Page 45 of Harnessed in Gold

I picture lush fields in the afternoon sun, the neat rows of plants all bearing plump red berries. No fertilizers or pesticides, just nature in its purest form. I’m romanticizing, I know, but after seeing Leo’s magic in action, I can’t help but imagine what a whole group of plant-weaving faeries could do for a field of crops.

I’m about to broach the subject when the young family standing nearby approaches us, introducing themselves and their daughter. She looks to be about four and a wild child underneath all the ruffles and bows.

“You’re pretty,” she says, looking up at me as she twists back and forth on the heels of her patent leather shoes.

“Thank you. So are you,” I reply, but I regret the words the moment they’re out of my mouth. Not that she isn’t pretty, but because I don’t want her growing up thinking that’s all she is. I don’t want her to become me.

An ornament.

As I watch her run off after the other kids, my eyes snag on a matronly woman in a purple drop-waist dress. Jean West. I recognize her from the picture on the church’s website. She’s on the other side of the hall, one of several older women all perched on metal chairs. I elbow Leo and motion to her with my eyes. He answers with a subtle nod and offers me a sip of his coffee. I take it readily, not terribly concerned about sharing a cup. I’m already plenty tainted by faerie cooties.

Pastor Gerald soon joins us, all smiles and friendly questions. Wegive him our phony story about how we’re first-year grad students who’ve been visiting churches for several weeks, letting him believe we’re a serious couple that’s planning to get engaged.

Assuming his role, Leo touches me often—toying with my hair, pressing a hand to my back, pulling me against his side. But none of these gestures of intimacy feel like acting. They feel natural, effortless, real.

Suddenly, a strange, otherworldly energy grips me, straightening my spine and setting me on high-alert. At the rhythmic clomp of thick heels, Leo and I turn to find Jean West heading our way, such an intense look of knowing in her gaze, I don’t have to ask if she’s the granny woman. Witch, conjurer, mountain mystic, whatever you want to call her, this woman has a two-way connection to the spirit world. And the closer she gets, the more her wisdom consumes me. She’s the living embodiment of wonder and recognition, of satisfying answers to open-ended questions, and my intuition reaches for her like it’s found its lifelong mate.

She lays a knobby hand on her husband’s arm. “Carl needs you, Gerry.” Her sharp blue eyes dart to Leo and me. “You can leave this sweet couple to me.”

She’s a big woman, even in old age, strengthened and made sturdy by the bracing mountain air. Her silver hair is pulled back in a tight bun, but a girlish fringe of curls floats above her lined forehead.

The moment Pastor Gerald is out of earshot, she says to us, “After all, it’s me you’re seeking, aren’t you? Visitors often are.”

Leo and I shift uncomfortably, trying not to gawk. “I… we… we…”

“Come.” She signals for us to follow as she starts across the room. I glance uncertainly at Leo, but he urges me along with a gentle hand behind my elbow. Jean West herself isn’t frightening, but her all-seeing eyes have me groping for my amethyst, seeking reassurance in its calming vibes.

Her pace is surprisingly quick for someone her age, and her posture upright. She leads us down a dimly lit hallway, past several Sunday School classrooms, to a small lounge with a tweedy couch,high windows, and a door to the outside stairwell. I suspect this room is used for counseling of a spiritual sort, a place for Pastor ‘Gerry’ to talk with people who are grieving, or struggling with addiction, or seeking marriage advice.

And a place for Granny Woman Jean to meet with her own breed of lost souls. Those of us who can’t find answers anywhere else.

We’re a long way from the church hall and listening ears, but she pulls the door to. I make for the couch, but she stills me with her eyes. Leo pauses halfway to sitting, anxiously watching as, without warning, she presses a firm hand to my belly, just below my navel, and murmurs, “There’s no baby.”

What?

Leo stands behind her, his brows forming a deep V.

She thinks I’m pregnant? That we were seeking a midwife? “Oh, no, I… I…” Shit, I can’t get the words out.

Her hand remains on my abdomen, gnarled and claw-like, as though, if there were a baby inside me, she could charm it through my flesh.

I’m petrified.

“How disappointing,” she says. “It’s been years since I’ve attended the birth of a halfling.”

My lungs seize while a choked sound comes out of Leo. He reaches for me around Jean’s back, and I’m so frightened that I let him pull me into his arms.

When he opens his mouth to speak, she freezes him with a stare. “I see you, Sidhe.”

He gasps. “You… you can see me?”

“Yes, dear, I can.” She touches his ear, then the hollow of his cheek. “And you—” she shifts her gaze to me. “You’re not what you seem either. I can’t see it, but I feel it. It’s in your blood.”

“Wh—?”

She tips her head at Leo. “When you’re ready, he’ll tell you.”

Holy shit, I’m so creeped out, I’m shaking. Leo runs a firm hand up and down my back. This granny woman is seeingright through Leo’s glamour, and she’s not afraid. She can sense a baby in the womb. And feel things in people’s blood.