Page 83 of Fangs for the Memories
“I’m sorry,” I say. “If I wasn’t such a terrible judge of character, you’d never have been caught up in all of this.”
“This”—Lucy gestures to her computer—“is the sort of thing I live for. Especially as my firm only ever deals in stupid rich drunks who fall afoul of the law. This is much more fun.”
Her phone chimes and she picks it up.
“Group chat. I’ve told them we’re busy,” Lucy says. “But that you’re okay.”
“They’ll be beside themselves. I should text.” I dig in my pocket for my phone.
It’s not there.
Lucy gives me a wry smile and pulls something out. “Sorry, Grace.” She slides it over the counter. “I think it’s DOA.”
The screen is shattered and completely gone in one corner. I groan, dropping my head back.
“I’ve got an old one somewhere you can use,” Lucy says.
“What’s the point?” I slump next to her.
“You’d miss our witty repartee.” She smiles, covering my hand with hers. “We’re going to fix this, I promise. You deserve to be happy.”
“This is hardly happy.” I sniff.
“Have a little faith. I’ve known you long enough to know what makes you happy, and I can see it is Ferenc.”
“You can?”
“He sent you here when things were dangerous, and as much as you didn’t like it, as much as it hurt you, it was the right thing to do. He thought about you, and only you. If he can’t make you happy, no one can.”
I choke back a sob. “Why am I always crying around you lately?”
“It’s my sparkling personality and winning ways.” Lucy laughs. “Everyone says so.” She gently squeezes my hand. “You should get some rest, mama. You can have my bed.”
“And you’re sharing with the werewolves?” I laugh soggily. Lucy makes a face. “Joking.”
I squeeze her hand back. Lucy lives the closest to central London out of all of us. We often crash at her place and it’s full of extra mattresses.
“Speaking of werewolves, I’d better let them know they get the couch tonight and they can do with that information what they will,” Lucy says, standing up and stretching.
“I’ll do it.” I get to my feet wearily.
Somehow, I feel like I’m a little bit closer to Ferenc because they’re part of his pack. I walk down the passage to Lucy’s living room and stick my head in.
Both wolves are fast asleep, one laid over the top of the other.
“Pizza coma,” Lucy says quietly behind me. “Looks like it even affects werewolves. Should we wake them?”
“I think they’ve had almost as much excitement as I have today. Let them sleep.”
I take a blanket from the arm of a chair and gently drape it over the pair, who sleep on, apparently oblivious to their surroundings.
All I can think about is Ferenc, alone in a cell, unable to see the moon.
Lucy gives me a hug after I close the door.
“You’re going to be a great mother,” she says quietly.
“I’d very much like it if we could get the father out of prison first.”
