Cody’s face registered extreme surprise, Kellermann’s only a bit less. Only Leading Fox seemed unperturbed. “She!” Cody exclaimed. “You folks let wimmen . . .” He cut off whatever he was going to say. “Huh. Ah guess. When’s she wanta meet up?”

“As soon as you have the time. She told me herself that as we are the ones with a show to put on, and she is at her leisure, you should be the ones to choose the time.” It was both gratifying and a little amusing to see Cody at a loss for once. After having him take credit for her ideas, having to deal with a female who outranked him took the sting out of her wounded pride.

“She’s where?”

“The Golden Sheep Inn, in the town,” Giselle told them. “I believe that she can speak with my sylphs; I can easily send her a message.”

Cody rubbed the side of his head, pushing up his hat slightly. “Well. Best deal with this right quick, I guess. After the second show an’ tours, we’ll come t’her. Figger just after sundown.” He looked to the other two, who nodded agreement. “Don’ want t’put ’er off and make ’er think we got no manners.”

“That is probably wise,” Kellermann agreed. “The Brotherhood’s word is law where magic in the Schwarzwald is concerned. And to send a Hunt Master . . . you do not wish to insult her.”

Cody took a long breath. “Right. Well, we got a show to put on. Better get to’t.”

The four of them made their way from the show enclosure into the town, following the guidance of one of Giselle’s sylphs. They attracted curious glances from the townsfolk, since all four of them were wearing their best. Cody was resplendent in his white, fringed doeskin outfit, with a matching hat. Leading Fox was equally resplendent in a costume Giselle had never seen him in before: a beaded buckskin version of Cody’s costume, with a colorful blanket, his hair adorned with eagle feathers. Kellermann looked plain by comparison in his sober best suit.

And she—well, she had been torn. Whether to keep up the illusion that she was the American Rio Ellie, or wear the loden-green hunting costume that Tante Gretchen had given her. . . .

In the end, she decided that the illusion was more important as far as the townsfolk were concerned. And as for Rosamund herself, well, wearing her Western gear would make it clear where Giselle’s alliances lay.

The sylph that guided them was a night-sylph, an odd one, actually, since this one was fully clothed. She had midnight-blue wings like lacework, a long, flowing midnight-blue gown, and raven hair that streamed behind her as she flew, looking back over her shoulder to be certain they were following. Only she and Fox could see her, of course.