Page 166 of The Shadow Path
“Remember, she was trying to start a war and we stopped her,” Laura said. “We did defeat that old crow, so whatever magical sacrifice she was looking for, it didnotgo according to plan.”
“It might not be enough to do anything other than cause some ripples at the gates,” Duncan said. “Maybe make the gates here in London more fluid.” He pointed at Laura. “Kind of like the way the fae gates are back in Baywood.”
Carys let out a slow breath. “That wouldn’t be so bad. A little confusing maybe, but not bad.”
“Very true,” Cadell said. “It might cause a few minor problems, Brightkin stumbling into the Shadowlands and such, but in theory those gates can be secured over time.”
“The last thing we need is mundane humans stumbling into a magical world,” Godrik said. “Or Shadowkin crossing into the Brightlands without any guides.”
Carys had a feeling that in London—especially if there were as many small gates as Naida had indicated—that might cause more than a little chaos.
“Still,” Carys said. “That’s good news. I can’t hear Cadell either, and I’ve been talking to him, so we were probably overreacting.”
Duncan nodded. “I think we were. Better safe than sorry, but once Naida has rested, we can head back through the gates.”
“Goodness.”
Carys turned when she heard a quiet voice at the end of the hall.
Duncan’s mother—Brightkin of Queen Elinor in Alba—was standing at the top of the stairs.
“Mother!” Duncan said. “I’ve… invited some friends to stay for a few days. I hope that’s okay.”
Godrik stood up straight, Laura gave a little wave, and Cadell just stared.
“Oh, that’s lovely dear.” The older woman waved a hand and brushed at something imaginary in the air. “Make yourself at home. Just talk to Randall about meals and such.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Murray,” Laura said.
“Mother.” Duncan took Carys’s hand and walked toward his mother. “You should meet Carys. She’s a mythology professor and she’s my girlfriend, so you’ll be seeing her again. Carys, this is my mother, Alexandra Morrison Murray.”
Okay, that was… direct. But not incorrect.
Carys held out her hand, seeing Elinor’s kind eyes in a new face. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Murray.”
“Oh dear.” Duncan’s mother’s expression fell. “You’re American.”
Duncan growled, “I won’t stand rudeness, Mam.”
“Then please don’t call meMam.” She sighed. “It’s so… Scottish. I’m sorry.” She looked at Carys. “I’m suppose I’m just disoriented because of the news this morning. What can you even make of such things?” She looked back to Duncan. “They think it might be avolcano. In Wiltshire, for heaven’s sake. It’s only a few miles from the Seymours’ country place. Can you imagine? Your father used to go on shooting parties there, do you remember?”
Duncan jerked his head. “What are you talking about?”
She frowned, and two deep lines etched her forehead. “Duncan, haven’t you heard?”
Carys heard a television somewhere downstairs.
She followed the sound of the very proper English news presenter’s voice down the stairs, through a long hallway, and into a cozy study where a breakfast table was set with tea and two maids were holding hands, staring at a small television on a bookcase.
“—more news from Salisbury where the geological event now appears to be spreading into neighboring farmland.”
“Carys?” Duncan called her name. “Where are you?—”
“Shhh.” Both the maids hushed him.
Carys reached for his hand when she saw the picture on the screen. “Duncan.”
“I see it.”
