Chapter Seven
Beau read the email for the third time. His focus was shot. Seeing Grace had thrown him for a loop. He’d expected—hell, he didn’t know what he’d expected. That she’d let herself go and was frumpy and unappealing?
That sure wasn’t the case. She didn’t look all that much older than she had the last time he’d seen her, which was the summer after her sophomore year in college, the weekend she got married. Her hair wasn’t quite as long. Now it hung just past her shoulders and the brown bore lighter highlights. She still appeared natural rather than made up, unless she was incredibly talented with makeup, and her figure still made his hands itch to touch her.
But it was her eyes that got to him; they were the oddest shade of green, very light, and decorated with the thickest and longest eyelashes he’d ever seen on a woman. When they were dating, they could sneak off to the lake for skinny-dipping, and she never had to fear being given away by mascara that had run because she never had to wear it.
Grace’s eyes. They’d looked into his soul, filled him with confidence when he needed it, compassion when he suffered, and love every time she gazed at him. Did she still have the ability to see inside him?
Maybe he should cancel dinner with Ida and her family. He didn’t imagine it would be all that comfortable trying to make small talk with Grace. Just as he reached for his phone, his office door opened and his soon to be sister-in-law Ily walked in.
“I need your help.”
“Okay.” Beau put his phone down. “What do you need?”
“John Luke said you’d been having dinner once a week with the lady who runs the apothecary store?”
“Ida Summerfield, yes. I’ve known her a long time and she’s now a widow with no family here. Well, she was—I mean, she didn’t have family here until recently—oh hell, that doesn’t matter. Yes, I have, why?”
Ily sat on the edge of a chair in front of the desk. It was clear from her posture and her voice that she was excited. “Did you meet Lucan, the Fae Council person for The Seven?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, I was talking with him about Michael Whitehorse, the Fae King who died, and Lucan said it has long been suspected that Michael worked with someone somewhere in Texas to develop that formula your mother used on all of you as well as a cloaking formula.”
“A cloaking—“ Beau rose and circled the desk to take a seat, then regarded her. “That sounds all science fiction. What exactly does this cloaking formula do and what does it have to do with Ida?”
“It’s actually a spell combined with a recipe of sorts, and it’s used to cloak a person or place—like a community or area from the Dark Fae.”
“Oh, okay, look, I know things are very different where you come from, but this is delving into fantasy land for me. It’s just not possible—“
“Yes, it is. Connor’s compound in Colorado is protected by it. We just can’t reverse-engineer the formula. But Lucan believes it was Grayson Summerfield who created the formula, and he also thinks Grayson knew or had a copy of the spell. We need to find that spell and to know the formula, so I thought since you’re friends with Mrs. Summerfield—“
“Hold on. You want me to ask Mrs. Ida if I can plunder her dead husband's belongings to try to find a magic potion? You do realize that will make me sound like a certified lunatic, right?”
“Well, what if she knows? From all accounts, she and Mr. Summerfield were inseparable since the day they met. He might have told her about it. Probably did, if they were the kind of people who didn’t believe in keeping secrets from one another so—“
“Wait, you think she knows about us—you—the Seven?”
“Us. You’re one of us too, Beau. You’re Kindred, even if that does bother you.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean I want her to know.”
“Her or her daughter?”
“Okay, that’s really none of your business.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that and I apologize. I’m just at my wit’s end on this, and this is the only lead I have. Look, if you don’t feel comfortable asking Mrs. Summerfield, maybe you could just make nice with her daughter and maybe—“
“No. I love you, Ily. You know that, but Grace and I—that’s a long story and a lot of history and pain and—and no, I’m sorry.”
“Please? I swear I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way.”
“There has to be.”
“Okay, how about this? Is there any way you could question Mrs. Summerfield to find out if she knows about us and the potion? Or just about us? If she does, then you don’t have to tell her about you, but you could say you know one of the Seven and introduce her to me.”
Beau weakened. He loved Ily like a sister and hated saying no to her. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose I could try.”
“Oh, thank you!” Ily jumped up and pulled him to his feet for a tight hug.
Despite his size, her Scythian strength had him feeling a bit like prey in the grip of a giant constrictor. “Can’t breathe.”
“Oops, sorry. Got excited. Seriously, thank you for anything you can do. I owe you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet, but if I do, then hell yes, you do! Big time.”
“And I’ll pay, little brother. Gladly. Okay, I’m outta here. Love you.”
“Love you.” He watched her leave and then returned to his seat. Just how the hell was he going to get Mrs. Ida to talk about Fae and magic potions and her dead husband’s connection to both?
Moreover, how was he going to spend time with Ida and not be around Grace? One look at her today had let him know it was a sure thing: he wasn’t over her. Not by a long shot.
Now, what the heck was he supposed to do about that?
How about get her back? Ily’s voice in his mind reminded him he needed to be careful about broadcasting his thoughts. If you feel that strongly about her, maybe she has feelings for you as well? And she is single now.
Beau considered it, probably because the idea of getting Grace back was what he secretly wanted most of all. The question he faced was whether he was strong enough to face her possibly rejecting him. Again.