Page 76 of The Water Witch (Fairwick Chronicles 2)

TWENTY-EIGHT

Igot dressed in jeans, a turtleneck, and heavy socks, and then took the Aelvestone out of the bag where I’d stashed it and stuffed it in my pocket, making sure it was carefully wrapped in flannel. I needed one other thing, which I got from my desk, then I crept down the backstairs with my waterproof hiking boots held in my hand, listening to the murmur of voices in the front hall. I could make out one excitable young man’s voice and two lower, more mature male voices besides Bill’s.

“I don’t care how much you need her,” Bill was saying as I walked through the library. “She’s not well enough to go out in this weather.”

“I’d like to see her myself and hear her say that. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“This is Bill,” I told Frank as I came into the foyer. “He’s my…boyfriend.” I felt silly using the word for a man I’d spent all of two nights with, but Bill’s smile chased those scruples away. “At least I hope he is,” I added.

“Well, that’s sweet,” Frank said, staring at Bill. I scowled at Frank and then at the other two men in the hallway. MacStewart and his father, Angus, both in plaid rain jackets and plaid rain boots dripping water all over my parquet floor. I remembered that Liz said the Stewarts were some kind of protectors of the forest…but that shouldn’t mean they couldn’t remember to wipe their feet.

“I’ll get a mop—and some hot tea for you, Callie,” Bill said, following my glance and glaring at the Stewarts. When he was gone, I turned to Frank.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are the Stewarts here?”

Mac Stewart puffed up his chest proudly. I noticed he was wearing the owl feather he’d gotten from me the night we met in the woods. “Our family are the stewards of the woods! I didn’t even know that until last night. We tracked that mean fish woman back to her hidey-hole and got her trapped there. See, I’ve got superpowers just like you…”

“Hush, boy,” Angus said, not unkindly. “All she needs to know is that Lura’s threatening to shoot anyone who steps onto her property.”

“She says she won’t let us take her mother away the way we took her fiancé—”

“That’s enough, Mac,” Angus cautioned, more sternly now. “We don’t have to air all our business here.”

“You do if you expect my help,” I replied, dropping my boots and folding my arms over my chest.

Angus Stewart heaved an exasperated sigh. “Lura has it in her addled brain that the Stewarts did away with Quincy Morris.”

“Why would she think that?” I asked.

“Because he was our cousin,” Angus answered, “from the Morris clan over in Ulster County. He was supposed to be guarding the woods the summer he went courting Lura. Some of the elders didn’t like it, on account of her having an undine mother. A few of them, my father included, spoke to Luraabout it the night before the wedding—the night before Quincy disappeared. Lura thinks they scared him away or, worse, killed him so he couldn’t marry her and disgrace the family. But my father swears they didn’t do anything to Quincy. Told me Quincy wouldn’t have been the first to find a bride in those woods. They spoke to Quincy that night and he was bound and determined to marry Lura, despite her being half-fish.”

“So what happened to him?”

Angus shrugged. “We’ve never known. My father thinks he might have gotten cold feet after all, but it’s not like a Morris to run away. Any road, we must convince Lura to let go of Lorelei. It’s our job to protect the woods and Lorelei has proved herself dangerous.”

“There’s more danger in those woods than Lorelei,” Frank said. “I don’t believe those murdered fishermen were the victims of an undine—and I don’t think an incubus did this to you,” he said, touching my eye. “Explain exactly how it happened.”

I told him about my attempt to unmask Duncan, embarrassed to be telling the story in front of the Stewarts. When I told him Duncan’s story about the bat-winged imp, he snorted.

“What a load of bull hickey. This Duncan Laird is obviously not what he appears to be, but I don’t believe he’s your incubus. He only let you and Ann Chase believe that to deflect attention from what hereallyis.”

“And what’s that?” Angus Stewart asked.

“A Nephilim,” Frank answered.

“Can’t be!” Angus Stewart barked so loudly his son flinched. “The Stewarts fought those bastards back in the old country and killed every last one. They’re extinct.”

“That’s what they wanted us to think,” Frank replied.“They went into hiding, marshaling their forces to gain allies among the witches…”

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “The Seraphim Club in London is a Nephilim organization.”

“Exactly. I’ve long had my suspicions about them. The members might look like angels but there’s nothing angelic about them. They’ve created a legend that they’re fallen angels, but they’re really elves who were thrown out of Faerie because of their treatment of human women. They persecuted witches who were friendly with the fey and recruited others with the promise of an endless supply of Aelvesgold. They’re one of the few species of fey that can produce Aelvesgold outside of Faerie.”

“So they’ve bribed the Grove into working with them,” I said.

“And the board of IMP,” Frank said. “I should have seen this coming.”

“What do we do now?” I asked.

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