Page 74 of Beyond the Cottage

“No, but that reminds me—I met the swamp witch.”

Gretta quickly filled them in on Isobel.

As Brand and Philip discussed the development, Ansel spoke in Gretta’s ear. “What about the pixies? Some of them won’t be able to fly for a few days. I can’t desert them here.”

“I’ll send the cops down when we get to Antrelle. Seven can keep an eye on them until then.”

“I’m not leaving Seven to the police.”

Gretta sighed. No way in hell was she spending another moment in the prison, and now that Ansel had agreed to meet Nat, she wanted to move fast. “Then Brand will stay. We’re not missing that train.”

“I don’t want a troll anywherenearSeven.”

As much as trolls and nymphs hated each other, Gretta knew Brand wouldn’t harm a woman, and she definitely couldn’t imagine Seven provoking him.

“Brand’s a good person,” she said. “He won’t touch her.”

“Have you forgotten she’s a nymph? He doesn’t set foot in the facility until I see her off.”

The set of his jaw warned her she was wasting her breath. “Will you agree to it if I give you time to send her away?”

“I…suppose.”

“New plan,” she announced, interrupting the other men as Ansel hurried away. “Brand, you’re going to stay behind until the cops come for the pixies.”

“What?”

“It should only be a few hours. You can take tomorrow’s train home.”

“Absolutely not!”

Philip muttered his irritation and headed for the horses.

Gretta squeezed Brand’s hand. “Please do this for me?”

“I’m not a babysitter, Gret. And I’m not dealing with a nymph.” He crossed his bulging arms. “She’ll probably piss her pants at the sight of me.”

“She’ll be gone within the hour, you won’t even meet her.” It suddenly struck Gretta as a bit of a shame. Under better circumstances, Brand would have been the perfect person to lure Seven from her shitty boyfriend. If they were different species, anyway.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she continued, “but technically you’re my assistant on this hunt. Staying behind would assist me.”

“You found the witch, you’re not technically hunting.”

“It’s just a few hours.”

He snorted.

“Please, Brand?”

His barrel chest rumbled as he stonily eyed the prison.

Then he sighed.

Ansel stalked through the facility, searching for Seven. He found her locked in a cell in the western block, sitting on a bench with her knees gathered to her chest. Her disheveled braid lay coiled beside her.

She rushed to the bars. “Director!”

“Are you alright?”

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