Summoning Pigeons #2
Dropping the other pebbles back in the border, he waits, and eventually that same door opens onto the shared balcony. From inside emerges a petite older woman with a vivid blue rinse. She steps out in a kaftan that shows a cat smoking a cigar—I stare hard at Milo’s delightful racoon.
Ethel, I presume, pulls the world’s thickest glasses from a pocket and smiles when she spots him.
Then she turns her gaze my way, and the lenses magnify her pale eyes to almost comical proportions.
Milo draws her attention back his way by raising the bag of muffins high in the air and shaking it like he’s summoning pigeons.
She nods and holds up a finger, but is surprisingly spritely as she manoeuvres around the various chairs strewn along the balcony and makes her way to the spiral metal staircase at the far end. Instinctively, I move closer to offer my assistance while Milo plonks onto a nearby wooden bench.
“What level contraband is that?” she inquires when she’s close enough to not strain to be heard.
“Level one, but there are three of them.” He opens the bag and lifts out a muffin.
“Pah, they’re blueberry, aren’t they? You know the healthy ones are harder to fence.”
“Three, though. You should be able to trade them for at least two cigarettes.”
“Why aren’t there four?”
“Finder’s fee.” Milo shrugs, and bites into a muffin.
My eyes flit between them like I’m watching a game of tennis. They may not be blood relatives, but the family bond is plain to see.
“I think you already took your fee.” Ethel pouts and snatches the bag with a liver-spotted hand.
Contraband clutched tightly to her chest, she turns bodily to face me. “Hello, young man.” With her free hand she straightens her kaftan then plumps her thin curls. “I’ve waited so long for this day.”
Clearing her throat, she squares her shoulders and stands tall. “What is your name, and what are your intentions with my grandson?”
Milo suddenly gasps, then chokes on a mouthful of muffin. Flashing a shade of pink that rapidly turns red, he waves his hand in the air, whether to halt Ethel’s line of questioning or communicate that he’s okay, I’m unsure.
Still, I was raised to respect my elders. I stand to attention. “Lieutenant Colonel Rowan Rangecroft, ma’am.” I drop my salute and extend my hand. “Yer… Milo is helping me with an investigation.”
Ethel shoots Milo a look, but he’s too busy washing down partially chewed muffin with the last of his iced coffee to notice.
The top of Ethel’s head barely makes my elbow, but nonetheless, she confidently slides her arm through the crook of mine and says, “Is that what we’re calling it now? Honestly, I can’t keep up.”
Stunned, I open my mouth to set Ethel on the right track, but when my words aren’t immediately forthcoming, she continues blithely on.
“Lieutenant Colonel Rowan Rangecroft is a bit of a mouthful. Most everyone I’ve ever known in the military had a codename, what’s yours?”
She doesn’t wait for my reply before encouraging me into a slow stroll.
Somehow, I find myself being led along by this intriguing woman. “Ranger.”
All the while Ethel talks, she steers me on a little loop lined by neatly trimmed box hedges. It’s surreal.
“I knew a military wolf once, she was American, and yup…” Ethel squeezes my forearm through my jacket. “Sturdy stock is in the DNA it seems.”
My laugh is heartfelt. I can see it now, clear as day. I look left and over my shoulder to find Milo sporting an expression somewhere between mortification and resignation.
“She wasn’t Irish, though,” Ethel adds.
Ah, that one I can’t let slip. “Scottish, ma’am. Not Irish. The Rangecroft Estate is on the Borders.”
“I stand corrected.” She leans her head forward and across my chest, then stage whispers to Milo, “He’s a strict one, eh?
” She doesn’t wait for Milo’s response either, and straightens while she mutters, “Good.” Ethel pats my arm once more, as if I’m a horse she’s encouraging into motion.
“So, if you’re on some investigation, how come you’re here with me at the ass-crack of dawn?
Not that I don’t like the company. Usually it’s just me and the birds, though. ”
Milo interjects. “Because we actually are on an investigation, and I thought you might be able to help with something.”
Ethel draws to stop and looks between us, assessing. My wolf pushes forward,but detects nothing unusual.
“If you say so,” she finally mutters. “So, to business, then. What is it you want to ask?”
Milo skips around to her other side. He tries to take her paper bag of muffins so she’s free to link her other arm with his arm, but she clutches it tighter. Milo rolls his eyes and holds his arm out wide so she can loop while holding the bag.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch them. They remind me of how things are with my siblings, but especially how Ben and Riley can be.
“It’s kinda connected to Bella.” Ethel tenses at Milo’s words, just a fraction, and if she hadn’t been holding on to me so possessively, then I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
“Okaaay?” she says on an exhale.
Milo is quiet for a moment, then nods to himself. “I wondered… if I give you the name of an enchantment—an ancient one—if you can tell me if she ever mentioned it?”
Ethel shuffles her grip on the bag of muffins. “Yes, that I can do.”
Milo catches my eye over top of her head, his head tilted in a way that informs me that he’s asking for the green light to give out mission intel.
I nod to grant permission, but something in the act of him stopping to check with me first inspires a strange swirling sensation in my gut.
Maybe I had one too many cheesy pastries on the drive here.
“Did she ever reference the Luna del Lupo?”
Ethel is quiet while she thinks, and when our slow stroll completes the circuit, she motions to a bench with a tilt of her head. Only when we’re all seated does she answer.