Page 46 of Harnessed in Gold

“Sit, my dears. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I stumble, distracted, as Leo pulls me down onto the couch beside him, never letting go of my hand. What does Jean West sense in my blood? Does she know I’m clairsentient? Avery said psychic abilities often run in families.

Sounding miles away, Leo asks her, “You’ve seen other sidhe?”

“Iknowother sidhe.”

“Know them? How? Who?” His voice is even, but his bone-crushing grip on my hand betrays his shock.

“There have always been sidhe in these hills.”

“Like—” I think of what Barbara told us at bingo, about her mama carrying iron nails in her pocket to ward off the fae. “Like a whole bunch of them? For generations?”

“Indeed,” Jean answers with a placid smile, like she didn’t just scare the shit out of me or shock Leo. She crosses her legs at the ankle and folds her hands in her lap, the gnarled hands she’d laid on my belly.

I stammer, “And… and some of them are halflings?”

A nod and another serene smile.

“Are they… were they…”

“Sidhe and human? Yes.”

Sweat floods the narrow space between my and Leo’s palms.

Jean adds, “And beautiful.”

Beautiful? Does that mean they’re healthy?

Do they have pointed ears?

Do they have magic?

She tilts her head at Leo. “What’s your name, Sidhe?”

“Leo,” he chokes out. “Leo Hawthorn.”

“You’ve woven with the trees.”

She knows about weaving?

I hear him gulp. “Yes.”

“And you, dear.” She turns those all-seeing eyes on me. “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth Peterson. Betts.”

Leo cuts in, “Um… Mrs. West?”

“Jean, Leo the Hawthorn. Call me Jean.” She’s back to being a sweet old lady. Just an ordinary member of the welcoming committee at Redemption Baptist Church. Except that she’s talking to a psychic and a faerie—and she knows it.

“Jean.” Leo huffs out an awkward smile. “Um… actually, we’re here to ask you some questions. About local history.”

She smirks. “Ain’t that the job of the Brownhill professors?”

“This isn’t something they would know.”

“But you’ve asked them?”