Ybien, she thought. Wouldn’t Lisette have a time painting that aura. One would have to be blind not to see it, to feel its pulse in the air, though curiously, the driver appeared oblivious. Perhaps he was merely used to it.
Bettina walked toward them when they disembarked.
“Hello,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, I love your accent,” the woman told her. “Is it Spanish?”
Bettina smiled. “Close enough. My name’s Bettina,” she added, holding out her hand.
“I’m Ellie Jones,” the woman said.
Her handshake was firm, la brujería rising up from her fingers like a static charge, and yet, Bettina realized, the woman was as unaware of what she carried as her companion appeared to be. Qué extraño.
“And this is my friend Donal Greer.”
Bettina dutifully shook hands with the driver. He smiled at her as though they were sharing a private joke, but the humor never reached his eyes. Bettina didn’t get the joke, and wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing what he meant by it, so she returned her attention to his companion.
“Can I help you find someone?” she asked.
Ellie hesitated, suddenly shy.
“Ah, go on,” her companion said.
“It’s just…” Ellie paused to clear her throat. “Is there someone named Musgrave Wood staying here at the moment?”
“The name is unfamiliar….”
“Tall,” Ellie went on. “Sixtyish and very striking—distinguished even. The last time I saw, um… him, he was wearing a dark, somewhat threadbare overcoat and a hunter’s cap.”
Bettina noted the hesitation before Ellie referred to a gender. There was only one person she could think who fit both that ambiguity and description.
“Perhaps you mean the Recluse,” she said, regretting the words as soon as they were out. If this couple were friends of the odd woman staying in Hanson’s old cottage, they might not take kindly to having her referred to in such a fashion.
Ellie and her companion exchanged glances.
“The… recluse?” Ellie repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Bettina told her. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Just because sometimes people keep to themselves, it doesn’t mean… well, anything, ¿de acuerdo?”
But Ellie didn’t appear to be at all upset by Bettina’s slip of the tongue.
“The person we’re looking for,” she said, “could easily fit that sort of description.”
“Ybien, “Bettina said. “Let me take you around back to the cottage where your friend is staying.”
She led the way along the side of the house to the rear, their footsteps crunching in the snow as they crossed the lawn. The sun was bright on the snow, awaking a pattern of blinding highlights on the open ground while deepening the subsequent shadows under the trees where the old Hanson cottage stood. As they neared the cottage, a pair of crows rose from the woods behind it, leaving in their wake an image of black wings touched with iridescent blue and the dwindling sound of their cawing.
“I’ve never been up here before,” Ellie said. “It’s so beautiful.”
Bettina nodded. She liked this woman who spoke what came to mind and carried her own brujería sun inside her.
“I know,” she said. “I feel so blessed to live here.”
“Ah, yes,” Donal said, tramping along at her side. His breath was forming frost in his beard. “What could be better than living the life of the rich and famous?”
“I’m neither rich nor famous,” Bettina told him.
“No, but your benefactor is, or this place wouldn’t exist, would it?”
“I suppose….”
“Don’t mind him,” Ellie said. “He thinks being grumpy is charming and there’s no point in trying to convince him otherwise, though Lord knows I’ve tried.”
Bettina wasn’t so sure it was as simple as that, but it was hardly her business. Shrugging, she led the way under the trees. The temperature immediately dropped when they stepped out of the sun and it took their eyes a few moments to adjust to the change in the light. This close to the cottage, Bettina could feel the presence of the Recluse’s brujería, as potent and strange as it had been yesterday, but stronger now. She glanced at her companions. They gave no more indication of noticing it than they did the magic coursing through Ellie’s own blood.
At the door of the cottage, Bettina rapped with a mitten-covered knuckle on the wooden panel. There was no immediate response so, after a moment, she rapped on it again, a little harder this time to make up for the muffling of the wool. She stepped back when she heard movement on the other side of the door. It was well she did. The door was flung open, banging on the log wall beside it, and then the Recluse was standing there, filling the doorway with her height. She regarded them each for a long moment, before her gaze settled on Ellie.
“So,” she said. “You’ve finally come.”
Bettina could readily appreciate the return of Ellie’s shyness in the face of the Recluse’s brusque manner.
“Um,” Ellie began. “Did you leave…” She pulled off a mitten and dug into the pocket of her parka, producing a creased business card. “Did you leave this in the van for me?”
“Yes, yes,” the Recluse told her, obviously impatient.
“So your name is Musgrave Wood?”
“It’s as good as any.”
Ellie cleared her throat. “Why did you—”
“Come inside,” the woman said, stepping aside. “You’re letting all the cold in.”
Ellie went first. Before Donal could follow, the Recluse moved forward to block the door again. She reached for its inner handle and gave them each another considering look, her gaze lingering longer on Bettina.
“Go amuse yourselves,” she finally said and pulled the door shut in their faces.
Bettina blinked in surprise, then turned to look at Donal.
“Jaysus,” he said. “Your man’s not exactly polite, is he?”
“She,” Bettina told him.
“She?”
“She’s a woman, not a man.”
Donal gave a slow nod. “That’s right. Ellie said something about that. But still. Bloody hell. It’s cold out here.”
Bettina had been looking at the cottage again. Now she returned her attention to him, noting the darkness in his eyes. She doubted it had all that much to do with the Recluse’s rudeness.
Why are you so angry anyway? she wanted to ask, but instead she said, “Would you like to come back to the house for something to drink? Some cocoa or coffee?”
“You wouldn’t have any Guinness, would you?”
She shook her head. “There might be a Corona.”
He pulled a face. “Coffee’lldo.”
¡Por supuesto! Now she was stuck with him for who knew how long? May Santa Irene give her patience. Too long in Donal’s company and she’d be pouring the coffee over his head. Whatever did his friend see in him?
“So speaking of yourself,” Donal said as they walked back toward the house. “Would you be an artist or a writer?”
“Neither. I just model for some of the artists.”
“Ah.”
She gave him a sharp look.
“Gentle, now,” he said. “I only meant that you’d be a delight to paint. There’s so much character in your features.”
¡Y qué! Bettina suppressed a sigh.