Page 73 of The Filigree Key

“Hey!” he hailed, setting down the mug. Despite the bulk he’d acquired as a beaver, he still deftly traversed the ridiculously tall pile and made it to the ground without a single log sliding out of place.

Cody slapped his tail against the cobblestones with a thunderous clap. Every creature mid-haggle and slurp swung their attention in his direction. He pressed balled paws against his toolbelt and craned back, using his flat tail for balance.

“Cernunnos,” he hailed. “What word of the hobgoblin hunt? Or should we ask milady?”

Alec’s horse neighed as he spurred the beast forward to repay the beaver’s insolence with a kiss from his riding crop.

“There’s no need, Alec,” the Stag Man replied mildly. Without stopping to address the beaver, nor the other townsfolk, he simply replied, “All is in hand, Cody Beecham.”

“Really?” the old beaver fired back. “I find that hard to believe since Tadhg and Olive were snatched last night. With the limestone quarry’s foreman gone, the rest of the dwarves are threatening to strike, and with Olive gone, who’s going to take care of the trash?”

Before my time in Redbud, Olive McKatt had run an underground gambling ring in her basement. After Olive’s arrest, Ms. Harris’s Talk of the Town had run an exposé on the impropriety of such a thing in such a quaint little town, but I’d come to learn from the Crafting Circle ladies that the gambling ring wasn’t all it was made out to be.

In addition to cash, you could use basically anything as a buy-in, especially anything metal. Think cast-iron pots, old copper cookware, a burnt-out toaster that had finally singed its last piece of bread. Codrin Alder even used an old pick-up truck one time. Turns out, Olive was an alchemist, and she turned all that metal into gold. Which she then traded in for cash, donating large portions to Daphne’s RescueLove Animal Shelter, Redbud’s Beautification Association, many after-school programs, and the town library, basically paying Paige Tomeson’s entire salary.

While her gambling ring had been busted, the local authorities had been persuaded to be merciful. She was, after all, keeping a large majority of trash out of the local landfill and was funding the constant upkeep required by the town. With Olive gone, the trash would pile up and the town would slip into shambles.

“The arrest was made earlier this morning, Cody,” I answered quickly. “Cernunnos assured me himself.” And celebrated by mauling my mouth. I caught myself mid-gag and quickly smoothed my expression.

“Well?” the beaver demanded. “When do we see him strung up by his toes? And what of Ms. Harris, Axel, and”—Cody visibly swallowed, as if clearing his throat of something sour—“Bensen? Your boys took them the other night because apparently they can’t hold their liquor and take a jab on the chin like the rest of us can without whining to daddy about it.”

The Stag Man flicked hard emerald eyes at Alec and said nothing. But his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists on his reins spoke volumes.

The Brotherhood hadn’t told him about the altercation or the arrests, or even what it had all been about. Normally Ossian wouldn’t have concerned himself with such things—that was the point of delegating, trusting your subordinates to carry out tasks they were capable of—but when it came to the integrity of the illusion and his influence with the townsfolk, that was a different matter entirely.

They were losing faith in him. They were losing their fear of him.

Red-faced, Alec snarled, “They were disturbing the peace, beaver. And they struck members of the Brotherhood.”

“After you threw the first punch!”

“You punched Ms. Harris?” I exclaimed, deliberately mishearing.

The townsfolk who’d only heard rumor of the brawl in Patty’s Pub instantly buzzed with whispered speculation. Words like shameful and pathetic were tossed around, riling the Brothers.

Ossian looked unamused but unruffled. Despite his earlier display of annoyance, his positive mood was unflappable. And what could shake it? By apprehending Wystan, he’d earned access to the elm tree.

“She’s an egret, Alec,” I pressed, “and one older than the hills. What kind of threat could she have possibly posed to you?”

“None, of course! But what she was saying—”

“Ugh. Sticks and stones, Alec. Grow up.” Addressing the crowd, I said, “They’ll be released this afternoon with our deepest apologies.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, milady,” Cody said stoutly. “You weren’t part of their snatching.”

“And I’m sure with Wystan in custody, it’ll only be a matter of time before Cernunnos finds where the wretched hobgoblin has imprisoned his victims and sets them free.”

“Thank you, milady!” the dwarf Dessa, Tadgh’s wife, called from Emmett’s tables, waving a pair of red knit mittens.

“And the criminal himself?” the beaver pestered again, his question aimed at Ossian. Cody Beecham made a fabulous beaver, but I wondered if he should’ve been a pit bull with his dogged tenacity.

“Will be held accountable,” was the Stag Man’s cool reply.

With that, he put his heels to his horse and left the square via the western road. My dapple gray cantered after them, again obeying a silent command from the fae king.

There was a mild commotion behind us, and when I threw a glance over my shoulder, Ossian said, “Pay no mind to that, love.” The side-eye he gave me could only be described as chiding. “You’re making a lot of promises of late.”

“Our people need reassurance,” I replied. “Releasing a few innocent townsfolk could go a long way smoothing some feathers.”