Sorceress Rising (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 2) by Lisa Blackwood Page B

unasked
question. “If you look with more than your physical eyes, you will recognize
them.”
    Lillian
scrutinized the man. “Greenborrow?”
    He gave her a
courtly bow. “In the flesh, great lady.”
    Gregory skirted
the table and took one of the seats beside the leshii. While Lillian made her
way around to sit in the other chair, she cast subtle glances at the other
three people already seated.
    Gran wasn’t
presently in the kitchen, so she couldn’t look for hints there. And while by
Gregory’s easy manner, it was clear he knew everyone in the room, Lillian was
still annoyed enough with him she wasn’t about to ask him for information.
    Two of the
occupants were women in their forties. A third was a tattooed and pierced young
man with spikey black hair and a black leather jacket and worn blue jeans. He
looked to be in his early twenties—not much older than Lillian herself, if she
was to go by her eyes alone.
    She focused on
the man first, not because she was ogling his tattoos and piercings—though they
were something to behold—but because she expected the sidhe lord, Whitethorn,
to be at this meeting. She couldn’t imagine him not being there. Unless he was
running late. She narrowed her eyes again trying to see something of the sidhe
in the young man sitting at the table.
    His smile was
neither overly friendly nor outwardly cold, which was very much the sidhe
lord’s personality. Ah, she was right. “Whitethorn?”
    A regal nod
greeted her question.
    “Hmm, isn’t the
whole idea of the glamour to blend in?”
    “Yes,”
Greenborrow laughed, cutting in before the sidhe lord could reply. “But we make
do with what humans we can take unsuspecting. Whitethorn lost the bet and won
the ‘honor’ of taking on the little drug-lord’s seeming.”
    Lillian arched a
brow in question.
    “In the past,
we’ve found the easiest identity to use is one already created.” Greenborrow
shrugged. “It has the added benefit of sending the authorities off on a wild
goose chase.”
    Knowing some of
the Fae as she did, a nasty thought occurred to Lillian. “Just curious, but
what happens to the humans you impersonate?”
    “We put them in
a safe place where they sleep for a day or two, depending on how long we need
to move around in the human world.” Greenborrow gave a little shrug. “And, no,
we don’t kill them. Once they are no longer needed, we give them false memories
and then allow them to wake.”
    “Glad to hear
it.”
    “Dead bodies
cause too many questions.” Greenborrow sounded mildly disappointed.
    Whitethorn
turned what might have been a laugh of true amusement into a cough.
    Her eyes rolled
back toward Whitethorn. At least she now knew who the tattooed personage was.
    One down, two to
go.
    Looking over at
the women, she debated for a moment. One was friendly, her cheerful grin
contagious. Likely one of the sprites. But which one. Mother or daughter? If
Whitethorn wasn’t averse to taking a form that looked much, much younger than
his years, Lillian wouldn’t put it past the mother and daughter duo to play
around with their ages either.
    “Goswin?”
Lillian took a stab, figuring she had a fifty-fifty chance.
    The sprite
nodded.
    As for the other
woman, she gave nothing away in her expression. Lillian frowned, a touch
unhappy at failing what felt like a test.
    “The banshee,”
Gregory supplied, his attention still half on adjusting his clothing. He tugged
at the neck of his T-shirt with a little too much force and Lillian heard the
telltale popping of a seam giving way.
    A huge grin lit
up Gregory’s face and he fisted the front of his T-shirt.
    “Don’t you dare
do an imitation of a drunken redneck at a tailgate party! T-shirts don’t grow
on trees, and you already destroyed one outfit last night, which I think is
plenty for now. Don’t you?”
    Gregory froze,
his brows furrowing in confusion.
    Gran walked into
the kitchen, saving Lillian from having to explain ‘redneck’ and ‘tail