by Lenore Wolfe
TWENTY-EIGHT
DANTE
Dante snarled, from where he hid in the darkness at the woman who entered the stone-gray house. “Well, well,” he said. “She has returned. Isn’t this a fascinating twist of events?” He smiled. “Perhaps I’ll get some answers yet. Despite everything.”
He lifted his head and sniffed the air. His lip pulled back in a snarl. So, the Gargoyle brought along some friends. Interesting. What could he be up to now?
A glint snaked through his gaze, as a thought occurred to him. The woman had reappeared. The kids were all grown up. Now, they’d mysteriously returned home.
And the girl he’d been after, all these years had returned, as well. He kept trying to get to her. That Gargoyle kept getting in his way. Well, it appeared—she hadn’t lost her mind, after all.
He turned and looked up at the old, stone mansion, his eyes narrowing into slits.
Interesting—indeed.