Leanne maintained her fixed pearly whites. “Vale, you say? As in the Protector of the Region?”
“The very one.”
Cowboy doffed his hat. “Good morning, ma’am.”
Her eyes skimmed him from top to bottom. “Well, aren’t you respectful?” She widened the door gap. “Please come in.”
History had settled into the bones of the house. Heart-pine floors glowed a deep honeyed brown, their boards worn smooth by centuries of careful steps and probably a few desperate ones. The high ceilings pressed upward into shadow, where plaster medallions and faint hairline cracks mapped out the years better than any calendar. Tall windows, dressed in heavy drapes, filtered the light into long, amber slants that caught dust motes drifting like suspended sparks of magic.
“We’ll be most comfortable in the parlor room,” Leanne said, leading the way. Her fresh blue-and-white floral dress was in stark contrast to the aging environment.
The parlor held itself with quiet dignity. My eye was drawn to the carved mantel, a marble as cold as the unused fireplace below it. The air carried layered scents—beeswax, old paper, camellia, and something mineral, like rain-soaked stones.
“Won’t you please sit down? Can I offer you a refreshment? I have a fresh batch of sweet tea.”
That wasn’t all she had. The parlor room was chock-full of antiques. Every object seemed placed with intention, as if the hostess was subtly guiding her guests to where she wanted them to stand, or what she wanted them to notice. There was an entire mahogany chest with glass doors, and the shelves were lined with what were no doubt priceless possessions. It stood to reason that Leanne was old enough to have accumulated these items along the way and hoarded them.
The faerie sank onto the deep red velvet cushion of a settee with a gold-leaf frame. “It’s an honor to be graced by your divine presence, Protector.”
“In the interest of saving time, I’ll get straight to the point.”
“No need to rush, Protector. You’re welcome to linger in my home for as long as you like.” Her flirtatious gaze slid to Cowboy. “You, too, Mr. Cowboy.”
Vale was unaffected. “We have reason to believe you’ve been extracting the life force of a man named Ronald.” He looked at me.
“Greenleaf,” I added.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named Ronald Greenleaf off the top of my head. Where does he live? That might jog my memory.”
“He’s barely living at this point, which is why we’re here,” Vale replied.
“You’re not seriously going to play dumb right now, are you? You recognized me at the door,” I said.
“I don’t know what you mean. If I reacted at all, it was the shock of seeing a beautiful young woman on my doorstep.”
Cowboy snorted. “You only say that because you haven’t seen her at the end of a boat ride.”
“I take it Ronald lives in Savannah, if the Protector of the Region himself has come calling.” She uncrossed and recrossed her long, slender legs. “Tell me, Protector. What interest do you have in an aging elf?”
I pounced. “No one here said Ronald was an elf.”
She didn’t even flinch. “No? I’m sure one of you did.”
“Maybe we did,” Vale said, cutting me off before I could speak again. “What is it you do for a living, Leanne?”
She leaned back and draped both arms along the back of the settee. “I own an auction house on Bull Street. Loving Auction and Appraisals.”
“Loving?” Vale repeated.
“That’s my last name. Don’t wear it out.” Her laughter tinkled in the air. “Oh, honey. Who am I kidding? You couldn’t even if you tried. I’m insatiable.”
“Kinda the reason we’re here,” I muttered.
“Is it a family business?” Cowboy asked.
She pondered us for a moment. “Normally I would say yes, but given that at least two of you are otherworldly, I’ll give you the honest answer—the business is mine and has been for about a century.”
“Has it always operated in Savannah?” I asked.
