The Hand

Havermouth, Present Time

Meguitte set the phone down. It had not been an easy call to make. She knew that the weight of guilt on Talen’s shoulders would be heavy, and he had already been so weary. He had not said whether he would tell Cameron or not. She had not asked the question knowing that he probably had not decided for himself, though his question about the security of Havermouth made it clear that he had understood what she was suggesting.

She looked down at the man before her and stroked his hair back from his face tenderly. Such a handsome man, she thought. Harry’s blood had been reversing the effects of age, and Jules Edison looked no older than his son, his thick ash-brown hair free of silver and his skin uncreased by time and exposure.

“I am sorry that your eternity with Harry was cut short,” she told Jules softly.

“What did Talen say?” Connery entered the room and placed his hands on her shoulders, the contrast of the heat of his palms to the chill of the air divine. “Ah,