“Because that’s the kind of person she is,” Gabriel said, punctuating the comment with a brusqueclickof his umbrella’s latch as he closed it.
Elodie blinked rapidly. Had that been an insult or a compliment from her husband? She began to ask, and no doubt incite another argument, but at that moment the young woman called out.
“Come on, Baby, be a good boy!” She patted her thigh and the goat trotted to her, apple in mouth, tail wagging. The girl scratched his neck before stepping aside so he could pass. The sound of his hooves tip-tapping across the stone floor and away into the kitchen ought to have been relieving, but somehow conveyed that “defeat” was just another word for “eventual revenge” in goat parlance.
Algernon rose, wiping sweat from his face. “Now I see why geographers claim hazard pay,” he said shakily.
“I am sorry, I am,” the young woman told them, her voice lilting as it swayed between the apology and a barely repressed amusement. “Baby is usually such a shy fellow. I don’t know what’s got into him that he’s being so friendly now.”
Elodie rather thought that Baby’s idea of friendliness was more murderous than was usually applied to the word, but she refrained from saying so on the grounds of the Second Rule. She smiled at the girl. “He seems like a charming pet,” she lied graciously.
“I’m Tegan Parry, my father owns this inn,” the girl said. “Can I get you some tea?”
“No thank you, we’re just going out.”
Tegan’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “But it’sraining! You might catch a cold that sees you slide rapidly into pneumonia, and despite our valiant efforts, die in this lonely, distant village, far from all those you love.”
“Egad!”Algernon cried, eyes growing wide.
“We’re quite used to inclement weather,” Elodie explained, “and want to make the most use of our time.” Indeed, Gabriel was already halfway along the lobby and moving fast. “But I’m sure Mr. Jennings could do with a soothing cup of tea.”
“Tea?”Algernon echoed. “Tea, when the beast might return at any moment?”
“Or you could come out into the storm with us,” Elodie replied in the deceptively mild tone that her students knew meant danger. “Do you have a fireproof umbrella in case of explosive rain?”
“I’ll stay here and have tea,” Algernon answered at once. Gabriel shut the front door behind him with athunkthat managed to sound disgusted. Smiling tightly, Elodie turned back to Tegan.
“Is it your bedroom we’ve taken over, Miss Parry?”
The girl flushed with delight at being addressed formally. “I’m happy to give it. Scientists, here in little Dôlylleuad! So exciting! If you don’t get struck by lightning or tricked into a bog by apwcca, I want to ask you all about geography!”
“Of course,” Elodie said, and made her escape before the girl could get started on a new doom.
Immediately upon stepping outside, Elodie discovered the afternoon had turned cyanic (a special geographical term for “weird-as-hell blue”). The inn’s garden glistened with diaphanous rain that drummed lightly against her umbrella. Chimney smoke stained the cold, rustling breeze, its scent making her wish she could curl up in a plump armchair beside a fire,enjoying hot chocolate and a really good map. But she could also taste the bitterness of magic with every breath and knew there would be no comfortable scenes in her near future.
Despite the gloom, Dôlylleuad was quaintly charming, its ambling paths flanked by ramshackle stone walls overgrown with thyme and briar roses, the slate roofs of its cottages singing with rain. A wealth of trees shivered as the breeze rummaged through them. Their fallen leaves, red and gold and burnished copper, littered the ground like the memory of summer romance (and threatened to cause Elodie a dire injury as her bootheels slid on them). She felt lovely autumnal daydreams stirring in the warm, cozy corners of her imagination, and pushed them away in favor of cool, sensible observations about the lay of the land and its buildings, and how they might interact with any further thaumaturgic eruptions. After all, this was no time for reverie. The leaves gleamed blue beneath her feet, as if she stirred dreams out of the sodden earth. Walking through the nascent enchantment, feeling it waft like delicate gossamer threads against her skin, Elodie knew it could at any moment become like her marriage had been—tender loveliness that turned abruptly to disaster.
Gabriel had already vanished within the mist of rain. Not that Elodie sought him, mind you. She was professional, focused, andoh look, what a pretty tree!Was it a sessile or pedunculated oak? She veered toward it, then veered away again, reminding herself that there was no time to waste on random curiosity: she had important work to accomplish before nightfall. Opening the wrought iron gate of a cottage, she began up the garden’s stony path, admiring its verge of potted flowers and—Was that Gabriel farther along the street, a mere shadow in the silvery haze as he strode toward the edge of the village?If it was, she did not care a whit, she was dedicated to her own task, and—
Crash!
A stack of empty pots went clattering across the path as she collided with them. Elodie stumbled back, and a moment later the cottage door flung open.
“Who’s there?” growled a man with an expression as hard as Welsh slate, despite the soft fluff of his beard.
“Terribly sorry,” Elodie said, trying to hold her umbrella in one hand and tidy the pots back into place with the other.
“What kind of name is that?” the man scoffed.
One I ought to adopt, considering how often I say it,Elodie thought ruefully as her tidying efforts resulted in one pot rolling down the pathway and another spilling its contents over her boot.
“If you’re a tourist,” the man continued before she could answer, “we’re all full up.”
“Thank you, but I’m from the Home Office,” she said, giving up on the pots to straighten and look at the man directly. “My colleague and I are here to investigate the magical disturbances in the village. My name’s Dr. Tarrant.”
She seldom used the title in regular life, but when in the field it could be a convenient way to establish an air of authority. However, the man did not reply, and she guessed he’d misunderstood her. “To be clear, I’m not your pulse-taking, medicine-dispensing species of doctor…although actually a pharmacist would be the one to dispense medicine, wouldn’t they? I earned a doctorate in geographical science from Oxford University, which accords me the right to be known as Dr. Tarrant—although strictly speaking I am Mrs. Dr. Tarrant, I suppose. But it’s just by chance (and some unfortunateeavesdropping, but that’s another story) that I’m married to a doctor, which is to say another geographer with a doctorate, and I don’t want you to assume that I’m not Dr. Tarrant in my own right, despite my marriage to Dr. Tarrant. Dr. Gabriel Tarrant, that is. I am Dr. Elodie Tarrant. I have been trained in first aid, however, so in fact Icantake your pulse should you need me to.”
The man stared at her blankly, but Elodie was used to that expression on people’s faces, and gave him a geographer’s smile, the kind that suggests private property is merely lines on paper and can she please come in? In response, the man gripped the edge of his door, preparatory to slamming it shut in her face. “What do you want?” he demanded.
