Page 87 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

A white-spotted fawn snoozes under a tree next to Rosalina’s barn, and a cat’s curled up next to it, making biscuits on its hindleg, purring loud enough that I hear the animal before I see it.

Boner just stares vacantly around, his silvery cataracts likely obscuring his view of the rest of the animals.

We stroll into Rosalina’s store, hand in hand, and Caelan pauses, looking around with an awe-struck expression.

I felt the same way the first time I wandered in here.

The front of Rosalina’s house, where she conducts her business, is lined with large dark oak shelves stocked with all manner of animal food, treats, fresh-made medicinal ointments and poultices, as well as a collection of toys that rivals anything I ever saw in the northern city.

Pink fluff balls enchanted to float in front of playful cats, rechargeable with the right charm. An enchanted wooden rabbit for a dog to chase, never to be caught, always appearing back in the owner’s hand when the dog gets too close. Exercise wheels for mice that create energy to be stored in a strange glass globe, crackling around the fragile perimeter when touched.

A trio of parrots hang on real tree branches suspended from the ceiling, a riot of blues and greens and deep reds, conversing in several different languages. Something thick and scaled contracts behind another chair, beady eyes and a forked tongue flicking out as the snake contemplates us.

A luna moth, larger than any I’ve ever seen before, sleeps on the door that leads to the rest of Rosalina’s house.

It would be overwhelming, should be, even, were the animals all not so completely peaceful.

Fenn chirps before racing off to where Rosalina’s mouse familiar is washing his face with careful pink paws, white whiskers trembling in excitement when she sees the fox, immediately swinging onto his fur and climbing happily on top of Fenn’s head.

I let out an amused snort.

“Hey Wren,” Rosalina emerges from around a corner, beaming at me. “And you must be Caelan. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From Squeak?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

“My familiar loves to gossip,” she agrees with a twinkle in her deep brown eyes. “But no, this was from a certain dog.” Rosalina looks meaningfully at where Boner’s snoozing in the basket.

“That’s why we’re here,” Caelan says importantly, thrusting the basket onto a large table cleared off for the sole purpose of Rosalina’s magical examinations. “My Boner has a limp.”

I sigh, shaking my head, but Rosalina laughs. The sound cuts off abruptly as she swallows,

“He said you’d come in here and say something just like that.”

Caelan goes still next to me. “Who?”

“Oh, an old friend.” She picks Boner up off the table, stroking his head over and over again. “You called him Hash.”

A faint hit of wild magic, nature magic, washes over me. It’s as cold as an early spring rain, as fragrant as fresh-cut grass, the sweetness of honey on my tongue.

Boner barks, and I gasp.

The rheumy eyes, the silvery cataracts and drooling mouth are gone. So is the mangy coat, the too-long toenails, and the white muzzle.

“A fucking glamour,” Caelan says in a low voice. “How did I not see it?”

“He told me you were coming, trickster,” Rosalina tells him gently. “He said it was time to tame a trickster fae.” She glances at me, her eyes kind, wise beyond the thirty years she seems. “He knew you would be well-suited for the task.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“Hash brought… her here? My Wren?”

His tone is so possessive, and it sends a girlish thrill of glee through me.

“He left her the store. He owned it, and when the last tenant left, he found you.”

I have no words. “The Seelie fae brought me here?”

“They’re watching you, Wren,” she whispers, her voice hushed and serious. “They’re watching all of us.”

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