I scrabbled for napkins and tossed them in the general direction of the spreading coffee.

“Right now.”

A little splash under my slipper told me I may have stomped my foot for emphasis.

Unflappable Reg raised one eyebrow.

Scene, his eyebrow said.

I know, my pout replied.

“Is something wrong?” Sydney asked.

“Is your uncle okay?” Sophia added.

“It’s a—a—” I stammered, at a rare loss for words.

Reg glided smoothly to my rescue. “It’s just something from our parents’ life insurance company. A letter.”

His eyes met mine, and beneath the stone set of his features, under the still current of his voice, I sensed emotions churning.

I let out a shaky breath. “The letter we’ve been waiting for.”

“Where is it?!” I burst into the cottage, letting the heavy wooden door crunch against the inner stone wall.

“And hello to you,” Sal said.

I stepped up to where he was seated at the kitchen table—he’d stopped lurking in doorways waiting for us—and stretched out my palm.

“Hand it over.”

I added, with effort, “Please.”

Sal patted his shirt and pants pockets, feeling all over. “There was something, now that you mention it, but . . . hmm. I seem to have misplaced it.”

My palm remained up, hovering near his face, so that I would only have to thrust my arm forward to land a fingernail in his eye. Not that I really wanted to poke Sal’s eyes out anymore, but fantasies of slaying a slayer are a hard habit to shake.

“I don’t have time for your games, old-timer.”

He started to respond with a quip of his own when he caught sight of Reg over my shoulder and pulled back in surprise.

“Holy beard, Batman! There’s a whole forest on your face, boy.” He stood for a closer inspection, taking Reg’s cheeks and chin in his hand and turning them left and right. Then he said the thing I had feared when I first caught sight of Reg at All Hours. “I wonder if I misjudged your age.”

“It’s really come in, just in the last week,” Reg said, pawing at his beard again.

“It’s a nice one, but it won’t do for high school. Guess I’ll be teaching you how to shave then. I assume you don’t know how?”

Reg confirmed with a shake of his head.

“Come on upstairs, I have a spare kit—”

“Excuse me!” I burst out. “As much as I’d like to attack you both with razor blades right now, could we please save the shave for after we read our letter?”

Sal raised his hands in apology, and Reg shoved his in his pockets, looking appropriately ashamed to have so quickly forgotten why we’d rushed home.

“It’s in your room, on your bed,” Sal said.