Mother tucked her arm in mine, and I kept between her and the street. “I wish I had something warmer for you to wear,” I murmured.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m quite warm-blooded in spite of my reputation.”
I gave a bark of laughter, cutting it short when I realized I had something else about which to be concerned.
This wasn’t the best neighbourhood, and groups of young men gathered beneath streetlights. I didn’t care for the way we were being eyed. “Just one second, Mother.”
I braced my foot against a streetlight, fumbled as if my shoelace had come untied, and transferred my Llama Mini-Max from its ankle holster to my pocket.
As we walked on, a youthful voice trying to sound tough called out in French, “Hey, Mama. Dump the old guy. I can show you a better time.”
“Indeed?” She paused and let her gaze run over him. He really wasn’t much more than a boy. “Why don’t you come back and ask me when you’ve got some hair?”