“We’ll take it in my room, out on the balcony.” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I knew he was asking for my approval.
“Yes,” I agreed, with a head nod that might have been a little shaky, but still conveyed the meaning.
When Timothy let go of the button, he turned to me and held out his hand. For a moment, I stared at it. I bit my lip and started to speak, but what was there to say? I was frankly in a daze.
I stretched out my hand and let him walk me back to his room. When we got there, Timothy slid open the sliding glass door and gestured for me to choose a seat.
Timothy
Andrew will be pleased. I have finally crossed the border into recklessness. Will Penelope be able to step over the line that humans perceive and follow me into the Beyond?
Will she ever accept me?
At least she didn’t run. She didn’t act like she was thinking of calling the dogs of hell to chase me into the Otherworlds. But will she forgive me for my heritage? Will she once more allow me to touch her and to kiss her? Will she marry me, or will I receive the same sad fate as Andrew?
Will life always be this dull emptiness that has pursued me throughout this overly long stretch of years?
Chapter Nine
Penelope
I’ve seen movies and weekly shows about witches and vampires. The Twilight Series had werewolves, too. People were calm in Buffy, the Vampire slayer when they first learned strange things about the people they were going to school with. Buffy’s friends even joined in on the fun of chasing down evil creatures.
I guess it’s all a matter of relooking. Timothy was still Timothy, as he’d said, and I was appreciative that he’d told me the truth. In fact, I felt relieved that he wasn’t an assassin or some horrid, major criminal.
But it was still a lot to grasp onto. Timothy had mentioned Fairie. So, were there fairies? Were there other magical creatures walking around among us? I wanted to ask, but Carlos had arrived with a pot of coffee and two mugs for our special brew. The servant poured, asked about cream and sugar or other additions, then handed me a mug.
It was a plain white mug. I’d noticed that all the dishes at breakfast had been, too. Undecorated, white dishes were actually what I preferred. No flowers on the bottom of my plates, thank you. No ivy ringing the handle of my mug or the coffee pot. Just plain.