Usually I resisted their efforts, but sometimes, when I was feeling particularly lonely, I’d go out on a blind date or two just in case they were right and they really had found me the perfect person.
They never did. Trust the one organization that made my life a hell to bring my attention to a man who actually might well be the person with whom I wouldn’t mind spending the next few hundred years. Regardless of whether he was or was not a life mate, I wasn’t going to inform my moms about him. They would be merciless in their attempts to find out information about Gregory and would probably demand that he do something silly like marry me. They were very big on binding ceremonies.
“I’ll just keep mum about him, and focus their attention on ways to deal with the Death woman,” I told myself, slapping on a carefree smile when I entered their tent. “Mom! Mom Two!”
“Hello, Gwenny, dear,” Mom said, not glancing up from a large mixing bowl where she was vigorously beating a viscous pink liquid. “Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety. There, that’s the sleeping draught finished, Alice.”
“Did you make it into a batter so we can bake little Eat Me cakes?” Mom Two asked. She had her back to me and was busily measuring various powders and liquids and placing them in little stoppered vials. “Gwen, you’re just in time. The alchemist has a tiny supply of fey motes in, and I told him you’d like to buy it from him. I know how hard it is for you to find them.”
“Yes, absolutely.” The only other person in the tent was the tiny form of Mrs. Vanilla, curled up in a voluminous armchair. Her hands flitted about in quick little movements, knitting small octagons one after another in a giant object so massive that it spilled out over her lap and onto the floor. I relaxed, the sight and scents of my mothers busily creating potions and physical manifestations of spells making me think of home. How many years had I perched on my favorite three-legged stool and watched as they practiced the physical side of their craft? I dipped a finger in the pink batter and touched it to my tongue. It tasted of peppermint. “How much does the apothecary want for them?”
“Now, Gwenny, that’s not for you. Lady Holly asked us to make something that would cause all of those nasty soldiers to the north to fall asleep so she can capture them all and force the evil king into subservience. You don’t want to be falling—” My mom looked up in midsentence, and froze, her eyes growing huge. “Alice!” she shrieked, making me spin around in fear that something horrible had crept in behind me.
There was nothing, just the tip of the tent flap—pulled aside to let air and light into the interior—gently moving in the breeze. Behind it, a couple of dogs rolled on the ground outside, and a weary-looking old man wandered around with a bucket and a metal scoop, the latter obviously used to keep the grounds poop-free.
“What is it—” Mom Two started to say, but then she, too, stopped and stared at me. Mrs. Vanilla glanced at me, made a few squeaking sounds, and returned to her knitting.
Mom pointed a shaking finger at me. “She’s found him!”
“Or her,” Mom Two said sagely. “Is it a her, Gwen?”
“She’s found a man!” Mom said, still pointing.
I gawked. “How the hell can you tell that just by looking at me?”
Mom dropped her finger, and Mom Two strode over to give me a hug. “Oh, Gwenny, dear, you should know better than to ask that.”
“We’re your mothers,” Mom Two said, as if that explained it.
“We can tell these things,” Mom added, wiping her hands on a cloth before coming around the table to give me a hug as well. I hugged them both back, giving them each a kiss on their respective cheeks before shaking my head.
Mrs. Vanilla got creakily to her feet and shuffled over to us. I hugged her as well, and even gave her wrinkled cheek a little peck. She made happy noises and returned to her chair.
“It’s like it’s witchcraft,” I said with a smile. “It is a him and not a her, Mom Two. I’m sorry.”
“Eh.” She patted my cheek and returned to her worktable. “I had hopes that someday you’d find the right woman, but so long as this man makes you happy, I can live with him being male.”
“Who is he? Where is he? Is he here with you in Anwyn?”
“He must be here, Mags. We’d have known if she’d met him before.”
“You tell us all about him, dear,” Mom said, leading me over to a small love seat in the corner of the tent. The interior was quite large, consisting of the main work area and what looked to be a smaller sleeping quarter that was hidden by long silken draperies. “Although you’re going to have to be quick, because Lady Holly likes to see us directly after breakfast, and it’s almost that time now.”
“As a matter of fact, I did meet him before we entered Anwyn, although I hadn’t realized that he was—” I bit off the word “good” and tried to think of a way to explain about Gregory without mentioning the fact that he worked for the Watch. I had a feeling they would plan copious ways to take advantage of him if they knew who his employer was. “I hadn’t realized he was quite so wonderful at that time.”
“What’s his name?” Mom Two asked, packing a bunch of bottles into a wicker basket.
“Gregory Faa. He’s a Traveller.”
“Faa?” She draped a linen cloth over the top of the basket, her brows pulled together. “Mags, do you remember that woman we met right after the war?”
“Which war?” my mother asked, giving me a pat on the hand before she set about filling muffin cups with her pink sleeping batter.
“The one with the nuclear bombs.”
“World War Two?” I asked.
“That’s it. We met a woman Traveller whose husband had been killed. She was very distraught, and one of her daughters-in-law had come to us seeking something to ease her pain. There was nothing we could do, of course, because there is no magic but love to heal a broken heart, but her name was Faa. I wonder if she could be related.”
“I have no idea. While we’re on the subject of Gregory—”
“Oh, mercy, look at the time, Alice!” Mom said, hurrying over to a line of baskets that had already been packed. She shoved two of them at me, picked up three herself, and nudged me toward the door. “Mrs. Vanilla, you stay here where you’re comfy. We won’t be long, and then we’ll get you a nice cup of tea and take you for your walk, all right? Gwen, dear, take this. We’re going to be late, and Lady Holly is most acerbic when that happens. You can tell us about your young man once we’ve given her the day’s potions.”
“Er . . .” I held back when they bustled out of the tent, not wanting to risk seeing Holly in case she had heard that I was working for Aaron. There was also a chance that Death’s minion might be lurking about. I peeked out of the tent, but didn’t see anyone aside from the usual collection of dogs wandering around, begging for food, playing, sleeping, and generally just lounging and watching all the people moving to and fro. No one resembled the woman Gregory had described.
“Don’t dawdle, Gwen!” Mom Two called before disappearing into the large tent next door.
I swore under my breath, sent a little prayer to the lord and lady that I wasn’t about to step into a trap, and followed them into the big tent.
“You remember our daughter, Gwenhwyfar, don’t you?” Mom was saying to the gaunt, leather-wearing Holly. She shot a quick disinterested look my way, then continued pulling out items from one of the baskets. She raised her voice to say, “Lord Ethan, have you met our daughter, Gwen?”
Mom sidled over to me and whispered, “He’s a bit odd, dear. He has an illegal alien hand.”
A man walked toward us from the far end of the massive tent, which, like my mothers’ accommodations, had floor-to-ceiling silk hangings that blocked out sections requiring privacy. He wore an odd leather harness that strapped his alien hand to his belly, the hand encased in a red glove.