Chapter 4: Terms

I carried the camera downstairs at midnight and put it on Conal's kitchen table.

"Look at frame two hundred and twelve."

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and bent over the little screen.

He studied it for a long time.

His jaw moved once.

"That's Gisela's hand on the wax," he said.

"And Portia's thumb on the seal."

"What's the black one?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

He straightened up and gave the camera back.

"My father had a word for black wax," he said. "He never said what it meant. He only said not to touch it."

"Your father knew the Lowells?"

"My father kept this light for forty years. He knew everybody."

He turned toward the stove and ladled soup into two bowls.

I sat down, because my legs asked me to.

"I want to set some rules," I said.

"Good. I'm fond of rules."

"I stay three nights. I'll pay full rent, because I'm not anybody's charity."

"Three nights," he agreed. "No rent."

"Full rent, Cardross."

"Fine. You can pay in dishes."

"Separate rooms."

"There's one with a bolt," he said. "I put it in myself."

I took a breath.

"And we don't talk about what my wolf did at the gate."

His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

"What did your wolf do at the gate?"

"You know exactly what she did."

He set the spoon down very carefully.

"I won't say it," he said. "Not unless you do first."

"That's the rule. Neither of us says it."

"Agreed."

He looked at me, and I looked at my soup.

Ember lay with her chin on her paws, and I could feel her smiling.

After the first bowl I opened my phone and started filing disputes.

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