*now where’s the glass of milk*
He folded the newspaper down, glanced at the plate and glass set in front of him.
Oreos and a glass of milk.
Every alarm bell in his head went off, something was wrong. He folded the paper set it on the table next to the plate, folded his hands on the table, and then looked over at his grandmother. The woman was a Saint, no really … a Saint, she always was damn good at making sure to get her way. Stubborn as hell, which obviously runs in the family, considering his own damn stubborn streak.
He made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mother come to my aid.”
She rolled her eyes, but laughed lightly. “You are to suspicious my dear Peter.”
“It’s saved me many times.” He gave her a pointed look. “You brought me milk and cookies. Obviously, what you have to tell me is sudden, or it would be Pastal de nata, and I know the cook is off today.”
“You love Oreos and I can’t just spoil my favorite grandson?” She reached over and took a cookie and dipped it into the milk.
“Don’t make me call Wenceslaus.” Peter grabbed his own cookie, pulled it apart and licked the creamy filling. “Just tell me.”
“Aguilar called,” she paused for a moment then took a deep breath. “Jamie is helping a kid, who according to all his teachers will be an Olympic Fencer.”
Peter had learned patience over the past few centuries, but so far he had no idea what this had to do with him.
“His name is Marcus, and he’s a spitting image of you when you were an annoying teenager…”
“I have a descendant?” He stared at Elizabeth in shock. “Tell me more … “