a lot of enemies.”
Peigi joined him. An iron chandelier hung down from the top of the house, fitting perfectly inside the curve of the staircase. “Well, you are scary on a dark night.”
Stuart gave her a look of pretended dismay. “I hope I’m scary all the time. What happened to our friends?”
“Up here,” Jaycee’s voice floated down to them. “Kitchen.”
The kitchen was on the second floor—Jaycee had explained during the trip that the living quarters were upstairs, while the lower level of the house was kept in its eighteenth-century decor for tourists.
“Ben takes the tourists through,” Jaycee had finished. “I bet that’s fun.”
The mysterious Ben, who sometimes called himself Gil, had been alive for centuries and probably had known people from this house’s heyday. Peigi hadn’t answered, but reflected she’d love to take a tour of this house he conducted.
There was no sign of Ben, however, as Peigi and Stuart ascended the stairs and made their way down the hall to the large sunny kitchen. Dimitri was digging through a pantry that, judging from the armloads of provisions he dragged out, was stocked enough to satisfy him.
He moved to the counter and began breaking eggs into a bowl. Stuart watched him for about ten seconds before he waded in and started pancakes.
“Let him,” Peigi said when Jaycee tried to protest that Peigi and Stuart were guests. “He’s Pancake Expert. Stuart doesn’t just make ordinary pancakes—he does lemon and ricotta cheese, or chocolate chip, or orange and spice, banana with walnuts …”
Jaycee considered. “Okay. I’ll take one of each of those.”
Dimitri went back to his eggs—Stuart stole a handful of them from the carton. Jaycee started on coffee and toast, making it clear she didn’t expect Peigi to do any of the work.
Restless, Peigi decided to scope out the house. On this floor she found fairly modern rooms, not only this kitchen with the latest appliances but also a couple well-appointed bathrooms, with giant tubs for soaking off stress.
Each bedroom held furniture from a different period of history—Peigi wasn’t familiar with all of them, but she could distinguish between the sleek forms of the Colonial years and the heavily carved, massive pieces from the Victorian age.
She continued downstairs, running her hand lightly on the polished staircase railing. On the ground floor, the house was like a stage set, containing beautiful furniture, drapes, and paintings, waiting for the family of long-ago to receive callers, dine, or host a ball.
The slave quarters had also been restored, Jaycee had told Peigi, another snapshot of history, but the darker side. Peigi walked out the back door—which opened itself for her—across a wide veranda, and down steps to the path that led to the line of outbuildings.
The sun was rising, the clear sky flushing pink. The place was beautiful, serene. Peigi drew in a cleansing breath. She could get used to this.
Or maybe not. She already missed the cubs’ constant noise, their energy. She should call Nell and see how they were getting on, or she could resist the urge and not wake them up too early. She had to remember there was a two-hour time difference between Louisiana and Nevada—Nell wouldn’t thank her for calling while it was still dark.
Peigi paused beside a stumpy, gnarled tree devoid of leaves. An old one, she surmised, though still solid. It had a presence, anchoring one end of the path, probably why it hadn’t been cut down.
She let out a sigh—she’d been keeping her frustration in check, but it boiled up inside her. She wished the dokk alfar had left Stuart the hell alone. She and Stuart could be waking up in their little house in Las Vegas, planning a day together, tearing their hair out trying to keep the six cubs whole and out of trouble.
From what Stuart had explained, this Cian guy and probably all of Stuart’s people, needed his help. He was right to find a way to keep them safe from the high Fae, and Peigi agreed. On the other hand, she wanted Faerie to disappear forever and Stuart to stay with her and never leave.
“I’m a selfish bitch,” she said out loud. “I know he needs to go, but damn it, I need him too. So do the cubs.”
A ripple of wind stirred the short branches of the ancient tree. The sound was comforting, almost as though the tree exuded sympathy. But why not? This was a haunted house, why not a haunted tree to go with it?
“I guess every soldier’s wife feels