Chapter 10: The Passing

Torin fell asleep with his head in my lap.

It happened between one sentence and the next.

He had been telling me how to reach his mother's rooms.

His voice slowed, and his eyes closed, and the whole weight of him settled against my thighs.

I sat on the floor of his study with my back to the desk and watched him sleep.

His face was younger when it was slack.

The wolf inside him had gone completely still.

I had lived four years down the hall from him and never once seen him sleep.

I eased myself out from under him and laid my sweater under his head.

Then I opened the top drawer of the desk, found the brass key on its leather cord, and went up the stairs alone.

The fortieth floor was dark and smelled of dried herbs.

Winifred's door opened on the first turn of the key.

I stood on her threshold, afraid.

I had never been in this room. Not once in four years. She did not allow it.

It was neat and cold.

Shelves of brown glass bottles went up to the ceiling.

A long worktable held a mortar and a row of knives.

The only chair was a high-backed one with a velvet seat.

There were no photographs anywhere.

I put the lamp on and began to look.

I looked in the drawers and the cabinets and under the cushion of the velvet chair.

I found nothing but herbs and ledgers of dosages.

I was nearly ready to give up when the thing in my chest turned over again.

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