Shadow Things

XXII

Late that night, Griffin came to visit.

Both Hansel and Felix were in the living room, Hansel sitting on one end of the couch, absently stroking Flea who was draped across his lap like a puffy scarf. Leech, on the other hand had ensconced itself beneath Hansel's black cap—the one he had discarded in the middle of the couch earlier that day—paws out like a turtle, scratching industriously at the cushions below. On the other end of the couch lolled Felix, caught in a state of half-consciousness, switching in and out of a fitful sleep.

Every time Hansel glanced over at Felix he was overcome with a sense of deep concern. Felix was pushing himself too hard, and no matter how much he denied it with his words Hansel could see the evidence of it in his emaciated frame and the unhealthy shade of his skin. His fatigue seemed to run bone-deep, and Hansel could not guess if it was a result of his encounters with Griffin, his lack of rest or a direct consequence of the drastic fall in his powers. Very likely it was all of those reasons.

The springs inside the couch creaked as Felix shifted uncomfortably. A low moan escaped his lips and Hansel thought he might have woken up, but Felix's eyes remained closed, his head hanging limply to a side. Hansel considered shooing Leech from the couch and pulling Felix's head down onto the cushions to remedy his difficult posture. But touching him would wake him up, and then he wouldn't let himself go back to sleep again, because he hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place.

Hansel was sure Felix had not gotten any sleep after he disappeared last night (to do what, he did not know; Felix would not tell), and once he returned, he had spent the entire time keeping watch on Hansel. He would start dozing off once in a while, but then he would jolt awake, seized by a mysterious fit of panic; he would look around frantically, and only relax when he saw Hansel by his side. This cycle repeated multiple times—he was obviously too tired to keep his eyes open, yet too scared to close them. He had only properly fallen asleep about an hour ago and Hansel did not want to wake him up even by accident. Hence, he stayed his hand: it was better Felix slept badly than he got no sleep at all.

Hansel must have begun to doze of himself, because the next thing he remembered was blinking his eyes open to the sharp pain in his leg. He peered down at the cat clawing into his thigh. "Flea, what's wrong?"

But Flea's attention was elsewhere. Next to him, Leech had wriggled out from beneath Hansel's black cap, blue eyes glowing as it hissed at something in the dark. Hansel looked over to see what had agitated the cats, only to catch Griffin lurking in the shadows of the living room.

Hansel jerked upright. He felt a cold prickle at the back of his neck. Since when had Griffin been standing there?

He glanced over at Felix, who was still sleeping, and weighted the merits of waking him up.

"What do you want?" demanded Hansel, muscles tensed, coiled for action.

Griffin emerged from the shadows. His eyes only touched Hansel's briefly before they latched onto Felix's sleeping figure. Complicated expressions chased each other across his face, until, at last, he wiped his face clear in favour of a subtle smirk. "Felix looks exhausted," he said fruitily. "Let's not wake him up, shall we?"

Hansel wasn't going to. If Felix woke up, he'd just vanish into the night with Griffin—again. And he'd never get to know what transpires between the two of them.

Hansel picked up Flea from his lap and placed the kitten on the couch beside Leech. He stood up shakily. "Let's go outside."

The cats did not think it was a good idea—neither did Hansel, frankly, but he was out of options. They leapt off the couch in unison and intercepted Hansel's path, barring him from taking another step. Their furs were on end and their tails swished frantically in guarded anticipation. Their teeth were bared and stances taut, as if they were facing an enemy way up in the food chain; which they were.