He bypassed his window and any views of the midmorning solstice sky. He showered and shaved, acutely aware of the silence downstairs and up, that if he stepped onto the porch, he would see his car but no truck.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Last night—early that morning—Lucas had spoken of it as Robin had finally drifted off again, curled against him.
“You can come with me,” Lucas had offered, more than once, not pushing but probably worried in a way Robin had been too sleepy and content to note at the time.
Robin hadn’t politely refused out of shyness at the thought of all the Greysmiths looking at them andknowing, as they surely would. Although he thought of it now as he headed downstairs with bare, cold feet. The Greysmiths would be protective and there were a great many of them. And they were all sotall.
But no, Robin had refused because he didn’t want to deal with a large gathering, some of whom would be strangers, and he didn’t want to intrude on a family event, and because it rankled, though it shouldn’t, that people might think him helpless.
He had been on his own here, more or less, running things, taking care of the others, since just after high school. That was too much and too long without a break. It wasn’t how people were meant to live. He recognized that point, at least intellectually, because Lucas would insist he recognize it. Lucas might even say more if Robin asked; that Robin was strong, but should rest now. Robin had made it through, but he shouldn’t have had to struggle and manage alone.
Robin bumped into the dryer while putting on a pair of socks, then dug around for anything else clean and dry to wear. He wriggled into pants and a t-shirt without falling down, and left the room in search of a sweater, somewhat triumphant for staying on his feet.
He was fine. He would be fine.
But Lucas could’ve woken him up to say goodbye at least. Another voice in the house would have done a lot.
So would breakfast, Robin decided with determination, and grabbed a black and red cardigan from a chair in the workroom before heading to the kitchen.
Leftover rolls and part of a loaf of bread were packaged on the counter. Another container held the orange shortbread. Robin took a cookie and ate it while waiting on his coffee.
Outside the window, the sky was full of clouds, but for now some light came through. Everything was pale gray and probably freezing. The ground looked damp, but all the snow from the night before had already melted. There was likely still ice.
Robin would stay inside the house.
He’d forgotten to get wood from the woodpile, and to pick out a Yule log, but candles would do for light to celebrate the solstice, and he could always turn up the heater for the warmth part of things. They hadn’t done a Yule log in the house in years anyway. Not a special one, just the usual fires for heat, though John or Marise might splash wine on the wood, or burn herbs with it if they wanted to use the ash for something afterward.
Robin looked around his kitchen. He had food, but no stores of herbs for any such spell. He wondered if that was worth putting on a list, or if refilling his pantry was too long-term of a project. They were all long-term at this point, he finally reasoned, and went to the desk to turn over the notepads to fresh pages.
Endings were beginnings. Even witches as weak as Robin understood that.
Far away goals were too numerous to fit on a single sheet of paper, so he didn’t try. Anyway, somewhere in Lucas’ things, there would be a similar list with ‘roof’ or ‘kitchen table’ written on it.
Robin found a smile at the thought, left his notepads blank, and returned to the refrigerator to look for something to eat.
He had buttered toast and his oatmeal with brown sugar at the center island, helped himself to another cup of coffee without Lucas around to look askance, piled the dishes in the sink, then took his cup across the hall to the workroom.
Robin wasn’t supposed to work today, but he really didn’t see what else he was supposed to do on a long day by himself. He would stop to eat and maybe find something on TV tonight, and he’d probably fall asleep in the middle of any projects, anyway. Rest was practically guaranteed.
He had almost convinced himself of that when he walked into the workroom, only to stop in his tracks at the sight of the large black bird sitting atop the mother-of-all on the spinning wheel closest to the fireplace.
“That is an antique.” It was the first thing Robin could think to say. Then he stepped forward. “Did they forget you? Or did you just not feel like a car ride today? Big baby.”
Flax turned up his face, which was perhaps the raven version of turning up his nose, but allowed Robin to scratch around his beak.
“At least it won’t just be me and the dead today.” Robin sighed, happier than he should be to have someone else’s bird to keep him company.
Well, not someone else’s bird. The mate of someone else’s familiar.
“I wasn’t going to do work-work,” Robin lied, and received a somehow mocking head bob for it. “I was going to think of something fun. I don’t have time to finish anything today, or do anything too complicated, but I can do something I like, for someone I like. That would honor my family. That’s a good way to spend the holiday.”
He wasn’t trying to convince a bird.
He moved around Flax and the wheel, and the table with his weaving commission still on it, and went to the shelves toconsider the yarn and all the projects his family hadn’t been able to finish.
“Where’s your true love?” Robin asked Flax absently, mostly because the room was quiet, and he could hear the fall of his steps even when he walked over the rugs.
The house itself was silent, which reminded Robin of the racket Lucas had heard.
