Page 31 of Grimoires & Glamoury

Very few things in this world truly frightened me, but the Fae were one of them.

Nash sent me a long considering look. “You need to speak to Montgomery and convince him to let the cops know the whole story with Sawyer and the stolen book.” He rose to his feet. “I get that this is a magick thing, but this magickal problem has bled over into the mundane world, with deadly consequences.”

“I’ll speak to him,” I said, standing. “You have my word.”

“My bill is in with the folder,” Nash reminded me.

“I’ll settle the bill this week,” I promised, escorting Nash to the door.

“Take care, Lorna,” Nash said.

“I will,” I said, and watched as he walked to his car. After exchanging a wave with Nash, I let myself back in and locked the door behind me. Now that I was alone once more, I dropped the polite mask that I’d had on while Nash had been here.

My eyes went up to the old horseshoe I had nailed over my door. Most folks considered it to be decorative and a rustic nod to old folklore—a way to bring good luck to the home. In reality, what they missed was that it was also iron, and iron repelled the Fae.

That wasn’t the only ward I had on my home to keep the Fae out, but it was the most noticeable. Truth was, I had iron secreted everywhere in the house, as well as red verbena in my window boxes, and a rowan tree planted in the front yard. Plus, I also had St. John’s wort, primrose, and foxglove—all blooming herbs that protected from faerie magick—planted in the flower gardens in the back.

Suddenly, the pressure of having my hair pulled tightly back was too much. Undoing the clip from my hair, I dragged a shaking hand through it and let loose a string of curse words.

And I kept going until my imagination ran dry.

Once I had that out of my system, I shook myself off and faced some hard facts. The god damned Fae were involved in this. They had to be. And I had a horrible feeling that Sawyer and Shelby had been either coerced into acquiring the grimoire for them...or they were doing it voluntarily.

It was the worst possible news, yet it also made the most sense. “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” I recited the Author Conan Doyle quote from Sherlock Holmes from memory.

I marched over to the end table where I’d placed my cell phone, selected a contact from my list, and put the call through. It was answered on the second ring, and I didn’t bother with any social niceties.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Immediately.”

“How lovely to hear from you Lorna.” Charles Montgomery’s voice was smooth and amused.

“Cut the crap, Montgomery,” I snapped. “Are you home right now?”

“I am.”

“I’m coming over,” I said even as I snatched up my purse and car keys. “There’s things we need to discuss that are better done in person, rather than over a cell phone.”

“Understood,” he said. “Do you need directions?”

“No,” I said. “I know where you live. In that fancy uptown penthouse apartment.”

Still, he gave me instructions for entering the parking garage and followed that up with, “I’ll tell the parking valet to expect you. He will show you to the private elevator for the East Penthouse.”

“Right.” Scanning the room, I picked up the folder of information Nash had given me. “See you shortly.”

I had changed into casual clothes—walking shorts and a floral blouse over a T-shirt—after work and before Nash had come over, and they would have to do. Because I certainly wasn’t going to change my outfit now, Montgomery’s penthouse apartment be damned.

Mashing my feet down inside of my tennis shoes, I locked the house and paused long enough to pluck a flower head from the red verbena in my window boxes. Then, I hurried across the backyard to my garage.

Reminding myself to slow down, I backed carefully out and onto the alley behind the house and headed for uptown. To try and settle myself, I did square breathing as I drove to his apartment.

I won’t shout at him, I told myself. I was the Magistra, the most talented Witch in the area. I was going to conduct myself with serenity and dignity...right before I smacked him upside the head with my purse for the sheer stupidity of keeping a Fae manuscript in his private collection, whether it had been magickally warded or not.

By the time I hit the elevator to his apartment, my anger was on a low simmer, and I had mostly regained my composure. Hooray for me.

The elevator door slid open and I glanced up to find him waiting for me.

“Lorna,” he said with a polite smile. “Good evening.”