Page 76 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Nerissa snipes back.

I sigh, somewhat used to their bickering but annoyed all the same.

“Not everything is a question of the balance of light and dark,” Nerissa continues, clearly ruffled, though about what, I have no idea.

“Enough,” Piper thunders. The typically sugary-sweet Piper stands in front of the fire, her arms crossed over her chest, and despite her petite size, she radiates power.

Strength.

Nerissa and Willow fall quiet, sufficiently chastised.

Ruby claps her hands twice, and the five of us focus on her.

“It’s high time Wild Oak Woods had a coven, don’t you think?” Ruby asks, but there’s no real question attached.

“I have the paperwork for us to get established. I had it drawn up a long time ago, actually…” She clears her throat, a strange expression on her face. “Now is the time, though.”

“Now is the time,” Nerissa agrees, nodding dramatically. “Change is coming.”

“Change is here,” Willow says, but she’s not arguing. “It’s time.”

The four of them look at me, and I realize they’re waiting for me to weigh in. I’ve been a part of this group for longer than I knew, and suddenly, I wonder at Caelan’s claims to be servant to the whims of fate.

Certainly, this group, these women… this feels as meant to be as he and I.

“I agree. It’s time.”

My heart thrums in my chest as Piper pulls out the paperwork that will establish us as an official coven in the kingdom.

Willow’s right. Change is here.

The question I keep coming back to, though, is what is driving it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CAELAN

Hash Beauchamp’s bright brown eyes find mine the moment I sit on the porch of his old inn in the rocking chair next to him.

Despite the fact the place is downtrodden and tired, and that Hash himself is about as curmudgeonly as a man can get, I’ve taken a liking to both the inn and him.

We rock in silence next to each other, the charmed flowers in the lanterns overhead casting a soft glow over the sagging porch. More flowers trail up the side of the porch railing, night-blooming buds releasing a spicy floral scent in the air.

“You seen my Boner?” Hash asks, and I can’t keep the laugh from bubbling up.

“He’s asleep on the step there,” I say, pointing at the half-dead mutt.

“Mmph.” Hash’s rocking slows and he stops, bracing his skinny arms on his knees. “That’s not why you sat out here next to me, is it? For me to talk about my sweet Boner.”

“Can’t say it is,” I manage, unbelievably remaining straight-faced.

“What’s on your mind then, Purple?”

Purple. It’s what he’s decided to call me, basically since the moment he set eyes on me. Not fairy, or wretch, or evil demon fae, or any of the other nicknames humans have called me over the centuries, but Purple.

The man’s got a way with names, I suppose.

“How do you like running this place? The inn, I mean,” I tack on, in case he’s predisposed to talk about his Boner again. Which, as I know all too well, he always is.

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