Owl familiars are not uncommon on the Ibis Islands. They’re reliable, have excellent night vision, are wise, and seem to have opinions about how magic should be cast. Sebastian is… Well, he looks very disappointed in me right now, as I practice my spells in the small attic room of my master’s home. I wish he’d just stop staring at me as if I’d just missed catching my prey. His golden eyes narrow at me, and he seems to almost sigh when I miscast my spell again. I read through the symbols again, then retrace them through the air with my hands more carefully. For a moment, I almost think it might work, but then the water in the cup I’ve set on my writing desk just sort of fizzles out, becoming a small cloud of steam. It’s not what I intended. It was supposed to become a sphere.

With a frustrated sigh, I go over the symbols again more slowly, taking special note of the dots. My brain is buzzing with weariness, and the words on the page seem to circle, and become shapeless blobs as my eyes struggle to remain open. I mutter a curse beneath my breath, which causes Sebastian to tilt his head to one side, and turn to face me.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” I huff. “You say worse things to other owls, I’m sure.”

He blinks at me, then returns his gaze to the window, where the light of the moon is pouring in. He shakes his black wings exposing the silver beneath them, then begins to screech, becoming impatient with me, ready for his nightly hunt. I reach towards the window latch, and he pecks my hand, aggressively, rushing me like he does every night.

“STOP!” I shout at him, tapping his beak when he snaps at me once more. “That’s enough. You’ve made your point.”

He shakes his feathers, stepping back as I pull open the window, then eyes me carefully, his head tilting to one side just before he takes off into the night. Returning my attention to my spell book, I go over the symbols one final time, then give up. If Sebastian is gone, it might be time for me to get some sleep. I take up my book, and slip it inside a hole I’ve cut into my mattress.

After changing into a nightgown, I tie my hair up, then go to sleep, feeling a chill through the slightly opened window. I pull the covers tightly around me, falling asleep from weariness despite the cold.

Sebastian pecks at my nose, and flutters his feathers into my face, screeching at the top of his lungs. I reach over, and shove him away, groaning as I sit up, my back aching from the lumpy mattress. Sebastian positions himself beneath my fingers as I stretch, and yawn. The sun isn’t even fully up yet, and the temptation to swat at Sebastian for waking me so early is strong, but when he twitters, I instantly forgive him. He pushes himself against my fingertips, and I scratch his head until I’m alert enough to begin my day.

“Good morning, Bazzy,” I greet. “Did you have an enjoyable evening?”

“I did,” he says quietly, nodding his head. “I caught a nice big, fat rat. When I bit into him his blood-”

Sebastian is always more vocal in the morning after a good meal.

“I don’t need the details,” I groan. “It’s too early for that.”

“Sorry. How did you sleep?”

I groan in response, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

After splashing cold water on my face from a basin in the corner of the room, I tie my hair back, and put on my gray collared uniform dress and white apron. I stare at myself in the full length mirror on my closet door. Each strand of my dark brown hair is pinned so tightly in place, I already feel a headache coming on. My dark brown eyes stare back at me, weary from my long nights of studying. In the mirror, I notice Sebastian staring out the window, fluttering his wings, nervously hopping from one side of his perch to the other.

“What’s the matter, Baz?”

“Nothing,” he twitters. “I feel uneasy.”

I hum as I slip into my shoes; a pair of black, leather flats. “Is that so?”

“Be careful today.”

I nod, as I make my way to the door.

With my hand on the doorknob, I turn back to him, and give him a smile. “Feel free to sleep in my bed today. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat up here, or take a nap.”

With a small puff of wind, he goes into his human form, then furrows his brows looking purposely disappointed. His human form is striking with tan skin, wavy, black hair half done up in braids that are decorated in silver beads. The same golden eyes that look at me from beneath his feathers in his owl form now give me a worried look.

“You won’t skip lunch, will you?”

“No, I won’t. I just can’t take it up here. We’re preparing for the arrival of the master's family. His mother will be in town.”

“Is she…” He stares up at the ceiling a moment, searching for the right word. “Mean-spirited? Cruel?”

“I’ve never met her before.”

“If she’s anything like-”

“It’s alright, Baz-”

“It’s not alright. I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t help me, Baz. I need to keep this job. You need to remain hidden. We cannot run again. Do you understand? I like it here.”

“Is it because you like the master’s son?”

“It helps some,” I say, with a wink. “Be good. Stay quiet. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, Miss Clara.”

In the kitchen, Maria is already baking fresh bread, and grinding coffee beans. The windows are all open, allowing the bright morning sunshine and gentle breeze to pour in. A bowl of fresh fruits sit on the table, washed and ready for prepping. I sneak an acerola cherry into my mouth, just as Maria places her oven mitts on the small wooden breakfast table.

“Morning, Maria.”

“Clara,” she says, in her usual commanding tone.

I freeze in place, and wait for her instructions, but when she looks up at me, her face falls.

“Clarita,” she says quietly, her lip curling into a pitying smile. “You didn’t sleep.”

“I didn’t,” I admit, fidgeting with the ends of my apron.

She walks up to me, a slight limp in her step, and places a hand on my shoulder, then leans over slightly, to meet me at eye level, her bright green eyes piercing through me.

“Why, mija?”

“I was studying, Maria,” I huff. “You know I study at night.”

She pushes back a strand of white hair that falls over her face, and tucks it neatly into the hair bun on her head, readjusting the pins that hold it in place.

“You know that’s a waste of time.”

She turns her attention to the fruits on the table, taking the whole bowl into her arms, and carrying it over to the sink.

“I know that’s what you think.”

“You should focus on your work, fixing your appearance so that you can find a suitable husband, and saying your prayers, Clara, not doing…” She leans over towards me, cupping her mouth as she whispers. “Not doing magia.”

“I’m going to start dusting. You should mind the bread. It looks like something is burning.”

She gasps, and as she occupies herself with the oven, I grab my duster, which hangs by the back door on a nail.

Upstairs, I tiptoe into Miguel’s room. Miguel is young and scrawny, with dark skin, and hair so black, it looks almost blue in the light. He looks the exact opposite of his father, who is pale, with blonde hair, and striking green eyes.  Miguel sleeps soundly as I take the end of my duster, and tickle his nose with it. He scrunches his face up, turning away, pulling the covers over his head.

“Miguel,” I whisper. “Good morning.”

He emerges slowly from beneath the covers, his warm hazel eyes seemingly smiling when he spots me.

“Clara.”

Miguel wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me down into the bed next to him with a cheerful laugh, curling up into my lap.

“Tell me, Clara,” he says cheerfully. “Tell me about the witch of Ibis Islands.”

“Ah, sí, that’s where I left off. The witch of Ibis Islands is old, and scary, with fingers stuck in the shape of claws!” I form a claw with my hands, and tickle him, stopping only when I think he’s getting too loud, and will wake the others in the household. “She travels using the mists of the mountains, and the gust of winds in the air, and the-”

“The waters that flow through the seas.”

“Sí. They say if you see her, it’s already too late. You’re already dead, and she has come to reclaim your soul.”

“Why does she want your soul?” he asks, his question rehearsed.

“Porque, that’s how she gets her power. You know what her favorite types of souls are?”

“No,” he says, wide-eyed.

“The souls of misbehaving, little boys!” I say, tickling him with my clawed hands. “So you better be on your best behavior while your abuela is here, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, defeated. “How is Baz?”

“He’s upstairs sleeping, but maybe you can seem him later today-”

“Ya-”

“If you behave.”

His head hangs. “Yes, Clara.”

“Good boy. Now go wash up. I have to get to work. Leave your clothes hamper outside after you’ve taken off your nightgown, okay?”

“Yes, Señorita Clara.”

“Remember, if you don’t behave, the bruja of Ibis Islands will come to take your soul.”

He scampers away into his private bathroom, and the water immediately comes on. Several minutes later, he opens the bathroom door just enough to push his clothes hamper out. I take it up, and bring it with me downstairs to the laundry room, where the laundress, Ana, is singing loudly as she hangs damp clothes on a clothesline that leads outside. I tip the hamper over a pile of dirty garments, then return the hamper upstairs, leaving it in Miguel’s room.

After dusting the halls, sweeping, and making up the guest beds, the doorbell rings. I make myself scarce, finding sanctuary in the kitchen. The master’s mother hates seeing the servants out and about the house, unless they are there specifically present to serve her. The master’s voice rings out through the house as he joyfully greets her, commanding the servants to take her things up to her permanent room on the first floor. Just as I’m about to settle down, and enjoy a quiet breakfast of bread and coffee, Maria rushes in with wide-eyes, and mouth hanging open.

“Clara, what are you doing? Get down there, and grab her bags.”

“Me? Where’s Lucas? That’s his job.”

“He’s gone this week, remember? He’s getting married.”

I soak the rest of my bread in my coffee, and swallow it, followed by the rest of my coffee, grumbling under my breath. Maria dusts the crumbs off my apron, and straightens out my gray uniform as I fasten a frilly white bonnet over my head. She pushes me out the kitchen door, almost making me trip on the hall carpet just outside.

I walk quickly down the hall towards the front door, where an old woman that looks as if she should be lying in a coffin already, stands; pale, shriveled skin, and emotionless. She glances at me for a brief moment, and her face has already formed a scowl.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Mother,” says the master of the house. “This is Clara. She will take your bags.”

The woman huffs, and drops her large, heavy suitcase into my arms. I struggle not to fall over as I catch it, then plaster on my best smile. How is she so strong?

“Gracias. Thank you, Madam Beatrice.” I say.

With a roll of her eyes, and a wave of her hand, she dismisses me. I begin making my way slowly down the hall, praying my back can endure this weight.

“William, I don’t understand why you are making my grandson live here in this dump, when we have a perfectly good house in Castin.”

“Mother, you know I want Miguel to grow up knowing where his mother came from.”

She tuts.

“Clarice!” she shouts. “Clarice! Girl! Are you deaf.”

“Clara,” says Master William.

I turn back, smiling as brightly as before. “Yes, Master?”

“Take this, too,” says Madam Beatrice, gesturing towards another suitcase at her feet. “Chop chop.”

I aim to set her suitcase down.

“Ah, ah!” she warns. “That costs more than you do, so you best not set it on the ground.”

“Mother-”

“William, you simply must train these servants better.”

She watches as I struggle to lift her other bag, my arms burning as I walk down the hall. When I finally turn the corner out of sight, I drop her bags, and drag them across the carpet into the guest room, being sure to hit them against the strong wooden door frame several times before setting them down on the luggage rack in the closet. I nearly jump out of my skin when Madam Beatrice is standing at the doorway, watching me.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Señora?”

“Get out. I don’t need you snooping through my things.”

I bow slightly as I move past her, scurrying down the hall, running face first into Master William. His strong hands push me at arms length, and he gives me a questioning look. Dazed by his bright green eyes, I grin like a love-sick teenager, until he calls my name.

“Yes, Master William?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Sí, everything is fine. Do you need anything, Señor?”

“Is Miguel awake?”

“Yes, Master. He should be down shortly.”

“Make sure he’s seated at the table before mother gets there. She hates when people are late.”

I nod, then rush back up the stairs.

“Miguel,” I whisper, entering his room. “Señorito, where are you?”

“Clara,” he greets, tucking his face into my stomach. “Look, I got dressed all by myself!”

He spins around. His shirt is untucked, his tie is crooked, his buttons aren’t lined up, and his socks don’t match.

“I can see that.” I giggle. “Where is Luiz?”

Miguel stops mid-spin, and shrugs.

“Okay, take your shoes off, move quickly.”

I make my way across the large plush carpet of his room, and pull open the chest of drawers, seeking out the first matching pair of socks I see.

“Sit on the bed.”

He obediently follows my instructions.

“Feet up.”

He lies back, and sticks his feet in the air. I remove his mismatched socks, and put a pair of black dress socks on his feet, being sure to squeeze his big toe when I’m done. He giggles, then sits up.

“Okay, now let’s fix your tie. You did such a good job, but…”

I unbutton his vest, and remove his tie and belt.

“Okay, arms up.”

He reaches for the ceiling, as I undo his belt, and tuck his shirt in properly. I find another  belt to match the color of his dress shoes, straighten his tie, then fix the buttons of his vest.

“You did very good,” I say again, as he grins up at me. “Your abuela is here. She’s going to the dining room. Go, and move quickly! For your papito!”

He rushes off, after giving me a final squishy hug, which melts my heart, and brings me a joy I didn’t think possible.

While the Evans family is downstairs (hopefully) enjoying breakfast, I tidy up Miguel’s room, replacing all of his books on the shelves, his toys in the chest at the foot of his bed, straightening out any papers filled with his childish scribbles, and do a bit of light dusting before moving on to Master William’s room.

Master William’s room is always extremely tidy, not a single thing out of place except in the corner where a vanity that once belonged to Mistress Micaela sits. The small drawers of the vanity lie open. Ribbons and jewels are scattered across the surface, as if she’d never left that night three years ago, and been found that night, her body cold, her eyes hollow, and her face contorted into an expression of an unimaginable fear. No one knew what happened, but Master William forbade everyone from touching that dresser

 Once, one of the maids had stolen a set of earrings from it, and he had her sent off back to the mainland right around the time the elves were capturing humans to be used as slaves. No one has heard from her since.

I dust carefully around the scattered items, wiping down whatever my duster cannot reach, carefully replacing any item that might have shifted in the process. I pause to trace the symbol of an owl on her hairbrush, reminding me of Sebastian’s form.

“Miss Clara.”

I look up, finding Master William watching me intensely, holding his breath. I set the brush down carefully, then spin around.

“Master William,” I say loudly, standing up straighter, feeling as if my heart might spring out of my chest. “I am just dusting.”

“Relax,” he says calmly, stepping in, making it a point to leave the door wide open. “I’m simply running late for an appointment, and couldn’t wait. Have you seen my hat?”

I glance around the room, spotting it on the dresser. As I reach for it, I feel a warm hand wrap around my waist, and move me aside gently. He takes the hat up, and tucks it between his arm, along with a set of leather gloves, which he struggles to put on with shaky hands.

“Don’t let me keep you from your work,” he says gently.

“Thank you, Master.” I bow my head, then continue dusting, starting with one of the side tables.

“I-... I thank you for being careful with Micaela’s things.”

“Of course.”

He huffs and sighs several times as I run my duster over the lamp shade. I watch from the corner of my eye as he struggles to button up his gloves, waiting for him to ask for help so that I may help him, and not insult his pride.

“Clara?”

“Yes, Master William?”

“Would you mind?”

He holds his hand out to me with his palm up. I set the duster aside on top of a dresser, and wipe my hands on my apron. Carefully, I tug on his gloves, being sure they’re on properly before fastening the button at his wrist. Without hesitation, he moves his hat beneath his other arm, and holds his other hand out to me. When I fasten the other button, he holds my hand, and kisses it, sending a pleasant shiver through me.

“Thank you, Clara.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, avoiding his gaze, taking up my duster once more.

Sebastian will surely mention this later.

“I leave you to your work then.”

In the evening, when I finally have a moment to rest, I rush upstairs with some leftovers from dinner, being careful to creep quietly up the stairs in case Sebastian is still sleeping. His groans let me know he’s only half alert. I sit quietly in the corner on a stool I’ve dragged between the bed and window, and watch the sun set outside, as I rest my plate of food on the window sill.

“Did something happen?” he asks, sitting up in bed, and stretching out.

“What do you mean?” I ask, stuffing a bit of potato into my mouth.

“Something got you all bothered earlier today.”

I focus on his reflection in the window pane. He appears amused.

“Honestly, Baz,” I huff. “You know how difficult it would be, now that the master’s mother is here.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he says, leaning forward to rest his head on my shoulder. “You know he only likes you because you remind him of her.”

“I know,” I grumble, pushing around the tomatoes and eggs on my plate.

“I don’t want your feelings to get hurt.”

‘Again’. He meant to add ‘again’ to the end of that statement, but he knows that I know, and he’s trying to spare my feelings.

I lean back in my chair, and offer him my plate. He sniffs it, and his lips curl. He takes the plate and fork from me, then stabs a few bits of egg. I watch him, impressed he’s finally able to use an eating utensil. He often ate in his animal form, since it's always been financially easier for the both of us for him to do his own hunting.

“What is this?” he asks, holding the fork to my mouth, expecting me to take a bite.

“Eggs. Chicken eggs. You’ve seen them before.”

“Why do they look so unappetizing?”

I chuckle. “They were overcooked.”

“Couldn’t the cook make you another?”

“No. She was busy cleaning. It’s fine. I can eat it.”

“Is it safe?”

I take the fork and plate from his hands, and take a bite. “It’s fine.”

He sighs, then lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as I slowly finish my meal. He grows irritated the longer he waits, and I purposely eat slower, becoming amused with the increasing intensity of his sighs. Outside, the glass windows of the surrounding buildings all reflect the bright red of the setting sun, and one by one, the rows of street lamps are lighted, casting soft yellow light on the streets below.

With my final bite, Sebastian mutters under his breath, and I can’t tell if he’s thanking his gods or if he’s still irritated.

“Are you done?” he asks.

He’s still irritated.

“I am. Should I let you out?”

“No,” he mumbles quietly. “Not yet.”

“Very well.”

I get to my feet, taking my plate with me, and he tugs lightly on the corner of my apron.

“Can I help you, Bazzy?”

He rolls over in the bed, patting the empty spot next to him. I sit down, and look down at him. He rolls his eyes, sits up, sets my plate down on the sill, then tugs me down by the collar of my dress. I catch myself, one hand on each side of him, as he looks up at me with a look of pure innocence.

“Did you forget how to speak?” I ask, drolly.

He curls his lips in, failing to hide his amusement, then squeezes his eyes shut.

“Sebastian Swiftwing, use your words.”

He reaches up to hold my face between his hands, then tilts his head to one side, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. His golden eyes gleam in the candlelight like jewels.

“I simply desire to spend time with you before you go to sleep. We hardly see each other anymore.” He cups my face, and gently runs his thumb over my cheek.

“I’m assuming you’ll be demanding I take a break from practicing my spells tonight, then?” I ask, lying down next to him, taking his hand, and intertwining our fingers.

“I can’t demand anything of you, but you have spent an awfully long time failing to get anything working. You should possibly take a break.”

“‘Failing’, huh?” I giggle. “I give you a bed, a roof over your head, and plenty of rest, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Your master does that for me,” he says, without missing a beat. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here. I’m always right here.”

He turns to face me, his eyes burning holes through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to ignore his gaze.

“Clara,” he says, sternly. “Look at me.”

“Yes?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

“Are you still upset about the mouse?” He pouts, his eyes glossy with tears.

“No.”

I’d forgotten all about it, actually. Several days ago, he’d brought a mouse into the room for him to snack on, thinking it was dead, but it turned out that mouse was an excellent actor. It’d taken half the night to catch it, while Sebastian was out trying to catch another meal.

“Are you avoiding me for some reason?”

“Bazzy,” I groan. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m not upset with you. I’m not anything. I’m simply exhausted.”

“Then rest here with me,” he says happily, pulling me against his side, and wrapping his arms around me.

“I still need to wash.”

“Right. So… go wash. I’ll…” He poofs into his owl form. “I’ll join you.”

In the small bathroom, Sebastian joyfully dips his head into the metal wash basin filled halfway up with water, then shakes and walks around, getting water everywhere. I sink beneath the bath water, feeling every ache and pain in my body slowly fading with the effects of a healing potion I’ve poured in, lulling me into a state of half-sleep as I watch the steam curl up from the surface.

A cold shower of drops strikes my face, and I open my eyes in time to get bombarded by more splashes from Sebastian flapping his wet wings.

“Bazzy, you’re making a mess.” I tut.

He tucks his head beneath one wing. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Are you almost done, though?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’m going to step out of the tub, so just… cover your face, I suppose.”

He ducks his small head beneath his wings, turning to face the corner of the bathroom. I wrap myself in a towel, exiting the room, and slip into my nightgown quickly. In the bathroom, I can hear Sebastian splash several more times into the wash basin, then shake his feathers.

“Bazzy!” I hiss.

He twitters, and I hear him shake again.

I open the door, catching him mid-flap, and he sinks beneath the lip of the wash basin, with only his eyes visible over the edge. He blinks several times as he tilts his head from side to side. I sigh, defeated by his endearing appearance, and toss a towel on the floor to soak up the water, moving it around with my foot to mop up the puddles. As I lean over to pick up the towel, I feel Sebastian’s damp feathers against my cheek.

“Can I help you?” I ask, with a laugh.

His golden eyes follow my hands as I lift the towel, and when it’s within reach, he grabs it with his beak, pulling it with all his strength.

“Baz!” I scold him, swatting at him lightly.

He lets out a mischievous laugh, pulling it again. It slips from my grasp, falling to the floor, taking him down with it. He struggles beneath it, now just a bouncing lump beneath the towel as he hops up and down trying to escape. I hold my stomach, laughing as I bend over to help him.

“Why would you do that?” I ask him, helping him off the floor, and back into the wash basin.

He lifts his wings in a shrug. “It seemed fun.”

“It was wet. It weighs more than you right now.”

He sighs, tucking his wings into his sides.

“Would you like me to dry you off?”

He spreads his wings fully, and waits as I dab a dry towel to his feathers.

“How’s that?”

“It’s easier to dry off as a human,” he grumbles.

“Right, I’ll take that as my cue to exit.”

Leaving the towel on a hook, I exit the bathroom, and shut the door quietly behind me, immediately hearing the distinct poof sound Sebastian makes when he goes into his human form. He cries out in pain, then mutters several curses beneath his breath, cursing the sink. I clear my throat to disguise my laugh.

“I can tell you’re amused, no need to hide it,” he mumbles, irritably.

“I was trying to be polite.”

He groans loudly.

“Does it hurt? Is it serious?”

He groans again, expressing irritation. I shrug, then take a seat at my writing desk, where a book lies open. It’s covered in Sebastian’s small, neat cursive handwriting. I look over it as I brush the tangles in my hair. It’s just a list of what he’s done with his day, most of it involving sleeping, a series of strange dreams, feelings he felt from me, and what he thinks they meant. I spot Master William’s name. It’s messy, and the ink is thick, and pooled. He was upset.

The sound of the bathroom door draws my attention. I lean against the back of my chair, and watch Sebastian step out with his hair wrapped in a towel. He glances over at me curiously just before panic sets in as he spots the book. I shut it, then look back at him with a smirk.

“You really shouldn’t leave your journal out if you don’t want me to read it.”

He turns away, the color on his cheeks becoming red. He stares out the window, with the lack of options for things to distract himself with in the small, sparsely furnished room.

“Master William is a good man,” I state.

“I gathered, from the way you-” He squeezes his eyes, his face contorting into a pained expression. “I know he is. I just wish you wouldn’t-...” He takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly.

“You need not be jealous,” I say reassuringly, turning away, and continuing to brush my hair.

The floorboards creak as he makes his way to a clothesline that hangs across the room. He huffs as he drapes his towel over it, then takes the others, and drapes them next to his, forming a divider between us.

“I’m not jealous,” he says, curtly.

“Come here. I’ll fix your hair.” I set my hairbrush down, and wave him over.

“No.” Beneath the row of towels, I watch his lower body sit on the bed.

“Baz, don’t be a child.”

“I’m not a child!” he whispers harshly. “I’m a grown man, and yet you still choose to-...”

I push aside one of the towels, flashing him a playful grin. “Then why are you behaving like a child?”

He stands abruptly, opens the window, and transforms into an owl. “I’m going out. Don’t wait for me in the morning. I’ll be away.”

I pout. He hesitates a moment when I make my lip quiver. From the window sill, a gust of wind blows his feathers gently as we stare at each other.

“I just need to clear my head.”

“Let me fix your hair, at least, or preen your feathers. You have a few that look a bit-”

He returns to his human form, then reclaims his place on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest, avoiding my gaze.

Tracing my fingers around Sebastian’s silver beads, I spread the oil on my fingertips over his scalp. He nuzzles sleepily into my stomach, looking content and relaxed. I relish his warmth in my lap, and the smile on his lips.

“Baz?”

He yawns, and stretches. “Hmm? Sorry. I think I fell asleep.”

“I’m done. You can go now.”

He glances at the clock above the mantle of the small stone fireplace located just in front of the bed, then settles back against me, grabbing hold of the fabric of my nightgown.

“At least let me put the comb away.”

He groans irritably, as he rolls off me, his hand remaining around the hem of my nightgown as I reach over him to set the ivory comb on a dresser next to the bed.

“Should I get you something to eat, then?” I ask, sitting down, his head immediately back in my lap.

He nods, looking up at me with his big, round golden eyes. I find myself smiling, wanting to squeeze him tightly between my arms, and bury my face into his chest. Instead, I push him gently aside, and light a candle sitting on the window sill.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

He curls up beneath the covers without a word.