Page 72 of Finch

offer support. Hugh nestled closer to him and off they went, a man, his dragon, and a partially

eaten slice of cake.

Finch

Finch rode in the car back to Hugh’s estate while his employer slept, his cheek rested on

Finch’s shoulder. Hugh snored, but very quietly, like a low rumble, and the sound was far more

endearing than it was annoying.

When they arrived back at the house, George opened the car’s door and then helped Finch

remove Hugh from the vehicle. He woke while it happened. His plum-colored eyes opened

wide, and he stared around at things like an astonished child. “Finch. I say. We’re home. How

did that happen?”

“George drove us, sir.”

“Nonsense. The journey took no time at all. Someone used magic. It’s the only explanation.”

“Just the magic of George’s driving, sir. Come, let’s put you to bed.” Finch took one of Hugh’s

arms and George took the other. Hugh shook the other Attendant off, however.

“No. Thank you all the same, George, but I’m not an invalid. Just a bit… ah… woozy. I’ll be

perfectly fine with Finch here. You go run along and do… whatever it is… you do. That’ll be

all.”

George gave Finch a knowing smirk and a wink. “Of course, sir.” That said, he gave a shallow

bow and went to return the car to the garage.

“There,” Hugh said. “Much better. Shall we go?” He started pulling Finch behind him with rather

more strength than Finch had been expecting from a dragon who was higher than a kite.

“Of course, sir.” Finch had to practically trot to keep up after Hugh.

Through the front door they went, across the foyer, and straight past the marble staircase

leading to the second floor. Finch looked back at it uncertainly. It was the quickest and easiest

way to access Hugh’s bedroom, where he assumed the dragon would want to nap. Hugh, it

seemed, had other plans. He led Finch into the east wing of the house, which housed the

barely used library, the somewhat more frequently used conservatory, and—

“My hoard!” Hugh announced as they stood before the thick armored door.

Finch’s heart began to pound much too fast and too hard. A dragon’s hoard was a special

thing, and Hugh wanted to nap with Finch inside his. “Yes, sir. Your hoard.” Finch swallowed.

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