Lark Rising: The Netherweird Chronicles, Book Three - paranormal urban fantasy, where history and mythology collide by Violet Fenn

Author:Violet Fenn [Fenn, Violet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harker House Publishing
Published: 2023-08-20T16:00:00+00:00

There Is Not Enough Sage In The World For This Shit

After a quick visit upstairs to say hello to Grimm and pass judgment on my tastes in home decor, Mum finally decided she’d had enough of making my life difficult and should probably head off home. “I’ll walk you to your car,” I said. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t decide to run off with your poetic boyfriend.”

“You’re not serious?” Mum stopped in the kitchen doorway and turned to look at me as I picked up my bag. “You think…ohhhh Lilith…” She started laughing, her hand up to her face. “I haven’t got the hots for Nikolaus, if that’s what you’re implying,” she said, when she’d finished snorting. “He’s a friend, Lil. I’m allowed friends, right?”

“Of course you are,” I said, feeling sheepish. “And I didn’t really think you have a thing for Nik. Not really. Well,” I paused, “maybe a tiny bit.”

“I love your dad, Lil. Always have, always will. I wouldn’t leave him for anyone, not even the most famous poet in the world. The honest answer is that I’m thinking of doing a PhD, and Nik has kindly offered to help me write the proposal.” I was less surprised at the news my mother was going to attempt a doctorate than others might have been. Having left school with a decent amount of O-levels, Mum had worked part time throughout our childhoods. Usually bar or shop jobs that could be fitted around school hours. Then, maybe a year or so after Cally died, she signed up to do a degree with the Open University. I’d assumed at the time it was just to give herself a distraction and she’d get bored fairly quickly, but she was a committed, grade-A student from the start. Turns out my mum loves learning, just for the sake of it. Her bachelor degree was the ‘open’ type—a hotchpotch of subjects that she chose purely based on what she fancied learning each year. Me and Dad had gone to her graduation and cheered as she waved proudly at us from the stage. When I’d left home for university, she’d taken a part-time Masters, but this time it was more focussed. She graduated with an M.A. in literature from Chester only a year after I got my own history degree. And that was more than a decade ago now, so the news was probably overdue.

There was just one thing bothering me. “Are you telling me,” I narrowed my eyes at her, “you’re writing a proposal for a literary PhD with the help of one of the most famous authors in history?”

“I can’t help it if I have interesting friends,” she said, scrunching her face up at me, “now can I?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheating,” I said, shooing her out onto the fire escape. “Insider knowledge and all that.”

“Primary sources are invaluable for research,” Mum said primly. “You should know that well enough.”

“When I did my degree,” I said, walking down the steps behind

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