Low murmurs came from around the corner and then on the staircase, but no footsteps or creaking boards with them. If Robin was being led upstairs, they had a wait ahead of them.
The fire stayed bright and warm at his back as he slowly, slowly made it to the doorway and began the long journey to the bathroom.
His reflection, tired brown eyes, lank dark blond curls, his embarrassment of a beard, would have forced him to acknowledge the need for a shower and shave even if his B.O. hadn’t. That, unfortunately, would mean crawling up the stairs, but at least he hadn’t thrown out the shower chairs and handrails in the upstairs bathrooms.
He rested against the sink until some of the shaking left his limbs, and then he made his careful, aching way up the stairs.
His family had wanted to make the downstairs bathroom bigger and install a tub, but had never had the time or extra money for a renovation like that. They’d have to take out one of the closets at minimum, then factor in the cost of the additional plumbing. But most of them could have used that, in the end. Robin could’ve used it now.
A few steps up, he stopped to rest again, trying not to panic at how weak he was. He just needed to eat, that was all. There might even be food in his kitchen for it. He ought to do something nice for the Greysmiths in return. A rug, maybe, a good one not meant for boring hotel décor. And a replacement scarf for… no, that was too personal unless he made one for each of them.
Murmuring from the top of the stairs told him he was saying some of this out loud and being answered. It was almost encouraging. He crawled up until he could collapse on the landing, where he considered thatperhapsLucas was right to have worried. His grandmother, for one, would not have been pleased to find Robin like this. Marise would have threatened to slap him silly without once ever actually attempting to do so.
Robin harrumphed at the memory and at the coaxing whispers from in front of him, but followed them on his hands and knees, which was easier, until he was in the bathroom.
He managed a shower, and then a shave, and then wobbled but stayed on his feet to get to his room for a change of clothes. He even got pants on, his last clean pair.
He had to lie on the bed for a while after, but he did it. Then, victorious, with vague cooing around him from people who had probably survived the Black Plague and thought Robin was being ridiculous, he made his slow way downstairs in search of food.
He needed to do laundry but that was a task for far in the future. He focused single-mindedly on reheating Connor’s weak yet salty broth and then slurped it messily from a cup while he sat at the kitchen desk.
There was no sign of Lucas, or any Greysmith. Robin belatedly noticed that when the broth was gone and he was wondering if he could hold down crackers, and then if he had any. The Greysmiths had probably had work, or appointments. It was nice of them to have stayed as long as they had. Maybe, if Robin rested again, he could go to the grocery store and return the Greysmith’s container for the broth while he was out. He should thank Mallory personally anyway, apologize to Lucas again.
“Except,” he said softly to himself after chewing anxiously on his bottom lip, “how far will I make it in the store before I fall on my face?”
It was amazing he hadn’t yet, to be honest, but hehadmostly been crawling.
The phone rang in the office while he sat there. It might be someone in the coven calling about Yule and Midwinter revels or the gifts they’d requested. He let it ring. He wondered idly, with an unhappy laugh caught in his throat, what would happen if he didn’t make their gifts and spent the days until Yule creating things for the Greysmiths instead.
Robin understood his family’s policy; having allies was no small thing to a family like his. But this didn’t feel like having allies. Or maybe he was just tired.
A sudden racket from upstairs made him flinch and twist around to follow what sounded like absolute chaos traveling from the bedrooms to the stairs, footsteps without a toe touching the floorboards, like the energy of half a dozen debutantes fluttering out the door on their way to a dance.
Wind that did not exist carried a chill and eager anticipation to him in the kitchen, plucking his sweater and tugging his hair in the direction of the hall.
Robin got to his feet, annoyed and bewildered and about to say something about it, when he realized what had them so excited: the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive. Visitors.
A particular visitor, he suspected now, and gave no one and nothing a dirty look, but went down the hall to the front door, patting his damp, windswept hair as he went.
He stepped out onto the porch right as the truck stopped at the end of the drive to one side of Robin’s car. Then he looked down,remembering his pants in relief, only to sigh at his stained t-shirt sticking out from underneath his sweater. He’d also forgotten socks, somehow. His feet would have to stay cold for now.
The sign on the door of the truck readGreysmith Restorations. The car that followed it, coming up the drive with more caution, was Persephone’s. She was behind the wheel. Her mother was in the passenger seat.
Robin looked to Lucas with questions, but after a brief, frowning study of Robin, Lucas got out of the truck and went around behind it, apparently not intending to meet Robin on the porch.
“Always frowning.” Robin ignored what felt like another fluttering debutante behind his ribs, then turned to face Mallory Greysmith. He was so focused on her that it took him a moment to notice the two black shapes moving around inside the cab of the work truck.
“Oh,” he said aloud, and blinked several times when Lucas opened the door to let out the impatient ravens: Lucas’ familiar and the familiar’s mate. That could only mean Lucaswasstaying with him.
“What are you doing out here?” Mallory called to Robin as she approached. “A strong wind will knock you over, and strong winds are coming, aren’t they, Lucas?”
Lucas had a bag hanging from one hand and several logs beneath his other arm, and the raven that settled on his shoulder would not be light. He nodded as he let Persephone take the bag so she could make him carry a large cardboard box.
“In, in with you, Blessing,” Mallory insisted, sounding like a concerned mother from a television show. But she stopped at the bottom of the porch steps to peer up at the house. The rain had stopped, and the afternoon light, even with the clouds, wouldshow the farmhouse, warts and all. In this case, peeling pink, white, yellow, and turquoise paint, a bare roof, dusty windows, empty flowerbeds, and a yard allowed to go wild.
Mallory returned her focus to Robin. “If you weren’t holding onto that post, would you even be standing right now?”
Robin considered it but didn’t answer. His throat was too tight.
