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“Hey.” Ignatius tucked the enormous box under one arm then stuck out his other hand, which
Finch shook. “I’m Nate—Alistair’s mate and father to two fairly good boys and one frog,
apparently.”
Finch nodded. “Finch, at your service.”
“Did you ring the doorbell?” Ignatius asked. “I feel like we’ve been standing here for a long-ass
time.”
“We have,” Finch replied.
“Huh. Weird. I guess everyone else must already be inside. It gets kind of crazy when we all
get together. It’s not surprising they didn’t hear the bell the first time. Let me ring it again.” He
pressed the doorbell several times in rapid succession. “It shouldn’t be much longer.”
Finch nodded, but chose not to otherwise engage. He’d heard it said that Ignatius was a
Disgrace, and while he was handsome, his behavior was not congruent with the teachings of
the Pedigree. Perhaps it was all a rumor. That would explain how Alistair had sired a clutch
with him. Slowly but surely, all the pieces were falling into place.
“Come here, boys!” Hugh called to his nephews.
The two children who had not fallen into a pond bounced up to their uncle and waited
expectantly.
Hugh reached into his pocket and pulled out red licorice for Abelard and a candy bar for Malory.
“Oh, Hugh. They’re already going to get enough sugar today as it is,” Ignatius sighed. “Boys,
what do we say?”
“Thank you,” the boys chorused with mouths full of candy.
“You’re welcome. Malory, boy, come here. We keep pushing the bell and no one’s come to let
us in. Why don’t you help us out?”
Malory grinned at his uncle and darted forward, pressing his finger to the button.
“Just one push, sweetheart,” Ignatius admonished, seemingly unaware that he’d jammed it
quite a few times himself.
The little imp grinned and kept on pushing.
The front door was wrenched open just as a very damp Alistair jogged up with an even wetter
Chaucer in his arms. “Stop that racket right now!”
Finch had expected an Attendant to let them into the house, but it was Mr. Geoffrey Drake who
