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Oh, lord, not another gossipy troll.
And yet, there was something about Davido, something almost compelling, as though if he desired he could command her attention for the next several hours. Then she understood. The troll had charisma.
She smiled and offered the smallest shrug of her shoulders. “I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “I’ve heard of the famous Vojalie from the time that I first came to Merhaine.”
“She is a delight and a wonder,” he said, leaning toward her as though telling secrets. “But you will see for yourself. Please, follow me.” He took off down a long hall, wide enough for her to walk beside Gerrod.
The hall was lined with what had to be portraits of her hosts’ numerous children, some bearing troll features, some with fae. The DNA lines fell to one side or the other. It made for a beautiful presentation for a home especially since several arched stained glass windows were lit from behind, lighting up portions of the hall in pale lavenders and greens.
The scent of verbena pervaded the space.
But what perhaps surprised her the most was that Gerrod hadn’t relinquished her hand, but continued to hold it almost possessively.
She glanced up at him. He was scowling, of course, but in his eye was something more. She realized he was worried. What is it?
He glanced down at her. His lips parted, then curved a little, off to one side, but he shook his head.
The hall opened into a place of splendor. She hadn’t meant to ignore the fae woman standing on the opposite side of the very round room by the fireplace, but Abigail’s gaze was drawn up to the perfectly dome-shaped ceiling. A multi-hued iridescence shone over the entire width and breadth of the dome and moving forward even just a step caused all the colors to change because her position had changed.
“This is so beautiful,” she said.
Gerrod squeezed her hand and she glanced at him. He inclined his head in the direction of the fireplace.
Her cheeks warmed again. She turned to the woman, the fae, Vojalie. “I am so sorry, but your home is so beautiful, expressive, warm, magical, so full of love.”
“Oh, my dear,” Vojalie said, moving toward her slowly, her hands outstretched. “You could have offered me no finer greeting.”
Gerrod released her hand. Abigail moved forward to meet the woman and took her hands as though they had been old friends. She felt almost drawn toward Vojalie, perhaps pulled, by the famous magic that a pure faerie could hold.
The fae could enthrall and this one had power that seemed to cloak Vojalie like a garment, an iridescent garment, like the ceiling.
She felt soft waves pulsing from Vojalie’s fingertips and once her palms were within Vojalie’s warm, soft grasp, she felt she could melt like a big pool of butter right on the stone floor.
How she remained upright she wasn’t certain. “Gerrod and Davido, please leave us. I wish to speak with Mistress Abigail alone.”
Abigail sort of heard her. She felt as though she’d been wrapped quite thoroughly in a tender web. She didn’t think she could move and if Vojalie had been her enemy, she would soon be dead, she was that caught.
She met the woman’s soft brown eyes. But the eyes shifted color, warming, lightening until she stared into silver pools, beautiful, elegant, full of light and love. Abigail had the strangest sense she could stay there forever. Was this a spell? Surely a spell.
After a moment, she blinked and the cocoon-like sensation dissipated. “What was that?”
But Vojalie’s lips were parted and her eyes were still a silver color as though she was caught in a trance herself. She released Abigail’s hands, but the woman remained standing in front of her, still staring at her, but more like through her now, as though what Vojalie saw had nothing to do with the present.
One of Vojalie’s hands fell to the swell of her stomach. She was tall perhaps five-nine or ten, much taller than her husband. She was a great beauty, just as Abigail had heard. Her rich dark brown hair hung in lovely waves to her waist held back by a narrow headband. The size and luster of her dark eyes, still silver, offset high arched brows. Her nose was narrow and straight, her lips small, her chin tapering to a beautiful fae point, not as severe as the elven women.
“I must sit down.” Vojalie turned and made her way to one of the pair of white silk sofas that faced each other and were situated adjacent to the massive fireplace.
Abigail frowned. Something was wrong. She thought about calling Gerrod and Davido back, but Vojalie swept an arm to the couch opposite her. “Please, sit down. I know it must seem like I’m behaving oddly. I suppose I am, it’s just that I’m very surprised.” She shifted slightly, her right hip pushing out, her belly angling to the left. She planted her left elbow on the back of the sofa and twirled a long lock around her finger. She stared at the fireplace.
She was very pregnant.
Abigail sat with her feet squared up on the floor, acutely aware that she wore only flip-flops and jeans. The woman was dressed in what looked like a layering of three gowns, the bottom layer a vibrant purple silk, then a lavender gauze, overlaid with white gauze.
“I must apologize for my clothing,” Abigail said. “I was at the bakery—“
Vojalie whipped her head in direction. “That’s right you’re opening a bakery. I keep forgetting that you’ve become a fixture in Merhaine, or at least in Hollow County. I’ve seen your photo often, most of them candid and all of them unflattering for you are uncommonly lovely, even without make-up. I’m so confused right now.” Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling, following the arch the entire distance, the strange iridescence reflected in her eyes, giving her an angelic appearance.
When she met Abigail’s gaze once more, she said, “Would you please go to the far side of the room,” she waved her hand in the direction behind Abigail, “and fetch that horrible brown leather tome that is about the size of a small wheelbarrow, and bring it to me? I must check something in our history.”
Abigail rose and crossed the room quickly. She found the book easily enough and it was enormous. She gripped it in both arms and carried it back to Vojalie. She hesitated putting it on her lap. She looked around. “Why don’t I bring the tea cart over.”
“Good idea.”
She set the book on the sofa cushion beside Vojalie, then fetched the table.
A few minutes later, Vojalie was scowling almost as heavily as Gerrod did normally. She turned to one page, then the next, sometimes using her entire arm to hold her place. She kept going farther and farther back in the book and ended up studying the index and doing more searches. The entire time, she chewed on her lower lip.
