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I grumble. “Meanwhile, my birthday is in two months and I just know I’m getting that same damned vase painting.”
Henrietta just laughs.
It is nice seeing her again. When Elijah took me into his home for a few weeks, Henrietta was always around, keeping me company. She taught me how to cook some easy recipes to give me something to do. Her company was warm and inviting, and I always felt at ease with her.
I am so lost in our conversation that I don’t hear the sound of the front door closing downstairs.
Henrietta does, however.
She blinks, asking casually, “Are you expecting anyone aside from your friend?”
I feel confusion at the sudden question. “No. Zayn’s going to come home in the evening. We’re alone.”
Her face immediately closes off, and she stands up abruptly. Her hand reaches into the basket she brought up with her and I jump when I see the sleek gun she pulls out.
“Uh, Henrietta, what is that for?”
“Sshh,” she puts a finger on her lips. “Someone just entered the house.”
Her voice is low and steady, and it hits me that it is impossible for someone who had lived so long in the same house as Elijah not to be half as dangerous as he is.
She moves towards the bedroom door, closing it quickly and locking it. Then, dragging the armchair, she leans it against the lock.
“Call Zayn and Elijah,” she orders calmly. “That’s not going to hold forever. Then, get behind me.”
I make the calls, and both men tell me they are on their way. Looking around for a weapon, I see the sword on display that Zayn told me is an actual katana. I arm myself with that.
The sound of the doorknob rattling has me clenching my teeth, gripping on to the slightly heavy Japanese sword.
Why the fuck does it look so heavy when it weighs around a kilogram?
“You’re sure they can break in?” I ask, anxiously.
Henrietta nods, grimly. “The chair is too thick to wedge under the knob. It’s just a matter of him picking the lock and pushing past the chair.”
I eye her gun. “You, uh, know how to shoot that thing?”
Henrietta smiles at that. “I taught Elijah how to shoot.”
I stare at the back of the woman who looks so harmless and was laughing with me just a few minutes ago.
“That’s—that’s pretty wow,” I mumble.
She just chuckles.
Her eyes, however, are trained on the door, her gun raised as she holds it with both hands.
The sound of something metal scraping along the lock.
I swallow and realize my throat is dry.
Fear? Anticipation?
“The house is guarded.” I hiss. “How could anyone just waltz in?”
Henrietta doesn’t get a chance to reply because with a shove, the door opens with a bang and the armchair goes sliding across the floor.
One look at the person on the other side has me blinking and lowering the katana in disbelief.
