Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I laughed, thinking of his golden retriever, who was more goofball than watchdog, except when it came to the chickens he loved. On the long, cold, dark winter nights, he had to stay in, and coyotes and other wildlife would have gone into the henhouse if not for Gwyn, Osko, and Dar. As animals sensed things humans did not, just having the dogs prowling near Troy and Rita’s property line was enough to keep everything away.
“Have you ever seen these supposed dogs, sir?” I baited him.
“No, sir, I have not,” he bantered back. “But maybe one day. I’m very hopeful.”
I shook my head, and he chuckled. Delia got up and hugged him.
He looked at me with both shock and wonder on his face. They were having a breakthrough, and I was thrilled to have helped in any small way.
Once they left with their two witch’s ladders, Cass said she was going to head home as well because her uncle had made it a rule that everyone be there for dinner.
“Okay,” I told her. “We’ll ride together.”
“Oh no, I don’t want you to—”
“Cass, I would never let you ride home in the dark alone,” I said flatly. “That could never happen.”
“Because of the dead girl?”
“No. Because it’s not safe wherever you are, and how would you even tell me that you got home safe?”
“That’s true,” she agreed.
I glanced at Argos lying in front of the fire, doing a really good impression of being a rug. I could have sent him with her—if he would have gotten up—and she would have been safe, but no one would understand that. Plus, Cass didn’t need the trauma of seeing him transform into the daemon he was. It could be alarming.
“Watch the house,” I told him as I bundled up, putting on layers, my heavy wool knit jacket, scarf, and hat.
He yawned and narrowed his eyes at me as though I was too tedious for words. Of course he’d watch the house; it belonged to him, didn’t it? But really, I knew what he was thinking, couldn’t the house watch itself?
I shook my head, and followed Cass out the front door.
“You didn’t lock it,” she told me.
“It locks automatically,” I assured her which, technically, was true. No one who wasn’t known to the house would ever be allowed to enter.
We walked our bikes to the end of my drive and then we were off.
It was a nice night. The wind wasn’t gusting, but instead at our backs, pushing us along. The moon was bright, in its Waning Gibbous stage, and while it was cold for me—once it dipped below fifty I was always in layers—Cass looked like she was enjoying the low-forties temperature.
We were talking as we rode, already halfway to her house, when her phone rang.
“Hi, Uncle Lorne,” she said, putting him on speaker before he got a word out. “I’m on my way home, so don’t have an aneurysm.”
“I’m not—what do you mean you’re on your way?”
“Me and Xander are on our bikes, and we’re almost there.”
“Xander Corey?”
“Yes,” she answered, and I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything, because really? How many Xanders did he know in this town? “I told Dad when I called that I was going to his house, and Xander insisted on riding home with me.”
“Why?” he asked, sounding both irritated and pained.
“Why did I go over to his house, or why am I riding home with him?”
“Either. Both.”
“Do you not like Xander for some reason?”
“I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion, but clearly, he’s a bit of a kook.”
Cass snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“I’m on speaker, aren’t I.”
“Yes,” I replied flatly. “The kook can hear you.”
“It’s too late to bike. Just drive,” he very nearly yelled at me.
“On what? His broom?” Cass teased him. “Witches don’t actually ride brooms, Uncle Lorne. That’s a ridiculous myth that dates back to the fifteenth century.”
“Did Mr. Corey tell you that?”
Mr. Corey. For heaven’s sake. “It’s just Xander,” I corrected him.
“I—”
“No,” she replied. “We had a whole unit on the Salem Witch Trials, and the other lesser-known ones, in social studies.”
“Oh,” he said with an aggrieved sigh. “Well, I’ll come get you, then. Just wait and—”
“Did you miss the part where I said I’m on my way? We’re close now, so don’t worry about it.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Your father ate already, so he’s reading in bed, but I’m waiting to have dinner with you. I want to know if you got your Beowulf paper back yet.”
“I did. Thank you for reading it and helping me. I…”
I lost track of their conversation because something moved on my left. And normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal because on my bike, I would have seen it in passing. The problem was that something, not on the road but farther back, near the trees, was keeping pace with us.