The lights flickered.
Robin clumsily detangled himself from the blankets, marched with equal clumsiness down the hall, and stood at the foot of the stairs. “Lucas?”
“Yes?” Lucas called out in answer, not coming into sight but probably poking his head out of whatever room he’d chosen. “Are you all right? Did you need something?”
“DoIneed anything?” Robin asked himself in a near-hysterical whisper, then tossed his head. “I’m all right. But… my ancestors aren’t,” there really was no way to put it delicately, “pervingon you, are they?”
Of course, once it was out, he realized how he sounded.
He could feel Lucas pause. The whole house paused. Robin was grateful Lucas didn’t come into sight. “Why would they be?” Lucas wondered at last, audibly baffled.
“Because I would be,” Robin muttered, then bit his lip when the lights flickered again. Theywerefeeling energetic this evening, and apparently not insulted at his suggestion. Which they really should have been. Robin rubbed his chest to get rid of the pangs of what was absolutely not jealousy.
“If they make you uncomfortable, let me know,” he said instead of any of that. Not that he had idea how to deal with them short of tearing up the house to find their ashes.
“I’m all alone up here.” Lucas could not have been more cautious. He clearly had questions but he wasn’t asking them. “Are you warm enough down there?”
“Yes.” A trickle of air swept by him, almost like a hand fondly touching his hair. Robin’s long-dead relatives were with him, it seemed, and amused. “Fine,” Robin told them. He called up to Lucas. “Thank you for the fire.”
Silence and the murmur of rain on the roof. He’d surprised Lucas again. “You’re welcome.”
Robin waved off interfering ghosts who didn’t understand the way things were. Although, considering how they’d all ended up, they might, and probably just didn’t care.
“Well,” he finished, possibly more awkward than even his teenaged self. “Good night then. Again.”
“Good night, Blessing,” Lucas called down, almost in question.
Robin spun around to confront… nothing, of course. And it made him wobble, still a bit light-headed.
“You aren’t funny,” he hissed to the nothing anyway, although pleased, deep down, to get so much response from the spirits. It was due to Lucas’ presence in the house, but it was still nice. Robin usually didn’t experience them as much more than outlines or annoying noises. “I see what you’re all hinting at but I assure you, it’s not going to happen.”
He headed back to the living room and to his bed… to the couch.
As he entered the doorway, above the rain and through a closed door, he heard the faint, faint words, “Big baby.”
“I hope your bacon burns!” Robin shouted to sassy ravens, and then, “It’s nothing! Go back to sleep! Good night!” at the concerned sound of his name from upstairs.
Then he flopped onto the couch and buried his face in the cushions.
Six
Robin woke early, his legs twitching as if desperate for action despite how he could have slept for hours more. He debated it until his stomach growled, which startled a laugh out of him.
“I’m sorry I ignored you until I fainted,” he told it as he pushed himself up off the couch. He went to the bathroom to clean up, and then to the workroom to see where he was on his work schedule—only to realize he hadn’t made one in his sick, distracted state.
Undaunted, he carried on upstairs to shower and shave and change clothes.
By the end of the shower, his exhaustion had returned. He sat on his bed, drip-drying and shivering, until he could move again. He put on the same jeans as yesterday and two layers of bright flannel, along with warm socks. Then he towel-dried his hair, not wanting to wake Lucas with sound of the hair dryer, before tiptoeing downstairs to see about breakfast, or at least coffee.
He paused to find Lucas up and somewhat dressed in a sweater, sweatpants, and socks, standing at the side door to the yard with his back to Robin. The sweater, of a thick cable knit, looked store-bought but durable, used enough to have a hole ortwo, which was maybe why it had been thrown on with a pair of gray sweatpants.
Even though the sun had not quite broken through the clouds, it was still light enough to see some of the outbuildings, and the rain seemed to have stopped at last. There was probably some damage from the amount of it and the wind couldn’t have helped.
“Breakfast?” Robin offered, certain Lucas knew he’d arrived.
Lucas half-turned without any sign of surprise. He looked Robin over, down and then up, and sighed when he got to Robin’s damp hair. “I can make breakfast,” he said, apparently having decided Robin didn’t have the energy for cooking a meal.
Perhaps Robin didn’t. He made a stern face anyway. “I can make coffee,” he suggested. He was not asking permission in his own home. Not even from Lucas Greysmith, marked by destiny.
