Page 1 of Beyond the Cottage

Chapter 1

Gretta thanked the bartender and slid another round of shots to the gnomes beside her. The pub had grown crowded, mostly with tourists who smelled like rum punch and fried oysters, but the pair of gnomes didn’t seem to notice.

The one with mutton-chop sideburns—Faldrig, was it?—curled his stubby arm on the bar to use as a pillow. His friend, Elberdink, toasted Gretta and sloshed rum on the sticky floor.

“You’ve got a hollow leg, pixie,” Elberdink said.

If only. Her mouth tasted like acid, and her vision had started to fuzz, but the locals only talked to outsiders while the liquor flowed and the tab remained open, so she drained her glass and smacked it rim-down on the bar. Elberdink did the same.

A human couple entered the pub, letting in a blast of hot air and off-key music from the street. Gretta barely glanced at them.

“Back to the crone in the swamp,” she said. “You’re sure she’s a redhead?”

“My boy saw her hisself a couple weeks ago.” Elberdink wiped a dribble off his beard and yawned.

“How many friends were with him?”

“Dunno. Two?”

“Can you give me their names?”

Elberdink’s eyes drooped. They snapped to attention when someone started banging away on a piano.

“Their names?” Gretta repeated.

The gnome blinked hard as though noticing her for the first time. “Whose names? I don’t give out no names! What’re you asking me all this for, anyway?” He checked the miniature watch pinned to his waistcoat and shook Faldrig awake. The gnomes climbed off their barstools, muttering to each other in a language Gretta didn’t understand.

Sighing, she handed them their caps.

Elberdink slapped his on. “Didn’t know pixies was so interested in the goings-on of our swamp.”

“I guess I’m the curious type.”

“Hmph, well. We got to get home. Thanks for the drinks, I s’pose.”

Gretta gave a little wave as they tottered out. Once the door closed behind them, she pulled out her notepad and jotted down everything they’d told her.

Much of it was probably worthless since day-drinking gnomes didn’t make the finest sources. But instinct told her she was closer to finding an illusion witch than she’d been in years.

Which usually meant she wasn’t. They were the rarest caste and the hardest to hunt. The elusive hags could transform into anything they wanted or even go invisible, and tracking them had proven a total waste of time.

Unfortunately, only an illusion witch could undo the spell afflicting Gretta’s employer. Nat’s physical limitations—and his job as senator—kept him behind a desk in the capital, so he paid her to dig up rumors about mysterious crones and chase theirshadows across the country. Besides being her boss, Nat was her oldest friend, so she kept searching.

At least if the witch in the swamp ended up being from the wrong caste, Gretta would collect another trophy and finally get the hell out of this muggy cesspool.

After downing Faldrig’s untouched shot, she gave up her stool to a hobgoblin wearing beaded necklaces instead of a shirt. On her way to the door, the drinks caught up with her. She reeled into a table, catching herself before she landed in a blonde man’s lap.

He put out his cigarette with a grin. “Need help, sugar?” He was human, but he had the thick neck and compact build of a cave troll.

Gretta didn’t care for his oily smile. “Nope.”

“How about company, then?”

Had that line ever worked?

Backing away, Gretta billowed her sweaty tunic, and the man’s eyes fell to her open collar. They widened when he noticed her volatus, the small, flat gland on the side of her neck. Every pixie had one; they made her wingless species fly. By the way he was staring, she’d have sworn she’d exposed a nipple.

Smile back in place, the man took Gretta’s wrist and tugged her closer. “Hang on, sugar. What’s your name?”

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