Page 29 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“My shoes,” I say on a gasp, the silver lantern dropping from my hand to the thick rug on the floor with a thud.

My slippers, which I admit have been in desperate need of replacing, are no longer in a state of depressing disrepair.

The cracked, sad leather shines bright from a fresh oiling, and the plain beige they were last night has been replaced by a deep emerald green.

I frown at them in confusion.

Fenn yips, pointing his nose at the corner nearest the door to the stairs.

A high-pitched chittering sounds from the area he’s fixated on, and my brain finally clicks the pieces into place.

“A brownie?” I whisper, shocked into speaking out loud. “I thought they were extinct.”

The chittering grows more agitated, and I snap my mouth shut and spring into action, scrambling over to the kitchen.

“Fenn, leave the poor thing alone.” Fenn growl-yips at me, but listens, settling for following me around. It takes me a moment to find my favorite floral bone china teacup, the gilded lip worn but still pretty and serviceable.

The milk I brought home from the grocer a few days ago still smells fresh enough in the cold box where I keep it and a few other foodstuffs, enchanted to keep everything at a safe temperature by the same ice pixies who make the snow in the town square.

I fill the milk up to the top of the fragile teacup, uncork the tall copper canister half-full of sugar cubes and fish one out for good measure, plunking it into the milk with a shrug.

“I’m not entirely sure what you like, friend, but I can’t thank you enough for your help.” The words are hushed and measured, and I’m doing my very best not to completely freak out.

A brownie! In my house.

I clear my throat, not sure if it’s rude to look at the tiny creature, or if I’m risking scaring it away for good by trying to sneak a peek, and set the delicate antique cup on the table.

“I can leave it for you at night, if you prefer. I appreciate your help around here, and I’m glad to make your acquaintance.” It sounds oddly formal, a total contrast to my bare feet, cold on the colorful rug, and my too-short, thin white shift.

And the fact I’m pretty sure my hair still looks like shit.

“Okay, uh, I’m going to go get ready for the day.”

Fenn sniffs, his whiskers twitching, giving me a look that tells me plain as day just how little he thinks of me talking to any magical creature other than him.

“I left you a boar bristle brush and a comb on your vanity,” a tiny voice like the tinkling of bells says in my ear. “The fae have taken an interest in you, witchling. It wouldn’t do to look less than presentable.”

“Oh.” I grasp around for how to answer that. The fae? The fae? Does the brownie mean Caelan?

I frown, not sure if I like the idea of him sending this creature over here, or if I’m offended by the fact he spent a few hours in my company last night and decided I needed magical intervention.

It hurts my feelings that he might have been right about that.

“That was kind of you,” I say awkwardly. “Let me know if you prefer something else to eat.”

I smooth my hands down the creased fabric of my shift, feeling out of my depth.

“The Seelie Queen told me of a baker witch blessed with the perfect scone recipe,” the brownie says. Something tickles against my ear, and I stand very still.

The Seelie Queen. So not Caelan, then. A completely, entirely different fae is interested in me.

I’m even less sure what to do with that information.

Fenn’s nose twitches even faster.

Piper’s the only baker witch in town, and I’m glad I can at least remember that fact after the brownie casually name dropped the Seelie Queen like it’s nothing.

“Would you like me to bring you scones tonight? From next door?” I venture.

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