“Careful, Gwyn. It doesn’t hurt yet, but the lidocaine shot will wear off soon. And Courtney took that course with Leslie as an elective. After the semester ended, we never heard from her again. She must have graduated and left the area.”

Dr. Leslie Hughes, the chair of the Celtic Studies department and Elder in the Bearsden Coven who is way past Medicare eligibility, kicked Courtney’s ass out when we discovered she helped the imposter Audrey Kenilworth infiltrate our witch’s circle. But Audrey was under an abusive parental spell and wasn’t responsible for her actions. Her mother Edith killed her in retaliation for helping the coven fend off her parents’ destructive actions at the fall pagan conference.

I think about Courtney occasionally. Does she ever wonder what happened to her best friend?

“Let’s head back to the house. I’m so uncomfortable. Thank you for suggesting a Friday afternoon appointment. I don’t know how I would have taught my Celtic Studies classes.”

“Told you so. Would you like me to drive?”

He grimaces. “My Tesla? Fawk no.”

“I was kidding, but you should teach me how to drive it sometime, in case of an emergency.”

“I’ll ruminate on that while I’m icing my arse.”

We leave the medical office for Archie’s cottage style home on Duncan Street. A playful breeze displaces my bangs as we exit the car, but the cool air invigorates me. I inhale the earthy scent of fall, hoping to shake off my worries. When we enter the house, he heads for the kitchen, but I grab his arm.

“Why don’t you go into the living room?” I ask. “I’ll bring you an ice pack.”

“Thank you, my love. You’ll find me on the loveseat.” He inches toward the russet leather sofa holding his butt.

“Why not sit in the ice packing chair?”

I motion to the corner and recall icing my own bottom there the night I fell at the Old Men oak trees. Well, I didn’t actually fall; an evil Sluagh fairy using the tree as a host attacked me.

“Ah, that evening. I remember it well. You told me I was extravagant for owning a Tesla.”

I chuckle, and the memory of him standing in the doorway pops into my head—flexing a bicep as he brushed a hand through his ash-blond locks. “Yeah. I can’t believe you kissed me after I said that. I’ll get the ice pack. Find a seat wherever you want, honey.”

“The loveseat will do. I can prop my feet on the steamer trunk.”

After filling the pack with fresh ice, I rush to the living room. Archie is still standing, examining his collection of weapons on the wall—a display full of antique flintlock pistols and swords. When he finishes adjusting a random dirk onto its holder, he shuffles to the loveseat to sit. I place the chilly bag under his sore butt. He pushes strands of my chestnut brown hair behind my ear and strokes my cheek.

“I was so hesitant to kiss you that night. Certain you would smash my face with your fist.”

“Never. You’re too pretty,” I say, stroking his whiskers.

Archie frowns. “You’re mocking me, witch.”

I laugh and bring my lips close to his. “No, I’m not.”

I kiss him, and he shifts on the cushion, adjusting the swelling in his pants.

“Don’t make this harder for me. You know I won’t be up to any intimate shenanigans for a while.”

“It’s definitely harder,” I say, eyeing his bulge. The clock on the fireplace mantel dings the first of three.

“Don’t you meet Seamus at the library soon?” he asks, squinting.

“Yes. He’s there already stacking books for me to flip through, I bet. No need to cook tonight. I’ll bring a plate over after I make dinner at home.” I kiss him on the cheek and head toward the front door.

“Thank you, my love.” Archie pauses, watching me as I slip on my shoes. “You’ve spent an inordinate amount of time with him researching for an answer to the vision you had in June. With his possible romantic feelings for you, do you think meeting with him so often is wise?”

“Maybe not, but he’s never acted on them. It’s only an infatuation. I need to exhaust all the research in every Celtic area. So far, you haven’t discovered anything that describes what I saw. Then there’s the Welsh literature, too. I try not to get overwhelmed, but there are so many references, and I’ve got my classwork in Public Policy to complete. I must squeeze in the time whenever I can. Speaking of Welsh lit. Do you think I could bother that new instructor who specializes in Welsh folklore?”

“Dr. Ashley Lewis? I don’t know, Gwyn. Her cup is overflowing. She’s a widow with a two-year-old boy. Leslie and I are livid the Dean of the Arts and Sciences college wouldn’t approve the hire of another professor. Hiring her as an instructor is a wee bit insulting for someone with a doctorate. But she said she needed the work. At least she receives full benefits.”

I slip on my fleece jacket and zip it up. “Could I help her out? Do a trade, like watching her son as payment for helping me research the Welsh end.”

“Aye. I imagine she’d welcome your offer. But I’d wait until after Samhain. It’s less than two weeks away.”

“Right. But we have so much left to do. We still must find a spell to close the portal, and there aren’t many grimoires remaining to go through. I doubt an incantation is in any of those books. That vision solidifies how crucial it is to eliminate the chance of malevolent supernatural beings from crossing over into our world—not only the Tuatha Dé Danann. Although the threat of Nick’s fairy family coming here in search of him has taken up permanent residence in the folds of my brain.” If they find out I killed Dr. Evans, Nuada, I’m toast.

Archie shifts the ice pack on his butt and flinches. “I’ve hesitated to ask. Any new clues present themselves?”

Air rushes through my lips. “No. And they won’t. Not without the use of a full crystal grid.”

“Aye. Remember what Great-Aunt Gorawen said when we visited in August.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to follow her schedule of implementation. But building up to a complete grid over five years will be pointless if that monster arrives before I’m at full potential. I dream about the being once in a while—even today when I dozed off at the doctor’s office. It haunts me.”

“I can’t stop you from doing what you want, Gwynedd. Promise me you’ll use a full grid as a last resort. There is no immediate danger.”

“My witch’s intuition tells me you’re right. Of course, it’s not fully developed either. But, if it signals a forthcoming danger, I’ll need to risk the grid. And that would suck. I promise to tell you if I do, though. Even better, I will use it at your house where you can watch over me.”

“Thank you for humoring me, stubborn woman.”

I chuckle as I snatch my purse from the oak hall tree. “Not so much now. I can’t wait to visit Aunt Gorawen and your family again. The summer there was exciting.”

“They enjoyed having you there, too. Winter Session will arrive before you know it. I love you, Gwyn.” He blows me an air kiss.

“I love you, tattooless man,” I say, turning the doorknob. “See you later when I bring dinner.”

I enter the four-story DUB library on Central Campus and make my way to the Celtic folklore section on the third floor. As I climb the stairs lugging my backpack, I glance out the stairwell window at the nearby trees. They’re bursting with an explosion of crimson, gold, and rust.

When I reach my destination, I spot Dr. Seamus Duffy, the Irish folklore professor, as he limps to a table with a stack of books near the MDS section of Celtic Myths. He’s also the local cat sith witch and my supernatural protector, despite my objections. But what can I do about it?

He drops the books on the wooden surface and sits down. His shiny black hair is pulled behind his head as always, and he’s wearing a dark-green button-down shirt, a tie, and charcoal slacks—consummate attire for a professor. Well, at least for him. Archie used to wear T-shirts and jeans. But that was before he changed his attitude. After the attack of the Sluagh, Archie stepped down as chair of the Celtic Studies department.

When Seamus raises his head in my direction, a grin brightens his oblong face. The ceiling light spots his sea-green eyes, making them shine like glass. I wave and rush to join him.

“Good afternoon,” I say. “I see you’ve already found a few books for me to search through. You didn’t have to carry them all.” I place my purse and backpack on the table, choosing a chair across from him to sit.

“Nonsense,” he replies in his sing-songy Irish accent. “I know the lore and can make choices wisely. Why don’t you begin with this book?”

He slides the heavy reference toward me, and I flip through a few pages in the text, finding little of help. I glance up to find him staring and shift in my seat.