Gordo Livingstone személy
He said, “I’m a witch.”
And I said, “You’re a wizard, Harry,” because I thought there was a very real chance I was caught in a dream.
He laughed, but it sounded like he was choking.
“Okay. You have shiny arms because you’re a wizard.” I didn’t look away from the wolf, who huffed again, like I’d said something funny.
“Witch,” Gordo said. “And I don’t have shiny arms.”
“That’s a lie,” I muttered. “You’re like your own flashlight.”
“This is what you’re focusing on? You find out the Bennetts are werewolves and you think about my shiny arms?”
At first, he refused. “It’s not safe.”
I said, “I belong to a pack of overprotective werewolves who live next door. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t be safer.”
“Christ,” he muttered. “Remember when you didn’t say much at all? Those were the good old days.”