Page 67 of Slaying With Sylphs

“I know.” I can barely get the words out. “Could this be connected?”

Vikand considers that for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Leighton became a thrall, so even if he hadn’t been cremated in the way of your people, if he was reanimated in some way, he’d be in his final form. And he’s not a wraith, or he’d be drawn to Hel Motel, and they’d notify us of a new attendant.”

I muddle my way through everything he just said. I can’t fault the logic in any of that, but I lay awake all night worrying about Lou and wondering how it’s possible she saw my dead friend when Dirk and I saw nothing.

“Alright,” I finish lamely, lost in memory as I pinch the bridge of my nose with two fingers.

Vikand goes back to his book, seeming to forget Slade and I are there. His pale eyes, the same eyes as his son, Arkan, move hungrily over the page, one finger following the lines as he reads.

“Are you onto something or just reading for fun?” I cock my head to the side and shift forward, reminding him I’m there.

“Simply immersed in the book, it seems,” echoes a female voice from the front.

I turn with a half smile. “Catherine.”

If Arkan is Ever’s Keeper, much like a human mayor, then Catherine is undoubtedly the haven’s mother.

She sails gracefully between the stacks, her curvaceous figure highlighted in a dress that wraps around her body and ties in the front. A basket in one hand smells of tomatoes and cheese.

Gray eyes flash at me, pink-painted lips pulling into a soft frown. “How are you holding up, Connall? Richard told me about Amatheia.”

I roll my shoulders to dissipate tension as I heave in a slow, steadying breath. “Not great,” I finally admit. Jerking my head toward Vikand and Slade, I plant both hands on my hips. “Vikand is pretty certain it’s black magic.”

Catherine nods, a small sigh escaping her lips. Vikand still hasn’t looked up from his book.

“Ever has always been so peaceful,” she says in a soft tone. “But, my goodness, it’s been a whirlwind the last few months.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter. Then a thought occurs to me. “Did you talk with Lou when she got back to the Annabelle last night?”

Dirk walked her home. I had to go back into Slade’s with Richard. I’d have insisted on staying at the Annabelle to keep watch, but Dirk told me he keeps watch on her most nights. Something about that warms me to the core.

Catherine nods, dragging my thoughts back to the present. “I did. She mentioned seeing Leighton, although we all knowthat shouldn’t be possible.” Her brow furrows. “I’m worried she’s becoming lost to her grief over his death, so much so that she’s manufacturing visions of him. Perhaps the stress of seeing Amatheia injured brought this about.” She sucks at her teeth. “But at the same time, I don’t want to discount a woman who knows her mind. I’m torn because, while I don’t understand how it’s possible, I’ve certainly seen enough inexplicable things in my life to never assume I know it all.”

I mull that over, my senses pinging with the need to do something. This is why Dirk has asked me to offer therapy sessions to Lou many times before I agreed. I’ll never forget the night he told me that every time I saw her and knew she was hurting, I’d be called to help.

He’s right. I am. Not that our first session was anything even remotely resembling therapy. The rest of the sessions I have in mind for her are decidedly more therapy-like.

“I’m going to talk to her,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Catherine says softly. “She trusts you. Lou carries the weight of her family on her shoulders. She’s always been like a sister to the Hector triplets, but she steps in as their mother too. She’s fiercely protective of them and their happiness, forgetting her own in the meantime.”

“It’s not uncommon.” I glance at Vikand—still reading—then back to Catherine. I’m not sure if she’s aware of the few dates Lou and I have been on. Goddess, the need to run to Lou right now is near overpowering. If I can wrap her in my arms, she’ll be safe. I have to believe that, to tether myself to the idea of it, or I’ll go crazy with worry.

“Good,” Catherine says, pale eyes drifting to Vikand. A delighted, devious sparkle flashes through her gaze. “If you don’t need anything, I’ve come to deliver Vikand a little lunch, then I’m heading home to check in with the triplets and Lou.”

“Is that so?” Catherine making romantic overtures? I never thought I’d see the day.

Catherine returns her focus to me and lifts her chin. “It’s always a good idea to be neighborly.”

I think back to my arrival in town. “You never delivered me lunch. Or wine,” I tack on, scenting the air around the box.

“Get out,” she says playfully, slapping my shoulder with the back of her hand. “I’m on a mission.” She looks at Slade. “You too.”

The dark elf skirts past me with a devious wink at Catherine.

“I can see that,” I say with a snort, looking at Vikand, who has ignored this entire conversation. “Best of luck breaking through…that.”

Catherine laughs, the sound tinkling off the chunky wood-beam ceiling. “Don’t fret, Connall. I’m a succubus. This is literally what I’m made for.”

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