“There you are,” came a British accent from nowhere.
The man in the doorway had been playing checkers with the wall-puncher when we arrived. Wisps of blond hair fell in his eyes, and a faint mustache dusted his lip. He had not been crying; he looked too bleak and grim to cry. He also looked strangely familiar.
“She’s in here, Damon, safe and sound,” he called toward the living room. When he turned back to me, his voice went hushed, almost reverent. “You are quite the dazzler, aren’t you?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“A new Lumi, I mean. Sorry. My name is Westley.” He extended a hand.
I took it, feeling lightheaded for a moment. Westley. As in played-by-Cary-Elwes-in-1987 Westley. The words I overheard through Dr. DiNovi’s office door floated through my already-rather-floaty mind.
“…hardly the
