Page 23 of Hallow Hill at Halloween: Part One

“I think I understand.”

My eyes kept returning to the pen writing everything said. I should’ve guessed it would have wonderful penmanship.

“Does he change form when it’s just the two of you?”

I looked her straight in the face. Was this a question searching for kink?

“As you can see, this house is not big enough to hold the sephalion in winged lion form. So. No. Occasionally we do travel by air. Flying is quite a thrill.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You mean you…”

She was searching for a word that wouldn’t offend.

“Ride,” I said plainly. “One of my brothers-in-law devised a sort of saddle to make sure I stay on.”

“That is…” Again, she was searching for a word, but was speechless.

“Wonderful,” I supplied.

“Yes.” She said it as if it was the most perfect descriptor in the language.

“Other than that, our relationship is like any other happy marriage. I let him enjoy his own personal interests. He encourages me to be me. He’s insightful, witty, well-read, and easy to be with.”

I was glad to see she was satisfied by that answer and wasn’t going to venture into more intimate queries.

We drank tea and talked about my house and how it came to be, about The Hallows, and how much I enjoyed living in Hallow Hill.

The interview wasn’t unpleasant, but my mind kept wandering to the file in the study. So, after an hour, I made the excuse that duty called.

“We can arrange another time if you have more questions,” I said as I led the way to the front door.

She grinned. “Anytime. I actually have a lot of questions.”

“Well, if I like what you post, you’ll get a chance to ask them.”

She looked stricken and at a loss for words.

With a chuckle, I said, “Just kidding. Mostly. Talk to my clerk. He’ll arrange it.”

With that done, there were no more excuses for leaving the file untouched. Not that I really needed excuses. I’d grown anxious enough to be glad to get it over with. I was using the technique of facing dragons to make the disappear and hoped it was true.

I was two steps from the study with a self-made luscious cup of coffee with too much sweetener and too much hazelnut creamer when the doorbell sang out. While my dogs took off for the front of the house to see who might be calling, I made a mental note to change the tune.

I heard Keir’s muffled voice and knew he’d heard and answered.

Moments later he intercepted me in the hallway.

“Someone here to see you,” he said. I felt like I could practically see a question mark floating above his head, cartoon style.

“Alright,” I said cautiously. My head cocked to the side. “What is that? Is that what I think it is?”

“That’s the pups expressing distaste for your mystery caller.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard my dogs growl their objection to a visitor. Perhaps they’d never had a reason before. It caused an uncomfortable flare of anxiety in my gut. It was the sort of thing I’d become unaccustomed to. I’d had a year of being able to live comfortably and pay my bills. Well, if there had been bills I would’ve been able to pay. I didn’t fight with my husband. I didn’t worry about my job. There wasn’t much to be anxious about.

I peered through the peephole, which I’d never noticed was there before and ceased wondering why my dogs were showing teeth and why I felt ill at ease.

To Keir, I said, “I’ll get this. Maybe it would be a good idea to put the dogs in the mudroom.”

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