Page 14 of Thistle Thorns

As I fully expected, an apple hit the doorframe just left of my head, detonating into a shower of mealy pulp and juice. Green magic flared in Otter’s hand.

“Hey!” I protested.

“Sorry,” Ricky said, not an ounce of remorse in his voice. “It slipped.”

“Stand down,” Roland commanded.

The hobs, half-hidden in the bales of straw, slowly emerged from their defensive positions. The only one not wielding a club was Dale, who had Rhett in some kind of choke hold to keep the rooster quiet and prevent him from giving away their ambush. In the wan autumn light, the hobs assembled a wary distance from the barn entrance, keeping ahold of their weapons and eyeing Otter.

Doing my very best Cody Beecham impression, I thwacked him in the arm with the back of my hand. “Stop that.”

My cousin scrunched up his face in a brief show of disagreement before clamping his fingers into a fist and snuffing out his magic.

“Gents, this is my cousin Otter,” I introduced. “Otter, these are the hobs of Sweet Cider Farm.”

“Ah,” Otter mused, rubbing his chin. “So that’s what you call these. Dad and I thought they were some kind of hobgoblin.”

“Hobgoblin!” the hobs cried indignantly, raising their weapons once more.

“Like Wystan?” Roland blustered. The pixies shrilled angrily at the name, zipping through the air like silver hornets. “Absolutely not!”

“Easy, fellas,” I said, flinging a glare at my cousin. “I made the same mistake when I first came here, remember?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t hurl spells at us,” Walt said, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

“You attacked us,” Otter fired back. “With apples and glass bottles and— You egged us!”

“You big baby,” Ricky jeered. “Can’t stand a bit of yolk in your hair?”

“That eggshell almost scratched my retina!”

Frowning, I asked, “Isn’t the retina at the back of the eye?”

“It was a really big piece of shell.”

“Uh-huh.” I gave them all a warning look. “We don’t have time for this. Listen up, everyone, Grumpy—Lewellyn,” I corrected myself, “has been reassigned to Daphne and Shari’s house on Weaver Lane. That means I need you all to patrol the property with Sawyer and Ame in case the magic hunters resurface.”

“Magic hunters?” Otter asked. “You never mentioned these magic hunters to Grandmother!”

“Yet. I haven’t mentioned these magic hunters to Grandmother yet.”

He shook his head, sweeping his long hair out of his eyes. “Don’t you think you’re in enough hot water as it is?”

“And only I will be patrolling with the hobs,” Ame informed. “Sawyer is going with you.” To her ward, the caliby cat instructed, “Don’t let your witch out of your sight.”

For the first time, Sawyer didn’t protest the implication that he was my familiar. He merely went to my side and sat, tail curling around my ankle. I didn’t protest Ame’s decision, as the cat undoubtedly had a good reason… that she would tell me about when it suited her… or never at all.

“Dale,” I continued, “my aunt Peony is the cook of my family, but she’s unfamiliar with ovens and stoves and the hearth is quite small compared to the one she is used to. I was wondering if perhaps you’d be willing to assist her?”

“As a sous chef?” the hob asked brightly. “Me?”

“Uh, maybe work up to that title? My family has some, um, prejudices against the Fair Folk—”

“You don’t say,” Ricky drawled. “You should’ve heard what that younger one was calling us when we were pelting him with apples.”

“That would be Marten. My brother.”

“Your brother?” Roland blustered. “But you’re so nice and he’s so, so… not.”

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