Book 4: The Guest

Michael

It’s the middle of the night when I walk up to my doorstep. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but Ravenfell is foggy, cool, and only slightly damp tonight. I open the door to quiet darkness. A light switches on upstairs, illuminating the second floor landing as I step into the foyer, holding the door open for the figure stepping inside behind me. 

Deacon removes his hood and runs his fingers through his short black hair, sniffling from the cold as he removes his jacket. “Fuck, man. It’s freezing.”

I nod as Emelda walks into view in her usual robe and house slippers, glaring down at me from the top step. “Well, well, well, it's so nice of you to finally come home. It’s only the middle of night.”

“Emelda,” I say by way of greeting, smirking at her. 

“I thought I took out the trash tonight. I guess I missed some.” She glares at Deacon, who postures and bats his eyelashes at her. 

“Always a pleasure to see the mo