An old diary is given to the new owners of a house in Cambria, California. Designed by famous architect Julia Morgan, it has some oddities - including a spiral staircase in the backyard, leading to nowhere. What they discover involves old Welsh magi...
A volcanic rumbling of snores can from the drawing room, where Gwyn lay curled up by the fire, his bloodied shirt tossed on my chair and surrounded by the full-sized bearcat form of Alwyn, who he ostensibly was using as a blanket.
Ann caught me before I could throttle the prince for staining my throne. "Let them rest," she whispered, kissed me lightly, and continued, "Abe said it was a very bad fight. We won, but the losses were heavy. Annika saved the day by shrieking nonstop. Seems the hellhounds have very sensitive ears. She's sleeping in the guest room."
"Petal, I think it's time we began a coven here. It won't be Tylwyth magic, true, but it will be a better way for us to contribute than, say, arming ourselves with lawnmowers. And who knows? Some of those spells might get a boost from all the magic surrounding this house. What did Bhante Ryoju call them?"
"Ley lines," chimed Anne, "And I can think of several candidates from our guest list tonight."
"What?" I almost choked on the homemade bagel slathered with local butter and olallie berry jam.
"Didn't you notice the small tattoo that some had under their index finger? The tiny star?" Anne waited for my answer patiently.
"No, I didn't. I was, uh, busy autographing 'Sama Has Two Mammas' if you recall."
"Piffle!" she snipped. "Here, give this to Anna Lucia. The Sods say it keeps bad bugs away from anything near it. It attracts them to itself and eats them."
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I pedaled my way to the Tambinis. "Papa" Tambini was awaiting me on the porch, the board already set. On a small table beside was a tray of assorted breads and cheeses, an unlabeled bottle of wine and two glasses.
When I gave the bottle a quizzical stare, he laughed.
"My son's own vintage, Vino Tambini. It's his hobby. He rents some land in a vineyard near Santa Ynez. He poured me some of the vino blanco; its nose was refreshing and fruity, the taste light and softly peachy, with a hint of pecan.
"It reminds me of Georgia," I say. "Like peach cobbler, minus all that sugar."
Papa clapped his hands, and said, "My son will be delighted with your comment. He's christened this year's vintages the "Southern Belles. Now, it's been a while since I've seen you. Tell me how you and your wife are doing."
Seeing as it involved lots of Fae creatures, a Fae War, an oriental dragon and a Buddhist monk, I substituted a rival magazine for my battles and an underhanded book publisher for Anne's. Papa Tambini gave some very eye-opening advice – things we already knew, but dismissed because we thought they wouldn't apply to magical adversaries.
"Do not underestimate the value of giving false information – pretending your position is weak instead of strong, that such-and-such a story angle is valuable to you strategically but really isn't. None of that will work, of course, if you have a mole in your staff. Today, there are – what's the term – 'bugs' that will let your opponents know exactly what your plans are."
