Page 119 of Beyond the Cottage

“Mm-hmm.” She brushed hair off his forehead. When she was sure he was out, she kissed his hand, lips lingering on his knuckles.

Chapter 41

Gretta flew into the heart of the city. Though her dust had mostly returned, she stayed low and took her time. The sun was close to setting, but Nat would be in his office for hours longer. Sometimes she wondered why he bothered owning a house.

She took a left on Rudyard street, toward the white dome on the skyline. After erecting the capitol building, the city had passed a law prohibiting anything taller, something about preserving the majesty of Merecia’s most sacred monument.

To Gretta, it looked like a breast with a stiff nipple.

When she landed there, she climbed the shallow steps and entered. The vestibule bustled with people about to go home for the day, and their voices echoed off marble like droning bees.

She approached the reception desk and handed her access badge to the pretty, middle-aged banshee seated behind it. “Hey, Sorcha. Not sure if this is still good.”

The woman glanced at the badge and fingered through some papers on file. “You’re good, sweetie,” she screeched. “Go on up.”

Gretta rounded the desk toward the double staircase on the other side of an atrium, and tromped up the stairs, hanging a left to the legislative wing. She passed rows of doors with brass plaques until she reached one that read:

Sen. Nathaniel Grey

Vallenmoor Province

Dist. 27

The door swung silently as she entered the anteroom. A young man with copper hair sat behind a desk, flipping through documents and crossing out lines. When he noticed Gretta, his chair squeaked back.

“Miss Fairleaf!” He tossed the papers on a blotter. “So good of you to find the time. You’re a jot late for your appointment, but what’s half a day to an active member of senate?”

“Hello, Henry.” Gretta fished a butterscotch candy from a dish on his desk and let it clack around her teeth. “Is he free?”

“For you? Naturally. He’s been on tenterhooks awaiting the honor.”

“I’ll show myself in.”

With a caustic sniff, Henry returned to his paperwork.

Gretta approached Nat’s office door and hesitated with her hand on the knob. She’d been too distracted to think about this much, but now her anger flared. Underneath it, an obnoxious twinge of hurt simmered.

She reminded herself she was doing this for the repellent, for her and Ansel’s mutual goal.

Fighting witchcraft is the most important thing.

She straightened her shoulders and marched inside.

A blue carpet muffled her steps. It was the only splash of color in the dour, stately office. No art or photographs adorned the walls, just a few framed certificates and a letter from the previous chancellor. The taupe velvet curtains were drawn shut, and two pewter lamps lit the room.

An immaculate desk dominated the back wall. Behind it stood an empty wooden chair that was intricately carved with whorls and helices. Gretta dropped onto the leather sofa on the near side of the desk and flicked a butterscotch crumb off her sleeve.

“Well, Nat,” she said. “Better late than never, right?”

The empty chair’s arms unmoored from their posts, creaking as they settled on the desk. The carving on the backrest undulated to form a face with narrowed eyes and a stern mouth. The mouth opened, groaning like ship timbers in a storm.

“Gretta,” Nat said. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I had other business. Getting sacked by your lackey adjusted my priorities.”

“Philip told me you ran off with pirates.”

“Train robbers. As you can see, I survived.”

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