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.
“Thank you for giving up so much of your time to help me research. I’m so sorry none of the myths have meshed with what I saw so far.”
“Can you describe the being to me again?” he asks.
“Sure, but it’s been months since the vision kidnapped my brain outside your house. Every time I dream about the monster, the image becomes more blurred.” I flip through a few more pages.
“Tell me what you can remember. We’ll go from there.”
The aroma of decaying pulp and leather in the library triggers the image to return. “He had to be over seven feet tall. Under the moonlight, his skin moved like gray leather. Scars all over. An eye black as obsidian, and the other permanently shut, as if an enemy marred him in a fight. Dark hair that hit his shoulders. Gargantuan boots. And he stank. Or it was fungi in the soil. I don’t know. The thing that’s imprinted on my retina the most is the image of him staring directly at me with that bulging eyeball.” I shudder.
Seamus chuckles. “Sounds horrifying.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I ask, tilting my head.
“No. I’m laughing at your description and attempting to keep the mood light. Did you feel threatened by the gray-skinned being?”
“My witch’s intuition says no. But I’ve only known about my witch ancestry for a couple of years. Like the visions, I need to work on that skill. Right now, it’s fermenting in my gut.”
I push up from my chair and the feet scrape the floor, prompting the students at the next table to scowl at me. I mouth, “Sorry.”
