Yuletide (Matilda Kavanagh Novels Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

picture of the randy Yulelord was facedown.
    Artie came into the kitchen, and his fluffy black tail curled around his empty bowl. He let out a low, “Mrrrr.”
    “I know.” I opened the fridge and pulled out the cream. I filled his bowl, then gave my nearly forgotten dark chocolate cherry mocha a tap with my wand, reheating it. As we both drank our treats, I leaned against the counter, feeling the night catching up with me. I was so tired, I wasn’t even hungry, and I seriously considered going to bed hours earlier than usual.
    There was a knock at my door. I tried not to groan, but I wasn’t successful.
    I checked the peephole, lifting up on my toes to reach it, and saw another man and little boy waiting. The man was dressed in a patched coat that had seen much better days, faded jeans, and a grey flat cap on his head. The little boy looked as though he was seven or eight years old, but his face had that faded pallor of the sick that sometimes made my skin crawl. But he had sweet wide eyes as he leaned against his father’s legs, waiting.
    I let my aura unfurl, pass through the door, and reach for their bodies. Humans again. So many humans in one night. I must be getting some kind of reputation I wasn’t aware of. I turned all the locks and lifted the freezing spell from the knob. I offered them what was probably a very tired smile.
    “Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat, and I tried not to cringe at the word. “I apologize for the late hour. I only just got off work.”
    “Not at all,” I said, stepping back and motioning for them to come in. “Still early for a witch.”
    “Of course.” He came in, took off his cap, and held it in both hands as they rested against the boy’s chest.
    “Matilda Kavanagh,” I said, holding out a hand.
    He took it with warm, dry fingers. “Miles Jenkins, and this is my son, Tobin.”
    Tobin looked too skinny for his height, and his brown hair looked limp, almost thinning. Sickness hung around him like a shroud, stealing the apples from his cheeks and the light in his eyes. This was no mischievous boy who’d gotten his comeuppance like Andrew. Tobin was well and truly sick. But, being human, I couldn’t imagine why Miles had brought him to me instead of a hospital.
    “Nice to meet you, Tobin.” I held my hand out for him, surprising him. His fingers were cool, too cool. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
    Miles looked at me, his mouth opening, but words failing him. His eyes dropped to his son’s head, then came back up to meet mine.
    I dropped into a squat to look the boy in the eye. “Tobin, do you like to draw?”
    Tobin lifted one shoulder in a shrug, then dropped his eyes. I held out a hand. After glancing at his father, he took it and let me lead him into the living room. I pulled a box out from under the coffee table. Inside was construction paper and crayons and coloring pencils. Tobin’s eyes widened for a moment before he caught himself.
    “Can you draw me something?” I asked.
    He bit his lower lip and nodded.
    “Awesome.”
    I walked back to Miles and motioned for him to follow me to the kitchen. I grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it into the kitchen, putting a little distance between us and Tobin, and I gestured for Miles to sit while I fixed him a cup of tea. Glancing sidelong at him, I saw his hands were shaking, though he tried to hide it by gripping his hat. He took his tea straight, the warm cup seeming to help his hands, and he gave me a watery smile.
    I couldn’t imagine what it was like to watch your child wither away from sickness, but I’d known loss. Death and I were close friends, though I wished he wouldn’t visit so often.
    I leaned against the far counter and waited, letting Miles take a few sips of the tea. I watched as the combination of the calming draught and revitalization elixir buoyed him. He blinked and looked into the cup. When he realized I’d slipped him something, his watery smile turned rueful. I