Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies Page 7

  “So, yeah, I might just happen to be a friend of the fae. How I got involved…well that’s a long story for another time. The point is, I know a few, and they usually help me out when I need it. For a price of course, but it’s a price easily paid.”

  His aunt looked skeptical.

  “Mostly alcohol and specially-aged pizza.” He grinned at her. “Minor fae are creatures of simple comforts. Ain’t that right, Pip? A glass of rum with a few candied cherries and you’re all set.”

  The pixie abandoned the nest she’d been making in Lily’s bun and zipped over to tug at a lock of Sebastian’s hair as she chattered something unintelligible.

  “No, no, that’s alright. I just wanted you to meet them. Come by my place tonight and I’ll give you something for your trouble. Okay?”

  The pixie squeaked in reply and zoomed off. Lily twisted her head, trying to follow the tiny thing, but by the time it had disappeared she couldn’t even tell which direction it had gone.

  “So, that’s me, a witch who gets his magic from the fae. Technically a druid, I guess, but people haven’t used that term in centuries. Believe me, I know demonology is bad business. I swore off it after—” he broke off, glancing at Lily.

  Feeling guilty, Lily looked away, not wanting to admit she knew secrets about his past that he hadn’t chosen to tell her himself. But then Madam Barrington spoke and made it a moot point. “Lily knows. I told her.” The older woman met his furious stare levelly, without remorse. “I felt she needed to know what sort of person she was risking her life with. Yet your past did not seem to matter, in her eyes. She was focused on who you had become, and convinced me to do the same. For that you should thank her.”

  For a moment Sebastian seemed torn between anger and…something else. He dropped his gaze to the floor, fists clenching and unclenching, body tense. But finally he relaxed and shrugged. “So,” he said, turning to his aunt, “about this letter from Allen.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lily protested. “What about everything else? Your tattoo? That staff? Who is Thiriel? Don’t think I’ve forgotten what happened at the museum.”

  Sebastian winced at the name. He wouldn’t look at Lily as he replied. “Please, don’t say her name. It’s not safe. Fae names have power, just like demon names do. That isn’t her full name, of course, but still, I’d prefer not to attract her attention if I can help it.”

  “But who is she?” Lily insisted, determined to get some answers.

  “A high fae. A being you don’t want to get involved with unless you have a really, really good reason. They don’t like dealing with humans, and they get pretty cranky if you go around bothering them willy-nilly.”

  “And that, I would think, is all that needs to be said,” Madam Barrington spoke, forestalling Lily’s next question with a tone of finality. Lily scowled but let the matter drop. “Sebastian, the letter is at my house. Can you meet us there tomorrow evening around, say, six o’clock?”

  “Make it nine,” he said. At his aunt’s questioning look, he explained: “The fae I use for tracking prefers the dark. Not that he can’t stand the sun, but it makes him grumpy. I have a feeling this is going to be a tough job, so I need him in a good mood.”

  Momentarily tense, Lily relaxed. Tomorrow evening, Friday, was her date with Richard Grant, and the last thing she wanted to do was flake on him. Since it was only their second date, she doubted he would be offended if she insisted on an early night, so nine was doable.

  “Very well, nine o’clock,” Madam Barrington agreed. “Lily, I do not know how long this will take, but it might be several days. Pack accordingly.”

  “Jeans and boots,” Sebastian said, and both women looked askance at him. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It might be a rough trip. Don’t you want to be prepared?”

  Lily wasn’t sure if she even owned a pair of boots—one without fashionable heels, that is—and doubted Madam Barrington had worn a single pair of pants in her entire life.

  “I am sure we shall manage,” her mentor said dryly.

  They would have to, now wouldn’t they, Lily mused. She decided it was high time to assemble a fashionable adventure outfit. Being up to her eyeballs in adventure, she was sure she’d get her money’s worth out of it.

  3

  Garden City

  Lily sat stiffly on her living room sofa, scorning the inviting cushiness she normally succumbed to. It was five minutes to six, the agreed-upon time Richard would pick her up for their date. She was too nervous to do anything but sit and wait. Besides, Sir Kipling lurked underneath her desk, yellow eyes fixed on her every move. She wanted to give him no fodder for the sarcastic quips he was so fond of when it came to her dating life.

  Resisting the urge to glance at her watch again, she shot a glare at Sir Kipling instead. He’d retreated to the desk after she’d scolded him for rubbing on her freshly laundered—now-no-longer-cat-hair-free—dress. Though he’d always turned up his nose at strangers, he seemed to have a particular dislike for Richard, despite only having met him once when the FBI agent and his partner had questioned her after she returned from Pitts. Normally, she trusted her cat’s judgment. But since he’d gained the ability to vocalize his opinions, he’d worn out his welcome in the matchmaking department. In this case, she was sure Sir Kipling was just biased. Richard, as it turned out, was a dog person.

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted her internal fretting, and she jumped in surprise. It was six o’clock on the dot. Wiping sweaty palms on the sleeveless, ’50s-style dress she wore, she hurried to answer the door, pausing to compose herself before turning the knob.

  Pulling it open with a polite smile, she was momentarily thrown off by the sight that greeted her. Richard—tall, dark, and handsome in a crisp button-down shirt tucked into spotless slacks—stood there with an enormous bouquet of roses. “Good evening, Miss Singer. May I say how lovely you look tonight?”

  “Th—thank you!” she stuttered, cursing inwardly at her awkwardness as she reached to take the bouquet.

  Richard only smiled, eyes twinkling. “My pleasure. Mind if I come in while you put those in some water?”

  “Oh no, don’t bother yourself,” came her automatic reply. She wasn’t sure why, but somehow it felt like she was being watched—well, by someone other than Sir Kipling, whose eyes were currently drilling holes in the back of her head. She didn’t want anyone in her house just at the moment, so she scrambled for an excuse. “They’re, um, so pretty, I’d rather take them with me,” she said, mentally cringing. “Besides, I have some work to do tonight so we can’t stay out too long. They’ll be fine.” She gave him an awkward smile, sure he could see right through her.

  But Richard simply shrugged with an easy smile and held out an arm for her. “Whatever works for you. Shall we?”

  Mute and trying desperately not to blush, Lily took the proffered arm gingerly and kept her eyes on the ground as Richard led them down the steps. It would be just like her to trip over her own feet at a moment like this. Plus, focusing on her feet kept her mind off the electric tingle emanating from their joined arms. Leading her to his car, he opened the door and helped her inside in the most gentlemanly manner.

  The drive to the restaurant—a cozily vintage diner called Majestic—began in awkward silence. But Richard soon had her laughing and smiling with his easy nature and intriguing conversation. She found it was easiest to focus on the conversation and not on her surroundings, lest she remember she was on a legitimate date and do something embarrassing.

  They were seated by the far wall, which, instead of being covered with cute signs and vintage photos, was one gigantic mirror. Lily avoided looking at herself, aware of how overdressed she was for a casual date and wondering nervously if Richard thought she was prissy. She had always been one to dress up, rather than down, but perhaps she’d gone a bit overboard.

  Richard seemed not to notice, distracting her with questions about her favorite food and the choices on the menu. Once the waitress had
taken their order, they lapsed into silence, and Lily felt a desperate urge to say something. Anything.

  “How has work been?” she blurted out, immediately regretting her choice of topic. How inane, she thought. Surely she could do better than that.

  “Work is…work.” Richard attempted a smile, eyes showing the first hint of discomfort Lily had seen. “And you? How are things at the library?”

  “They’re…fine.” Lily gave her own, equally unconvincing smile. What a pair they were.

  “Speaking of the library,” Richard said, “I just finished a book I thought you might enjoy. It’s called—” And they were off, once again speaking easily now that the conversation had turned to safer waters.

  Their food arrived—ribeye for him and spinach feta omelet for her—and they were just digging in when Richard’s phone started a quiet but insistent buzzing. With a quick apology, he rose and stepped away from the table to take the call. Though his back was turned, she could tell that, whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Her heart sank.

  After only a minute of clipped conversation, he turned back, his face a mix of apprehension and apology. “I’m so sorry, Miss Singer. The last thing I want to do is stand you up again, but, well, it sort of comes with the territory. I hope you’ll forgive me. Here”—he placed several bills on the table, more than enough to cover the meal and tip—“use the extra for a cab. Again, I’m so sorry.” He looked anxiously into her face, and she could tell he was genuinely distressed.

  “Duty calls. And what higher calling is there, than duty?” Her lips moved numbly, uttering a brave reply even as her heart sank further. Was one good date too much to ask? But how could she blame him? He was an FBI agent. It did come with the territory.

  “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he said, laying his strong, warm hand on her bare arm and giving it a squeeze. Her heart thudded in her chest and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She watched him hurry out of the diner, his brow furrowed and expression distant as he turned his mind to whatever matter he was rushing off to attend.

  Forlorn, Lily ate her meal alone, barely tasting the delectable omelet as Richard’s food grew cold across from her. Well, at least Sir Kipling would be pleased at the outcome of her date, though she didn’t look forward to his snarky remarks. Sometimes, having a talking cat wasn’t all it was made out to be.

  To Lily’s annoyance, but not surprise, Sir Kipling was waiting for her on the low wall in front of her apartment when she climbed out of the taxi.

  “Hmm, where’s your knight in shining armor?” he meowed as she approached.

  “Catching criminals and saving lives,” she replied, as dignified as she could manage. “Now stop being a nuisance, I have to get ready for our, um, mission.” Funny, she hadn’t thought about it in such terms before, but she supposed it was a mission, of sorts. A mission to save the world. She almost laughed at the absurdity. From a romantic—but failed—date to life-and-death adventure.

  It didn’t feel like an adventure, though. It felt like a punishment. The last thing she wanted was to go gallivanting across the countryside, not to mention fight a powerful wizard. A wizard who happened to be her father. But she didn’t have a choice. Well, she did, but she was too aware of the consequences to choose inaction.

  Sighing, she continued up the steps and into the house as Sir Kipling—blessedly silent—followed behind.

  Full night had fallen, swallowing the summer twilight as two wizards, a witch, and a cat assembled in Madam Barrington’s small backyard. The back-porch light provided faint illumination so that the three humans could see each other. Sebastian wore his usual messy ensemble, though he’d added a black leather jacket. Why he needed such a thing in the heat of summer Lily had no idea. She herself had agonized over what to wear. Normally, she would have defaulted to her neglected—though more recently oft-used—casual clothes she donned when Sebastian got her involved in his wild schemes. Yet never in her entire acquaintance with Madam Barrington had she appeared before the elder matron in less-than-formal attire. She cringed at the thought of being seen in jeans and t-shirt but had no other practical wardrobe options—a situation she was determined to remedy as soon as she got the chance.

  As for Madam Barrington, she wore her customary blouse and full skirt, though Lily noticed they appeared especially plain and no-nonsense. The older woman also had on sturdy, lace-up leather boots that looked straight out of the 1920s. Perhaps they were.

  Fashionable or not, they were now assembled and had a job to do. Both women stood slightly apart from Sebastian, who held a box of pungent, moldy pizza. Though she eyed it with distaste, Madam Barrington didn’t question her nephew’s methods. Lily, of course, knew what to expect. She and her mentor looked on as Sebastian began calling for Grimmold, the mold fae he’d befriended and whose supernatural sense of smell he used to track down his prey. But after a good five minutes, and despite the tantalizing smell of specially aged pizza, the fae had not appeared.

  “Lily,” Sebastian said, turning to her with a frustrated look. “I think it’s Sir Kipling. I know Grimmold is here, I can feel the little bugger, but he won’t show his ugly mug with a cat around. I don’t think he’s afraid per se, just being a pain. You’re going to have to carry Kip anyway once we’re moving. Is there something in the house you can use for a sling so your hands will be free?”

  Sir Kipling was none too pleased at the change of plans, but when Lily told him his choices were either be carried, or be left behind, he grudgingly submitted. Madam Barrington produced a large, thick woolen shawl, which Lily tied around her chest and over one shoulder to create a sling. She had to reposition her small pack containing supplies, clothes, and her eduba, but finally things were settled. Warning her feline against the use of claws, she picked him up and maneuvered his fluffy form into the folds of the shawl. Only his head poked out, yellow eyes narrowed and ears laid flat against his skull, as he suffered the indignity in mulish silence.

  Once the cat was tucked away, Sebastian resumed his calling and coaxing, and finally Lily saw a small, squat figure shuffle out of the dark. It shied away from the ring of light cast by the porch lamp, but even so, some reflective light glinted dully off its warty, slimy skin, showing a wrinkled form in the darkness.

  Lily was glad this was not her first meeting with Grimmold the mold fae; that first encounter had been quite shocking. She was surprised to feel a fondness for the little creature. She’d rather deal with a fae over a human any day and wondered if Sebastian felt the same. The thought brought a smile to her face as she eyed their grumpy guide. He looked especially ugly and ominous in the dim light, though the faint shimmer around him—what she now knew was his fae glamour—lessened the effect.

  She turned to Madam Barrington to gauge her reaction but found her mentor still peering about, trying to locate whatever thing Sebastian was talking to in low tones. “He’s right there,” Lily pointed helpfully, wondering if her mentor was in need of spectacles. “Can’t you see him?”

  Madam Barrington gave her a sharp look. “What are you talking about, Lily?”

  Lily only stared, trying to fathom why she could see the fae and Madam Barrington could not.

  Before she could come up with a satisfactory answer, Sebastian straightened from his murmured bargaining and came over, tucking the letter from Allen back into his pocket. “He’ll do it, but it’s going to be a long shot. The scent is pretty old, and he says the source is far away. Oh, and the way he’s taking us…let’s just say it’s not exactly the yellow brick road. But it’s that, or trekking for days on foot. He doesn’t do cars.”

  “What do you mean by—” Lily began, a nervous twinge in her stomach.

  “I believe my nephew is trying to imply that speed comes at the cost of safety,” Madam Barrington interjected, looking displeased.

  “More or less.” Sebastian confirmed with a shrug. “But don’t worry. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “I should certainly hope not,” Madam Bar
rington said dryly.

  “But how will we get back once we’re there?” Lily protested.

  Her mentor seemed unbothered by the dilemma. “Leave that to me.”

  “Excellent! So it’s settled.” Sebastian rubbed his hands together. “Might I suggest we get a move on? Grimmold isn’t the most patient of fae.”

  Madam Barrington raised an eyebrow. “By all means, lead the way.”

  “Right…” Sebastian was suddenly nervous, but he covered it with a cough. “So, um, we’ll be traveling through the fae realm, or at least the twilight between realms. You only need to do two things: keep moving, and don’t let go. Got it?”

  Lily opened her mouth to ask a question, but was struck temporarily mute as Sebastian grasped her hand firmly in his. The sudden warmth of his grip sent her mind reeling off in an entirely inappropriate direction and she completely forgot her question. How could his hand be so soft, and yet so strong?

  “Yoo-hoo, Lily?” Sebastian’s voice—half amused, half impatient—brought her crashing back to earth. “Take Aunt B’s hand. That’s it. Now don’t let go, got it? Whatever you do: Don’t. Let. Go.”

  Dazedly, Lily complied, gripping her mentor’s bony, cool hand in her left and Sebastian’s warm, strong one in her right. “But what should I do if—” she began, but was cut off by a sharp jerk as Sebastian started forward.

  Lily was supremely glad she’d worn her chucks, one of the few shoes she possessed without a heel. She was used to wearing heels all day at work, but there she did nothing except sit and stand. There was a good reason girls took off their heels in the movies when they were going to run. Those who didn’t usually got eaten by the monster.

  Stumbling forward at the unexpected start, Lily fought to get her feet back under her and keep up with Sebastian’s increasingly swift pace—an impossible task had she been in heels. Sir Kipling, seeming to understand the danger of the situation, hunkered down in his scarf sling and tried to be as still as possible.