Wen
The private library smelled like dust, old leather, and what I suspected was actual medieval decay. Books were stacked everywhere, scrolls covered every available surface, and in the middle of it all sat Scholar Umrik, bent over a massive tome like he was trying to merge with it through sheer force of will.
He was ancient. Like, potentially older than the concept of time itself.
“Scholar Umrik,” Mal said, his hand warm on the small of my back as we entered. “Thank you for seeing us so quickly.”
Umrik looked up, blinking slowly like a turtle waking from hibernation. “Ah. Yes. The boy’s powers. Quite extraordinary. And quite inexplicable. You see, in my three centuries of study...”
Oh god. We were going to be here forever.
“...I have encountered precious few cases of how shall I put this... Well, there was this one incident three hundred years ago where a wolf mated with a...”
“Perhaps we could focus on the present situation?” Mal suggested, his voice strained with the effort of staying polite.
“Yes, yes, of course. Where was I?” Umrik adjusted his spectacles. “Ah yes, witch hybrids with wolves. Exceedingly rare. In fact, I remember a case from my early studies, must have been around the year 867, or was it 678? No, definitely 867, because that was the year of the great...”
Someone please end me.
Killian squirmed in my lap, already bored out of his tiny mind. He started playing with my hair, twisting strands around his fingers while Umrik droned on about bloodlines and magical theory and seventeen different cases from two centuries ago that had absolutely nothing to do with our current situation.
Mal and I exchanged a look. A perfectly synchronized “oh my god, make it stop” look that would’ve been funny if we weren’t desperately trying to figure out why our son could open portals to other dimensions.
“The point being,” Umrik continued, finally, mercifully getting somewhere, “human-wolf hybrids with magical abilities are completely unprecedented. There is no record of such a thing occurring. Ever. At least not in Ravenor’s records.”
Killian chose that exact moment to interrupt. “Are you older than Grandma?”
Umrik blinked. “Well, I suppose...”
“Are you older than Papa?”
“Yes...”
“Are you older than DIRT?”
I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing. Mal’s shoulders were shaking slightly and he was suddenly very interested in a book on the far wall.
“Killian...” I started.
“I’m just asking! He looks REALLY old. Super super old. Like maybe dinosaurs old.”
“Pup,” Mal said, coughing to hide what was definitely a laugh. “That is not polite.”
Umrik adjusted his spectacles again, looking more amused than offended. “Children are refreshingly honest.”
“That’s one word for it,” I muttered.
“What’s un-press-den-ted mean?” Killian asked, latching onto the word like a dog with a bone.
“It means this has never happened before,” Umrik explained.
Killian’s face lit up. “Like when I ate ALL the cookies?”
“That happens at least once a week,” I pointed out.
“Oh.” His face fell. “Then not un-press-den-ted.”
“No, pup. Very press-den-ted. Extremely expected, actually.”
