“Aye. You realize the owner has to rent to others, no?”

“Sure. But a Tuatha Dé fairy and a nefarious witch lived there. Who knows what kind of magic residue is floating around in that apartment?”

“True. But she’s an Unremarkable. I doubt she’ll sense it.” He squints at me. “Don’t think I didn’t catch what you were doing with her.”

“What?” I avert my eyes and quash a smile. “I promise I won’t bug her a lot about the Welsh folklore. She’s obviously tapped out.”

Archie exhales. “All right. I remembered I have to pick up a reference I requested through the interlibrary loan system.” He inches closer to me. “I miss you. Please find time to spend one night at my house this week.”

“I’ll try. Thursday after the Fellowship meeting?” I wrap my arms around his torso and slide a hand over his sore butt. “How’s your bum?”

He grimaces. “Not good, but I want you to stay over, anyway.” He bends down to kiss me. “Tell Leslie I’ll see her on Monday.”

“I will. Goodnight, honey.”

“Sleep well, my love.”

I kick off my sneakers in the mudroom and walk to the living room. Dr. Hughes is reading a book on the legends of King Arthur, sitting in the chair by the fireplace with a throw blanket draped across her legs. Mr. Yeats is curled at her feet, purring.

“Hello, Leslie.” I squat and stroke the familiar’s furry head. “Good evening, Mr. Yeats.”

“I heard several sirens earlier. Did you notice where the police cars were headed?”

“Oh, yeah,” I reply, continuing to pet her familiar. “The Celestial Gardens. Ronnie and I went for a walk in there, and a young mom was taking pictures of the plants. Her ten-month-old boy was with her in a stroller, but she was wandering around with her phone, clicking away. As we were walking out, she screamed so loud I nearly toppled over. Someone kidnapped her baby.”

The familiar pops up, transitioning into his human form and knocking me on my ass. “A kidnapping! How despicable!”

“Ouch, Mr. Yeats,” I say, rubbing my butt. “Be careful where you transition.”

He grabs my arms and helps me stand. “I apologize, Ms. Crowther. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh, it’s OK,” I reply. “I have a permanent callus on my tailbone.”

Leslie raises her chin. “Did you observe anyone entering the gardens?”

“No. The lowlife must have jumped over the fence and took him.”

“That fence is quite high. How could someone manage that?” the Elder asks.

Mr. Yeats adjusts his spectacles. “The criminal would have had a plan. That’s how.”

“Precisely,” I say. “Whoever the criminals were, they were quiet.”

Leslie closes her book. “Could the Seelie Fae be responsible? We can’t discount them. The infant might have enticed them. Nothing malicious intended.”

“Archie thinks it’s the Baby Nabbers from Pennsylvania. PA is only thirty minutes away, but to be sure, I’m going to sneak in there late tomorrow. No way I’ll get to visit them tonight. The police will investigate into the morning hours.”

Mr. Yeats crosses his arms. “Excuse me for doubting your summation, but did you scrutinize the area for…you know?”

“Magic residue?” I ask, blinking. “Yes. I sensed no residuals at the front of the mound. I can’t imagine Shailagh and Aonghas took the baby, but I’ll question them. As I walked around the rear of it, a strange feeling came over me, a pinching in my gut. But I think it was gas.”

Mr. Yeats snickers as he fluffs his tie. A slight smile surfaces on Leslie’s mouth.

“Go ahead. Laugh at me,” I say, frowning. “I’m still learning how to differentiate between the supernatural and what’s related to an Unremarkable status. New skills emerge daily.”

“I’ll be in the magic room preparing for the night,” the familiar says, ambling into the hallway. “May your slumber be restful.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Yeats.” Leslie places the throw on the arm of the chair and stands, her spindly body towering over me. “Most likely, Archie’s assessment is correct. Not everything evil in this world is committed at the hands of a supernatural being. Wicked humans exist as well.”

“Exactly.” My stomach growls, and I rub it. “It’s so late. I better eat something and get ready for bed.”

“I left a plate of vegetable lasagna in the fridge. Please, partake. The leftovers will go bad. Your mother’s recipe.”

“Thank you,” I say, grinning. “As tired as I am, I think I will. FYI, Courtney Davies has returned to Bearsden. I thought you should know. She stopped at Mystic Sage to make amends.”

“I am aware. I recognized her at the last city council meeting when she approached John Erickson. The Fellowship will be alerted at the next meeting at Agnes’s house. Elijah told our allies about the Dearg Due, and they weren’t pleased with the news, especially Mayor Devine. She asked to meet at the farm to avoid suspicion.”

I nod, grinning. “I bet Agnes was NOT in agreement.”

“Indeed,” she replies, a faint smile gracing her face. “No matter. We must humor our allies. They have become impatient with our failure to close the portal to the Otherworld.”

“Don’t remind me.” I rub my temples. “They have every reason to stress over the opening in the mound.”

“Precisely,” Leslie replies. “We must find a spell.”

“For sure. I’m going to bed.” I shuffle toward my bedroom but stop. “Leslie, did you ever notice anything unusual about Courtney’s magic when she was a neophyte in the coven?”

“Yes. Her acquisition of skills moved at a sluggish pace. Almost purposefully. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Goodnight.”

“To you as well, Gwynedd.”

While I lie in bed, thoughts spin in my head. How many other creatures could have crossed over we aren’t aware of? I already know a gray-skinned giant with one good eye is coming, and possibly Nuada’s family. What else?

Chapter fiveOpportunity Knocks

Sunday morning, I wake to the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpanes. The room is dark as a dungeon. I’m not sure it’s time to get up, because I woke up several times to the memory of Jenny Hansen’s screams. As I stare through the dingy glass at the gloomy skies, my heart races. I can’t imagine how she and her husband are coping with the kidnapping of their baby. A notification sounds from my phone.

A breaking news article in my feed shares a few details of the Hansen’s “missing” son. Currently, they have no suspects and few clues to go on. They haven’t received a ransom note. For fuck’s sake. Someone took him. Do they think he jumped out of the stroller and walked away? Technically, I guess he could have. He is almost a year old. No way. He was asleep and strapped in. My phone rings with the tune Don’t Stop Believin’. Ronnie’s name appears on the screen.

I swipe the green icon on my phone. “Good morning, Momma. How did you sleep last night?”

“Terrible. I’m not a mom yet,” Ronnie replies, a breathy sigh filling my ear. “I don’t even know that woman, but I tossed and turned all night thinking about Jenny and her husband. They didn’t sleep either, I bet.”

“You only have two months left. Close enough. I woke up all night, too. Jenny Hansen’s wails invaded my dreams all night. Did you read the article online about the kidnapping? Well, missing baby.”