I’l stop by in the next few days to check on you. In the meantime, I have a brownie who tends the house. He’l provide you with anything you need.” He stopped and turned his head toward the back of the house. It was built shotgun style, the front door leading to the kitchen, then a combo den/living room, then a hal with a couple of doors along the wal s and a back door at the end exactly paral el to the front door. “You heard that, Osier—whatever she needs.”
No response came from the old house, but that didn’t seem to surprise or upset him. He turned back to me, and I looked around the kitchen. Al the appliances looked like they’d been new in the same decade as the now decrepit house.
“Have you owned this house al these years?” I knew from the face he hid that my father had once gone by the name Greggory Delane, and had been the governor of Nekros back when it was first named a state. He’d been openly fae then, one of Nekros’s few fae governors. Fifty years later he was part of the Humans First Party—the thorn in the side of witches and fae everywhere. Go figure.
My father shrugged. “On paper? No. I’l check in on you.”
The ancient hinges of the front door squealed as he let himself out. I caught the door before it could close.
“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”
“Can you get a message to Falin Andrews for me?”
His face darkened. “No. Have a good night, Alexis.”
Chapter 26
“Wel , PC, looks like this is our temporary home base.”
I set my purse on the floor, letting PC hop out onto the worn shag carpet that I was guessing had once been red.
“Oh, no,” a voice yel ed from somewhere to my right. One of the cabinet doors under the sink opened and out stormed a little man. He wore a green suit, a pair of green suede shoes, and a smal green hat. White hair escaped from under the hat on al sides. “He says take care of the girl, so I’l take care of the girl. Wipe her snotty nose if I have to. But I wil not have that”—he pointed a large wooden spoon at PC—“in my house. Won’t have it. Won’t have it!”
The brownie swung the wooden spoon like a lacrosse stick, and I scooped PC off the floor before the little man managed to hurt my dog.
“You must be Osier.”
“Must be? Might be.”
I frowned at the smal creature. “Okay, then who are you?”
He crossed short arms over his chest, the spoon tucked under one armpit. “I am much put out.”
Right. “Can he stay one night?”
“Hmph.”
“Just one night. We’l leave in the morning.” I was being run out of a house by a man who didn’t even reach my knees. How sad was that?
The wooden spoon lowered, and I got a begrudging nod from the smal fae. “One night only,” he said. Then he turned and marched across the kitchen, climbed back under the sink, and slammed the cabinet door shut.
“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back
“Wel , it’s good to be welcomed,” I said, setting PC back on the floor.
“Heard that,” Osier’s voice cried, but thankful y he didn’t venture back out from under the sink.
I took a few moments to explore the house—and it took only a few. The rooms off the hal proved to be a master bedroom just big enough for a ful -sized bed, a dresser, and a couple of lamps, and on the other side of the hal , a second, smal er bedroom that was used as storage and a dated bathroom. PC and I headed to the master bedroom, and I dropped my purse on the bed. Sleep sounded awful y tempting; after al , I had used a whole lot of magic in the last twelve or so hours. But there was stil too much to do.
Digging through my purse, I pul ed out the letter I’d picked up at Caleb’s house. It was a little the worse for wear after having been in the purse with PC. I flipped it over. At one point it had been sealed with crimson wax, but Caleb must have broken that when he read the letter. A smal clump of crimson remained, and I frowned at the buzz of a spel locked in the dark wax. Reaching with my senses, I immediately recognized the magical signature—no surprise that it was the same as the constructs. The spel itself was a simple alarm spel meant to alert the caster when the seal was broken. So they know it’s been read. But not by me yet. I hoped it wasn’t too time sensitive.
I pul ed the letter out of the envelope and unfolded the parchment. Crap. I stil wasn’t actual y seeing with my eyes, and what my psyche saw was badly weathered. I squinted, struggling to read the neat but smal letters. A lot of staring, looking away, and moving closer to and farther from the paper was involved before I final y pieced together the message. Not that it was long.
Alex Craft,
Your friend, while useful, does not have your abilities. If you would like her returned safely to her home, come to the old bridge. Two a.m. Tonight.
There was no signature, but what did I expect, the bad guy to leave a forwarding address? I paced around the smal room, PC fol owing at my heels. “The old bridge” had to refer to the stone bridge below town. And how exactly am I supposed to get there?