Midlife Blues - Victoria Danann Page 0,33

smile.

“Next case, Clerk,” I said, like I was an old hand at this.

Lochlan stood. “Ekrem versus Annemione, Noblewoman of the House of Alprupert. All parties be advised, court will hear the case at five thirty.”

In chambers, Lochlan said, “With your permission, I’m going home to take my dogs for a walk. Fill the lungs with fresh, cold, damp air.”

“The best kind,” I teased. “Give my puppies a kiss from me.”

“I love the dogs, Magistrate, but I do not kiss them.”

“Air kisses will do.”

He left shaking his head.

To Keir, I said, “I’m taking a nap. No point in working off that fine lunch when it could go straight to my hips and stay there forever.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

“Liar.”

He laughed. “I mean that you taking a nap is a fine idea. First day jitters must be stressful.”

I lifted the heavy medallion necklace away and began shrugging the robe off. “I’m making a list.”

“Checking it twice?”

“Your American culture is expanding. I’m storing up questions. When this week is over, I’m going to grill you about fae stuff.”

“I’m yours.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Sleep well. I’ll be right here.”

“Have you ever had to, um…?”

“We can talk about it after Court Meet, while I’m answering all your other questions.”

I nodded and toddled off with full tummy and a belief that I was going to do okay as judge. Maybe the Powers That Be weren’t complete wackadoodles, as I’d thought before today.

When I emerged from the quiet and cozy nap room, with a bed that felt like it had been custom designed for me alone, I was refreshed and appreciating the privilege of a mid-day respite. There had been times, over the years at Neighbors Insurance, when I wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor and hide under my desk for a brief nap. A nap is a hundred times better luxury than a pair of Jimmy Choos.

I did dream about living in an idyllic thatched-roof cottage on the edge of a forest, by a flower-lined stream complete with swans. They and all the friendly animals presented by my subconscious mind were animated. The light nature of the dream was delightful, particularly since I frequently dreamed about creatures I’d come across in the big book of magic kind. It could just as easily have been about a Dullahan because I’d been in the Irish section the day before.

A Dullahan is a headless horseman who carries his grinning head along on his night rides and everybody knows he’s up to no good. I’d thought it had been Washington Irving’s original idea when he wrote The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. But no. It was a borrow from the Irish, as so many creative things are.

Lochlan had returned and was playing a board game that resembled backgammon with Keir.

“How was your walk?” I asked him.

“Invigorating,” he responded. “How was your nap?”

“Par excellence. Juiced up and ready to go.”

I could tell by Keir’s smile and the lift of his left eyebrow that he found sexual innuendo in that.

A small repast had been set out on the sidebar. Four kinds of cheese cubes. White and red grapes. Three kinds of crackers. And Scottish shortbread with jam.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s beautiful. Nothing like skipping exercise, having a big lunch, taking a long nap, and waking to shortbread with jam.”

They both looked at the untouched food. “It’s a gift from the Italians.”

“Don’t touch it,” I said. “You know it’s poisoned.”

Keir laughed. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Let’s not take any chances.” I brightened. “Send it on to Count Nightingale. Call it a consolation prize.”

“Is that Rita being evil?”

I was far too old to blush when called out for being naughty. “Call it what you want. I wouldn’t mind seeing him turn purple.” Lochlan and Keir exchanged a look. “What was that? I was just kidding.” Feeling guilty for lying I amended that claim. “Half kidding.”

“Rita, you can’t take these cases personally,” Keir said.

I stared for a few beats, blinking. “That sounds an awful lot like when human men say, ‘It’s not personal It’s just business’.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is that if I’m not personally involved in the outcome, I’m not being a decent judge of the situation. The feelings of wronged parties count.”

Keir sighed. “Far be it for me to tell the magistrate how to execute her duties. There’s a reason why the Powers chose you. My place is to support, not advise.”

I slumped. “If the count choked to death on food meant for me, I might feel bad about it.”