The living room distracted him. He and Lucas had tossed the cushions and blankets back on the couch but not put them in any sort of order. Robin did so now, smiling to himself again as he pulled one of the blankets out of the pile and took it to the laundry room with him.
“Kind of you all to stay out of the way,” he said to any listening long-dead relatives after clearing his throat. He found a pair of socks, regular white athletic socks that he wore under the knitted pairs when extra warmth was required, and was putting them on when the feeling of slow, almost reluctant forward movement stopped him.
He followed the curious sensation ofdreadto the hall and only then heard the car coming to a stop at the end of the driveway.
Robin reached the front door but paused when the shades at the edge of his vision did. They weren’t running to meet whoeverit was, so it wasn’t Lucas. In fact… Robin looked up to be sure, but Lucas’ coat was on the stand, along with the scarf from last night, as if Lucas had hung them up this morning.
Which meant he was outside in flannel or a thermal shirt and a sweater, doing something where his coat would have gotten in the way. And he scolded Robin for not dressing appropriately. Honestly.
Mindful of that, and the fact that, while it might be a stranger out there, it was more likely a member of the coven here for Lucas, Robin slipped his arms into the sleeves of Lucas’ coat and shrugged the rest of it into place.
The Greysmiths really were too tall. The coat was large, and black, of course, with a soft interior and a lining around the collar that smelled like rain and whatever Lucas used in his hair. Robin held it closed at his chest and then opened the door to step onto the porch.
He didn’t recognize the car. He took a moment to try to remember if he’d forgotten any presents for any coven members, and then nearly stumbled off his feet when a bird landed heavily on his shoulder.
Robin grabbed onto the post by the top of the stairs as the force of Flax’s landing—and it had to be Flax—pushed him forward.
“Morgan’s prick,” Robin swore at him. “What has gotten into you?”
Flax ignored the demand, his attention fixed on the person getting out of the car now parked behind Robin’s.
Lisbeth Hawthorne froze beside her car door the second she shut it and looked up to the porch.
Starting to notice the temperature now that he wasn’t having a heart attack because of a raven’s sense of humor, Robin held his coat closed even tighter, then glanced down.
Right. He had no pants again, because he’d been looking for Lucas to… well, to find him.
Robin swiped some tangled curls from his eyes and coughed.
“Good morning, Lisbeth!” he called out, perfectly amiable until he recalled that Lisbeth probably was not there to be amiable.
But his words startled her and pulled her attention from Flax to Robin himself. Her gaze dipped down to his bare legs and socks and maybe to the parts of his shorts peeking out from the hem of the coat that clearly did not belong to him.
There would definitely be talk now.
And Robin had left his coffee somewhere. First waking up alone, now this. Terrible start to his new year. If he’d known, he would’ve stayed in bed.
Lucas would have found that statement amusing, coming from Robin.
“Robin,” Lisbeth started. She took a few steps closer to the porch but then stopped for no clear reason. “I thought I’d catch you here today since you weren’t at the revels last night.”
Lisbeth wore a long red dress with an equally long white coat, which was both stylish and seasonal, and Robin would have complimented her on if she hadn’t been losing a battle with a disapproving scowl.
“Did you enjoy the fruitcake?” he asked brightly.
Lisbeth held back a moment, obviously surprised. “I didn’t have any,” she replied at last. “And that isn’t why I’m here.”
Flax chose that moment to speak. “Big baby.”
Robin reached up to shush him and was pecked at without any force.
Lisbeth’s gaze went to Flax and stayed there. “Is that…? Did you get a…?”
“Get a what?” Robin hadn’t even gotten a sip of that coffee. It would be cold by now. “This is Flax,” he introduced them, then stopped. Flax turned to him, rubbing his little contrary face against Robin’s fingers. “I named him,” Robin realized on an exhale, then reflexively shook his head because he wasn’t powerful. Except he was, in one regard. But he didn’t use his gift, even if it was strong enough to make Lucas Greysmith defer to him on such matters.
On most matters, really.
On close to all matters, unless Robin’s health was involved.
