Home. And Lilith. Mitch couldn’t get there fast enough. * * * The house was quiet when Mitch unlocked the kitchen door, although the light was still on in the kitchen. It smelled like paint and there was a can of flat ceiling latex open on the counter. The radio was on at a low volume, some sixties ballad echoing softly through the house. Cooley yawned and stretched before getting up to wander across the kitchen to greet Mitch, tail wagging sleepily. Mitch scratched the dog’s ears with a grin. “Some killer watchdog,” he teased. “You didn’t even wake up until I was in the house.” He put the lid on the paint while Cooley took a pause outside. Mitch locked the kitchen door, turned out the light and left his bags in the hall. He heard the wolfhound collapse under the kitchen table as he climbed the stairs. The smell of paint was stronger up here, though the windows were all open.
