Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 167
box from the bookshelf that held his stash and began rolling
a joint.
He did it lovingly, with quick and practiced movements.
Tobias was not content with so little attention, and flipped
at Dylan’s hand with his snout, sending a shower of cleaned
weed over the table.
“Oh, dear,” said Susan, noticing.
“No harm done,” said Dylan, brushing the weed into a
pile. “Ain’t gonna hurt to smoke a few breadcrumbs.”
Susan added the chocolate, and as she stirred, she wondered
aloud, “I’d give anything to know where Mikael is
tonight.”
Dylan’s head sagged at this. “Ah know what you mean. It
could have been any of us, though.”
“Don’t talk as if he’s dead!”
“Ah’m not. Ah’m just sayin’ that any of us could be
missin’ right now. It’s a soberin’ thought.” He lit the joint
and took a deep drag. He felt the warm roughness in his
chest, and in a few moments, felt the soft blanket of the drug
descend over his brain, soothing and calming as it did.
“Ah, that’s the stuff,” he said.
“And here’s the other stuff, sweetie,” Susan said, pouring
two cups of cocoa, and walking them to the table.
“Sure you don’t want a power-hit?”
“Not tonight. Ask me when I get my period, though.”
“O’ course.”
“I’m worried about Mikael, but I’m also worried about
Dicky,” Susan said, once she was seated.
Dylan took a sip of the strong, sweet chocolate, and
drummed his fingers on the table. “He’s havin’ a rough time,
but he’s holding it together. Ah’m just glad Ah’m not callin’
the shots in this order.”
As if on cue, a wail went up from the front porch, vaguely
reminiscent of a tomcat. Tobias’ ears stood up on end.