PROLOGUE
I was sure I would never again experience anything more wonderful than October in Hallow Hill. In the words of John Denver, I felt like I’d come home to a place I’d never been before. The weather cooled to forties during the day. The low-lying fells that watched over our village had donned snow caps. Olivia kept cheery fires going in the study and kitchen during the day, and laid a fire in the bedroom for me to light at will.
In addition to the change of weather, there was undeniable excitement in the air, not just about John David’s upcoming murder mystery dinner party, but about the Hallowstide Court Meet.
I’d been a resident of Hallow Hill long enough to observe that my fae neighbors were commercially industrious. I suspected that they didn’t need to be. They could’ve chosen to spend their time dancing on a beach in Bimini drinking pina coladas garnished with pineapple slices, decorated with colorful umbrellas. But instead, they took pride in work and found satisfaction in being successful at business.
Yes. I admired them for choosing the dignity of work and accomplishment over idle hedonism. I would soon learn that all magic kind are not as admirable.
They spent their days increasing inventory and preparing for the influx of crowds. There were three eateries that I hadn’t known existed because they opened only during Court Meets.
I visited Aisling and the puppies every day. For an hour I sat on the floor and played with the two that were to be mine or relaxed contented with my back against the wall while they slept in my lap.
“Have you named them?” Lochlan asked one day out of the blue.
“I’ve been tempted, but I seem to have a notion that I should wait. That somehow they’re going to tell me their names.”
Lochlan chuckled. “Seems every day, you’re more one of us than human, Magistrate.”
“Being human isn’t bad, Lochlan.”
“Oh,” he hurried to say, “I know. I know. But there are undeniable advantages to being you.”
How could I argue with that? But it reminded me of a persistently nagging question.
“Lochlan, do you know what Geoffrey is? Keir always seems to get distracted before he answers that question.”
“I know I’m an elf.”
“Very subtle sidestep.” I sighed. “It was worth a try.”
Lochlan smiled. “Why don’t you just ask him?”
“I don’t know. Seems like it might be rude. ‘By the way, Dude. What the heck are you anyway?’”
“Well. I understand your reluctance to pry.”
I took Lochlan’s response to mean that I needed to let it go. I was sure that, if Geoffrey was one of the magic kind who go berserk and eat people, someone would do me the courtesy of mentioning it.
CHAPTER TEN John David’s Jam
The residents of Hallow Hill were as atwitter about John David’s dinner party as high school seniors a week before prom. After he’d decided to go with a 1920s theme, all the talk was about clothes. You would think I wasn’t the only one attending who hadn’t actually lived through the 1920s.
I’m not saying that I wasn’t just as excited. How often do you get a chance to glam to the max and pretend to be attending a robber baron party? If you’re like me, the answer to that question would be never. Until now.
I fussed over what I was going to wear, pored over the internet, and changed my mind a thousand times. Whenever I asked Keir what he was wearing, he just laughed and shook his head.
As for me, I fell in love a dress, only to find that it was a Pinterest photo and not for sale anywhere. Ugh!
So, I printed the photo and went to Esmerelda’s shop.
“Esme!” I called when I entered but didn’t see her.
Within seconds she appeared. “Magistrate.”
“Yes. It’s me, the magistrate. Help!”
“What’s the problem?”
“I know exactly what I want to wear to John David’s dinner, but I can’t find anything like it for sale.”
“That is a problem,” she said.
I thrust the printout in front of her face. “Can you make this for me?”
She didn’t take the paper from my hand, but studied it as I held it in the air.
“This dress is not a weave,” she said. “It’s sequins and beads.”
“Well. I know.”
She motioned to her store. “Do you see sequins and beads?”
I let the hand holding the photo drop, anticipating a profound disappointment on the horizon. I also made a conscious decision to keep to myself that I’d noticed there was extra snippiness in that question, even for Esmerelda.
“No.”
“Then why did you think I’d be able to help you with this?”
“Because…” I waved my hand in the air. “You make things happen.”
She threw back her head and laughed. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen her laugh like that and decided that I hadn’t.
“Can I get a referral then?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “You know, of the magic sort?”
She drew in a big breath through her nose. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”
I brightened instantly. “That’s right! You didn’t!” I tracked the twinkle in her eye. “So, will you?” I hurriedly added. “I’ll pay premium. For the record, it’s not a bribe because there’s absolutely no corruption here. No indeedy.” When she gave no response, I mumbled. “Move along. Nothing to see here.”
“You waste far too much energy with your very human concern over being a good person, Rita Hayworth.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn’t figure out what that might be. So, I finally settled on changing the subject.
“What are you wearing? Inner wear and outer wear.”
“Inner wear?”
“Yeah. What does your dress look like? And what are you wearing to keep warm and dry until you get inside?
She smiled her cat at the canary smile. “That information is under wraps.”
I gaped. “Esme. You made a joke.”
“I don’t joke. You know that.”
With an insistent shake of my head, I said, “Nope. Now the best you can do is say you rarely joke.”
“What’s that other photo you’re carrying?”
I looked down, “Oh. I had a plan. If you said yes to making this dress happen, somehow, my next stop was going to be Braden at The Braid.” I showed her the photo of the gold, elven ear cuffs bejeweled with black stones to match the dress.
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm” should be forbidden as a thing one woman can say to another woman when discussing what the first woman is wearing to a party. It’s just all kinds of wrong.
“You know you can’t leave that hanging in the air.” I looked at my printed photo again. “Is there a problem with the cuffs?”
“Well, Lochlan and Ivy will be there.”
“Yeesssss?”
“They have pointed ears.”
I swallowed my scoff. It’s not politic to challenge the person charged with making the dress that might very well be my spirit animal.