Ashley places the book on the table and relaxes. “The performances were quite authentic. I was impressed. Were the performers as talented when you attended the Welsh Music concert?”
“Oh, yes, but I had to leave early.” I suppress the urge to snicker. “An unusual sensation sent me home.”
“That’s too bad,” Jeff says. “You should go next time.”
“I should. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“You, too,” Ashley says. “Gwyn, thank you again for all your help.”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight.”
On the brisk walk home, I think back on my interaction with Ashley. I feel awful, having invaded her privacy. It was an honest mistake, but I’m left with the feeling my intuition is failing me again.
As I pass Seamus’s small bungalow, a lamp glows in the living room window. It’s been several weeks since I spoke with the cat sith witch, and I’ve not repeated the success I had that afternoon. But I can’t rely on him. It would only feed his obsession. Then again, maybe he’s following me, anyway. Could he be the one who left traces of strange magic residue on the Green?
When I enter the house, the living room is empty. As I make my way down the hallway in my socks, voices travel from the office. Leslie is sifting through books and placing them on her old wooden desk. Mr. Yeats stacks them in piles according to some pre-determined organizational scheme. He adjusts his spectacles.
“I don’t understand why you are taking all these books to Ms. Pritchard’s house. You’ll have so few left here.”
“Mr. Yeats, I’m spending more time at the farm and need access to my books.”
“What’s going on here?” I ask, shuffling in. “Are you donating more texts?”
“No,” the chimera cat familiar replies. “She’s moving the tomes to Ms. Pritchard’s farm.”
“Oh. Makes sense. You’re practically living there these days—now that the city has replaced the old sewer line.”
Leslie returns to her sorting. “Yes. Since the danger of the kidnappers is behind us, I’m attempting to…consolidate my life a bit.”
Mr. Yeats sets a book in the pile of Welsh language texts. “With both you and Ms. Crowther gone all the time, I’m rarely needed. Why keep me at all?”
“You are indispensable, Mr. Yeats. Perhaps I should give you a list of chores to complete while I’m at Agnes’s house?”
Leslie’s familiar becomes flustered and transforms into his chimera cat presentation, scuttling out the door.
“Should I go after him?” I ask.
“No,” she replies. “He doesn’t take well to change.” She presses her lips together, staring at the doorway. “You’ve come from Dr. Lewis’s apartment, I assume?”
“Yeah. It was awkward. I was reading a story from one of her books, thinking it was a reference. Turns out, the prized possession was a gift from her late husband. I was mortified. Still, the lore intrigues me. It was all about the Welsh fairies called the Tylwyth Teg. The females were attracted to human men with golden hair, becoming their wives.”
“Not only human men but children as well.” She picks through the piles of books until she finds a reference and passes it to me. “You may find this intriguing. But I’d wait until you have more time. The tales are addictive.”
“Thank you. Did you tell Trinity about the children who’ve been playing with the Seelie Fae children at night? Does she think we should do something about it? What if they tell their parents about them?”
“Trinity and I agree that it’s a definite concern, but we doubt the parents would report anything to the authorities. How could they without being reported to child protective services for leaving their children unattended?”
“That’s very true. I’ll keep track of how often these children play with the Seelie Fae and report back to you. Thanks again for the book.” I walk to the doorway and stop. “Has Seamus talked to you about what happened?”
“He has not,” she says. “Give him time to recover from his mistake. You don’t have to lose his friendship over the incident.”
“I hope not,” I say, yawning. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”
“Pleasant dreams to you, Gwynedd.”
I place the Welsh folklore on my nightstand and change for bed. I’m too pooped to practice with the crystals. A good night’s slumber could recharge my witch’s intuition. But knowing my luck, I’ll end up dreaming about the gray-skinned monster again.
Lying in bed, I recall Aidan’s words regarding the use of magic. He said, “Mommy says I shouldn’t.” I sit up straight, my heart skipping a few beats, realizing what he meant. Holy crystals. Did Aidan tell Ashley I performed witchcraft in front of him?
Chapter twenty-onePuzzling Intuition
When I arrive at work on Wednesday at ten, Shane is ringing up a customer. I retract my wet umbrella and remove my fleece jacket. It’s raining today, but at least the temperature will nearly hit fifty degrees. Not exactly joyous holiday weather, but I’ll take it.
Mystic Sage appears festive with evergreen twigs, holly sprigs, mistletoe, and paper snowflakes hanging everywhere. Red, green, blue, and white trimmings set the tone for the coming Yule, and I’m excited for this year’s Winter Solstice Celebration. My first one ended with my body bloodied after slaying an evil Sluagh fairy. I left the Bearsden Coven and Archie that night, vowing never to return. But I’m so glad I did. A faint smile curls my mouth.
“Penny for your thoughts, Gwyn,” my boss offers, meandering around the counter.
“Oh, I was remembering my first Yule with all of you—the first solstice.”
He chuckles. “That memory pasted a smile on your face? You were madder than a wet hen that night. But you returned to us. Any regrets?”
I snicker. “No. I’m happy I came back.”
“Ahh,” he says, pulling on his beard. “We were so glad you did, darling. Personally, I was happy as a pig in poop.”
“You have a way with words, Shane.” I glance at the crystals room. “Is Jeff in the back?”
“Hasn’t arrived yet. He took Aidan to a play group.”
