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...
Annie and I had just settled down in the drawing room and added some logs to the fire, when Abe walked shyly in, accompanied by many of our Teg allies and current residents.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Ma'ams. We were just wonderin' if we could sit a spell and listen to this part of the story. Ya see, some of us were there when Bertha came, and some were with her when she returned, and some came after, when they could'na stand Mab's madness or Gwyneth's cruelties. We have'na heard Bertha's telling of it, and would like to, if you please."
It was with a room full of Fae, drinking cider out of thimbles and munching on the remains of Anne's churros and the Bara Brith, that Anne picked up where I'd left off.
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Small groups of fae were consoling each other, passing around pieces of a torn paper napkin leftover from our earlier meeting.
"That was you she mentioned, wasn't it?" Anne asked, "And Lord Alwyn."
"Aye," said Abe proudly, "If you don't mind, I and me crew will clean up here. It's been a busy weekend fer us all. Kirin said ta tell 'ya he'll be extra vigilant tonight, so you and Lady Lils can rest easy."
I bent down and kissed him on his cheek, and he turned scarlet.
"Let's massage some of our sore muscles before we call it a night, shall we?" Anne asked with a sly wink. Quite a while later, our soreness was gone, replaced first by a deep contentment and then a deep and dreamless slumber.
