“Miss that little bitch?” Al said, the curtain fluttering as he tried to get up. Arm waving, he managed it, his eyes haunted. His next words were lost when he saw the twin glasses, one of which Trent was handing to me. His heartache deepened, and he held his bottle high. “Yes, a toast to Ceri.” His bottle sloshed as he shook it. “You were a most exceptional familiar.” His arm dropped, and for a moment, there was silence. “I should have freed you, Ceridwen. Perhaps you would have sung to me again if I had.”

I thought of Al’s blue butterflies, and I set my drink down untasted. The last thing I needed was to add a headache to this. “I’m sorry, Al,” I said, my eyes welling up.

“She was a familiar, nothing more,” he slurred, swinging the bottle. “Why should I care?” But it was clear he did. “Miss her? Ha!” he cried. “That elf woman was useless! Hardly able to warm my coffee in the morning. Pierce did a better job of keeping to my schedule. I wouldn’t take her back even if I could get that damned resurrection curse to work.” His head drooped, and I hoped he would pass out soon. “She was forever waking me up in the morning, crashing the cupboard doors. The bitch.”

Beside me, Trent seemed to start. “She did that to me as well, every time I tried to sleep in on the weekends. Then she’d smile at me as if she didn’t know she’d woken me.”

“Crashing about,” Al said, gesturing with the bottle. “Making more noise than a box of squirrels. She did it on purpose, I tell you. On purpose!”

Trent shook his head as we watched Al begin to become unconscious. “The woman could stomp like an elephant,” Trent said softly, leaning to whisper in my ear and make me shiver. “Quen threatened to smack her.”

“Yes, thrash her,” Al said, slumping back against the wall. “But she always had my coffee and toast to distract me.” His expression became serious. “You cannot thrash the person who makes you coffee. It’s a rule somewhere.” Blinking, Al slumped against the wall, his hair pushing up behind him. “It was a sad day when she stopped singing. You can’t keep a caged bird. No matter how beautiful she is. Maybe if I had freed her. But she would have left me. This is hell, you know? My rooms are so quiet.”

I shifted on the raised hearth to build the fire up. I had a feeling we might be here for a while, and this was the only light source besides Trent’s lantern in the window.

Trent took a sip of his wine, a brief flash of worry crossing him. “Mine, too,” Trent barely breathed, his sadness obvious.