It was good to get home and slide off his boots, to sit in front of a ready-made fire and have a mug of sweet tea brought to him. It was good to hear Rowena bustling around in the kitchen, clattering dishes, and singing some strange Gaelic song. Watters stretched out on the chair, wondering why he barely regretted his loss of privacy.
"Things have changed this last day," he thought out loud. "I am no longer out in the cold battling a case I do not understand."
"Who are you talking to?" Rowena"s rich voice sounded a second before she poked her head through the adjoining doors. "The fire can"t reply to you."
"I was just talking to myself," Watters said.
"That"s the first sign of madness, they say," Rowena told him, "and the second sign is answering back."
Watters smiled, "I will try not
