Thursday Morning Breakfast Serial

Thursday morning Breakfast Serial

Okay, I'm getting ready to go, not a lot of time, but I promised, so here you go. (I may post over the weekend if I get to the library. But no promises. There will be a final installment of Rosie Hughes posting on all of the other participant blogs Friday. You REALLY need to go see them. I just don't know if I can get it posted here. We'll see.

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"Did she call you Buelah?"

"Shut up . . . Buford." Tracker flinched. "How do you know . . ."

"We're named for the same ancester dude." I tried to make it sound ironic, but I was probably too tired. I was only a few steps from my bedroom and bath, and I wasn't completely positive I would make it that far. The adrenaline had drained off, leaving me weak and weary.

"We're related?" He sounded shocked, horrified, and betrayed. It made me stop and blink at him stupidly. I mean, I'd always known. It hadn't occurred to me that he hadn't.

"Yeah, cousins. My dad was the black sheep of your dad's family."

He just stood in the middle of the hallway staring at me.

"Look, I'm wiped. You will be too, when the after-affects of the spell wear off in a couple minutes. There's a bathroom two doors down on the right, and the guest bedroom is the next door past it. I don't know where we'll find clothes to fit you, but we'll worry about it later."

He nodded. His face was red, and he looked really annoyed, but he didn't say anything, just stomped past me. Fine. Whatever. I was too pooped to care enough to try to figure out what his problem was. I dragged myself the last few steps to my bedroom. Closing the door I stripped, leaving my clothes in a trail that led to my beautiful, soft, inviting . . .

* * *

I woke up to the smell of steak, and the warmth of a purring cat curled up beside me.

"The boy told me you didn't eat." Lucy scolded.

"Too tired." I admitted. I shifted carefully around the cat, yawned hugely and tried to get my bearings. "How're Cassandra and Tracker doing?"

"Better. Much better." Lucy was already walking out of the room. "Now eat. We can talk after you've had a shower and gotten dressed. We'll be down in the parlor when you're ready. There are plans to be made."

Great. We'd be making Plans: Like how to protect the magical equivalent of weapons-grade plutonium from the evil wizard who was bent on killing me.

A part of me wanted to stay in bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I cut myself a big bite of steak and tried to think of something, anything, I might be able to contribute to the cause.