Page 41 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 41

G retta 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.”

A carved ridge resembling a brow arched above Nat’s eye. Though composed of wood, his features moved pliantly, like clay under a sculptor’s hands. He moved awkwardly, and his voice scraped, but it was the magic coming off him she’d never gotten used to.

Nat rasped a sigh. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about here.” Gretta pulled a file from her messenger bag and tossed it on the desk. “I met the swamp witch.”

Nat uncurled the stumpy fingers at the end of one armrest and opened her report. “I heard the gist of what happened. I want details.”

She nodded at the file. “They’re all in there.”

“I’d like to hear them from you.”

Gretta no longer owed him shoptalk, but she didn’t want to piss him off before bringing up the repellent, so she crossed her legs and settled in. “The swamp witch is named Isobel. She’s illusion, but she isn’t interested in helping you. She took off in the night while I was…distracted.”

“You spent the night in a witch’s cottage?” If Nat had a head, Gretta suspected he’d be shaking it.

“It’s a long, irrelevant story.” She remembered the gold coin she’d pilfered and flipped it onto the desk. “Isobel uses a currency I don’t recognize. Whatever flunky you hire to replace me should be able to track her that way. Also, her powers are mostly bound, but I smelled bullshit when she said it couldn’t be reversed.”

He glanced at the coin and continued skimming the file. When he noticed Isobel’s letter, he paused to read. “What’s this?”

“Her parting jab.”

Nat’s eyes scanned the paper, his mouth thinning. “Two out of three ain’t bad ? As though being turned into furniture pricked my vanity?”

“To be fair, I didn’t give her your life story, but I don’t think it would’ve mattered. She’s cagey as hell.”

As Nat continued reading, his mouth all but disappeared. He seemed more annoyed by Isobel’s cheek than pleased about what she might do for him. “You say her powers are compromised, yet she’s rather confident in her talent for evasion.”

Gretta shrugged. “Maybe she can still go invisible.”

“It could also mean she’s been successfully hiding from the police. Or someone else.” He skimmed another paper. “What brand of crime is she partial to?”

“I’m not sure. It must be bad if she’d rather abandon her home than talk to you.” Gretta could try pestering Ansel for answers again, but she knew he wouldn’t rat out his friend. It was no longer her problem, anyway.

“How confident are you she’s illusion?”

“One-hundred percent.”

Nat reread Isobel’s letter. He tersely folded it and tucked it in a drawer. “Her hubris is truly astounding. It’s also a weakness. I’m going to find her, whatever the cost. And she will talk to me.”

“Have fun with that.”

Nat returned his attention to the file, sifting papers. “I see your report includes no details of what happened to you. Philip tells me you were taken by pixie dust traffickers?”

“Irrelevant.”

“You don’t think I’d find your abduction relevant?”

“Again, I survived. And I don’t work for you anymore.”

His voice sharpened. “You’re taking a leave of absence until I find something else for you.”

“Don’t bother, I’ve got other prospects lined up.” She didn’t have the first clue where to start looking.

“We’ll revisit this later. What happened to the criminal who held you captive? This once, I might turn a blind eye to your penchant for capital punishment.”

He’s tucked under a quilt, snoozing on my couch.

“So, about that… I didn’t exactly kill him.”

“A good maiming, then?”

“Not quite.”

His brow arched. “Don’t tell me you let the police handle it?”

“Nope. I brought him home with me.”

Nat creaked as he leaned forward. “Why the hell would you do that?”

For a moment, she considered telling him the full truth. He knew the basics of her history with Ansel and what had happened in the cottage. But Nat had lost the right to access her personal life. Besides, after what went down in the swamp, he wouldn’t care about Ansel and Gretta’s complicated friendship.

“I realized we need him,” she said. “He’s a brilliant scientist who developed anti-spell technology. Specifically, spell repellent.”

Nat scoffed. His face became its usual stoic mask. “Impossible. Only silver prevents spells.”

“It works, Nat. I used it. All he needs is an investor.”

“An investor, indeed. I’m afraid you’ve been had.”

“Look,” she said. “I don’t know enough about the science to explain it, but let him give you a demonstration. I guarantee it will convince you.”

“Again, I’m confused. Why are you helping the man who kidnapped you?”

“I’m trying to help our movement,” she hedged. “This will be a potent weapon for fighting witchcraft. Do you even care about that anymore?”

“What precisely does that mean?”

Gretta swept her hand around the office.

Nat frowned, eyes narrowing. He slapped the file closed and set it aside. “Fine. I’ll indulge you in this if you’ll indulge me in return.”

“How?”

“When I’ve found a new position for you, I want a fair hearing with an open mind. In the meantime, you’ll remain on my payroll.”

“And if I choose not to waste my time?”

Nat lifted his arms in something like a shrug. “Then your scientist is free to seek another investor.”

High-handed jackass. She ought to call him on it by helping Ansel do just that.

She sighed. While throwing Nat’s ultimatum in his face would be satisfying, he was her richest connection and Ansel’s best option. Hearing him out didn’t mean she had to take the job. And maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing if she practiced curbing her knee-jerk reactions?

“Alright,” she said. “Fair hearing. Open mind.”

Nat tucked the file in a drawer. “Have Henry put a meeting on tomorrow’s schedule.”

She stood and gave Nat a tight nod.