Page 92 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

But another kelpie charged forward, snorting a warning, eyes rolling. The foal dipped behind her in what looked like a sulk, as though he had been sent to his room without dessert.

Sorcha held up her hands, whistling frantically to the gulls that she was not here to harm the kelpies or steal from them. The mother kelpie did not back away, but nor did she attack.

Sorcha sent more images to the gulls: protecting other creatures like the foal, the fighting pits. Brutus searching for his daughter.

The kelpie met her gaze. The gulls screeched.

Three men on the beach at night, silver chains, hexed nets. Spears dipped in sleeping draughts. A foal screaming. Blood in the water.

“He’s been here,” Sorcha told Aidan. “He’s tried to take the foals for his fights.” She did not know how he planned to trap them or exhibit them. Would he build a pool of some sort? Or claim one of the beaches? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

“We’ll stop him,” Aidan said softly.

Sorcha unclenched her fists, nodding. “He’s right,” she called to the gulls. “We’re going to stop him. But we need their help.”

The gulls dove closer, their calls shrill and piercing. There was a long moment as the herd gathered, all clamping jaws and flashing hooves. The mother kelpie finally tossed her head. She sent the foal diving down out of sight and did not try to close her jaws around the gull that darted down to pluck a hair from her mane. He dove again, taking a hair from another kelpie, and then a third.

He flew to Sorcha, dropping them into her hand.

“Thank you,” Sorcha whispered, the strands like thin chains of silver and jade. Three strands from three different kelpies was more than anyone could hope for. “Thank you.”

She turned her basket upside down, making sure every crumb went into the sea. When she finally stepped back, Aidan plucked her up and charged for the beach. He wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. “We are not doing that again.” His hand trembled.

She held up her plunder triumphantly. “We’ve got him now,” she said darkly. “I think it’s time to send out the invitations for our betrothal ball, don’t you?”

The first step was to be seen taking a turn around Hallow. Not the University or the Library, but the main street, where the shops offered pots of strong tea and collections of love poetry.

Sorcha had not been a debutante for a very long time, but she had not forgotten how the game was played. To be seen was to be known.

A fact that made her internally shake her head. Debutantes were frequently seen and not known. But such was Mayfair and such was Lyonesse.

Aidan had put his spectacles back on as soon as they arrived in Hallow. His demeanor softened; even his walk changed. He was still taller and stronger than most of the other men, but he did not look threatening, only shy.

“Why do you do that?” Sorcha asked. “People must know by now that the Earl of Coventry is also a wolf when he has a mind to be.”

“They do.” There was no inflection to his words.

They peered into windows to admire displays of old books bound in faded leather, inkwells in the shape of gargoyles and lilies. Ink spelled to neaten the handwriting, or hide secret messages. Quills that remembered everything they had ever written.

They passed two women deep in conversation, clearly agitated. “Just awful,” one of the murmured.

Aidan’s nostrils flared. “What’s happened?” he asked them, tone controlled.

“One of the museums was ransacked! Can you imagine?”

“Which one?”

Sorcha’s witch knot tingled even before the reply came.

“The Museum of Teeth.” The woman shuddered. “Ghastly thing, but still. This is Hallow.”

Sorcha nodded in commiseration. Aidan waited until the women had walked away before adding, “This is not a coincidence.”

“Definitely not. Poor Barnabus.” She smiled at a passing gentleman when he tipped his hat to her. “We should keep strolling.”

“Will your grandmother be cross that you are not at the bakehouse?” Adian asked, also nodding a greeting to a passing professor.

“I’m superfluous. Granny has it all in hand. She would never let being dead get in the way of doing what she wants to do, which is telling people how to bake bread.” And selling the bread was for her to do—it was how she fed most of Nettlestone.