Page 88 of The Wolfing Hour
I could’ve ignored them and tried calling Sexton again, but a quick peek at my door told me that wasn’t necessary. The knob had frosted over, and ice was spreading in spindly winter fingers over the doorjamb.
Grandfather had arrived.
I grabbed a potholder out of the drawer by the stove and went to let him in.
He blew through the living room and into the kitchen like an arctic wind and pulled out a chair at my table. I didn’t know why, when there was a perfectly good sofa in the living room, but I didn’t question it. My kitchen was welcoming. Most people gravitated toward it.
“Tea?” I asked, not wanting to be rude. “It’s peppermint.”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “You called, granddaughter?”
He’d left his grandpa clothes at home and was dressed as his usual self, in heavy black boots and thin black robes that showcased his emaciated, over-sized body.
Oddly, he’d kept the pocket eyeglasses case. He’d added a pocket to the front of his robes and clipped it there. Why, when he had no real use for eyeglasses, I couldn’t have said. It was just another example of the uncanny-valley bizarreness that was Sexton.
“Yes, Icalled,” I said, slapping emphasis on the word. “How’d you get past the park’s protection spell?”
“You are not annoyed with my presence, I hope,” he said, dodging the question. “I realize I neglected to ask your permission before entering your soil, granddaughter, but I was nearer your land than I was my mobile device and felt it important to respond with expediency.”
“But your phone is in your pocket—I heard it ringing,” I pointed out.
“Precisely,” he said, with a cadaver smile.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Didn’t have the time or headspace to delve into that one.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Could it be that you have finally extended an olive branch to your dark-magic side?” His brow bone raised like a stage, long wispy brows an invisible curtain against his colorless skin. “Wonderful news.”
“That’s not why I called,” I said.
His hopeful smile drooped. “Time is not on your side, Lilibet.”
“Understatement of the century,Bertrand.”
“You object to me using your full first name?”
“Only when you say it like you’re lecturing me.”
He appeared thoughtful, as if he were taking my words to heart. Although, I wasn’t sure he had a heart. Anatomically speaking.
“There is no music playing,” he said, after a moment.
Not the response I’d expected, but this was Sexton. “I turned it off. The boys and I were working with runes earlier, and we needed to focus. Guess I forgot to turn it on again.”
“Forgot? Your music brings you comfort.”
“Tonight, it was a distraction.”
“Joy is a distraction.” He nodded once—very slowly. “I understand this. Perhaps better than you might imagine.”
Someday, when I had time, I’d sit with him and let him explain his existence, his cryptic comments, and why everything froze when he touched it. Right now, I had more important things to worry about.
I reached into a pile of photos on the table and extracted the most recent one. Ronan and his wolves had been passing them out around town, and these were the few copies left.
“Who is this exquisite young woman?” Sexton asked when I set it in front of him.
A strange, old-fashioned term to use, though Rory was definitely beautiful and delicate in appearance, as the word suggested.
