Page 28 of The Wolfing Hour

Then he’d thanked me for my assistance and dismissed me, striding away in his stark white and navy-blue trainers. Dad shoes.

Grandadshoes.

It hit me then: the shoes, the navy slacks, the short-sleeved white dress shirt. During our walk in the cemetery, a breeze had lifted his gray windbreaker to reveal a black leather eyeglasses case clipped to his chest pocket.

Sexton didn’t need glasses. He didn’t even need eyesight. The cemetery demon existed on a whole other plane and possessed senses I could only imagine.

There could only be one reason he was carrying them.

“Guys, I think Sexton’s gone full grandpa.”

Chapter

Six

Chapter Six

“Idon’t know if it’s sweet or disturbing,” Ronan said, after I told him about Sexton’s outfit.

“Let me clear it up for you then. It’s disturbing.”

I dug into one of the protein bowls Ronan had picked up for lunch. Rice, beans, and carne asada topped with lettuce, salsa fresca, and sour cream. Fresh tortilla chips for a garnish.

The man was a saint. There was no other explanation for it.

“So, uh, why’d you go there?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

“The whole thing with Bloody Mary,” I said, waving my fork around. “Gramps hates her. Called her an ‘inelegant bitch.’ Normally, I’d be offended by the gendered slur, but I must admit, it fits.”

“Gramps.” He shook his head and smiled. “Did he shed any light on her reaction to you?”

“Yes. Lots. I was overwhelmed by light. Surprised I didn’t get a sunburn.” I shoveled a bite of beans into my mouth and chewed angrily.

“Going to enlighten me?” Ronan waggled his brows.

“Smartass.” I swallowed the beans and took a drink of iced mint tea. “This morning, while I was putting on makeup, my, uh, dark side showed up in the mirror.”

“Dark side?”

“I think it has to do with my, uh, lineage.”

His smile disappeared. “I’m going to assume you aren’t talking about the Lennox witches.”

“No such luck.”

I gave him a rundown of the rest of the conversation in short, concise sentences, eager to move past it.

“Holy shit, that’s a lot to deal with,” was all he said.

“So, yeah, along with all the other stuff we’re dealing with, I found out that my dad was some sort of hell pirate and I’m either manifesting the same powers he had or losing my mind. Good times.”

Ronan stared at me for a beat as if absorbing my words. After a long moment, he said, “Hell Pirateis a killer name for a metal band.”

“Right?” I twirled my fork between my fingers and dug into my bowl again.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked.

I hadn’t even considered it. “I guess I’m used to handling stuff like this on my own. Not that I’ve ever handled anything like this, but you get my meaning.”