Midlife Blues - Victoria Danann Page 0,39

sure if he’d want to notoriety. You know, I’m falling asleep. I’m half afraid I’m going face plant in my tuna casserole.”

With a chuckle, Keir said, “Turn in early. You’ve had a busy day today.”

I felt Keir shaking me and saying my name softly. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the room was filled with bright sunlight. I was afraid I’d overslept and would be late for court.

“Oh no! What time is it?” I practically jackknifed up.

“No. You’re not late,” Keir said. “But come to the door. Something you have to see.”

I looked at the clock. Half past three? How was that possible?

I let him lead me to the front door. When he opened it, the light was so bright I squinted and held my hand up to my face. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that it was, in fact, the middle of the night. Beyond the light of a gathering of twelve magnificent phoenices the hills and the village were dark.

“They’ve come to thank you,” he said. “I don’t think anyone else, magic or not, has ever seen them gathered together like this. They’re solitary creatures. Chances are this has never happened before. I had no idea there were this many alive.”

I was speechless and unable to move. I simply stood still, trying to burn the scene into memory. After a couple of minutes, they began to lift away and disappear, one by one, until the dead of night was restored.

“Am I the luckiest woman alive?” I whispered.

“Jolly good chance of it,” he said.

I stood motionless staring at where they’d been until Keir pulled me back in, closed the door, and wrapped me in his arms.

“I don’t think there’s even a word for a phoenix collective,” he mused.

“You mean like a sleuth of bears?”

“Or a congress of chimpanzees. What’s the most memorable?”

“A murder of crows, of course.”

“Right you are.”

I put my face in his chest and reveled in the moment. “A radiance.”

“A radiance of phoenices. Of course. An extraordinary day for an extraordinary woman. I knew you were singularly special the first time I saw you. In the shop. Standing there wide-eyed, looking out of place. I felt you were destined to belong to us.”

“Us?”

“Magic kind. We need you. Even the ones who’d never admit it in quealeons need you.”

“It’s too late for math. I don’t want to know what a quealeon is.”

He chuckled. “Back to bed then. Day two, coming up.”

CHAPTER TWELVE Juveniles and Jerks

The second day of trials was every bit as interesting as the first. The highlight was the case filed by the bureau on behalf of the fae community at large.

For centuries, a witch had lived in a glen in the Trossachs, magically obscured from human eyes. Merchants and businessmen from Edinburgh and Glasgow Freemasons chapters would make the trip to her woods for various services. And, because they were Masons and predisposed to keep secrets, access to the witch was known only to the chosen few.

Modernity had crept into the bastion of Scottish Rites and belief in witch magic gradually faded away.

When the witch realized what had happened, she sent a letter to the Masons, threatening dire consequences if they did not resume the patronage she’d enjoyed for so long. The Masons, having become inured to the everyday scams and schemes that are a staple of contemporary life, gave the letter the same treatment as a phishing email. Infuriated about being ignored, the witch conjured a Dullahan to terrorize tourist areas throughout Scotland.

The Dullahan is a monster of Celtic origin that is one of the most horrific figures of supernatural record. It’s a headless horseman who rides through the night, cracking a whip made from a human spine while carrying his own rotting, grinning head.

Once reports of the phenomenon began affecting the tourism business, the witch sent another letter taking credit and demanding restoration of normal business. Fortunately for the Scots within the vicinity, and unfortunately for the witch, the bureau got word of the incident before the Masons responded.

The bureau issued a cease and desist order. When the witch refused to recall the Dullahan, they engaged the services of more powerful fae to bind her so that she was unable to access magic of any kind, pending trial.

I learned that the fae’s interest in this had to do with low profile. Their belief was that things go smoother when magic kind don’t go out of their way to upset humans.

At court it became clear that the witch was uncoachable.