Our private chamber was almost as big as the grand chamber downstairs, plus luxurious and comfortable with everything needed to make a suite perfect. First, I checked out the bathroom. Modern plumbing, thank you. Running water with hot and cold. A shower big enough to hold our whole crew, not that I planned to shower with werewolves, a thundergod/bird, a pooka, and a Fae. There were limits to friendliness.
When I left that room, I walked forward to explore the rest of the suite. We had a lovely balcony that overlooked a vegetable garden with blooming flowers integrated in a design that produced ornate patterns, while producing zucchini and green beans. I stepped out into the balcony, and the smells ascending were vaguely like honeysuckle. Certainly not something the tomatoes over on the other side of the garden plot were sending upwards. I’d always hated the smell of tomato bushes.
I left the door of the balcony open and walked back inside. Timothy was in the bathroom, having waited for me to finish my necessary visit and exploration. That gave me a chance to scan the other rooms. The main room held two amazing burgundy leather couches with fluffy brown pillows at the ends and several easy chairs, the kind that curved backwards so you could stretch out your legs. The latter were upholstered in a matching burgundy pattern that no doubt told stories, but would be difficult to “read” if you were sitting down in them. I observed several tables, all with legs ornately carved in the shape of fantasy animal heads: a phoenix, a dragon, and . . .
Oh, no! Where had my dragon gone? I’d been holding him, and then . . .
The moment Timothy came out, I’d ask him where the baby dragon was. I’d thought I was supposed to be bonded with him. Was he now howling for me, feeling deserted and bereft?
He’s with Daniel, Timothy mind-sent from the bathroom, catching my panic. Daniel will make sure he’s fed and cared for. We’ll reunite you two tomorrow, I promise.
I sighed heartedly. I felt guilty about being such a poor care-taker, but fatigue had drained me of argument. Sighing, I walked on.
There were two bedrooms, both with large beds, much higher than the norm. Neither of the beds were fashioned in a rectangle, like I was used to, but in a square-shape that included overhead tapestry coverings that dangled down on all sides. I pushed one covering aside and looked underneath. I saw pretty normal bedding: coverlets, pillow-cased pillows and . . .
“Is this the bedroom you want to use?” Timothy asked, and then without waiting for my response, he slid up behind me, lifted me up, and gently lay me down on the bed.
“I need a shower first,” I cried out, but there was no chance for that. Lips were attaching, hands, fingers, and the oh my’s came next. Except, when we were in the midst of the oh my’s, I suddenly realized that I needed something from Timothy that completely made no sense . . .