“Oh.”
“You saw something in your house? We both know it wasn’t me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still saw it—or something.”
“Right.”
“Do you have any clue as to what it might be?”
I shook my head. “That’s the problem. No one knows what it is.”
“But it looked like a dragon?”
“Sort of. I mean—that general shape and it had wings. But it was small, reptilian—quick. It could fade in and out of sight in a heartbeat.”
“Then it was invisible?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Not invisible exactly, more like… flickering. Like the way a candle flickers. Like one second there and the next not.”
“Hmm.”
“And it was crazy destructive. Not only did it attack my house. But also my shop,” I continued, speaking faster now as I shook my head at the memory. “It was a nightmare. Herbs scattered, potions wrecked, jars knocked off shelves. It was almost like… like it wanted me to know it had been there. It attacked the store first. And then it came to my house and went after my son and my boyfriend.”
“Can you describe exactly what it looked like?”
I was quiet for a few seconds as I tried to bring the memory of the creature to mind again. “It was small. Like the size of a little dog. It had claws like a lizard’s, but they were strong enough to hurl things. It couldn’t stay hidden while it was throwing all the stuff around. Instead, it flickered fully into sight each time, then blinked back out again. I keep thinking I’ve seen every kind of nasty the Hollow can spit at me, and then something new shows up.”
Smith stood up a little straighter, eyes widening. “I think,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, “from that description that what attacked you is a kobold.”
I frowned. “A kobold?”
He nodded. “They’re tied to houses, to land, to family lines. They don’t just roam around randomly.”
“I’ve never had, or seen one, or even heard of one before. So, I can’t imagine it’s from my family line.”
Smith nodded and seemed a little stumped. “It has to belong to someone. Someone who’s… either careless or desperate.”
“If it belongs to someone, how did it get into my house? And my store? How did it find me, and why would it want anything to do with me? I mean—I certainly don’t own it.”
Smith’s expression hardened, a determined glint in his eyes. Then he nodded at me. “Let’s go find out.”
Chapter Nineteen
Violetta crouched low in the underbrush, brushing twigs aside as she peered around the concrete steps that led up to my back door.
Last year’s leaves had formed a matted carpet to either side of the stairs, cushioning the fall when Finn or one of his friends inevitably vaulted over the railing to get to their destination.
Her work clothes were practical: dark jeans, well-worn at the knees, heavy work boots, and a button-up fleece to ward off the coming chill of the evening. She’d also put on a bright yellow vest with pockets holding vials, charms, and measuring tools. Her ink-dark hair was pulled back in a messy tail, stray strands plastered with sweat from our search. Despite the grime, there was an elegance to her, maybe it was in the way she moved. Given how short she was, she reminded me of an exceptionally graceful construction fairy, here to make all my architectural dreams come true.
Smith, meanwhile, loomed beside her. If the early evening chill bothered him, he didn’t let it show. Not that I expected him to. If anyone had a right to look comfortable in any ecosystem, it was a dragon. The fabric of the t-shirt clung to his chest and arms, threatening to split under their breadth.
And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I caught Violetta peering over at him more than once. I couldn’t even blame her. I’d catch my attention sucked into the gravity well of Smith’s aura, too. And we both had boyfriends! But, seriously, Smith’s proportions were such that you couldn’t help but look, even if you were happily in a relationship. And, to be fair, I would say Violetta was looking a hell of a lot more than I was. In fact, she could barely keep her eyes off him, which made me wonder about this so-called boyfriend of hers. I also thought to myselfthat Smith would probably certainly like to know about this obvious admirer of his.
“Here,” Smith muttered, tapping his hand against a board that had been crudely slammed against the wall and somehow wedged to create a makeshift shelf.
“What’s that?” I whispered, leaning closer. Once I got close enough, I could feel heat coming from the board. And the longer I remained close to it, the warmer it got. Until I felt like I was standing next to a furnace.
“If I had to guess? It’s a shelf.”
“I can see that,” I said, backhanding his bicep in admonition.
