Mermaid Mayhem: Eerie Investigations:

Misty Hollow Book 1 H.P. Mallory & J.R.

Rain
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MERMAID MAYHEM

Misty Hollow #1
(Eerie Investigations)

by
H.P. MALLORY
&
J.R. RAIN
Misty Hollow Series
Mermaid Mayhem
Big Girls Don’t Scry
Gorgon Gone Wild
Other Books by H.P. Mallory
PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FICTION:
Haven Hollow
Midlife Spirits
Misty Hollow
Trailer Park Vampire
Midlife Mermaid

PARANORMAL ROMANCE:
Witch & Warlock
Vampire Esquire
Ever Dark Academy

FANTASY ROMANCE:
Dark Destinies
Gates of the Underworld
Lily Harper
Dulcie O’Neil

PARANORMAL REVERSE HAREM:

My Five Kings
Happily Never After

SCI-FI ROMANCE:
The Alaskan Detective

TRILOGIES:
Crown Of Lies
Dark Circus
Chasing Demons
Dungeon Raider
Here to There
Arctic Wolves
Wolves of Valhalla
Lucy Westenra
Other Books by J.R. Rain
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE
Moon Dance
Vampire Moon
American Vampire
Moon Child
Christmas Moon (novella)
Vampire Dawn
Vampire Games
Moon Island
Moon River
Vampire Sun
Moon Dragon
Moon Shadow
Vampire Fire
Midnight Moon
Moon Angel
Vampire Sire
Moon Master
Dead Moon
Lost Moon
Vampire Destiny
Infinite Moon
Vampire Empress
Moon Elder
Wicked Moon
Winter Moon
Sasquatch Moon
Moon Blade
Wild Moon
Moon Magic
Moon World
Vampire Deep (coming soon)

SAMANTHA MOON ADVENTURES

Banshee Moon
Moon Monster
Moon Ripper
Witch Moon
Moon Goddess
Moon Blaze
Golem Moon
 Moon Maidens

SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES

Moon Bayou
Blood Moon
Parallel Moon

SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS

New Moon Rising
Moon Mourning
Haunted Moon
 Mermaid Mayhem
Published by Rain Press
Copyright © 2023 by J.R. Rain & H.P. Mallory
All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you
for respecting the hard work of this author.
 TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue

Reading Sample: Shotguns and Shifters

About H.P. Mallory
About J.R. Rain
Mermaid Mayhem
 Chapter One

I didn’t like missing person cases, and I liked being kept in the dark about the details even less.
Unfortunately, when your client was cloistered in the sticks, these things couldn’t be helped.
Mayor Beaumont had stressed that the case was too sensitive to be discussed over the phone, and
even if I could have made out more than every third word he’d said, it would have taken hours to
communicate the particulars. Forget confidential emails. Until the budding Hollow could lay down
fiber optics, there’d be nary a computer in sight. That meant I’d have to do this the old-fashioned way
—an in-person chat with the undead bastard himself.
Which would be impossible for at least another hour. The sunset was still spilling through the
cypress trees, tracing every leaf and blade of grass with pastel light. The trees were unusually thick
here, keeping the worst of the sunlight off the Jeep. I’d had to pay extra to find the type of vehicle
needed for this little outing, and fully expected the mayor to compensate me for my trouble. Actually,
I’d expected more than that—a vampire of his age should have had old-world sensibilities and sent a
town car after me. But nope. It was Uber or bust. Maybe he couldn’t find a vehicle suited to the
terrain—I mean, he was building this hollow very near a bayou. Maybe the whole damned thing was
just one wrong move from sinking into the muck.
Brice, the driver of the Jeep, studied the terrain with a frown. We’d left the main road a half hour
ago, following the slightly worn dirt path that led to this little clearing. He looked as puzzled and
anxious as I felt. My directions ended here, and yet there was no clear path through the trees ahead,
unless I wanted to make a brave foray into the woods on foot. In the backwoods of Louisiana? Hard
pass. There was no telling what lurked in the wetlands. It didn’t even have to be supernatural to do
me in, just hungry and determined enough to give chase.
“You sure about this?” Brice asked, southern accent growing a little thicker as his worry
increased. “I think someone’s yankin’ your tail, draggin’ you this far out. Ain’t nothin’ round here but
bobcats an’ gators. They’d eat a sweet thing like you right up.”
I laughed, though there wasn’t much feeling behind it. He had no idea just how accurate his
description was. I had a feeling someone was yanking my tail, in a very literal sense, because yes, I
had one to yank—though anyone stupid enough to try would regret it shortly afterward. But very
human Brice didn’t need to know that.
I’d worn long sleeves in the sweltering heat, just to conceal the scales which were already
pressing slowly to the surface of my skin. They did that when I dried out. Any amount of moisture
would help, including sweat, which was my preferred method of keeping my mermaid on the down-
low in the baking heat of a southern summer. At least Louisiana was humid. Phoenix had been an arid
hellscape, and the last place any mermaid should visit, let alone live.
“I think I can handle it,” I said with more bravado than I felt. “Thanks for the ride. How much do
I owe you?”
Brice looked reluctant, but he eventually rattled off my total. I hid a wince and peeled off a
handful of bills, offering them to him. He took them and just stared at the wad of cash for a little
while, orangey brows scrunched over his hazel eyes. He’d shaved most of his red-gold hair into a
short, military-style cut. He was a young man, probably no more than thirty years old. Which, to a
human probably seemed a very mature age to be, but I wasn’t human and so wasn’t impressed.
Anything under forty looked painfully young to me. But that was probably just my cynicism talking.
“I really don’t feel right leavin’ you out here, miss,” he said after another moment.
“I’m an expert camper,” I started, even though it wasn’t true. I just didn’t want to get into this
conversation.
“I don’t care how much campin’ you done. The bayou is dangerous at night, miss. I wouldn’t
mind takin’ you to a hotel in town an’ bringin’ you back in the morning, when there’s more light. No
extra charge, neither.”
I reached forward, straining my seatbelt to give his shoulder a squeeze. Then I patted my
equipment bag with a cheery smile that only made him scowl harder.
“I’m going to be just fine, but I appreciate your concern.”
“Miss—”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, and this weather is downright balmy.” I glanced around. “And the
terrain is nicer than I’m used to. You want to talk dangerous? Alaska nights are what I’d call
dangerous. I had a grizzly come into my camp once while I was setting up my camera. That bastard
scared me a hell of a lot more than any gator or bobcat ever could.”
Mostly because it hadn’t been a bear. It had been a werebear and the perp I’d been tracking
through the frozen wilderness, armed only with my gear and a heavy-duty tranquilizer rifle. Richard
Ewing was the first recorded serial killer in any werebear population, and he’d been picking off
pretty Inuit girls every month or so. None of the families had been taken seriously when they reported
the disappearances to the authorities and, eventually, word of the problem had reached me on the east
coast. I’d taken the case, and it had nearly gotten me killed. I still had scars on my back to prove it.
“Miss...”
“Estuary,” I finished for him. “Marina Estuary. But you can call me Marina.”
“Marina,” he said, and the word came out on a sigh. “A few pretty pictures for a magazine ain’t
worth gettin’ eaten.”
Somehow, I’d managed to fish a decent man out of the scores of humans that could have given me
a ride. It was as frustrating as it was sweet. Most days I’d have killed to find someone like Brice. Not
bad-looking and with a sense of decency a mile wide. Now, I needed him gone. And stat. One of us
would be in danger if night fell, and the Jeep was still sitting here, idling, but that person wouldn’t be
me. Humans weren’t allowed to know about the supernatural world at large and were barred access
from most Hollows on principle. Only one odd duck Hollow in Oregon, Haven Hollow, had any
exceptions to the rule. I didn’t know Beaumont’s policy on human loiterers, but I doubted it was
pleasant. He was a vampire, after all.
For just a moment, I was tempted to use the voice on Brice, just to get him to back off. I hadn’t
met a creature who could resist a siren’s voice for long, and if I just used a concentrated burst,
instead of a song, the damage would be minimal. The sound might haunt his dreams for a few months,
but it wouldn’t ensnare his mind forever. Or so I hoped.
Guilt followed on the heels of the thought though. I’d made a promise to myself after what had
happened to Mike. I wasn’t going to use the voice unless my life was in danger. Because the voice
was a curse, not a tool. It stripped people’s free will and could even drive them to madness. I
wouldn’t use it on the annoyingly persistent human man, even if doing so would expedite this whole
song and dance.
I forced another smile and undid my belt, swinging my camera bag onto one shoulder when I was
free. The tripod and sundry supplies came next, as I heaved them off the floor mats. Brice kept the
jeep clean, which meant the bags weren’t smudged with something unfortunate. In my line of work,
that was always a plus. The bags had definitely seen lots worse. Guts were probably the hardest to
clean.
“Goodnight, Brice,” I said firmly. “If you could help me get my bags out of the back, I’d be
grateful, but you really should get going. Off-roading will only get harder after dark. You should head
out before you lose the last of your light.”
Brice gave me a sour look as he took me in: a tall woman in her mid-to-late forties who kept in
shape. He’d asked what I’d done to keep my figure on the drive down from Baton Rouge. I’d said
swimming, which wasn’t actually a lie. The mermaid stroke really did work your core. As for my
hair, I’d told him I’d dyed it coral pink, but that had been a big fat lie. I’d been born with pink hair.
My family had immigrated from the tropics to the North Atlantic several generations ago, and the
bright colors had yet to fade from our line. I was built to hide among reefs, not kelp. It made me a
target when I was younger. I’d gotten a lot tougher since then. If Brice knew what I was and what I did
for a living, he wouldn’t have bothered with this machismo.
I stepped out of the jeep before he could get the bright idea to lock me in and drive away. I was
technically strong enough to bust out his window and tuck and roll, but it would be bad for the
equipment, not to mention the money I’d owe for repairs.
In the end, Brice unloaded both my bags and the just-for-show tent bag from the back and stacked
them a few feet away from a wooden park bench. It was a rickety little thing, climbing with ivy,
probably infested by termites, and one gust of wind away from total collapse. I wasn’t sure if I should
risk my posterior by sitting on it. I wasn’t even sure who’d installed the thing out here in the middle of
nowhere and left it to rot. This clearing was at least fifteen miles away from the main road and
exposed to the worst of the elements.
Brice stared at it too, lips pursed. “Did you want some help setting up your tent?”
I laughed. “Nah, I’ve got it, but thank you. I appreciate the thought.”
I waved him away with a good-natured ‘bye now’ gesture I’d picked up since spending the last
few weeks in the south. The hospitality and affectations were getting to me. I’d grown up on the
northern coastline and lived in Upstate New York City for a good chunk of my adult life. I used to be
as brusque and businesslike as the next person on the street. Now I was starting to feel soft. I didn’t
like it one bit. Probably all this damned heat. It could melt anyone. The sooner I could move to colder
climes again, the better.
I waited until Brice’s headlights were reduced to pinpricks in the distance before I approached
the old bench. A line of morels had sprung up a few feet away from it. Brice had skirted them
completely unconsciously, which was my first hint that the bench wasn’t exactly what it appeared to
be. In the supernatural world, mushrooms usually meant something. If they formed a perfect circle—
as these did—then something magical was definitely afoot. This was a special sort of faerie circle,
meant to keep mortals out instead of drawing them in. It meant the bench was probably a projection
for mortal eyes, and not actually a bench at all.
Still, I was hesitant to step forward into the circle. Spring and Summer faeries were playful by
nature, and the most likely to trap you in a ring, forcing you to dance for their amusement. I didn’t
want to be found dancing a two-step when Beaumont finally sent someone to retrieve me. Then again,
if the circle was meant to keep mortals out, it followed that it was meant to be used by supernaturals,
probably as a protective measure against the predators Brice had been so concerned about.
I sighed.
I could feel a storm on the horizon, so I’d have to risk it. Stepping over the line of mushrooms, I
stepped right into a genuine bus stop. It was a little glass box outfitted with an awning and a steel
bench. It would keep most of the rain off if I had to wait for Beaumont. A small crank radio and a
handful of old magazines and newspapers from the supernatural side of things had been wrapped in
plastic and stuffed beneath the bench—no doubt entertainment for the weary monster who braved the
circle.
I glanced down at my cell phone and sighed, even though I hadn’t expected any service out here.
Truly, I had a better chance of surviving the Abyssal zone than getting reliable service in the boonies.
No online sudoku games or crossword puzzles for me then. I should have packed a few print copies
before coming.
I dragged my bags inside the glass box and propped my feet on the show-tent as I sat back to
wait. The wind carried the scent of the bayou through the trees. The soil in swamps tended to be
hypoxic, trending ever onward toward becoming a peat bog, which could result in a rather sulfurous
odor. It was balanced nicely by the damp smell of Spanish moss, the sharper scent of cypress leaves,
and the floral undertone of Salvinia and spider lilies. And there was the sweet scent of magnolia
somewhere in there, as well. The water here was still brackish, and the briny smell caused me to feel
a little nostalgic. I hadn’t been in salt water for a while. I missed my family, even though they’d made
their feelings about me perfectly clear. I wasn’t welcome back. Ever.
My head lolled back, and I watched with mounting concern as the light faded away completely,
swallowed by the horizon and encroaching storm clouds. Light rain started to patter on the awning,
punctuating my ever-present worry.
When was he coming to get me, and how the hell were we making it through the swamp to the
Hollow?
 Chapter Two

The light rain turned into an active downpour, and I was grateful for the shelter the magic bus
stop provided.
I wasn’t a naiad or sylph, so I wouldn’t feel the instinctive urge to mingle with the water or the
gusts of air blowing through the trees. Even in human form, I was more solid and willful than that. I
belonged in the water, but I wasn’t of it, which made all the difference.
I’d rolled my pant legs up to mid-calf, baring as much skin as possible as I leaned my lower half
into the open. The sodden material would help ease the itchy scales, but direct contact with water
was best. That was the rub of remaining so long in human form. I required a lot more moisture than
the average person, so hydrating was a must. I didn’t want to be too wet when Beaumont finally sent
someone to fetch me though, so I couldn’t get as sodden as I hoped.
I was fairly sure my employer would provide me with a bedroom, but I couldn’t necessarily
count on it. The Hollow was still under construction, after all. It was the fifth and most recent Hollow
to be built on American soil. There were refuges in the Old World for the supernatural, like the Faerie
mounds scattered around the United Kingdom, old mining settlements dug out by dwarves centuries
ago, and dragon hordes deep in cave networks, far away from human eyes.
But they all had one thing in common. They were meant for one kind of creature and shunned the
others. Hollows were unique in that respect. They accepted all species. If you could follow the rules,
you were welcome. The experiment carried out in Haven Hollow all those years ago had been a
resounding success, and the demand for more refuges grew with every passing decade. If Beaumont
could successfully establish a Hollow here, he could be a very powerful and influential man in just a
few years’ time.
But a missing person case could really put a crimp on things. Hence, why I was here. Now, if I
only knew how I was getting to town, I’d feel better. But I hadn’t been given any directions. Did
Beaumont expect me to make it there on foot? Brice had gotten one thing right: gators, bobcats, and
whatever else lurked in the woods could pose a real problem if I went in blind. As a mermaid, I was
hardier than most, but it wouldn’t stop a bull alligator from taking a bite out of me if it was
determined.
Something white flickered in my periphery, and I twisted to get a better look. A large, pale figure
was moving through the gloom, though it was hard to make out what it might be through the rain which
was running in rivulets down the glass. I scooted to the edge of the bench and cautiously stuck my
head outside the glass wall of the bus stop.
Immediately, my hair was plastered to my head, deepening the coral color to a deep magenta. It
took a little concentration to shift my eyes, allowing the mostly hidden nictitating membrane to do its
thing, clearing the moisture from my eyes enough to let me see who was jogging towards me.
He was tall. And by tall, I meant freakishly tall, well, by human standards anyway. This guy had
to be seven to seven and a half feet tall, and built like a professional soccer player, all lean, corded
muscle. And those muscles were being shown to their full advantage by the white cutoff shirt he was
wearing that had gone translucent in the rain. The white pants were made of sturdier stuff, which was
a damned shame, because I wouldn’t have minded taking a peek at what lay beneath the waistband.
As he drew closer, I realized he was a real looker. Chiseled features, golden curls, and a Colgate
smile that made dimples pop in both cheeks. His age was hard to pin down. He could have been
anywhere between twenty-five and forty. Some faces had that timeless quality to them, never
changing. Some young faces hid old souls. In the circles I ran in, sometimes it was impossible to tell
one from the other.
One thing I knew for sure? He wasn’t human. That was sort of a given around here. Select few
humans made it into Hollows, and this one would definitely be devoid of those of the purely mundane
persuasion. Until the Hollow was fully functional, it would be suicide to bring humans in, even to
visit. Most of them simply didn’t have the ability to cope with the existence of the supernatural. They
freaked out, formed mobs, and laid waste to whatever scared them.
The man stopped a few feet shy of the circle and flashed me a wide grin. He couldn’t see me
through the barrier, but he seemed to know I was there, nonetheless.
“Hi there, Miss Estuary,” the man said with a light laugh. Joy, real and tangible hit me, spreading
my lips in an answering smile, even as I struggled to remain stoic. “Typha sensed you stepping into
her circle about ten minutes ago. Sorry about the delay. It’s been a busy week.” He paused for a
second or two when I made no attempt to move. “You coming?”
I considered staying right where I was, just to be petty—because I was fairly sure this guy was
putting some sort of glamour over me. Regardless, the view was still pretty incredible. The water
looked good rolling off his muscled forearms. Rolling down his everything, really. But after hearing
his laugh, I knew my feelings were being instigated by his magic, not just good old-fashioned lust.
Because I knew a celestial pull when I felt it. I could detect infernal pull, too, but it had a slightly
different energy to it. Dark chocolate kisses instead of milk chocolate candies. It was the other half of
an insanely sexy coin.
But I wasn’t a child, and I was on a schedule. So, I took a purposeful step outside the faerie ring,
appearing on the other side. To a human, it would have looked like I’d simply emerged from thin air.
The circle was small, all things considered, but powerful. The faerie who’d made it had to be one of
the nobility, even if only distantly related to the current rulers. A lord or lady of faerie, though I
couldn’t have said what season they belonged to.
I raised an eyebrow at the man. “What are you laughing at?”
His smile broadened, and I could have sworn he glowed for a second—which probably shouldn’t
have come as much of a surprise, considering he was an angel. I’d never seen an angel do that before,
though. He must have been on one of the lower tiers if he was willing to flaunt his powers without the
approval of one of the various deities. Most of the higher orders in the celestial realms were stuffy,
rule-obsessed pricks. The same went for the demons in the lowest of the infernal layers. They were
constantly bickering, playing games of 4-D chess with each other, and consistently being pains in
humanity’s collective ass.
Angels of the lowest levels and the demons closest to the surface were mirrors of each other.
Hedonism and chaos, but achieving totally different ends. Succubae, incubi, and more human-like
demons drained life, broke hearts, but brought immense pleasure to their victims. Only Repeer
Demons bucked the trend, turning from their sexually charged roots to serve the lower infernal levels.
They weren’t well-liked, even among their own kind.
An encounter with a lower-level angel (I was pretty sure my mother had once called them
Blisses) changed your life for the better. They were the free spirit who guided you through your own
personal Eat, Pray, Love journey, enriching your life in crazy, unpredictable ways. They were always
good for a laugh, agents of complete but constructive chaos. I’d heard they made excellent friends and
even better lovers.
The Bliss Angel gave me an appreciative once-over and said, “You’re a knockout, aren’t you?
Love the hair.”
 I pushed the wet strands out of my face, self-conscious in spite of myself. “Thanks, but that
doesn’t answer my question. Why were you laughing at me?”
He let out another infectious laugh and said, “I’ve dated mermaids before. I know a falsified
name when I hear one.”
“A falsified name?”
He nodded. “Marina Estuary?” Then he rolled his eyes.
I rolled mine right back at him. “What’s wrong with it?”
He laughed again. “You might as well call yourself ‘Jane Smith’. It’s about the blandest cover
name you can choose as a sea-based monster.”
“Well, I’m glad I could amuse you,” I grumbled.
He laughed again. “Will you tell me your real name, or is it classified?”
“Classified,” I answered coolly. I’d divorced myself from my birth name after leaving the ocean
behind me. I hadn’t thought of it in years. I was Marina now. Eerie, to those who knew me well. But
this angel hadn’t earned the right to call me by my nickname. “And who are you?”
He beamed. “Adam. And before you make the joke, yes, it’s biblical. I’m only half Bliss. My
father is a cherub and very invested in the religion thing. Complete buzzkill, I swear. He disapproves
of me, naturally.”
There was a story behind his conception, I was sure. Daddy might have had a wild youth. Or
maybe some deity had ordered him into a tryst with Adam’s mom, foreseeing the good the resulting
kid would have on the world at large. It was anyone’s guess, but Adam didn’t owe me the story just
like I didn’t owe him my real name.
“Do you have a last name?” I asked.
His smile shifted into a playful smirk. “Classified.”
I laughed, a genuine sound this time. “That’s fair. Did Beaumont send you with some kind of car,
or are we hoofing it through the wilderness?” Then I gave him an eyebrow raise.
Adam’s lips twitched, obviously holding back another laugh. He was a ball of pure, unfettered
happiness, powerful enough to melt even my cynicism at fifty paces. I’d have to watch myself around
this man. He was too attractive for his own good.
“I think you’re missing the obvious, Marina,” he said, extending a hand toward me.
“I am?” I asked, slipping my hand into his.
He was warm and solid, and the mere contact made me feel about a thousand pounds lighter as
my worries tumbled off my shoulders. It felt right to touch him. Addictive. Yes, I’d definitely have to
be careful around him. I could fall and fall hard, and I couldn’t afford a distraction like love at the
moment. Maybe I’d never be able to afford it.
Adam lifted me from the ground as though I weighed nothing and held me tight to his chest. He
arranged me in a princess carry, and a wide smile broke across his face like the first rays of sunrise
when he spotted the utter terror that spasmed across mine. Moments after I realized what he meant to
do, a pair of giant, golden wings unfurled from his back. He bent his knees and pushed off from the
ground, wings catching a sudden, violent updraft. We parted ways with the ground, sailing up toward
the roiling storm clouds.
And I didn’t even have the time or breath to scream.
 Chapter Three

Mermaids don’t belong in the sky.

Period.
But Adam apparently hadn’t gotten that memo. We cleared the trees with inches to spare, the tips
of my boots brushing the needles of a cypress as we passed. The sharp, resinous scent carried on the
wind, coating the inside of my nose when I could finally suck in a shallow breath. My heart had
catapulted itself into my throat the second we parted ways with the ground and continued to wriggle
toward my mouth as we climbed higher and higher still, spiraling toward the clouds.
The air itself quivered with tension before lightning split the night sky, streaking from cloud to
cloud in a white-violet arc. As I watched, it forked in a dozen different places, seeming to form claws
that raked at the air, before vanishing. I barely had enough presence of mind to breathe, let alone
scream as a deafening clap of thunder shook the air.
“Oh, God,” I said, voice thin with fear. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!”
Adam let out an exultant laugh, wheeling around to face the south, beating his wings in time with
more pulses of light and noise. His gorgeous face was alight with unabashed elation as he rode the
thunder toward town. The bastard was enjoying this.
“He’s not listening,” Adam said blithely, as if we hadn’t narrowly escaped being struck by
lightning. “I told you, Dad doesn’t like me much, and I doubt his boss feels differently.”
I wished I could have come up with a witty response, but most of my attention was focused on
remaining very still and balanced in Adam’s arms. He was moving quickly and could probably catch
me before I went splat on the ground, but I didn’t want to take my chances. This case could be my
ticket to living comfortably again, and I didn’t want to screw it up by wiggling the wrong way.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky, supercharging the air. His wings glowed incandescent for a
moment in response, and he did a casual flip, sending the contents of my stomach into an uneasy
whirl. If he didn’t knock it off and fly in a straight line, I was going to lose my lunch and splatter
whatever was unfortunate enough to be below us. I doubted the sub sandwich would taste and smell
as good after it made a reappearance. That thought led to another, more distressing idea.
“Can they see us?”
“Who?” Adam asked, swooping low, chuckling when my grip on his neck and shoulders became
vise-like. My boots touched the tips of the trees again. I was beginning to suspect that he enjoyed the
scent of cypress mingling with the ozone and rain. Or maybe he just liked hearing me squeal. Dealer’s
choice really.
“Humans,” I answered when I could finally suck in a breath. “I doubt any are out this far, but
could one see us if they happened to glance up? As I understand it, the Hollow is still under
construction, so I doubt the illusionary spells are up to snuff yet.”
Something flickered in the back of Adam’s eyes, stealing some of the effusive joy from his face.
He still looked happier than anyone had a right to be when soaked to the skin and dodging God’s
smite button.
“Yeah, we’re lagging behind in the illusion department,” he admitted. “But I’m fairly good at
camouflage. It’s a Bliss thing.”
Interesting, but not really relevant to the topic at hand. I filed that factoid away for examination
when we were safely on the ground.
“So, what exactly are they going to see when they spot you carrying me to town? And carrying my
luggage, as well. I assume you’re going back for that?”
“Of course,” he answered, turning up the wattage on his grin. “I wouldn’t just leave your bags in
the rain.”
His happy-go-lucky attitude would get old fast if I was constantly exposed to it. I was a cynical
soul by nature, and my experiences in life hadn’t instilled a sense of optimism in me over the years.
My philosophy was to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised if the worst didn’t come to pass.
And that attitude had served me well. I could count on one hand the times in life I’d been truly happy
and still have fingers left. I was beginning to think happiness just wasn’t in the cards for me.
“You didn’t actually answer the question,” I pointed out as we descended further. There was a
break in the trees up ahead. Hopefully, this nerve-wracking flight was coming to an end. “What would
they see?”
“If humans were out this far and happened to spot us, they’d see an owl with a rat in its talons,
and that’s a pretty huge if between the dark and the rain. Humans don’t like coming out here. It’s wild
country and the ley lines are unstable. It sets their teeth on edge. Of course, it will all level out when
construction ends, but until then, most people steer clear of Misty Hollow on instinct. But I’m casting,
just in case.”
I snorted in amusement. “An owl and a rat, eh? Are you going to eat me when we reach the
ground?”
His grin turned lascivious. It differed from the come-hither of an incubus but was nonetheless
appealing. He leaned in playfully and whispered, “Would you like me to?”
A year ago, a comment like that might have made me blush. It had been a long time since I’d been
with a man, and even longer since someone offered to do that without mind-bending involved. Now
the offer left me cold. I hadn’t been careful enough around my partner, Mike, and we’d both paid the
price for it. If I hadn’t given him the emergency key to my apartment. If I hadn’t been indulging in a
rare bit of musical theater, belting the lines of Think of Me from The Phantom along with the radio
when he’d come in, it could have ended differently. If I hadn’t had a bad day and required musical
therapy, to begin with. If, if, if. I’d almost had a stable friendship with a man. But almost doesn’t
count except in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Mike had heard me sing, and it had been the beginning of the end. He’d kept a handle on the
obsession better than most. A lot of humans who heard a siren’s song lapsed into temporary insanity
instantly. Mike had been more subtle, working his way up from jokes and innuendos to serious flirting
and sexting. I’d eventually had to block him on all devices, withdraw from the business, and move,
but it still hadn’t been enough. Mike had found me and tried to win my love at gunpoint. I’d escaped,
thank God, but it didn’t matter. I’d ruined him. But he was still out there, still searching for his false
love. And unlike most men, he had the resources and know-how to actually track me down. Hence the
false name and my lack of funds. Packing up shop and moving every year cost money.
Adam’s smirk evaporated at the look on my face. “I came on too strong, didn’t I? I’m sorry.
Maybe I should have started with, ‘would you like to go out for coffee?’”
“Yeah, kind of,” I answered with a bleak chuckle. “But, don’t worry about it—it’s not you. It’s
me.”
“Wow,” Adam responded, shaking his head. “I’m already getting that line and we haven’t even
gotten to first base?”
I had to laugh at that, but my attention was quickly pulled to the image of lights flickering on the
ground below us, oranges and golds instead of the twinkling city lights I was used to. Apparently, a
large-scale electricity grid hadn’t been installed either. I plucked at my wet clothes. “Coffee does
sound nice, though. Maybe it will ward off the pending case of pneumonia.”
He frowned. “Can mermaids really get pneumonia?”
“If they’re in human form long enough and there’s a supernatural variant, yeah.”
“Huh. The more you know.”
Adam guided us down in a lazy circle. We’d been moving fast enough on the way over that the
rain hadn’t pelted us hard, but it was repaying us with interest as we slowed. It ran into my eyes, my
mouth, and down the line of exposed cleavage, gathering in my bra. I was shivering by the time Adam
set me on my feet. He lifted one wing to shield my head, which helped a little. At least I could wring
out my hair.
“Sorry about the ride over,” he said with a sheepish shrug. “It’s the best we can do for now. No
paved roads yet. I thought you’d prefer to fly with me than with our resident dragon. He’s worse than
a cat when wet. Pansy.”
The note of playful disdain in his voice drew a grudging chuckle from me. Adam didn’t seem so
bad, really. It wasn’t his fault that I’d taken his proposition badly—yes, he was beyond handsome,
and he’d no doubt be a generous lover. All Bliss angels were. I just had a really shitty track record
when it came to men, and I didn’t want to add a supercharged sex angel to my list of failed
relationships.
“Get me a change of clothes and a coffee and we’ll call it even,” I said, attempting to inject a
little liveliness into my tone. There was no sense alienating the first person I’d met in Misty Hollow.
Unfortunately, cheerfulness wasn’t in my mighty repertoire of skills. Judging by the uncertain look
on his face, the attempt had fallen flat. He rolled one shoulder uncomfortably, gesturing toward his
right.
“Rain check on the coffee date. Typha runs the canteen, and she can set you up with an outfit and
something hot to drink. I’ll be back soon, and then I’ll show you to Alistair’s office. He’s waiting for
you.”
I opened my mouth to thank him, but he was already in motion, crouching low before launching
himself high into the air, catching the current once more. Seconds later, he was lost to sight. I had the
distinct impression that I’d offended him with my rebuff. Great. But things could only go up from here,
I supposed.
So, I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and turned around, getting my first real look at Misty
Hollow.
 Chapter Four

Misty Hollow looked like Tolkien’s idea of an old west boomtown.

A narrow gravel path wound its way through the main street, saving the entire thing from
becoming a sucking river of mud. The stones glimmered faintly under the lights from the lamps and
windows as if they’d been hewn from something other than the usual mix of sand, dirt, and rock.
If I hadn’t been soaked to the skin, I might have stopped to pick one up, just to examine it more
closely. Mike used to call me ‘Magpie’ before the ‘Eerie’ nickname had really caught hold, sometimes
‘Mags’ for short, because shiny objects always caught my eye. But that was mostly due to my biology.
Fish loved light, especially on blue and green wavelengths, and mermaids were no different. I’d lost
count of how many impulse buys I’d made just due to shiny packaging or an iridescent glow. Anything
blingy? Forget about it.
But the gravel couldn’t hold my attention for long. Not with the lamplight casting a diffuse glow
over the street. There were a dozen street lamps on either side, flanking the road like luminous
sentinels. They were little more than iron posts topped with globe lighting, but even that was
mesmerizing in the dark. The posts were almost lost to the night, which gave the illusion that the
globes were floating in midair like inanimate Will-o’-the-Wisps. They appeared to be fueled by a mix
of faerie dust and dragon flame, one feeding the other to create a light and heat source that would burn
through the night. The light cast long shadows over the surrounding buildings, giving the whole place
an eerie, flickering quality.
The town’s businesses had been built to be functional, rather than pretty. Some were just bare
beams, the skeleton of a home or shop that had yet to grow into something more. Tarps had been
secured over the rooflines to keep the wind and rain out. There were hints of personality here and
there, where people had painted the door trim or shutters, but mostly, the place looked unfinished—
like all building had started a few months ago. The lone exception was the building that Adam had
indicated.
Ivy climbed over almost every inch of its front, coating everything but the windows like lush,
verdant green paint. Louisiana phlox, Irises, and Swamp Azaleas formed a fragrant carpet across the
front of the building. Virginia Sweetspire flowed outward, crowding the alley between the canteen
and its neighbors like a floral dust ruffle. A sign reading: Typha’s Canteen was only barely visible,
peering out of the flora like a blunted tree stump.
“Wonder when the Seven Dwarves are on break,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest to
ward off some of the cold as I trudged forward.
As it turned out, there was a porch hidden beneath layers of more ivy. I was about a foot away
before I realized that what had looked like saplings peeking through the bushes were actually thin
wooden beams supporting an awning of Spanish moss. Some of it brushed my hair as I cleared the
porch. The ivy was so thick in places, I could have sworn I was walking on carpet. Clearly, the place
was owned by someone of the Fae persuasion. How long had it taken the owner to grow such a lush
forest of foliage, though? Even I could admit the plant architecture was impressive, despite my
aversion to overly flowery fairy tale crap.
A wind chime let out a cascade of sweet musical notes when I pushed the door open. I stuttered to
a halt, just past the threshold, stunned by what I saw inside. Again, the place seemed to draw its
inspiration from the Old West, modeling itself after a saloon, rather than a more military-style
canteen. Almost all the furniture was made of dark, lacquered wood, and a row of barstools had been
pushed up against the wrap-around counter near the back. Round tables dotted the space, sporting
wire caddies full of jams, sugar packets, and laminated menus. It was elegant in its simplicity. I could
definitely see myself coming to visit again before leaving the Hollow.
A woman bustled into sight a few moments later, but she wasn’t Snow White. Instead, the woman
looked like she’d ripped off the faerie godmother from Disney’s Cinderella. Though it might be more
appropriate to say that Disney had made a cheap knockoff of her. Faeries weren’t expressly immortal,
but they were long-lived. It took almost a hundred years for a faerie to look like an adult, and then a
few more centuries before they’d start to look actively mature. They could stay in a semi-youthful
state for thousands of years, if they were powerful enough. This woman’s hair was as white and soft
as cotton and time had carefully etched artful lines on her round face. To look elderly to mortal eyes,
she had to be ancient.
The billowing gown she wore was green and dotted with white blooms, similar to the Sweetspire
outside. She had the eyes to match: leaf green and luminous. They sparkled with good cheer when
they landed on me.
“Ah, you must be Miss Estuary! Mr. Beaumont said you’d be by,” she said, bustling toward me,
one hand extended to seize mine. “I’m Typha, by the way, though a smart girl like you no doubt figured
that out on your own.”
She paused about a foot away, really taking me in. The rain hadn’t been my fault, but I felt a little
ashamed to be leaving a puddle on her nice, clean floors.
“Sorry,” I said, shuffling back toward the door. “I can wait outside.”
She clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. Adam knew better than to fly you in this downpour. That
impetuous angel will do anything for a thrill.”
“A thrill?” I repeated.
She nodded. “I’m sure he just wanted to see you in wet clothes. An incorrigible flirt, that one is.
He’s even tried coming onto me and I’m almost ten times his age! Can you imagine?” Then she shook
her head as she laughed. “I think I hurt the poor boy’s feelings when I laughed him out of the canteen.”
I couldn’t help a small smile. Typha’s reaction to Adam’s flirtation made me feel a little better
about my own. He was an equal opportunity womanizer, which meant it hadn’t been anything
personal. I’d met the type before, though none of them had even half Adam’s good looks and
charisma. Now I’d definitely have my guard up.
“I can mop this up,” I said, taking her outstretched hand, and giving it a brief, firm shake. “Adam
said he’d be back with my things, but he also mentioned that I could get a change of clothes and
something to drink here?”
“Of course, of course,” she said, getting a firmer hold on my hand, pulling me toward the
swinging double doors at the back of the canteen. “Let’s find you a private place to get out of those
wet things. There are some rather uncouth young men working on the construction crew, and ogling
isn’t beneath their dignity.”
A delicate way to say that perverts were absolutely everywhere, even in a Hollow. Men were
men, no matter where you went. A lot of them were good, but it only took one or two really bad
apples to spoil your opinion of the whole barrel.
Typha led me into the kitchen. Again, the place was larger than I’d originally assumed. The sink
was copper, rather than the more iron-infused steel. It was a human fiction that iron could kill or
maim faeries, but contact was uncomfortable. Prolonged contact could cause a mild allergic reaction,
which was itchy and unpleasant. A quick scan of the room revealed that almost everything in the
kitchen was made of copper. Copper appliances, a copper ceiling rack, with dozens of copper pots
and pans dangling from it. If I pulled open a cupboard, I’d probably find copper plates and cups too.
“How does your place look so nice?” I asked, the words escaping my mouth before I could okay
them with my brain. I immediately felt myself color as I realized how brash I sounded. “I mean, this
Hollow isn’t anything... finished, so how can your place look so nice, while the rest of it is...”
I shoved my proverbial foot into my mouth to stem the flow of crap streaming out of it. God, had I
really just insulted the entire Hollow to her face? First Adam, and now Typha. My big mouth was
going to drive off every person I met. To my shock, Typha actually laughed.
“Modest? Unpolished? In shambles? Take your pick, all of them fit. It will be at least a year
before we’re ready to let the average monster move onto the premises, so we’re not really on call to
impress anyone, but I like what I like, hence why the canteen looks as nice as it does. This way,
dear.”
She pulled me toward a narrow back hall, lit only by the flickering of more globes. These were
smaller than the ones on the street and could have easily fit in the palm of my hand. Moths and June
Bugs circled the light, unable to help themselves, like insectoid stars trapped in a planet’s orbit.
“Dear things, aren’t they?” Typha said, smiling at the mesmerized insects. “So easily
entertained.”
“Right,” I answered, though I really didn’t find them all that interesting.
“And thank you for your kind words about the canteen,” Typha continued. “To be quite honest, it’s
more modest than I’m used to. My older sister insisted that a nascent Hollow was no place for a lady
of my station, but I was determined.” Then she looked around herself and nodded contentedly. “I built
this place, and my sister furnished it as a parting gift. She’s certain I’ll be eaten by a gator before it’s
all said and done.”
I almost swallowed my tongue. So Typha wasn’t just the plump, good-natured woman she
appeared to be. She was Lady Typha, of the Spring Court of Faerie. She wasn’t the heir to the throne,
or she’d never have been allowed to leave her court and move here, assuming such a menial station,
but she was still a woman of power. Which meant that the plant life outside hadn’t been an illusion or
the product of diligent gardening. Typha was powerful enough to will plants to grow and to keep them
fruitful regardless of the season. That was almost... frightening, really. She seemed too gentle to use
that power for anything insidious, but the mere fact she had it made me wary of her.
“Oh... um... wow,” was all I could think to say.
Suave, Marina. With diplomacy skills like these, you should become a politician.
“Go on inside,” Typha said, finally glancing away from the insects. Her smile was so kind, it
warmed me down to my toes. “Get out of those wet clothes and I’ll slide your new things under the
door.”
The crack beneath the door didn’t look large enough to let anything but the thinnest of materials
through. Maybe she was going to give me some kind of spandex monstrosity? God, I hoped not.
The single-use bathroom was large enough that I didn’t bang my elbows or knees into the walls
when I tried to strip down. I’d had that problem in some gas stations and mom-and-pop diners when
I’d begun traveling for work. Some places would install a toilet in a glorified closet and call it a day.
I stripped off and even took the time to wring my hair and clothing out over a deep, copper basin. I
kept listening for the sound of cloth being shoved under the door, but didn’t catch anything.
But about a minute later, I definitely felt something slithering up my calves. I glanced down with
a small shriek and found waxy green vines climbing me like I’d become a lattice arch. More vines
joined the first, lashing themselves across my thighs, up over my hips, and over my damp bra. I hadn’t
had the fortitude to borrow someone else’s underwear. Bad enough I’d be wearing their outer clothes.
Or at least, that had been the thought. Apparently, Typha had different ideas.
I had to bite my knuckles to contain another scream as the vines arranged themselves in distinct
patterns across my hips and torso. Small, fragrant blooms opened here and there, perfuming the
already clean air with the smell of honeysuckle and rose. I held very still, half afraid a bee would zip
out of one and sting me right on the ass. Weird to even consider, but it had been that kind of year.
It took a few minutes, but the vines eventually tied themselves off neatly and retreated out the
door, leaving me to admire my leafy new duds in the silvery mirror that hung over the copper basin.
Typha had woven me a bright green sleeveless dress that ended at mid-thigh and a complimentary
overcoat of dark, waxy leaves to help keep the rain off that was still hugging my ankles.
It took me a moment to get over the shock, but when I did, I walked to the door, only to find her
on the other side, offering me a steaming cup of coffee with one hand, and holding a leafy parasol in
the other. Her motherly smile could have melted a glacier.
“Well, don’t you look lovely,” she said, pushing the coffee into one of my hands. “I knew Tupelo
would look good on you. The green really compliments your hair. Such a lovely shade of coral. Now,
come along, I have sugar and cream in the kitchen if you’d like some in your coffee.”
Then she tottered away, still murmuring to herself, and all I could do was follow in her wake,
trying to puzzle out what in the hell had just happened. One second I was being felt up by plants, and
the next I was trying to figure out whether I wanted Sweet and Low or Stevia in my coffee. Which
she’d grown in her little greenhouse, because of course she had.
By the time Adam returned, I was on my second cup, and in better spirits. His lips tilted up at the
edges when he caught sight of my outfit. I held up a finger to shush him before he could get a word
out.
“If you make one comment about some kind of Tinkerbell porn parody, I will march back the way
I came and you can explain to your boss why he’s short a PR consultant.”
It was the cover story I’d come up with on short notice. Because ‘PR consultant’ sounded a hell
of a lot better than ‘private investigator’, here to uncover the seedy truth hiding somewhere in a
barely there Hollow.
Adam pressed his lips together, containing what promised to be a belly laugh, but his eyes still
twinkled. “I think I’ll just keep my happy little thoughts to myself, then.”
“You’d better,” I groused, plucking up the parasol Typha had fashioned for me. She’d asked me to
bring it back by morning. Apparently, the blooms got lonely without her and wilted. “Now, let’s get
this damn visit over with.”
 Chapter Five

Alistair Beaumont’s office was just as grand as the rest of Misty Hollow.
Which was to say, it wasn’t much to look at from the outside.
City Hall was just a two-story brick building with blocky concrete steps leading up to a pair of
double doors. Doors which hadn’t even been painted yet, and the scent of new wood would have
been discernable even to a human nose. I could smell it before the building came into sight, even with
my nose blunted by the land air. In the water, I could sometimes scent prey a half-mile off, a feature
that came in handy if I had to track down a perp in the water. Funny how so many ignorant humans
thought jumping into a river was a great way to escape—they were always gaping like fish when I
dragged them ashore.
I shook the parasol free of water when we reached the doors. The blooms had perked up under
the spray but seemed to wilt when they caught my mood. More than a few people had pressed their
noses to the glass of their shops or projects in progress to get a look at the new girl. Pretty flower
princess wasn’t the first impression I wanted to leave, and the fact that it was how I’d be remembered
only pissed me off. Which was exactly the wrong attitude to take with Beaumont. Don’t bite the hand
that pays you. Unless your boss is into that kind of thing, and even then, it’s probably unprofessional.
Adam’s hand came to rest a few inches from my shoulder, no doubt hesitant to touch me after my
initial reaction to him. He raised one perfectly arched brow and waggled his fingers with a smile.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but you look like you could use a blessing. It might
make you less tense.”
“I don’t,” I started.
“Trust me, Mr. Beaumont can be... really... intense.”
I had the sense that ‘intense’ wasn’t the word Adam wanted to use, which only made the muscles
in my back and neck coil tighter. Ideally, I’d have gotten a full background check on my potential
employer before agreeing to a consult, let alone taking the case. But very little was known about
Alistair Beaumont, even in the well-informed circles I ran in. And it was entirely possible he’d given
me a false name, which made me trust him even less.
I knew only a few things for certain. He was a vampire, and he’d turned voluntarily. The vampire
who claimed to have sired him was tight-lipped about when and where Beaumont had made the
transition, but it was a safe bet to say he’d been turned in New Orleans, which had a thriving vampire
population. Beaumont’s sire was a well-established elder who hadn’t left the city in over a century. In
all probability, Beaumont had come to him, instead of the other way around. And that was the extent
of my knowledge. His records were nigh nonexistent. I only had a photocopied sketch of the man
(from 1859), instead of an actual photo. Basically, I was walking into this blind, and I didn’t like it
one bit.
“Well?” Adam prompted.
I jumped. I’d been so lost in my frustrated musing that I’d forgotten his offer. My knee-jerk
response was a resounding ‘no’. I didn’t like losing control, which was why I rarely drank. And yet,
going in more paranoid than McCarthy was a bad idea. I’d probably insult Beaumont, just like I had
everyone else, and I couldn’t afford to do that. So, I gave Adam a stiff nod, bracing for whatever he
was about to do.
Adam brushed a single finger over the exposed line of my collarbone, brushing his magic over
my skin like the lightest of angel feathers, but even that fleeting point of contact was enough. It was
like settling into a hot spring, spending a quiet day curled by a fire with a good book, and floating on
my back under a starry sky all rolled into one. Anything that brought me peace and joy bubbled to the
surface of my mind, unspooling the stress of the journey here, leaving me feeling grounded and
incredibly relaxed. I couldn’t remember feeling this way in... well, years, really. The feeling was so
heady, I wanted to laugh.
Even with boots on, I still had to crane my neck to see Adam’s face. I felt myself grinning
stupidly up at him, and he whistled before grinning back. As soon as he pulled his hand away, some of
the glee went with it, which was just as well because I didn’t want to look like I was high when I met
Beaumont.
“Wow, you really needed that, didn’t you? I thought you were just uptight, not actively suffering.”
“I’m not suffering,” I said reflexively, though we both knew it was a lie. Now that the burden had
been lifted from my shoulders, I could see how much Mike’s obsession had taken its toll on me. I
hadn’t allowed myself to decompress for years.
“Sure,” he agreed easily. “Whatever you say, Miss Estuary.”
“Marina,” I corrected with a happy sigh. God, I was punch drunk, just from the lack of stress.
“You can call me Marina.”
Adam’s smile actually lit the room this time, a gentle, pulsing glow like an economy-sized firefly.
It was almost cute. Or maybe that was just the blessing talking.
Adam hooked a finger over his shoulder. “The boss is up those stairs, the first door on the right.
There are only three offices so far, so you can’t miss it. “
The reminder of exactly why I was here sobered me a bit but didn’t diminish the good the
blessing had done. I gave him a grateful nod but didn’t say anything more. I’d probably do something
very un-me-like and giggle or flirt. And that was so not happening.
I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the stare I felt on my back. Typha’s words kept a tight knot
from forming in my stomach. Adam gravitated toward me, not out of any real sense of attraction, but
because I was inherently out of balance, and his nature couldn’t abide suffering. If I learned to calm
the hell down, he’d find another woman who needed him more.
True to Adam’s word, I found the office with no problem. The door was propped open with a
brick, letting a stream of candlelight illuminate the landing. A soft, mellifluous voice floated out the
door as I took my first creaking step toward it. The voice was lightly accented, but I couldn’t
immediately place a country of origin.
“No need to hover out there, Miss Estuary. I assure you I don’t bite unless asked nicely.”
The voice sounded amused, as if he’d said something witty. All the male vampires I’d met
seemed to think that making references to their fangs was the height of comedy. Probably the species
equivalent to a dick joke. Men’s fascination with penetration seemed to transcend species.
I stopped at the threshold, taking in the office. Like everything else in Misty Hollow, it was
unassuming—still a work in progress, no doubt. A heavy, mahogany desk had been pushed against the
wall nearest the door, with a pair of antique, padded chairs arranged opposite it. An old-fashioned
candelabra had been arranged on one corner of the desk and threw wavering light on a surface thickly
papered with folders.
Beaumont swiveled to face me, lips peeling away from sharp teeth in what could only generously
be called a smile. The smile didn’t touch his eyes and didn’t infuse his face with warmth. Adam’s
good cheer had spoiled me. Any other man would look surly in comparison.
Beaumont’s dark hair swept up from his brow in a sharp widow’s peak, framing a face that was
stark in its beauty. It ticked all the usual boxes for conventional male attractiveness, though. Square
jaw, strong nose, sharp cheekbones, and smoldering brown eyes. Some women might have even found
the subtle fangs appealing too, but they immediately cooled my libido. He was too shark-like to
appeal to me.
He crossed his arms, his cotton work shirt straining tight over his broad chest. A corduroy sports
jacket hung off the back of his chair, mostly there for looks. Vampires weren’t as sensitive to
temperature change as the rest of us. Regardless, Beaumont took me in, assessing potential, rather than
admiring the view. I must have passed some kind of test though because a moment later, he nodded
toward one of the padded chairs.
“Sit, Miss Estuary. We have much to discuss before I give you the grand tour.”
I considered standing, just to be contrary, but ultimately sat, careful not to flash the goods in my
new dress. There was a reason I hated wearing these things. They were so damn uncomfortable. The
next time Typha decided to style me, I was going to request a pantsuit instead.
“You said this was a missing persons case,” I started, jumping to the pertinent bits before he
could launch into something superfluous. “How many people are we talking and how long have they
been gone?”
Beaumont leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly to himself. This time, his smile made him
downright handsome but there was still that predatory look in his eyes. “You don’t mince your words,
do you?”
“No,” I said shortly. “This entire thing is already wildly outside my comfort zone, and I want to
know if this case is even worth my time. For all I know, one of your contractors split before doing the
work you paid for, and you want me to track them down.”
“I can assure you such is not the case.” The smile widened as if he enjoyed playing games—I had
a feeling they were cat and mouse sort of games and he was only interested in playing the role of the
cat.
“And I can assure you that I don’t like walking into situations without context. So, tell me what
this is about now, or I’m out.”
Something ugly flickered far back in his eyes, though his affable persona didn’t crumble. A
layman would probably have missed the subtle shift, but I’d been doing this for years. Beaumont
wasn’t a man accustomed to disrespect. I felt his focus sharpen, the full weight of his scrutiny making
my skin itch. Though that could have just been my scales. They were still trying to push to the fore,
despite my recent dousing. They were like desert earth, so parched for moisture that they’d take what
I gave them and still plead for more.
I tried to discreetly rub them, but Beaumont caught the motion. He reached into one of his desk
drawers without a word and produced a water bottle, tossing it underhand to me.
“Don’t suffer on my account, Miss Estuary. I know your kind require more moisture than you’re
getting here. Phoenix must have been blistering this time of year.”
I bristled. How the hell had he known I was in Phoenix for my last case? I hadn’t mentioned that
on the phone, and all our conversations had been carried out on my burner phone. I took precautions
to be sure Mike (or any of the other enemies I’d made over the years) couldn’t track me down.
“Did you have someone following me?” I asked frostily.
He smiled faintly, fangs in full force. “Not exactly.” Then he grinned even more broadly and
steepled his fingers in front of him, clearly not going to offer anything more.
“Then?”
He nodded. “I called in a favor from your previous employer.”
“A favor?”
 He cocked his head to the side and studied me. “He owed me for services rendered several
decades ago. You could say that your work for him was a trial run for me.”
“Is that so?”
His eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “I needed to know if you were worth my time and
resources. I take this Hollow very seriously, and I don’t put up with slackers.”
“And what was your verdict?” I asked, biting the words off, wishing I could somehow chew them
up and spit them in his face. It was a good thing Adam had blessed me before I’d walked into this
room, or I might have been tempted to drag Beaumont to the river and dunk his head under the water
for a while. It wasn’t like it would kill him, after all.
“If you hadn’t performed well, do you think we’d be having this conversation now?” he asked,
my antagonism rolling off him. The man really didn’t seem to care he’d pissed me off—I didn’t
imagine he cared about much where others were concerned, just as long as his own needs got met.
I twisted the cap off the water bottle in one savage motion. It was amazing how instantaneously
the weasel had burrowed under my skin. It didn’t bode well for this working relationship.
Regardless, I dabbed water onto the patches of scales trying to push out of my skin, glaring at the
floor rather than my employer.
“I could walk away right now,” I said quietly.
“You could.”
I looked up at him then. “I came in good faith, and you’ve done nothing but try to intimidate me,
Mr. Beaumont. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have Adam fly me back to the city.”
He smiled tightly and reached behind him, seizing a stack of manila folders without glancing
back. He handed them to me a moment later, tapping the top one with a blunt-fingered hand.
“I can give you three reasons: their names are Estelle, Lavinia, and Magnolia.”
I looked down at the files, then back up at him. “I don’t suppose you expect me to read all this in
order to get a lay of the land?”
He shook his head. “I do expect you to read up on all of it at some point, but I’ll give you the gist:
Estelle and Lavinia are a pair of witch sisters I hired to work on the Hollow’s magical foundation.
Magnolia was one of Typha’s hangers-on, supposedly there to help with crop growth, but we all knew
the truth. Lady Hydrilla, who happens to be Typha’s sister, sent Magnolia to look after Typha. As if
the old broad needed protecting. I haven’t seen a faerie that powerful in ages.”
“Anyway...”
He nodded. “Anyway—Magnolia disappeared first, and the witch sisters followed soon after.
They haven’t been seen in three weeks.”
Three weeks? Scales and shipwrecks, that was a long time. The statistical likelihood of finding a
missing person alive after forty-eight hours nosedived and only got worse the longer they were gone.
At this point, we were probably looking for bodies, not living women. My missing person case had
morphed into a probable murder investigation. Son of a bitch.
“You should have contacted someone sooner!” I said, half-rising out of my chair in my anger.
“Why did you wait for me to finish the job in Phoenix?! The authorities could have turned up your
missing women by now!”
Again, hostility flashed across Beaumont’s handsome face, this time more visibly than before.
His teeth tapered down to sharper points, a defensive gesture among the undead.
“I assure you, Miss Estuary,” he said, emphasizing my name like it was the foulest of curses. “I
haven’t been idle. Men I trust have done all they can to track our missing workers. There are simply
some places we can’t go, like the water, for example. The bayou is a dangerous place for those of us
who are partial to air.”
“You aren’t partial to air because you don’t breathe.”
He steepled his fingers together again. “While I technically don’t have to breathe, I also don’t
fancy wading into the water alone when it’s full of unpalatable creatures. That’s where you come in.”
I noted that he hadn’t actually answered my question. The fact that he’d had people out there
looking for the women didn’t preclude the possibility of calling in more help. I figured it could only
mean one thing: he didn’t want outsiders shoving their noses into his business. One had to wonder
what the vampire was hiding that would be worth risking the lives of his people.
I arched a brow. “You want me to go into the swamp and look for... what? Bodies? If the women
ended up in the water, I doubt we’ll find hide nor hair of them again—given all the gators.”
“Weregators don’t eat humans,” Beaumont answered, waving away my protest. “And the colony
here keeps their smaller, beastly counterparts in line. If the women are dead, there will be bodies. My
fear is that they were taken, not killed.”
It took a moment for that statement to really sink in, and when it did, I suddenly had a harder time
swallowing. I took a swig of the water bottle, trying to appease my suddenly dry mouth. Weregators?
By the tides, I’d expected danger in a frontier Hollow but this was just ridiculous.
 Chapter Six

“You can’t seriously expect me to go swimming in weregator-infested waters,” I said, glaring at

Beaumont.
I’d meant for the protest to sound irate. It came out in more of a choked whisper.
“That’s exactly what I expect you to do,” he responded. “The weregators don’t like us much, so it
makes sense that they’d do what they can to stymie construction here.”
“What do three missing women have to do with stopping construction?”
He shrugged. “Estelle and Lavinia were my main enchanters. Their absence has set us back
considerably. Adam will give you a rough sketch of the land around Misty Hollow, and I’ll want you
to swim the length of the bayou.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And what’s in it for me?”
Beaumont crossed his long legs, pursing his lips in an effort to look disapproving. The act was
complete and utter tripe. For the first time since we’d met, there was a hint of good humor in the
intense brown of his eyes.
“Your usual fee, of course, plus any reimbursement for injury or equipment lost.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, gathering up the parasol. “Not good enough. Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll
track down the number for the local monster advocacy groups after Adam flies me back to
civilization.”
I stood, but Beaumont’s leg shot into my path before I could take my first step toward the door.
“Now don’t be so hasty,” he drawled. His accent was thicker now, brought on by either stress or
amusement. It sounded Eastern European. Bulgarian or Romanian maybe. “I’m also willing to offer
you a permanent place in Misty Hollow when you’re finished with this case, rent-free. I think you’d
like living here when all the unpleasantness has been settled.”
“Oh, you think so?” I asked, a bit waspishly. “Because I think having to deal with you day in and
day out would be a literal and figurative pain in the neck.”
“Better me than Mr. Schneider, I’d hope.”
“How did you know about Mike?” I asked, glaring at him.
“How do I know about anything?” he answered on a shrug. “I make it my business to find out.”
Then he narrowed his eyes at me. “And as to your Mr. Schneider, he’s been quite the thorn in your
side over the years, has he not? Siren-induced madness is a hell of a thing.”
I’d been weighing the merits of jumping over his outstretched leg, wondering if he’d be able to
sweep my legs before I could clear his reach. But when that name rolled so casually from his lips, I
froze, my mind going curiously blank.
I turned to regard him coldly. He just stared back, an utterly punchable smirk on his generous lips.
He continued in that same tone when I didn’t respond.
“Now don’t worry, I haven’t gone around spreading the truth just yet. As far as anyone knows,
you’re just a mermaid PR consultant, here to take pretty pictures and spin little lies for me. None of
them have to know you’re really one of the most powerfully cursed mercreatures in existence.”
Ice slid like a thin, sharp blade between my ribs and twisted. Oh, God, he knew. I wasn’t sure
how he’d gotten hold of the information, but he knew who I was and, more importantly, what I was.
And if this got out, it would ruin me. Beaumont was only masquerading as a paying customer, because
at the end of the day, this was blackmail. And I’d walked right into his trap. Damn it!
“Who told you?” I whispered.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 white onion, 125
Oxford brawn, 137
common oyster, 114
good oyster, 114
piquante, 118
common pudding, 402
delicious German pudding, 403
pine-apple pudding, 405
pine-apple syrup, 405
punch, for sweet puddings, 402
sweet pudding, 404
raspberry, 404
remoulade, 137
Robert, 118
shrimp, 115
common sorrel, 120
Soubise, 126
Soubise (French receipt), 126
Spanish, 100
sweet, for venison, 100
Tartar, 143
common tomata, 123
a finer tomata, 124
tournée, or thickened pale gravy, 105
excellent turnip, 127
very common white, 111
English white, 111
wine sauces, 402
French white, or béchamel, 107
vegetable marrow, fine, 127
velouté (obs.), 107
Sauces, to thicken, 105
green, for colouring, 129
Saucisses aux truffes, or truffled sausages 263
Saunders, 270
Sausage-meat, cake of, 261
in chicken-pie, 353
Kentish, 261
to make, 261, 262
pounded, very good, 262
boned turkey, filled with, 268
Sausages, boiled, 262
and chestnuts (an excellent dish), 262
common, 261
excellent, 262
truffled, 263
Sauté pan, for frying, 176
Savoury toasts, 390
Scientific roasting, 171
Scotch marmalade, 528
Scottish shortbread, excellent, 557
Sea-kale to boil, 316
stewed in gravy (entremets), 316
Sea-pheasant, or pintail, to roast, 294
Sefton, a, or veal custard, 362
Shad, Touraine fashion, 79
Shrimp sauce, 115
Shrimps, to boil, 93
boudinettes of, 92
potted, 306
to shell quickly and easily, 93
Sippets à la Reine, 5
fried, 4
Sirloin of beef, to roast, 184
Smelts to bake, 78
to fry, 77
Snipes to roast, 293
Snow-balls, orange, 420
apple, 421
Soles, baked, or au plat, 66
baked, a simple receipt, 66
to boil, 64
to choose, 48
fillets of, 65
to fry, 64
stewed in cream, 67
Solimemne, a, or rich French breakfast cake, 549
Soufflé, Louise Franks’ citron, 378
cheese, 379
Soufflé-pan, 377
Soufflés, remarks on, 377
Sounds, cods’, to boil, 63
to fry in batter, 63
Soup, apple, 21
artichoke, or Palestine, 19
good calf’s head, not expensive, 27
Buchanan carrot, 46
common carrot, 20
a finer carrot, 20
carrot, maigre, 45
chestnut, 19
cocoa-nut, 19
cucumber, 38
fish, cheap, 46
des Galles, 28
clear pale gravy, or consommé, 10
another gravy, 10
cheap clear gravy, 11
superlative hare, 32
a less expensive hare, 32
in haste, 43
à la Julienne, 38
Mademoiselle Jenny Lind’s (authentic receipt), 16
the Lord Mayor’s, 17
the Lord Mayor’s (author’s receipt for), 18
maccaroni, 13
milk, with vermicelli, 44
mock turtle, 25
old-fashioned mock turtle, 26
mullagatawny, 35
vegetable mullagatawny, 37
mutton stock for soups, 16
ox-tail, 42
white oyster, or oyster-soup à la Reine, 30
parsnep, 22
another parsnep, 22
partridge, 35
common peas, 41
peas, without meat, 42
rich peas, 41
cheap green peas, 40
an excellent green peas, 39
green peas, without meat, 39
pheasant, 33
another pheasant, 34
potage aux nouilles, or taillerine soup, 14
potage à la Reine, 29
potato, 21
rabbit, à la Reine, 31
brown rabbit, 31
rice, 14
cheap rice, 44
rice flour, 15
white rice, 15
sago, 14
sausage (Swedish receipt), 577
semola and soujee, 13
 semoulina, 12
semoulina (or soup à la Semoule), 12
a cheap and good stew, 43
spring, 38
taillerine, 14
tapioca, 14
economical turkey, 33
common turnip, 21
a quickly made turnip, 21
turtle, mock, 23
mock turtle, old-fashioned, 26
vermicelli (or potage au vermicelle), 12
stock for white, 15
Westerfield white, 22
a richer white, 23
Soups, directions to the cook for, 2
to fry bread to serve with, 5
ingredients used for making, 1
nouilles to serve in, 5
mutton stock for, 16
to thicken, 4
time required for boiling down, 4
vegetable vermicelli for, 5
Spanish sauce, or Espagnole, 100
sauce, with wine, 100
Spiced beef, 199
Spinach, à l’Anglaise, or English fashion, 317
common English modes of dressing, 317
French receipt for, 316
green, for colouring sweet dishes, &c., 455
dandelions dressed like, 318
Sprouts, &c., to boil, 332
Steaming, general directions for, 172
Stewed beef-steak, 189
 beef-steak, in its own gravy, 189
beet-root, 340
cabbage, 333
calf’s feet, 228
calf’s liver, 228
carp, 82
celery, 341
cod-fish, 62
cucumber, 323
eels, 84
figs, 492
fillet of mutton, 238
fruits (various), 456-459
hare, 286
lamb cutlets, 246
leg of lamb with white sauce, 243
loin of lamb in butter, 246
lettuces, 319
mackerel, in wine, 72
fillets of mackerel in wine (excellent), 72
mutton cutlets in their own gravy, 240
onions, 342
ox-tails, 195
ox, or beef tongue (Bordyke receipt), 203
oysters, 86
sea-kale in gravy, 316
soles in cream, 67
tomatas, 327
trout, 80
turnips in butter, 334
turnips in gravy, 335
knuckle of veal, with rice or green peas, 221
shoulder of veal, 219
shoulder of venison, 283
Stew, a good English, 191
a good family, 242
a German, 190
 an Irish, 242
baked Irish, 243
Spring stew of veal, 224
a Welsh, 191
Stew, to, shin of beef, 192
a rump of beef, 194
Stewing, general directions for, 173
Stewpan, copper, 181
Stock, clear pale, 11
for white soup, 13
mutton, for soups, 14
shin of beef for gravies, 97
pot, 169
Store sauces, 145-155
Strawberries, to preserve, for flavouring creams, &c., 506
Strawberry vinegar, 577
jam, 504
jelly, 505
isinglass jelly, 468
tartlets, 375
vinegar, of delicious flavour, 577
Stufato (a Neapolitan receipt), 615
Stuffing for geese and ducks, No. 9, 160
Cook’s stuffing for geese and ducks, 161
Suédoise, or apple hedgehog, 480
Suédoise of peaches, 488
Suet crust, for pies, superior, 348
common, 348
Sugar glazings, and icings, for fine pastry and cakes, 543
barley, 564
grains, to colour, for cakes, &c., 542
 to boil, from candy to caramel, 563
to clarify, 562
Swan’s egg, to boil, 448
forced, 447
en salade, 448
Sweetbreads, to dress, 227
à la Maître d’Hôtel, 227
cutlets, 227
small entrées of, 232
roasted, 215
Sweet, patties à la minute, 387
Syllabub, a birthday, 581
Syllabubs, superior whipped, 476
Syrup, fine currant, or sirop de groseilles, 579
Tamarinds, acid, in curries, 296
Tapioca soup, 14
Tarragon vinegar, 151
Tart, a good apple, 363
young green apple, 364
barberry, 364
German, 362
the monitor’s, 370
Tartlets, of almond paste, 367
creamed, 375
jelly, or custards, 375
to make, 361
lemon, 372
strawberry, 375
Tarts, to ice, 345
Tench, to fry, 83
Thickening for sauces, French, 106
Tipsy cake, 474
Toasting, directions for, 183
Toffee, Everton, 567
another way, 567
Tomata catsup, 151
sauces, 123, 124
Tomatas, forced, 327
forced (French receipt), 328
purée of, 328
roast, 327
en salade, 327
stewed, 327
Tongue, to boil, 203
to stew, 203
Tongues, to pickle, 197
Tourte, à la châtelaine, 364
the lady’s, 364
meringuée, or with royal icing, 363
Trifle, brandy, or tipsy cake, 474
an excellent, 473
Swiss, very good, 473
Trout, to stew (a good common receipt), 80
in wine, 80
Truffled butter, 139
sausages, 263
Truffles and their uses, 331
à l’Italienne, 332
à la serviette, 232
to prepare for use, 332
Turbot, to boil, 56
au béchamel, 57
cold, with shrimp chatney, 144
 à la crême, 57
Turkey, to boil, 267
boned and forced, 268
to bone, 265
à la Flamande, 270
to roast, 267
poult, to roast, 270
Turkeys’ eggs, to dress, 447
forced (excellent entremets) 447
poached, 449
sauce of, 110
Turnip-radishes, to boil, 318
soup, economical, 33
Turnips, to boil, 333
to mash, 333
stewed in butter, 334
in gravy, 335
in white sauce 334
Vanilla in cream, pudding, &c., 410
Veal, blanquette of, with mushrooms, 229
boiled breast of, 218
roast breast of, 219
breast of, simply stewed, 618 (see note)
breast of, stewed and glazed, 618
cake, Bordyke, 222
cake, small pain de veau, or veal, 222
to choose, 209
Scotch collops of, 226
custard, or Sefton, 362
cutlets, 225
cutlets, or collops, à la Française, 226
cutlets, à l’Indienne, or Indian fashion, 225
cutlets, à la mode de Londres, or London fashion, 226
divisions of, 209
 boiled fillet of, 217
roast fillet of, 216
fillet of, au bechamel, with oysters, 216
fricandeau of, 223
fricasseed, 231
goose (City of London receipt), 220
Norman harrico of, 224
boiled knuckle of, 221
knuckle of, en ragout, 221
knuckle of, with rice or green peas, 221
boiled loin of, 218
roast loin of, 217
stewed loin of, 218
minced, 230
minced, with oysters (or mushrooms), 231
neck of, à la crême, 220
neck of, roast, 220
to bone a shoulder of, 219
stewed shoulder of, 219
spring stew of, 224
Sydney, 231
Vegetable marrow, to boil, fry, mash, 327
vermicelli, 6
Vegetables, to boil green, 309
to clear insects from, 309
remarks on, 308
Venetian cake (super excellent), 547
fritters (very good), 383
Venison, to choose, 281
collops and cutlets, 284
to hash, 284
to roast a haunch of, 282
in pie, 352
sauces for, 295
to stew a loin of mutton like, 239
 to stew a shoulder of, 283
Vermicelli pudding, 439
soup, 12
Viennese pudding, or Salzburger Nockerl, 620
Vinegar, cayenne, 153
celery, 152
cucumber, 152
eschalot, or garlic, 152
horseradish, 153
green mint, 152
raspberry (very fine), 578
strawberry (delicious), 577
tarragon, 151
Vol-au-vent, a, 357
à la crème, 358
of fruit, 358
Vols-au-vents, à la Parisienne, 374
small, to make, 361
Walnut catsup, 149-150
Walnuts, to pickle, 536
salad of, 141
Water Souchy (Greenwich receipt), 78
White bait (Greenwich receipt), 78
Whitings baked, À la Française, 68
baked (Cinderella’s receipt), 70
to boil, 68
to fry, 67
fillets of, 68
Wild ducks, to roast, and their season, 294
salmi, or hash of, 294
Wild fowl, its season, 294
Wine, elderberry (good), 584
eschalot, 153
ginger, 584
to mull (an excellent French receipt), 581
orange, 585
raisin, which resembles foreign, 583
Wine-vase, antique, 577
Wire lining for frying-pan, 177
Woodcocks, or snipes, to roast, 293
Woodruff, in Mai Trank, 620
Yorkshire ploughman’s salad, 315
pudding, common, 441
pudding, good, 440
Regent potatoes, their excellence, 311
[TN: Footnote text is not allowed within the range of the Index.

Footnote 194 is referenced from the entry for “fillets of whitings”.

Footnote 195 is referenced from the entry for “Queen Mab’s summer
pudding”.

Clicking on the footnote numbers below will take you to the index
entries that reference these footnotes.]
194. Though not included in this list, all sweet puddings are served as entremets,
except they replace the roasts of the second course.

195. Fish is not usually served as an entrée in a common English dinner; it is,
however, very admissible, either in fillets, or scallops, in a currie, or in a vol-
au-vent. Various circumstances must determine much of the general
arrangement of a dinner, the same dishes answering at times for different
parts of the service. For example, a fowl may be served as the roast for a
small company, and for a large one as an entrée. For a plain family dinner,
too, many dishes may be served in a different order to that which is set
down.

Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.

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May’s Constitutional History of England 1760-1870 3 vols crown
May s Constitutional History of England, 1760-1870. 3 vols. crown
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—— Democracy in Europe. 2 vols. 8vo. 32s.
Merivale’s Fall of the Roman Republic. 12mo. 7s. 6d.
—— General History of Rome, B.C. 753-A.D. 476. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
—— History of the Romans under the Empire. 8 vols. post 8vo. 48s.
Rawlinson’s Seventh Great Oriental Monarchy—The Sassanians.
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Seebohm’s Oxford Reformers—Colet, Erasmus, & More. 8vo. 14s.
Short’s History of the Church of England. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Smith’s Carthage and the Carthaginians. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
Taylor’s Manual of the History of India. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Trevelyan’s Early History of Charles James Fox. Crown 8vo. 6s.
Walpole’s History of England, 1815-1841. 3 vols. 8vo. £2. 14s.
Wylie’s History of England under Henry IV. Vol. I. crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.

BIOGRAPHICAL WORKS.

Bagehot’s Biographical Studies. 1 vol. 8vo. 12s.

Bain’s Biography of James Mill. Crown 8vo. Portrait, 5s.
—— Criticism and Recollections of J. S. Mill. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.
Bray’s (Charles) Autobiography. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
Carlyle’s Reminiscences, edited by J. A. Froude. 2 vols. Crown 8vo.
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—— (Mrs.) Letters and Memorials. 3 vols. 8vo. 36s.
Cates’s Dictionary of General Biography. Medium 8vo. 28s.
Froude’s Life of Thomas Carlyle. Vols. 1 & 2, 1795-1835. 8vo. 32s.
—— —— —— Vols. 3 & 4, 1834-1881. 8vo. 32s.
Gleig’s Life of the Duke of Wellington. Crown 8vo. 6s.
Grimston’s (Hon. R.) Life, by F. Gale. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
Halliwell-Phillipps’s Outlines of Shakespeare’s Life. 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Lecky’s Leaders of Public Opinion in Ireland. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Life (The) and Letters of Lord Macaulay. By his Nephew, G. Otto
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Library Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. 36s.
Marshman’s Memoirs of Havelock Crown 8vo 3s 6d
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Mendelssohn’s Letters. Translated by Lady Wallace. 2 vols. cr. 8vo.
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Mill’s (John Stuart) Autobiography. 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Mozley’s Reminiscences of Oriel College. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 18s.
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Müller’s (Max) Biographical Essays. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Newman’s Apologia pro Vitâ Suâ. Crown 8vo. 6s.
Pasolini’s (Count) Memoir, by his Son. 8vo. 16s.
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Skobeleff and the Slavonic Cause. By O. K. 8vo. Portrait, 14s.
Southey’s Correspondence with Caroline Bowles. 8vo. 14s.
Spedding’s Letters and Life of Francis Bacon. 7 vols. 8vo. £4. 4s.
Stephen’s Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Taylor’s (Sir Henry) Autobiography. 2 vols. 8vo. 32s.
Telfer’s The Strange Career of the Chevalier D’Eon de Beaumont.
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MENTAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.

Amos’s View of the Science of Jurisprudence. 8vo. 18s.

—— Fifty Years of the English Constitution, 1830-1880. Crown 8vo.
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—— Primer of the English Constitution. Crown 8vo. 6s.
Bacon’s Essays, with Annotations by Whately. 8vo. 10s. 6d.
—— Works, edited by Spedding. 7 vols. 8vo. 73s. 6d.
Bagehot’s Economic Studies, edited by Hutton. 8vo. 10s. 6d.
Bain’s Logic, Deductive and Inductive. Crown 8vo. 10s. 6d.
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Part II. Induction, 6s.
Bolland & Lang’s Aristotle’s Politics. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.
Grant’s Ethics of Aristotle; Greek Text, English Notes. 2 vols. 8vo.
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Leslie’s Essays in Political and Moral Philosophy. 8vo. 10s. 6d.
Lewes’s History of Philosophy. 2 vols. 8vo. 32s.
Lewis on Authority in Matters of Opinion. 8vo. 14s.
Macaulay’s Speeches corrected by Himself. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
Macleod’s Economical Philosophy Vol I 8vo 15s Vol II Part I