name.' 

'I know your situation, Emma, but what if–' 

'I'm not taking your money, Miss. That's final.' 

Emma now looked a little cross and Rose just bowed her head in acceptance. The seamstress was then ready to hand the girl back the newspaper when the shop's front door opened and in walked a woman. Looking like most of the downtrodden around Hulda Street, her face was barely visible under a thick layer of dirt and grime. Her neck too, of which a blackened necklace with a heart-shaped locket hung too loosely. Her hair was thin, as if large clumps had been pulled out, and her eyes were vacant.

'May I help you, ma'am?' Rose asked her, but she got no response. 

'Miss, I think she's not all in the head if you know what I mean,' Emma whispered. 'I suspect she's a frequent visitor to one of those drug dens that I've seen around the city.' 

'I think you're right,' Rose replied, as the woman began fumbling around the shop, touching what her hands could grasp. 

'Miss, she's dirtying your clothes,' Emma said before yelling at the woman. 'Hey, you! You shouldn't be doing that. Stop it!' 

'Leave her, Emma. I'll deal with it.' 

But Emma didn't listen. The girl marched over, grabbed one of the woman's wrists and said angrily, 'Miss Harrower, the owner of this shop, spends a lot of time making these–' 

'Emma, please, I said I'll deal with it,' Rose said sternly right before the swaying woman slung back her free hand and brought it down on Emma, sending the girl clutching her face and soon running out of the shop in sobs. 

Rose started after her, but Emma was too quick to flee. Then with anger, the seamstress turned back to face the woman, slammed down Emma's newspaper and drew closer. 

And it was then that Rose could smell it. It was the faintest stench of a beast she had ever breathed. The wolf inside was beyond weak. Sickly. Diseased. Not strong enough to emerge, to transform. Empty as the vessel that held it. 

But Rose didn't care. A werewolf was a werewolf. With a wave of her hand, the shop's blinds closed and the front door locked. 

'Time to join the others.'