Gael’s eyes snapped open so fast he felt like his eyelids spun all the way around and then some. Breath still held, he fished his pocket watch out of his pants’ pocket and held it just so, letting enough light from the window tell him the time. His watch must have stopped because the time was exactly the same as it had been when Ian asked, after they’d first arrived at the house. The house which Alfred bought, no less, and Gael wasn’t sure what to do about that yet. Alfred never gave anything for free, without dangerous strings. There were no real gifts, only payments. If his ex-sugar daddy ever laid a hand on Jack again, there was going to be murder. Consequences, payments, they were very close cousins.

That was probably what that nightmare had been about. A shit talking purple spider the size of a horse was almost comforting, at least he’d thought so as a child. As stupid as it sounds Chronis, as he now demanded to be called, had helped Gael learn to read, to fight, and how to pick a lock and a pocket.