Magic Outside the Box (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 3) by Honor Raconteur

Author:Honor Raconteur [Raconteur, Honor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Raconteur House LLC
Published: 2019-08-27T22:00:00+00:00

Dinner was quite delightful, all told. I egged Jamie into telling the story of one of her more interesting cases she’d worked on Earth. It led to all of us relating a strange case we’d been on, and the conversation flowed freely. Clint, for some reason, took up residence in my lap during the course of dessert and stayed there, draped over my legs like a woman’s castoff fur stole.

We all went our own ways after dinner, finding some peace for ourselves and unwinding. I took a brief stroll outside, enjoying the coolness of the evening, before eventually retreating to my own room. I found myself still too alert to think of retiring. A second wind, of sorts. It was a clear sign I’d been awake too long and my body’s rhythm was thrown off. That, or the nap I’d had earlier was playing havoc with me. At any rate, instead of sleeping, I picked up one of the few journals I’d brought with me. It was quite interesting so far. Ellie Warner’s medical breakthrough regarding distilled alcohol for cleaning was in there, and even though I knew how it worked, I still found the article riveting. Ms. Warner had a talent for keeping a reader’s interest.

I settled into a chair near the open window, enjoying the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below, reading by lamplight.

Some time had passed when a knock sounded at my door. “Henri?”

“Come in,” I invited, already putting the journal aside. My eyes automatically found the small clock on my bedside table and I noted the hour with some surprise. It was well past anyone’s bedtime. Why was Jamie here?

She entered with her usual confidence. For some reason, she thought little of entering a man’s bedchamber. I found I could not reciprocate the attitude. It still made me nervous to be in hers, despite the necessity of the action on several occasions. Her coat was missing, as was her vest, but she still retained the tie she’d worn earlier. It hung crookedly and from one hand, as she gingerly held it close to her chin.

“This stupid thing has gotten caught in my hair,” she explained with a wince. “Can you untangle me?”

“Of course,” I assured her, hastily standing and gesturing her into the chair. “Is it badly tangled?”

“Badly enough I can’t seem to pull it free. I think a strand escaped my braid somehow and it’s been slowly tangling in with the clasp all day. When I went to take the tie off, it yanked hard.” She settled, one leg tucked under another, her back to me.

I’d assisted either my mother or my sister with similar problems in the past. I tilted my head to get a good look at the situation, hands gently tilting her braid upwards. “Ah. Yes, you’re quite correct, a strand has gotten quite firmly tangled around the clasp.”

“You can cut it free if you need to.”

“Let’s not be so hasty. I believe I can detangle you.” The first rule of tangles was to start at the bottom and work your way up.

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