Thanks to: Laura-Wilkie, Readergirl99, Write that wrong, Jolinnn, Steinbock, Forever Day and P.S. Sword for the reviews which made me think I probably managed it; it lived up to expectations. I'm happy :)

And to: Forever Day for the follow.

USUAL WARNINGS APPLY. PLEASE SEE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

EXTRA WARNINGS: OK, so back on the slowdown. Also, this isn't likely to be up to my usual standard, because it hasn't really been read over. Thought you'd rather see it rough than not for a few more days haha

Enjoy!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Adventitious

An unexpected happening occurring as a result of an external factor, rather than planning or design.

Dublin, Ireland - New Year's Eve

The knock at the door was earlier than she had expected.

She didn't know whether to be pleased or worried. She was dressed to go out, as he had said he might be back before midnight. Not that she was looking forward to bringing in the New Year with a sour, cantankerous drunkard of a man. She hoped he'd won big at the arcade or something else which would put him in a good mood. He was never her Paul when he'd had a drink. She sighed, heading quickly to the door before he could either start trying to break it down or begin crooning one of his – and perhaps at some point her – favourite songs.

"Coming now!" she called, pulling on a pair of shoes in case he would immediately want her to follow him.

"Are you sure we should be doing this? I mean, she's not expecting us and…"

"Do it, boy. Before I use your thick skull as a door knocker."

Dom raised his fist and knocked gently.

"Well she won't hear that," The Major said, rolling his eyes and rattling another louder series of knocks on the door.

"Coming now!" – came the somewhat terse response.

"See? Jaysus Christ, boy. I didn't think I'd need to teach you how to knock a door…"

Dom did well not to tell him to shut up.

"Come here; your face is a state," The Major said, suddenly noticing that his nephew had a crust of blood above his cut eyebrow that had trickled down the side of one of his shade-too-sharp cheekbones.

"Seriously, Uncle?" Dom said, lurching back and swatting at him. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Call it Christmas Spirit or some bullshit. And calm down. I'm not going to go all nanny and spit on you," The Major assured him – still seeming far too amused by all this. Instead of spitting on the sleeve of his jacket, he slid it along the parapet of the corridor and once it was soaked with half-melted snow, grabbed the boy by the collar before he could protest, scrubbing his forehead clean with gentle firmness.

"Oh come on," Dom growled, cuffing his hand away. "That's fecking sore."

"Oh don't be such a pansy. Stop whinging, boy. Gotta have you looking presentable or else she'll think I haven't been looking after you," The Major said with a smirk, slapping him on the back and making him face the door.

"Presentable?" Dom scoffed, swiftly distracting himself from the phrase his uncle had used, eerily familiar to that in his nightmare. "You don't look much better yourself!"

The Major shrugged. "I'm not her son. I don't need to look presentable."

"She probably won't even want to see me…" Dom muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous," The Major snorted.

"But… but what if she was happy without…"

"Domovoi?"

"Yeah?" Dom asked, looking up at him.

In that moment, the quickly-becoming-rebellious teen looked nothing more than a boy.

"Give it a rest, lad," The Major said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Behind the door, Theresa felt tears well in her eyes. She had watched the whole exchange through the spy-hole she'd been using to check what condition Paul had been in. Only it wasn't Paul. It was…

"Dom…" she whispered, pulling open the door, fumbling the handle with her eagerness to open it, repeating again, louder, as she finally managed. "Dom!"

In the narrow, grungy corridor, there was her son, flanked by his uncle. Same haircuts, same faces, same build... They looked like a double-act, the larger stood behind the smaller with his hand laid protectively on his shoulder.

"Hi Ma," her son said, almost nervously.

But he needn't have been.

She closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms all the way around him and squeezing him tightly, Dom doing the same back. She was not a short woman, yet soon he would tower above her. But for now at least, he was still her little boy. After a few seconds, Theresa looked up from her son's shoulder, thanking The Major silently with her gaze and beckoning him closer with one hand.

For a second, The Major wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the pair of them and envelop them in a cocoon of safety. Of protection. But that wasn't his place. He took a small step back, shaking his head gently. She looked saddened, but hugged her son tightly once more, before finally holding him at arm's length.

"Why didn't you just come back?" she asked, wiping her eyes with a sniff. "You know what he gets like. He doesn't mean anything he says… what he… he does, when he's drunk… And what did you do to your face?! Come here – does that hurt? That's fresh! What have you been doing?"

"Don't, Ma. Stop. It doesn't hurt at all. Stop it," Dom said, pushing her hands down carefully. "I didn't come here to talk about that. I came to ask if… if you wanted to come with us. Back to Fowl Manor. For New Year."

Theresa bit her lip. "But Paul…"

"He won't be a problem for tonight."

"What? What do you mean, Dom?"

"I… I saw him fighting someone."

"In the street? Has he been arrested? Do stop speaking in half-sentences, son – just tell me."

"It was… in a cage match," Dom said, stopping short of saying exactly who with – a fact he hadn't agreed with his uncle, but which seemed prudent given their circumstances.

"But he's retired," Theresa frowned. "He promised. No more cage-fighting. Is that how you cut your head?!"

"Yeah," he admitted.

Theresa closed her eyes. "You were both cage-fighting."

It wasn't a question. It was a verbal realisation. She inhaled through her nose. She was annoyed.

"Not with eachother," Dom assured her hurriedly, as though that made the whole business acceptable.

"I… I don't understand why either of you were fighting in the first place!" – Clearly it did not.

"Ma… You know I sometimes… you know…" Dom started reluctantly.

Theresa's mouth tightened to a thin line. She did turn a blind eye to her son's extra-curricular activities. She was not stupid, after all. She was also in the medical profession. His every bump and scratch was highlighted to her trained eye. As his mother, every one pained her to see.

"Then why was Paul fighting? He promised me. He promised…"

The last bit was almost to herself and Dom gave her a few seconds before he offered up an excuse.

"It was Eddie's idea. That raffle fight thing. Anyway, he came off worse. He's… erm… gone off in an ambulance."

"An ambulance?!"

"He'll be fine. I'm sure. Just got knocked out. He should be in overnight…"

"I should go see him… Damnit who's on shift?" she muttered to herself. "I could ring ahead and…"

"No Ma, please… Would you," he paused, licking his lips. "Would you come with us, instead?"

There was a pleading in his eyes; totally at odds with his upbringing.

Theresa bit her lip again. Paul would be fine, she was sure. But if he came home early and found her not there…

"I could bring you back in the morning. First thing. Before they even release Paul," The Major offered, although it made him grit his teeth to say her boyfriend's name without curling his lip.

There was a silence that The Major hated, for every second proved how much that piece of scum had such a hold over Theresa that she couldn't even chose to spend time with her son.

"Forget it. Doesn't matter. Happy New Year, Ma," Dom mumbled, turning and making for the stairs.

But The Major was a damn-site quicker than Paul.

"Dom…" he began in a low rumble, as he replaced his hand more heavily on the boy's shoulder.

Dom's hand flew up, lightning fast to strike it away. The Major caught it, holding it just a second longer than was entirely necessary.

"Wait," he said firmly. "Let her make a decision first."

The boy looked at the floor, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides. The Major hated that he'd scared him by grabbing him like that, but if he hadn't the young Butler would have been gone into the night. He looked at Theresa, beseeching her better judgement.

Please, he implored silently. For your son.

"Yes. Wait for me, Dom," she said suddenly, taking one step back into the house, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door. "I am already dressed up, after all."

En route to Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland

Dom had refused to take the front seat, but then so did his mother. So The Major was alone in the front as usual as the Bentley purred out of the city and onto the back-lanes.

"Did you like your present?"

A redundant question. His mother had worn the same perfume for as long as he could remember.

"Of course I did," she smiled. "Where did you find it?"

"Honestly?" Dom said with a slight smile. "I picked one up at the airport. Duty-free. Sorry."

His mother laughed, dealing him a gentle clip around the ear. "At least you know what I like."

And at least it was something he could get her that Paul wouldn't notice and get absurdly jealous about.

"Your uncle gave you yours, I presume?"

"Erm…" Dom said, looking towards his uncle for help.

"I opened it for you," The Major threw over his shoulder. "That fleece you haven't taken off for the past week. Might've forgotten to tell you that was your present."

"Oh, that's alright," Dom said, smiling. The fleece was his? That was great news. "Yes, Ma. It's great!"

"Oh My-les!" Theresa sighed, leaning over to clip him across the back of the head too.

"Sorry – I was preoccupied. Now put your seatbelt on."

"Like you're going to prang this thing, worryguts," Theresa said – just like his brother. "And you were preoccupied doing what, exactly?"

There was a short silence where both Butlers decided to definitely not tell Theresa what had happened early on the morning of Christmas Eve.

"You know. Body-guarding stuff," Myles said unconvincingly. Dom had to agree with his grandfather – his uncle could be a downright terrible liar when he wasn't trying hard enough.

"Body-guarding stuff indeed," Theresa drawled, disbelievingly. "And I'm Father Christmas."

"It's great anyway, Ma," Dom interrupted, saving his uncle. "I love it. Like Uncle says, I've hardly had it off."

Theresa raised an eyebrow, but she decided not to ask, instead putting her belt back on and settling back to watch the city fade away into the dark night.

The rest of the journey was spent exchanging stories and with Theresa asking how her son was getting on at 'school'. They rarely got to talk about The Academy. Paul didn't approve. She at least was proud when he told her he was coming top of almost every class. Except cookery. That lesson belonged to his friend Jake. And medicine, which was Wilhelm's forte. And Jean could probably beat him when it came to gymnastic ability. But no-one came close when it came to overall guarding. He was a Butler. By nature and nurture, he was bound to be the best.

Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland

They approached the gates slowly, The Major clicked a button on a remote that would alert the gatehouse they were there.

"Jaysus, I forgot how big this place is," Theresa said, watching the walls slide by as they approached the manor.

"It's only getting bigger too," The Major noted, pressing another button which would close the gates. It wasn't that he didn't trust automatic systems, but… he just didn't quite trust automatic systems. "They've just finished the orangery. That's where they'll be holding the New Year's Celebrations, too."

"Excuse my heathen-ness, but what the hell is an orangery when it's at home?" Theresa laughed.

"He means a conservatory, Ma," Dom said with a soft laugh.

"Then Jaysus, Myles – why didn't you just call it that?"

"Less of that, please," The Major grumbled. "It's 'Major' when we're around the Fowls."

"I know, I know – but I'll call you what I want in the confines of this car, Smylie," she teased.

Dom laughed and his uncle muttered something that sounded a lot like 'oh for feck's sake, bloody woman… what was I thinking?' and pulled them up alongside the garage.

"Right. Need I tell you to behave?"

"No sir," Dom rattled automatically.

"Not you, boy. I know you'll behave yourself impeccably. I was talking to your mother."

"Why, Myles. I'm shocked," Theresa said, doing a fair impression of astonishment. "What mischief exactly would I be getting myself into?"

The Major grunted like he had a great list he could begin reciting and Dom's interest was piqued.

"Yeah go on – like what?" he pried.

"Ah don't you listen to him, Dommy-boy. He's just worried I'm going to get him into mischief."

"How would you manage that?"

"Well," his mother said, tapping her nose conspiratorially. "Let's just say I bring out the best in your uncle, that's all."

"Don't listen to her, Dom…"

"Did he never tell you about the time…"

"Theresa…"

"What?" she said innocently. "I was only going to tell him about the chandelier incident."

"That was your fault," The Major said stoutly. "I claim no responsibility for that whatsoever; I was just the one who had to clear it up."

"What chandelier incident?" Dom asked curiously.

"Never you mind, boy," The Major grumbled, getting out of the car.

"Is he always this grumpy these days?" Theresa asked her son.

"Pretty much," Dom nodded, following his uncle and sliding off the seats.

"Must be the old age getting to him," Theresa stage-whispered conspiratorially, although she was of an age with the man and neither of them had yet reached forty.

"I said that," Dom agreed.

"Cheeky little shite. It's not too late to fit in ten score and a halfy before the year's out, you know," The Major warned, reaching a long arm towards him threateningly.

"Ooh 'eck, heads down, son," Theresa grinned, linking arms with Dom, who smiled unconsciously. "What is it your Pa says – quit prattling about, boy!"

The Major rolled his eyes. "Pratting, actually. And quite apt you should bring it up."

Theresa linked his arm too. "Oh come here, you miserable old git."

The Major did at least allow her to stay linked like that, safe between the both of them until they got up to the manor, where he gently pried her arm away and keyed the code into pad by the door. They stepped into a room which acted as a changing-room for the Butlers and The Major crossed over to a locker, pulling out a shirt, blazer and trousers, all Dom's size.

"Put this on," he said, throwing them over and pulling out a suit of his own. "And clean your face up a bit more."

Dom obeyed slowly. He was not too embarrassed to change in front of his mother, but her would rather she didn't see the state of his skin beyond what she already knew about.

"So, 'Resa. How's work?" The Major asked, drawing her attention.

"Oh you know. Same old, same old," she shrugged. "Lot of stabbings this week, actually. The Old Bill's had their work cut out. Christmas family dramas and whatnot. One guy came in with – I shit you not – a turkey carver stuck in his…"

"Hmm?" The Major feigned interest, buttoning his shirt over his bullet-proof vest.

"Why ask if you aren't interested?" she sighed.

"I am," he said honestly. "Just... stabbings? Bit mundane, isn't it?"

She slapped him soundly on the vest and he actually chuckled.

"You're a heartless bastard Myles Butler, you know that?"

"It has been said," he admitted with a shrug of his giant shoulders as he began to fasten his cufflinks. The simple, silver squares looked tiny between his giant fingers and he fiddled with them for a moment.

"Oh come here; I'll do them for you," Theresa sighed, batting his hands away and slotting the small pieces of metal through his shirt cuffs herself. "Great murderous oaf that you are, can't even do your own bloody cufflinks…"

"May I point out I was doing them up just fine before you started fussing at me," The Major pointed out, his face unimpressed.

"No, you may not. Shut up," she told him shortly, grabbing his other wrist.

He let her, smirking slightly. "Careful – they're explosive."

"What?" she frowned, pausing instantly. "Are you being serious?"

"That would be telling," he said neutrally.

"You tit!" she scowled, her mouth twisting into a disbelieving smile as he raised a revealing eyebrow, unable to keep up the façade in the face of her infuriated humour. "You know I believed you then?"

Dom watched them, a strange sadness filling his chest.

In a different life…

Not only would he be more than accepting, should his mother and uncle strike up a relationship, but given his parentage, he was all-but looking into a mirror of how his life could have been.

"You next, sonny-jim," his mother said, spinning around and bustling about her son. She fixed his cufflinks too and clicked her fingers, holding out her hand. "Tie, Myles. Come on - chop-chop."

The Major obediently handed her a bowtie and she threw it around her son's neck, pulling him towards her slightly. She paused, bringing her hands up to cup his face and gently smoothing the bruise that lay over his cheekbone with her thumb and then running one fore-finger very lightly over the steri-stripped cut above one of his eyes – his eyes which were dark and fathomless – so like his father's, so like all of his paternal family. They filled with concern as she gave a sad smile.

"What is it, Ma? What's wrong?" he asked, looking down at her.

Looking down, for truly – as much as he assured her he was not all that tall yet – he was no longer of a height with her. He'd grown, she realised, wondering how on Earth she'd begun to miss him growing up already. Her hands fell back to the tie and she folded the silk over itself, straightening it.

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing, my darling. It's just… when did my little boy get so grown up, eh?"

"Aw Ma…" he mumbled, embarrassed, as he tugged his long arms into barely-long-enough jacket sleeves.

"Here, clean up your face," she said, wringing a clean cloth quickly in the small sink on the wall and handing it to him. "I can't really reach anymore."

"I'm not that tall yet…" he assured her once again, wiping what was left of the crusted blood from his brow, careful not to disturb the butterfly stitches.

"She's right though; you're shooting up like a weed," The Major said, eyeing him critically. "Just need to fill you out a bit. A trip to the tailors wouldn't go a miss, either. My treat."

"Can I get one like you and Pa?" Dom asked eagerly.

Myles rolled his eyes. "If you insist."

Dom beamed, fastening his jacket and smoothing it down.

"Stand next to eachother a minute," Theresa asked them, pulling them left and right in front of her.

The pair stood, one old, one younger, one taller, one shorter, but otherwise the same.

"There," she said, the proudness emanating from her. "Now I just wish I had a camera…"

Myles was silent, his eyes flicking to a locked safe on the wall.

"What?" she asked, noticing instantly. She did not spend years in a relationship with Dom's father without becoming hyper-aware of minute expressions. For example; if one wanted to glean unspoken affection from a Butler, tiny movements were essential to that realisation.

The Major exhaled air from his nose. "Go stand over there."

"Why?"

"Because your wish is my command," he said simply, unlocking the safe and taking something out.

Theresa beamed. "I don't even want to know why you have a camera in a changing-room, but that's perfect!"

"Surveillance shots. Now come on. Stand together. Closer – do I look like a fecking photographer? Stand together so I actually get you in the shot…"

He took the picture, Theresa with her arm around her son's waist, squeezing him closer, his arm thrown protectively around her shoulder. Her beaming, him smiling self-consciously. The Butler behind the camera smiled too.

"Give it here now – let me get one of you two," Theresa said, scurrying over.

"Ah-ah, no. Come on. I'll be in enough trouble as it is once Old Pa finds out I've been wasting film…"

"Pshht, it's not a waste. And that soppy old bastard would say the exact same thing!"

"Theresa…" he said again, exasperatedly.

"All together, then?" she said, placing the camera on the edge of the sink and fiddling with the settings.

"What are you doing? Do you even know how to work that thing?"

"Ah I'm sure it's simple enough…"

"If that falls off there…"

"Shit – the timer's started! Quickly!" she yelped, dragging both her 'boys' by the hands. "Sit down Myles or it'll behead you – on the bench, come on Dom – you too!"

They sat in a line on the bench, Theresa in the middle, her arms ending up crossed over as she refused to let go of either of their hands.

"Smile… keep smiling…"

"Did you even press the button?"

"Yes I pressed the button!" she retorted, but by then she was starting to laugh.

Myles looked down at her, unable to keep from at least smirking, her laugh was so infectious. Dom looked across to him, also grinning.

And that of course was when the picture took, a white flash bouncing off the walls.

"Bollocks," The Major grumbled. "Now you'll want to take another one, am I right?"

"No – not at all," she said, still smiling. "It'll be perfect."

"You haven't even seen it…"

"It'll be perfect," she said again, with confidence. "Will you print it for me? And send it in the post?"

"Yes, yes I'll print it – now come on or we'll miss New Year pratting about down here," he said, retrieving the camera and storing it safely away, making a mental note to make sure that he was the one who developed that particular film.

Theresa patted her hair, looking them both up and down. She brushed at invisible lint on their lapels and straightened their ties. Neither had the heart to tell her to 'stop faffing'.

"There," she said, content at last. "Now you both look presentable enough to accompany a lady."

"Ah yes, now if only we could find one," The Major said airily.

Theresa slapped him on the arm. "Shut up, you. You have to at least pretend I'm a feckin' lady or I'll never fit in on the other side of that door."

"Would help if you stopped feckin' swearing," he imitated with a wry smile, leaning back so that his face was out of reach in case she should attempt to hit him again.

"I think you're a lady, Ma," Dom said dutifully.

"Thank-you, sweetheart," she said, kissing him on the cheek and turning to his uncle. "See, Myles?"

"Ah ah," he frowned, pressing a two fingers to her mouth. "Major."

"Major wanker," she said, her voice muffled by his giant hand. She reached up and grabbed it before he could pull away.

"You seem exceptionally… fiery this evening," he frowned. "Have you been drinking?"

"Not yet," she grinned, kissing his knuckles firmly and bouncing towards the door. "I'm just happy, Myles. You should try it some time, really."

The Major caught his nephew smiling at the pair of them and exhaled noisily, rubbing the lipstick off his skin before it inevitably transferred to something expensive. His reputation, for example.

"Come on," he muttered. "Best keep up before she starts embarrassing us both with her stories."

Domovoi thought that was something he wouldn't actually mind for once, if it meant he got an insight to more of his uncle's less-serious side. But he followed all the same, ever obedient.

A corridor later they entered the grand hall, which had been transformed from its usual expanse of empty marble, into an array of richly-clothed tables - in the middle of which there was still a fairly large, empty space, occupied only by couples dancing and waiters skimming through the mêlée of suits and dresses, silver trays laden with glasses.

"I best find Butler; let him know we're back," The Major said quietly, one hand on Dom's shoulder. "You go have fun."

"Have… fun?" the boy frowned.

"Yes – you know. Enjoy yourself," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You may as well voluntarily, for I don't see your mother allowing you to do differently."

The youngest Butler grinned – it was becoming quite the habit this evening. He watched as his mother accepted a glass of champagne from the nearest waiter. She turned, beckoning him over.

"Go on. I've got work to do," The Major said, giving him a gentle shove. "Just remember it was your idea to bring her when she makes you dance."

"No it wasn't, it was your idea. And she won't make me d…" Dom began with a frown, but his uncle was gone, striding purposefully through the crowd, which parted like sheep before a wolf.

Needless to say, The Major had barely reached his father's side, in prime observing position on the first floor landing, when he saw their heir apparent hauled onto the dance floor by his determined mother, the previous hours melting away as he danced with her, laughing heartily.

"Where's Artemis?" he asked first.

"On your two – chatting to the brunette over by the champagne tower," the older bodyguard told him.

The Major glanced over, saw the boy wasn't in any immediate danger – despite the possibly-unstable tower of glass he was going to have to believe his father had ensured was secure – and waited for the inevitable questioning.

Alexandr Butler did not ask whether his son had been successful in his mission. That much was clear by the presence of not only himself, but their protégée and his mother to boot.

Instead he asked the important question.

"Will I be needing to make any phonecalls, Major?" he asked cryptically, in a low rumble.

"Not this evening, sir," he answered.

His father nodded slowly. "Good."

"He wanted to bring his mother. I didn't have the heart to tell him no."

A white lie. He had indeed suggested going to see her, but it had been Dom who had imperceptibly perceived the further suggestion beyond the visit. He had been almost surprised when the boy had asked, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. The boy was very perspicacious, after all.

"Quite right," Xandr said, barely moving mouth as he spoke, lest he be lip-read by some of the other bodyguards dotted about the room. Not that any of them had their eyes on the Butler pair. Far too busy trying to compete with them than observe and learn. Amateurs. "I'm pleased you brought them both home for the turn of the year."

"I'll take her back over first thing tomorrow, if you'll give me leave?"

"I don't see why not. I doubt anyone will be surfacing much sooner than midday."

The Major nodded too, daring even to be pleased with how things had turned out.

"Are they still holding the midnight festivities in that blasted glass box?" he asked next, changing the subject for now was not the time to discuss the full success of his plan.

"Change of plans; outside, if the weather holds."

The Major would have rolled his eyes, if it wasn't so unprofessional. That was potentially worse. At least the glass sheets were blast and bullet proof.

"And the handheld fireworks?" he asked, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. Perhaps they were better off outside. One of those bouncing off the reinforced windows was an unpleasant thought to say the least.

"Still occurring, as far as Eugene is concerned."

"God damn his obsession with futuristic celebrations, eh? Can't you have a word with him or…"

"Son, if you believe I haven't tried, you'll believe anything," Butler sighed.

"And?"

"And what?"

"I believe that you tried. And I know what you're like," his son said knowingly. "So I'm pleased to hear you managed to convince him to…"

The younger man left the sentence hanging expectantly and Xandr, turned to him with a small twitch of his mouth. Of course he had. When one's charge was a Fowl, one didn't make it this far into a lifetime guarding post without picking up some serious negotiation skills.

"To replace the conflagration component with confetti."

The Major quirked an eyebrow. The Fowls were incredibly pig-headed. To convince one with their mind on something, was… "Impressive."

"I beg your pardon?" his father said, amused.

"You heard," The Major grumbled.

"Speaking of words with charges, best keep an eye on your own little blighter – he'll be copping off in the bushes before the night is out."

"He better well not…" The Major growled, glaring across the room at Artemis, who was sidling ever closer to the pretty young lady he had his eye on.

Xandr chuckled. "It'll happen eventually, you know. You might as well face the fact you'll be stood outside a room like the world's largest third wheel, believe me."

Myles's silence was answer enough.

"Go sweep," his father ordered, mercifully releasing him. "There's only twenty minutes until Eugene starts handing out his faux-explosives willy-nilly so I could do to be sure there's nothing genuine about."

"Yessir," he answered curtly, descending the stairs without a backwards glance and melting into the crowds easily, despite his size.

Xandr threw his gaze across the hall, clocking his charge and Missus Fowl socialising with their friends, spotting Domovoi being spun around the dancefloor by Theresa, his eyes landing briefly on his youngest son as the man glided past his own charge with more than a moment's suspicious consideration to the teenager's current acquaintance.

Kids, he thought fondly.

So, there you are. Back at the manor.

I really was chuffed to hear you all enjoyed the big fight scene :) If I had you all on snapchat you'd have got to see the big shit-eating grin I had on my face. As it is, you'll just have to take my word for it haha

Well, I have lambs to feed before bed and then back up before bed again haha They've ended up... well, unofficially officially they're now called "Nick" and "Dave" after two of the farm workers haha But personally I like Cirrus and Nimbus and since they're living part-time in my kitchen and it's my sleep that's paying for their well-being... I may overrule people and just keep calling them scientific cloud classifications haha

Sorry about the extra day's wait for a new chapter this time, I've been a tad busy :)

I hope you're all looking forward to the rest of this. It's not quite wrapped up yet ;)

Wolfy
ooo
O

17/02/16