CHAPTER TEN
Fortunately for me, the baby promptly broke the tension by throwing herself at Damien.
He scooped her right up. “Hello beautiful, girl,” Damien crooned, taking her in his arms.
“This is my daughter, Isla,” Oona said, rolling her eyes at the baby who was babbling away at Damien. “And she is infatuated with Damien’s pretty face.”
Charles grinned at the excited baby. “I’d say that’s mutual.”
I did my best to adapt to the unexpected circumstances. The last thing I would have expected was to meet a member of the royal Fae and for them to act down to earth and normal. Although just because Oona Archer presented herself as a mundane wife and mother did not mean that she was.
In my experience that typically meant the glamoury around them was all the more complex.
From behind Oona the door opened and two other males and a female stepped out.
The first male had light blonde hair, was tall, very muscular and broad.
He walked like a soldier and introduced himself to us as Valentin Lowell.
The Hunter—a sort of Supernatural sheriff, judge, and if needs be executioner—of Hemlock Hollow.
The second male was slightly taller and moved with a fluid grace that made me think of either a martial artist or a dancer. He was obviously Fae and dazzlingly beautiful. Tucking his golden hair behind his pointed ears, he stepped forward with a hand extended in friendship.
“Hello,” he said. “I am Finnlagh O’Brien, ambassador to the light court here in the hollow.”
As soon as his fingers folded over mine, I felt his power.
Another royal Fae, and if my memory served, he too was married to a mortal.
Before I could remember exactly who his wife was, he had released me and was shaking Charles’ hand.
Soon, he and Valentin Lowell began to talk as if the three of them were old friends.
The remaining female came down the steps last. Another brunette, she was also dressed casually in jeans, sneakers and a flowing purple top. Her dark brown hair was pulled up into a large bun, and golden pentagram earrings dangled from her ears. Meaning she was likely a Witch.
“Well, hey, it’s great to meet y’all!” she said to me, in a voice that rang with a Tennessee accent.
“Merry Meet,” I replied and found myself enveloped in a strong hug. Instantly, I liked her.
“I’m Giselle Mac Lir,” she introduced herself.
“Lorna Southern,” I said, trying to get a read on her.
Immediately I knew that Giselle was more. Her eyes were grayish blue and very shrewd, but I had the feeling she could have lifted me right off the ground with one arm—if she would have wanted to.
“My husband, Hayes, wasn’t able to join us today,” Giselle said. “He’s overseeing negotiations—a meeting—between the Pixies and the Water Sprites on Lake Eala.”
“Okay,” I said, my head spinning from the energetic overload of the presence of two royal Fae, the Hunter, a Vampire, and a Witch.
Giselle released me but slid her fingers down my arms to take my hands. “So, you’re the Magistra from Birmingham.” She gave me a friendly squeeze.
“I am.”
To my surprise she bent close and inhaled at the nape of my neck, taking a hit of my scent. “Ooh, you have some amazing power, lady!”
I blinked. Giselle had drawn in my scent the way a Lycan would. Suddenly it hit me. “You’re a hybrid,” I said. “Lycan and Witch?”
“You got that right.” She smiled. “My daddy is a Lycan. My momma is a Witch.”
“That’s amazing,” I said, and meant it.
“And you...” She narrowed her eyes as she considered. “Storm magick and elemental magick, with a bit of spirit communication… Am I right?”
I nodded. “You’re the first Witch to ever get that right on the nose.”
She tapped the side of her nose. “I can smell the lightning on you, girl.”
“So can I.” This came from Oona, who had moved closer and was considering me very carefully with her dark eyes. “You will have no cause to use that magick in my home, Lorna Southern,” she said.
“I wouldn’t want to, Your Highness.”
Oona nodded. “You are safe here within the Sanctuary Lands. No Supernatural or any Fae will cause you harm while you stay within my territory.”
“I appreciate that,” I said in lieu of saying ‘thank you’ and causing her offense.
From off to the right, I heard heavy footsteps. I turned and my jaw dropped as a seven-foot-tall Fae, wearing a dark red flat cap, marched through the yard with a pikestaff hoisted over his massive shoulder.
“The Redcaps will patrol the grounds while we have our meeting,” Oona said. “Please come inside and be comfortable.”
“Wow,” I managed.
Giselle tucked my hand in the crook of her arm. “You’re not in Birmingham anymore.”
“Seeing a Redcap in the flesh was not on my yearly bingo card,” I admitted.
“Darlin’,” Giselle said, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” And with a chuckle, she led me up the stairs and into the house.
***
Giselle hadn’t been kidding. Because Charles and I found ourselves ushered inside and quickly seated around a kitchen table in Oona Archer’s rustic and charming kitchen.
Once there, a meeting was promptly held with several of the members of the Ozark Council of Supernaturals...
and a few other beings. And honestly, it was wild.
There was the Hunter, Damien, Finnlagh, Giselle, and the Princess Oona, who sat at the head of the table. Her daughter Isla sat tucked in a highchair off to her mother’s side. At the moment, the baby was whacking the tray with a wooden spoon and babbling away to Damien in earnest.
Then there was Oona’s housekeeper/ Nanny, a Dark Fae called Buntie.
She appeared to be ancient, making me think of a kindly Baba Yaga, yet she still moved easily around, serving tea, cookies, and scones to her guests.
Adding to the craziness, about a half dozen Pixies were flying around the room, determined to help serve the refreshments.
I’d read about Pixies of course, yet had never actually seen one, and I was working hard not to show my shock, or my excitement.
They were about the size of a fashion doll, with wings that shimmered as they zoomed around us.
I couldn’t help but wonder what Chloe would have thought about the tiny Fae.
Oona took a moment to introduce us to Hazel, the leader of the band of Pixies. Hazel, it seemed, had been the one to discover Shelby’s body.
Hazel smiled at me, and I saw for myself that she had a mouth of very long sharp teeth.
“Merry meet, Hazel,” I said, and nodded my head deferentially.
“Magistra.” She dropped a flawless curtsy in mid-air.
It was Hazel’s opinion that Shelby had been killed by a Fae weapon, or magick.
Interestingly Valentin, the Hunter of the hollow, tossed in his opinion that as far as he was concerned, Sawyer Weston was still the most likely suspect in Shelby’s death.
Hazel began to debate that, but it was more a spirited disagreement.
I felt no real animosity between the two of them.
As for me, I sipped my tea, ate a spectacular scone, listened attentively to both the Hunter and the Pixie, and did not argue.
“So,” Charles said, recapping the discussion.
“Since the theft of the grimoire from my library at the lodge, we have had two deaths. The first, Shelby and Sawyer’s roommate back in Birmingham.
We know that Shelby emptied out the Witches Ball account and took the cash.
She and Sawyer left town and came here to Hemlock Hollow. ”
From beside me, Damien leaned forward in his chair. “They likely used cash so they could travel and not be tracked by using their debit or credit cards.”
“Good point,” Giselle agreed, as Isla banged the spoon on the highchair tray for attention.
“From the timeline Sheriff Archer and I put together,” Valentin said, “the couple had been laying low for a few days before they surprised the Westons at their farm with a visit. It was Sarah Weston, Sawyer’s sister, who was the last person to see all four of them together.
She left to go out and check on the livestock in the fields, and when she returned a few hours later, everyone was gone. ”
“She was the one who contacted the sheriff?” Charles asked.
“Correct,” Valentin answered.
“Y’all should know,” Giselle said, “that word has reached us only this morning—from Hayes’ siblings in the Fae realms—that there is a mage in the hollow offering up an ancient grimoire to the highest bidder.
This has caught the attention of more than a few warring Fae kingdoms and their rulers it seems.”
“The Milesians?” Finnlagh asked Giselle, and when she nodded her head in the affirmative, Finnlagh swore softly but creatively at the news.
Giselle tipped her head in recognition of Finnlagh’s reaction. “I said much the same, only louder myself, sugar.”
Oona shifted in her chair, drawing herself up straighter. Her energy flared out too. Turning my head I considered her from where she sat across from me. Even the baby had gone quiet. On cue, Pixies flocked to Oona’s side, and it drew everyone’s attention directly to her.
“Which would answer the question,” Oona said, “as to why all of this has happened.”
“Dangling the grimoire like bait to warring factions of the Fae?” Finnlagh muttered. “That fool must have a death wish.”
“I doubt he lives long enough to gain the fortune he is seeking,” Oona said in a matter-of-fact tone, and I felt all the hair rise up on my neck.
“Meaning?” Charles asked her, even as I kicked him under the table for questioning a royal Fae.
“Meaning,” she said, “The Fae parties involved are more than willing to kill for it. If Sawyer Weston is attempting to play the kingdoms off each other, he will surely die. I doubt, sadly, that his parents, the Westons, are even still alive.”
“May I ask a question?” I said to the table at large.
Oona regally inclined her head. “You may.”
“What was the condition of the Weston’s home when Sawyer’s sister returned. Were there signs of a struggle?”