She filled her cheeks with air, then blew it out. “It sounds really easy when you say it. It doesn’t feel easy.”

“Everyone has secrets, Valkyrie. I don’t need to tell you that. So long as he hasn’t used this secret to intentionally hurt you, however, I don’t see the problem. Friends stick by each other. That’s what they do.”

She looked at him. “You are a wise and noble man, Uncle Gordon.”

“And good-looking. You forgot good-looking.”

“That’s taken for granted.”

“As well it should be. Now then, do you have any other problems I can help you with?”

“There’s a vampire who’s in love with me.”

“Dump him. Any other problems?”

Valkyrie laughed. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“In that case, be off with you. I have a book to write, characters to kill, and a party to plan.”

Chapter 37 - The Wisdom of Leonard Cohen

Chapter 37
The Wisdom of Leonard Cohen

hastly checked his watch as he walked the corridors of the Sanctuary, resigning himself to the fact that, once again, it looked like he’d be spending the night in his office instead of going home. He yawned heavily as he rounded the corner, and saw Fletcher Renn sitting outside his door.

“Fletcher,” Ghastly said.

The kid looked up. His jeans were tattered, his boots were scuffed, and his T-shirt was a faded advertisement for a band Ghastly had never heard of. It was the eyes, though, that marked him out as truly tired. The eyes, and the hair. Usually so meticulously untamed, tonight it hung long and flat and swept back off his forehead.

“Hi,” Fletcher said. “I know it’s late, but… And I’m sorry if you’re busy.”

Ghastly was always busy these days. He had closed his shop and embraced the duties of an Elder, letting his new responsibilities wash over his old life and consume him completely. “I have some free time,” he lied. “What can I do for you?”

Fletcher got up slowly, stiffly, like he’d been sitting there for hours. When he didn’t say anything, Ghastly spoke again.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“Around,” Fletcher said.

Ghastly nodded, but the floodgates of conversation didn’t burst open. This in itself was unusual. For as long as Ghastly had known him, Fletcher had never known when to shut up. To see him standing there in the corridor, hands in his pockets, eyes cast to the floor and giving one-word answers, was more than a little unsettling.

“Come inside,” Ghastly said, unlocking the office door and walking in. He removed his robe, hung it on a hook on the wall and loosened his tie. He went to the side table and plugged in the kettle. “Cup of tea?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Fletcher,” he said, “I’m not one of life’s great conversationalists, so you’re really going to have to help me out here. Start talking about something.”