“Um-hum.”
My head jerked toward where he stood. “You know something?”
“Well. There are fafgaleons of protections built into the Hunts to make sure they’re disguised. It’s not something fae want to share with humans.”
“What kind of protections?” I scowled again. “You mean fuzzy memory kinds of protections?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Well, that won’t do. I’ll take it up with Lochlan. Exceptions need to be made in my case so that I’m not protected from knowledge of the Hunt or the Hunt isn’t protected from me, whichever may be the case.”
“So happens I agree.”
“Now what was it I can do for you?”
“I’m going to run over and look in on Tregeagle before lunch. Make sure everything is good.”
“You want to take Romeo?”
He grinned. “Does the sun rise in the east?”
“No. The earth spins eastward making it seem to primitives that the sun is rising in the east.”
“I’m a poet. Don’t confuse me with science.”
My eyes widened. “You’re a poet?” I shook my head and laughed softly. “Whatever you say. See you for dinner.”
“Indeed, you will.”
The sound of his footsteps receded as he went deeper into the house. I heard the faint sound of Romeo’s door opening followed by the rumbling purr of his hoity toity engine and knew that sephalian and talking car were about to have a mutually satisfying outing. No doubt one that would be hair-raising for most of us.
I twisted in my chair so that I could consciously appreciate the moment. It was unusual to be in the house by myself. While I loved the liveliness of the household, I also cherished an occasional silence. It seemed to bring forward into awareness the crackle, pop, and hiss of green wood on the fire, Fen’s soft snoring, and the deeply satisfying energy of contentment. I exhaled a deep breath filled with gratitude and smiled when Frey raised her head and looked at me.
After thoroughly absorbing the moment, I shuffled toward the kitchen in my moose slippers, the ones with the big crossed eyes, fuzzy antlers, and red nose to make my own mug of cocoa. I’d found that the act of occasionally doing things for myself was its own pleasure, a reminder that I still knew how coupled with a physical task of self-nurture.
Life was good.
The dogs were by the fire where I’d left them when I returned with my “gourmet” hot chocolate. I poked at the fire, not because it needed to be done, but because I liked doing it, and settled at my table with the next brief from the pile.
A young Deutsch nobleman had been jilted by a French princess he’d been courting. When the relationship ripened to a stage upon which he became insistent about lovemaking, she broke things off. He responded by stealing her most treasured possession and the reason for the young woman’s refusal. A unicorn. She knew that the cost of surrendering her virginity would mean giving up communion with the unicorn. Because, as everybody knows, unicorns will only tolerate the company of virgins.
I couldn’t help but look over at the pink rock, which I’d set on my library table. Whenever the crystal sat in the same room as a fire, the dance of flames always found the crystalline planes and reflected the movement making it seem alive. Without thought I reached over to touch it. As I ran my hand down one of the smooth angles the fire touched a drop of sap and made a loud pop. I startled, then laughed at myself.
Frey raised her head to see what she was missing, decided that her human was nuts, and promptly returned to the more serious pastime of magical canine napping.
I returned to reading. Apparently, the entirety of faerie was mad at the Deutschman about the theft because unicorns were rare and sacred to the lot of them. So, the suit was being brought jointly by the French princess, her family, and the Bureau of Behavioral Oversight. They wanted their unicorn back and, well, who could blame them for that?
I set the case on the yes pile thinking the Deutschman must have been delirious to think he’d get away with stealing somebody’s unicorn. Even the wording of that is tricky because I gathered that unicorns can’t belong to a person. They can choose to keep company for a time. That, of course, raised the question of how the Deutsch nobleman, Balder, which I personally thought was an unfortunate name, was able to hold the unicorn against its will.
Feeling satisfied with my day’s work I was thinking about a hot bath. I glanced toward the window and registered two things.
First, it was snow time. Snow wasn’t common in that part of England and even less likely in mid-December, but every afternoon big fluffy flakes fell for just long enough to keep the village looking pretty as a snow globe. Magic definitely has its perks.
Second, Lochlan was returning home. I tugged on my big snuggly windowpane turtleneck that was lying across the leather chair as I hurried for the front door.
“Lochlan!” I called just as he was closing his door.
There’s something so comforting about knowing people with consistent temperaments. I would never have to wonder if Lochlan would greet me with a happy smile. I knew he would.
“Magistrate!” he said as if it was a family reunion and we hadn’t seen each other for years. He looked down at my moose slippers as I trudged forward in the new snow.
“Oh gosh. These aren’t made for snow are they? Can you come over for a minute?”
“Certainly.” He closed his door and followed.
Inside my house I withdrew feet from damp house shoes. “Let me grab other shoes. Wait anywhere. Do you want tea? Or anything?”
“No,” he said as he withdrew a pocket watch from his vest pocket like a character from a Victorian movie. “I believe Ivy has plans for pot and pastry.”
“I won’t keep you. Be right back.”
I grabbed big thick socks, pulled them on, and hurried back to the living room not wanting to be the cause of keeping Ivy waiting.
“One of the cases indirectly involved the Wild Hunt.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t seem to be able to get a grasp of what it is and how it’s, um, conducted. I have a vague notion that I’ve read about it, maybe more than once. Could it be that I have and don’t remember? Keir said he thought there might be protections.”
Lochlan’s high beam smile had disappeared and he looked serious. “Decent probability that. And, if true, it’s something that needs correcting. Especially if there’s a case involving the Hunt.” I nodded. “We’ll have to get a special dispensation to make an exception for you.”
“You mean this isn’t something that normally goes along with being magistrate?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing automatic. It’s an item that requires presentation of cause. That’s certainly present here. I’ll contact the authorities.”
That stopped my thought processes dead. “The authorities?” I said slowly. “What does that mean? Who are they? What are they? And why am I just now hearing about something called ‘the authorities’?”
“Oh.” He waved it off. “It’s not as official as I made it sound. It’s a trio of charmed ones who make sure that the most delicate matters of magic kind are veiled from human knowledge.”