Page 65 of Cathmoir's Sons

Devoted mates. Unwavering affection. Italian villas. These things could turn a girl’s head.

I’m truly not a “material girl.” Law and Luca’s wealth creates more complications than solutions, from my perspective. I like my independence. I like being able to move about unnoticed. Being involved with rich fae princes just brings unwanted attention.

Although Italian villas are very nice.

The villa Law’s bought isn’t flashy. It’s homey and comfortable, from its red-tiled roof to the honey-colored stone floors. Dark wooden beams and paneling frame dozens of rooms. I lose count of the fireplaces. There are eight bedrooms. Eight. None of them look like guest bedrooms, either. Big families in the Italian countryside, I guess.

After exploring the house and barn, which would make a perfect lab for me, with loft space for another guest suite, we end up back in the dining room, where a huge trestle table, polished to a low gleam but scarred from many, many years of use, catches my attention. The room’s rich with the smell of oregano,thyme, and sage from dried herbs hanging off a frame over the table. I run my fingers over the well-used surface.

“They left you the furniture?” I ask Law.

He nods. “We bought it from an elderly couple. They’ve moved to Palermo to be near their grandchildren. Small apartment. We paid them extra so they could buy furniture that fit their new place. They took personal things, pots and pans.” He walks over to stand beside me, curling his fingers around the spindles of a wingback chair, its embroidered cushions yellowed with age, the wood as lovingly polished as the table. “I asked them to leave everything else. I like the feel of it.”

I like the feel of it, too. I turn in a slow circle, taking in the good smells, the good feels. Thousands of meals have been made in the kitchen. Thousands of fires in the fireplaces. Thousands of moments of affection between the cool stone walls. Golden-amber days under the Italian sun. Nights cool enough to nip pink into fingers, cheeks, and noses before being bundled into warm wool and fur.

I throw my arms around Law and hug him. “I love it.”

He touches his forehead to mine. “I hoped you would. I thought of you as soon as I saw it.”

“Thank you, Law. I mean it. This is the most thoughtful gift.”

Luca clears his throat.

I break away from Law, rush to Luca, and hug him. “I’m sorry. Thank you, Luca. This is amazing.”

He hugs me back but releases me quickly and steps back. “I can’t take credit for this. This is all Law. My, uh, contribution’s a little different. Law?”

Lawson raises his palms. “It was your idea. You tell her.”

Luca takes my hands in his. A flush spreads across his high cheekbones. “You, um, mentioned that we hadn’t sent flowers for Doctor Prince’s death. Cait traditions are different. It didn’t occur to either of us. Flowers seem?—”

“They’re a silly ritual,” I admit. “I’m sorry I was critical.”

“No, you were right. If you have expectations for our behavior, you should tell us. Law and I have been around human mages for years but we’ve never tried to fit in. I guess ... I guess that means we haven’t tried to know much about them. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’m a Necromancer but I know very little about human ritualssurroundingdeath.”

“Is this the first time a mortal mage close to you has died?” I ask.

Luca nods. “We want to do something meaningful. Something Doctor Prince would have approved of. Cait House has endowed a scholarship at Bevington in her name. Full tuition, room, and board for the four years. One student a year for twenty years. We’d like you and Jane to pick the scholarship recipient every year, if you’d agree to be the trustees?”

I squeeze his hands. “Luca, that’s very generous. Jane will be over the moon that Carrie’s name will live on at Bevington this way. And of course I’ll be a trustee. I’m sure Jane will, too. Thank you.” I look over my shoulder at Law. “Thank you both. This is life-changing for a disadvantaged student.”

Law smiles. “Do I get another hug?”

I roll my eyes at him.

He grunts. “If I can’t have another hug, can we at least make our way into town so I can have swordfish?” He rubs his lean stomach. “All the Plane-Walking made me hungry.”

“I thought it made you sick,” Luca says.

“It did. Butafterit made me sick, it made me hungry.”

I slide one hand out of Luca’s and hold it out to Law. He’s too cattishly dignified to skip, but his steps over to me are quicker than his usual pace. He takes my hand, curls our joined hands up onto his chest so I’m pulled against his side, and leads us out of the villa and down the gentle slopes into the town of Scilla.

After seared artichoke salad,swordfish with zucchini fritte, and several cold Morettis, we return to Bevington. Luca parts ways with us, eager to head to Cait House and try the binding technique that Tsara’s taught him. I give him a kiss on the cheek for good luck and head into Jane’s townhouse, trailed by a fluffy-tailed shadow.

He keeps me company when I take a bath, perching on the edge, occasionally dipping in a paw to flick bubbles at me. I threaten to return the favor but don’t, since I know most cats don’t like water. I read some of the critiques on the papers Luca and I published right before the Yule break to him off my tablet, and forward some of the ones I think we should follow up on to Luca’s email.

Since I have my email program open, a notification pops up. News of Carrie’s puzzle box has spread in the hours we’ve been to Hell, Italy, and back. It’s a message from Danny, copied to the whole team. The subject line says, “when do we leave?” There’s no body to the message.

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