THE WIZARD AND THE SYLPH
Chapter Twelve
The Wizard
Anest woke and opened his eyes. The light of the full moon shone full upon Lily beside him, leaving himself in darkness. Her appearance in repose, cast in silver-limned illumination, seemed altogether eldritch and soft as early morning dew, and he kissed the half-smile of her lips just to reassure himself that she was altogether real. His smile broadened as his kiss evoked a contented little sleep-noise from her, and the protective love in him took pleasure in the way she turned on her side, towards his protective warmth, and settled once more.
Yet the cause of his waking remained like a newly faded itch, illusive and non-specific. Sensing something familiar, he stared hard into the darkest recesses of the small apartment . . .
. . . and became aware of Belloc.
With a finger to his lips, the old wizard stepped into the penumbra cast by moonglow, a mere guess in black robes, and gestured that Anest was to accompany him and leave Lily to her sleep.
Anest yawned as they walked down the hall. "What is the hour?" he asked in a whisper.
"It is a quarter of five," replied the wizard in the same timbre, and said no more; pointedly so, Anest found himself thinking.
Yet he persisted, wary of the heightened tension he felt emanating from the old wizard. "Why are we going this way? The meeting hall is in the other direction."