Now both women were looking at Conall, and he was beginning to understand Gizelle’s regular impulse to simply shift and run away.
They abruptly looked past him, and Conall turned to find a gazelle skittering into the courtyard. Before he could find some way to warn her—of what he wasn’t even sure—she had shifted seamlessly into her human form. “Oh, Conall!” she said in excitement, coming to tug on his arm. “Travis and Wrench are putting the Christmas tree up at the event hall! Bastian is going to put a star on top! You have to come see!”
“Gizelle,” he said cautiously, not budging. “This is my mother.”
She stopped pulling on him and stared at Aideen. “A mother?” she said in wonder. “You have a mother?”
Aideen stared back at her.
“Mother,” Conall said patiently. “This is Gizelle.”
“You’re not wearing any clothing,” his mother said severely.
Gizelle met her disapproving gaze with a lifted chin. “That is the least of my oddities,” she promised.
“I see,” Aideen said dryly. “It’s nice to meet you,” she added, and she extended a polite hand to Gizelle, who promptly darted behind Conall.
“I don’t do that,” she said from behind him.
Conall could feel the tremor in her slight body, pressed up behind him. “You don’t have to do that,” he said protectively.
That earned him a narrow look from his mother. “You heard her,” she said in surprise.
Gizelle peered around him and said proudly. “He can use my ears, if we’re touching.”
Aideen’s mouth went thoughtfully thin. “How curious,” she said, as neutral as Scarlet’s face. “That certainly explains some things.” To Conall, she added, “I brought the item you asked your assistant to mail. I certainly wasn’t going to trust it to a service.”
She gestured to an instrument case, and something in Conall’s chest did a flip-flop. Gizelle trailed behind him cautiously as he went to inspect it, frowning over a scuff on the bag.
He felt as if he was trembling like Gizelle as he knelt to unzip it, though his hands were steady.
Gizelle peeked over his shoulder as he pulled the guitar out, fingers reverent over the glossy neck and inlaid mother-of-pearl.
“What a pretty guitar,” Gizelle breathed near his ear. “Will you play it for me?”
A strum across the strings made a terrible noise; even if he hadn’t loosened the tension for long-term storage, it had been unused for ten years and wouldn’t have been in tune anyway.
Gizelle winced. “I like Tex’s better,” she said dismissively.
“That’s a Zemaitis,” his mother said, appalled. “That particularly instrument is insured for a hundred thousand dollars.”
Conall didn’t have to see Gizelle’s blank gaze to know what she looked like. She wouldn’t know what a Zemaitis was, or probably what insurance was. She might not even know what dollars were; the resort was all-inclusive, and no one here used money.
Scarlet cleared her throat. “If Mrs. Wright is staying, I will need her signature on the policies agreement.”
“Fine,” Conall said shortly, still caressing his beloved instrument. He started tuning it, then Gizelle withdrew her hand from his arm and the sound cut off like he’d lost a limb.
Later, he promised the guitar, zipping it back into the case as his mother, triumphant, signed the papers that Scarlet gave her.
“Let me show you the way,” he told Aideen. “The staff can bring your bags later.” He gathered up the guitar himself.
“And the tree!” Gizelle remembered. “You have to come see the Christmas tree!” She scampered out ahead of them.
“Can she please put on some clothing first?” Aideen asked in a strangled voice.
Chapter 47
Conall’s mother seemed much more comfortable with Gizelle once she’d found the spare dress that Tex kept behind the bar, and Gizelle was glad for that.