Page 57 of Grimoires & Glamoury

“Sugar, I ain’t likely to forget that!”

To my surprise, a smile trembled on her lips. “Fascinating. Giselle only calls someone ‘sugar’ when she is being sarcastic or is very annoyed with them.”

“In the South sweet names like ‘sugar’ can carry a double meaning,” I said, pressing my hands to my unhappy belly. “Not unlike the phrase ‘bless your heart.’”

Oona nodded. “It is a polite but a biting sort of warning. I understand the concept.”

Reaching out, I braced myself against a nearby tree for balance. “You understand the concept? Well thank the goddess for that.”

“And that comment would be classified as snark.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her very serious, almost academic tone. “Damn it, Oona. Don’t make me like you.”

“That was certainly not my intention,” she said soberly.

“Let us go back to the house,” Hazel said. “Buntie can make you some tea to help with your stomach, Magistra.”

“Come on.” Oona looped her arm under my shoulders and helped me walk.

“I got it,” I muttered as she towed me along.

“You do not like to show weakness,” Oona said. “I understand this very well.”

In agreement I simply nodded.

“I sincerely hope,” Oona began, “that the grimoire is soon removed from the hollow.”

“Even if we manage to get ahold of it,” I said, “you may still find yourself dealing with some skirmishes. Or, I suppose you could say...clean up.”

Oona slid her gaze over toward me and smiled. A full real smile. “I would look forward to that. It has been some time since I was able to use my sword in battle.”

I didn’t find anything remotely comforting about her words or that smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Interestingly, by the time we arrived back at Oona’s home, Finnlagh had already departed. Charles and Giselle were seated on the rocking chairs on the big front porch, and Damien, who once again held the baby, was occupying the porch swing.

Valentin had been seated on the steps, but he rose to his feet as soon as we cleared the tree line.

“You look a little green around the gills, sugar,” Giselle called out as I approached.

“Motion sickness,” I said, and Charles popped up from his seat for me to take it.

“Sit down,” he said gallantly, guiding me to the chair.

Hazel flew inside—to notify Buntie about the needed tea I imagined— and Valentin continued to stand at attention until Oona claimed one of the chairs at the small café table on the porch.

“Finnlagh has returned to his home, so he would be there when the children arrive from school,” the Hunter said, as he joined Oona at the table. “You are all safe to speak freely.”

“My children will be home soon as well. Our time is limited,” Oona said, removing the sheathed sword from her back.

Charles frowned at them both. “You say you trust Finnlagh, yet you won’t talk in front of him? Care to explain why?”

Oona’s head whipped around as she glared at him. “Have you not been paying attention? Finnlagh’s father is the King of the Light Fae! Finnlagh stays out of the machinations of the light court, and lives his life here, quietly in the hollow, helping other Fae who want to assimilate in the mortal world. He is a good and noble male, a friend, and my children call him ‘Uncle.’ I have no wish to put him in an untenable position against his father.”

“This is,” Damien began, “a very difficult situation. For many reasons.”

“Yes,” Charles said, looking from one to the other. “I’m starting to see that.”