[B&B: Nishka and Atticus]
Atticus didn't spend much time in the B&B itself. Was living out at the Carriage House with Steve, PJ and Billy. But his library and study were still in the B&B for reasons of space. Was a night owl. Especially since the bite, he didn't sleep well in the evenings. Didn't need as much sleep; that was a better way to describe it. Was still lazy. Hadn't changed so much that he wasn't still lazy, but lounging around was enough now. Still liked to put his feet up on the coffee table in the Carriage House and do nothing at all, if reading was considered nothing. Had collected most of the town letters from the past, and was currently working on cataloging them. Was looking for references in known local history books. Was looking for connections. Was always best if a collection told a story, and he was currently obsessed with this particular story. Obsession, for Atticus, was about words on paper and lives lived long ago. Was a lazy kind of obsession. Immersion in obsessive form.
Tonight, he was antsy. Was past the moon. Wasn't any real reason for it, not that he could blame on the wolf. Might be that things had been quiet. Too quiet. In his experience, too much quiet meant something bad was on the way. Might be a pessimistic way of thinking, but the town had cycles. Was just like the moon in that way.
Left his study. Door open and three books open atop the brown desk there. Could use a beer. In jeans and a worn grey Georgetown sweatshirt, scruffy and curls hand-tagged messy, was padding toward the B&B's kitchen when he smelled her. Heard her, smelled her, both. Was hard to tell these days. Point was, he noticed someone walking. Wasn't a haunt. The wolf hated the haunts, but Atticus didn't feel that now-familiar agitation. Stopped on bare feet, and he waited to see if whoever was wandering needed anything. Was up the stairs, whoever it was. Stood at the bottom, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose as he looked up. "OK up there?"