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Summary
Warlock Dowling is six years old and awake. The only problem is that it’s also 8pm on a Sunday and his father is hosting another diplomats’ party.
“Hm, party over already?” Nanny asked and let him into her room. It was cool and smelled faintly of cold candle wax and lavender.
“Nah, they’re still downstairs. It’s really loud there.” Warlock collapsed onto her purple sofa-thing, taking a deep breath.
“Yes, I imagine. I can hear it from here.” She closed the door, dimmed the lights and came over to sit next to him.
“My head hurts.” He whined. It was worse now that it was quiet and nothing distracted him from it.
“Were any of the adults smoking around you?” She asked dangerously, but was very gentle when she ran her hand through his sweaty hair. Warlock shrugged, so she wouldn’t get upset.
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