Page 80 of Broken Veil
Cadell continued upstairs while Carys shouted after him.
“Just because you don’t like the way they portray dragons is not a reason to hate one of the most important works of fantasy fiction in the English language, Cadell!”
She walked downstairs and into the morning room off the main entry hall, where she remembered Mary serving breakfast in the past.
A table was laid out with mounds of roasted vegetables, platters of potatoes, and a half-carved leg of some massive beast. There was a grey-headed figure sitting at the head of the table, his head bent over the newspaper.
Carys muttered, “Surprised there’s still meat left.”
The grey-haired figure raised his head. “That’s the second leg of venison the ogre has brought in.”
Carys blinked. “Angus?”
Gone were the horns and the hooves, at least as far as Carys could see. The beard was brushed, and there was no grass or flowers sticking out of Angus’s hair. The middle-aged man sitting at the head of the table looked kind of… professorial.
And Carys had to admit, it was the kind of professor who would attract attention.
She slid into the seat to Angus’s right. “So this is your human face?”
It was recognizably Angus but without the trappings—his angular cheekbones, olive skin, and deep brown eyes read more dignified than wild.
He smiled, and the fangs were gone. “This is the face that suits my current task.”
“It’s not a bad face.”
Angus smelled like cedar and fresh-cut wood. Something spicy with a hint of vanilla or chocolate. She was glad she hadn’t sat on the other end of the table.
Carys reached over and spooned some roasted vegetables onto her plate. “This looks great. I’m surprised there’s so many vegetables. Duncan’s table is usually way more meat and potatoes.”
“I do not eat flesh,” Angus said, “of any kind. The matron of the house has been accommodating.”
“Huh.” Somehow that didn’t surprise her. “You look like a hippie professor I had as an undergrad. Only more British.”
He was Pan. Puck. A nature god of some kind or other.
It was no wonder that Angus could put on an attractive face if he wanted to. Pan was notorious for attracting women to him like flies to honey.
“I am not British.” Angus raised his teacup. “Though I do like their tea. We are traveling to Sherwood Forest when the party has recovered.”
“Like Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest?”
“That’s one of my names, you know.” Angus winked at her. “They sometimes call me Robin here. But we are not going to see Robin; we are going to see a man you may call Jack.”
“Jack.”
Angus nodded. “He goes by many names and many faces, but in this world at this time, you may call him Jack.”
“And Jack is one of the druids I need to meet?”
Angus nodded. “He is.”
“Okay.” She was just going with this supernatural road trip. “A mystical druid named Jack. And what will the druids tell me? How to defeat the Morrígan?”
She’d already faced one challenge battling a sea monster. If myth was any guide, she had at least two more challenges to go.
Then again, myths in the Brightlands and the reality of the supernatural in the Shadowlands rarely lined up.
Angus flipped the paper around. “Did you see the headlines today?” He pointed at the top one. “‘Mystery Mound: Still No Answers on Geological Anomaly in Salisbury.’ Here’s another one.” He pointed farther down the page. “‘The Fairies Return? How to Keep Your Children Safe.’”
