Thankfully, the laws have changed since then. But Alphas can still claim the ‘Alpha’s Heir‘ law and gain custody. of their firstborn werewolf child in court, if they have reason to do so. And what better reason than being the fucking President himself?
But then it hits me.
“Actually,” I say, my eyes lighting up, “Miles isn’t a werewolf. He’s human. He didn’t inherit any werewolf traits, so the Alpha’s Heir law doesn’t apply to him.”
The lawyer, if anything, just gives Miles another disgusted look. “Right,” he says slowly. “Well, my decision still holds: my firm simply lacks the resources to participate in a legal battle against the Alpha President. I’m sorry, Miss…”
His voice trails off, and I realize he doesn’t even remember my name. I don’t bother to tell him what it is, and simply whisk Miles away.
As I leave, I wonder if he would have been more inclined to help me if I had been a werewolf. Typical.
Afterwards, holding true to my promise, I take Miles to a small ice cream shop and buy him a cone. As we begin making our way home–or rather, back to Arthur’s home–I chew the inside of my cheek, considering my options. If I could just scrape together enough money, I could afford a better lawyer who will help me with this. It might take a little time, but I could do it–I could sell some paintings, for a start.
We head back into the apartment building, where Cliff is sitting at the front desk. His eyes light up as we approach, and for the first time since this morning, I smile.
“Miss Iris,” he says, struggling to his feet. “I never got to say last night just how glad I am to see you. Are you and Mr. Arthur back together now?”
My smile twitches a little, but I manage, “No, Cliff. I’m just… staying for a while.”
Cliff’s face falls ever so slightly. “Oh. Well, you’ve been missed, you know. You should speak with Ms. Augustine. She never stopped talking about you. Although, her mind is going a bit these days, so don’t be too alarmed if she’s a little… confused.”
At the mention of the elderly landlady, my heart softens. Another face I once loved–we started a book club‘ together back when I lived here, and we would meet every Saturday for tea and to discuss our books. It was just the two of us, and Cliff sometimes barged in to steal our cookies, but I always treasured it.
I never finished the last book we were supposed to read, actually. I wonder if it’s still here.
Smiling, I tell Cliff that I’ll talk to her soon, and take Miles back upstairs. Arthur is still gone when we arrive, and I leave Miles to play in the bedroom while I make my way to my studio.
I hesitate in front of the studio door, my hand reaching for the wobbly old doorknob. There’s still a splotch of paint on the brass. Sky blue, to be exact.
For a moment, I almost can’t bring myself to enter. I’m afraid of the old memories, I guess–of the reminder that, no matter how much I try to will it into being, these past five years really have gone by. And Cliff’s osteoporosis and Augustine’s fading mind are even more proof of that.
But somehow, I manage to build up the courage to turn the handle. I push the door open, steeling myself against the scent of oil paints and linseed.
Just as Arthur said, the room is still exactly the same. The easel is still set up by the window, the white dropcloth
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Chapter 55
still covers the floor, and the metal stool still sits there, waiting for me. And there’s a stack of clean, unmarked canvases leaning against the wall.
Taking a deep breath, I pick up one of the canvases and set it on the easel. Then, I get to work.
**
Chapter 56
+25 BONUS
Chapter 56
