Page 69 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

Not that I’ve had an inclination or opportunity to even try to find the same thing.

No, I’ve been so preoccupied with my ejection from my coven, then my rejection from the guild, that I have hardly made time for anything but leveling up my spellcasting and refining my craftsmanship.

When it comes to Caelan… I don’t know what to think.

All I know for sure, though, is that I already care about him, and we seem to work really well together. It’s easy with him, and I can’t believe my good luck.

Yet the idea nags at me that maybe the stupid spell I cast could be influencing him, or have backfired on his Unseelie fae blood, seeing as how he’s not the demon the spell was built for…

My stomach turns.

It doesn’t matter how much he insists otherwise, the possibility remains.

At least he left—if he was still hanging around here and doting on me, I would be even more suspicious.

Stupidly, I already miss him. I keep opening my mouth to tell him something funny I just thought of only to realize he’s not there.

Talking to Fenn isn’t quite the same.

The fox glances up at me as I think of him, and I reach down to scratch the soft fur behind his pointed ears.

“I’m ridiculously behind on everything,” I tell him, and his ears twitch, his long-lashed eyes soft and warm as he rubs his face against my ankle. “I haven’t gotten any closer to finding the dragon sapphires, I haven’t done anything to show the guild they need me, and all I’ve managed to do is sleep, eat, have sex, and read this book for the club tonight.” I pick up the book in question, a romance about a human knight and a mermaid who makes a deal with a witch to give him a merman’s tail but forgets to ensure he can breathe underwater.

Another example of witches being ostracized in literature, despite the fact the witch in question was likely overwhelmed with work from the locals and the mermaid could have been more particular in her request.

“But noooo, somehow it’s all the witch’s fault!” I tell Fenn, glaring at the linen-bound novel. Sighing, I pick it up and put it in my leather pack. The sun’s setting on Wild Oak Woods, I have made absolutely no money in the last few days, thanks to the relentless rain and flooded streets, and now I have to go be social at a book club about a book in which the witch is the villain.

Not to mention I miss Caelan.

Grumpy, I run the brownie’s gifted comb through my hair one last time before throwing my hands up and deciding it’s good enough.

Fenn trots behind me as I make my way out of the shop’s front exit, carefully locking up everything as I did before.

Thankfully, several days of sitting around with Caelan—my cheeks go fiery as I realize maybe sitting around isn’t the best descriptor of the past few days—means my heels have healed, though the rest of me is quite sore from all our… activity.

The thought of him sends heat through my body, soothing the ache he’s caused.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp scent of cooler weather on the horizon, a sure sign summer’s truly fading into autumn.

By the time I make it to The Listening Page bookstore, I’m in a noticeably better mood, the fading sunshine and breeze doing wonders for my introverted bad attitude after being cooped up for a few days, even with Caelan’s inimitable company.

The door to Ruby’s shop’s propped open with a large brass planter, a green patina of verdigris snaking charmingly up the side of it. Small pink roses and purple pansies spill over the side, perfuming the air. Fenn even stands up on his hind feet, his little nose twitching as he sniffs the flowers.

“Spelled,” I tell him, and he yips in agreement. What charm’s been worked on the planter, I’m not sure, but judging from the way my entire body relaxes as I enter the store, I have a guess or two.

And I’m certainly not about to complain about it.

A neat piece of spellwork, one I should probably employ at my own shop door.

Still, a faint tingle of nervousness grips me as I walk through the door. Unlike the last time I was here, the store is full of chattering voices, drowning out the sound of the crackling fire.

Ruby’s cat yowls, jumping down from a high bookshelf near the door and flouncing around Fenn, with eyes the size of dinner plates.

Fenn must pass inspection because the fluffy cat saunters off without incident, and I let out a shaky breath as I shove my shoulders back and head toward the sound of conversation.

“You made it!” Ruby claps her hands as I round the corner.

At least two dozen mismatched chairs are arranged in a semi-circle around the massive stone hearth, and an impeccably arranged table flows down the length of it. Cheeses and breads and pastries and dried sausages and fruit slices form artful pinwheels and flowers, and I take it in for a beat, hungry after the past few days’ exertion.

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