“Got it,” I told her, scooping the crazed thing up. And presenting it to Caedmon, who sighed as it wound its creepy little vine-hands about him, in a fervent embrace.
“At least something loves me,” he said soulfully.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking the—thankfully glass—cutting board and wailing on some carrots before they sprouted. Because he was clearly too injured with his paper-cut-like wound to manage it himself, and I wanted to eat already.
“Helping with dinner.”
Claire, looking tired and sweaty, shot him a glance over her shoulder.
He failed to notice, being too busy petting his new admirer. “I always like to be a thoughtful guest.”
“Uh-huh. And why are you guesting, exactly?”
The beautiful green eyes widened. “Why, to see my grandson.”
“And?”
“Oh, how remiss of me.” Caedmon took my hand and kissed it playfully. “And your lovely self, of course.”
I sighed and looked skyward—
And got clobbered by a bushel of apples. Because a tree branch had inched its way in from the hall, pushing aside the old boards of the ceiling until it found a more formidable foe in the brass ship’s lantern in the center. And then dropping half a bushel of fruit during the epic battle between them.
Onto my head.
“Caedmon!” Claire whirled on him, hearing my surprised yelp. And then hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron and reaching for me, because her old profession—before she traded it in for fey princess—was nurse.
“I’m okay,” I told her. I’d managed to dodge most of them.
“By luck! She’s supposed to be recuperating,” she told Caedmon furiously.
“Really?” He looked me over. “Ill?”
“Injured.”
“Ah, I can relate.”
“You are not injured!” Claire snapped, grabbing a box of Band-Aids from a cabinet and slamming them down in front of his paper cut.
Caedmon looked at them sadly. They were SpongeBob, which I suppose he felt was lèse-majesté. He opened the box anyway.
“And can you please stop this?” She gestured around at the leafy carnage.
“It will stop on its own in a bit,” he assured her.
“I’d prefer it to stop now,” she said, as several apples plopped into the soup.
Claire went to scoop them out, while I watched a little tendril on Caedmon’s shoulder wind around the point of his ear. “Why can’t you stop it now?” I asked.
“The same reason I don’t simply heal my wound. Too much power buzzing about.”
“What?”
He grinned, and flexed SpongeBob at me. “I might grow an extra finger.”
I decided to quit while I was ahead, but Claire was braver than me. “And why do you have so much power ‘buzzing about’?”
The perfect lips made a slight moue. “There was a bit of a dustup getting through the portal. Oh, nothing serious,” he assured us. “Although it’s sweet of you to be concerned for me.”