Page 12 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

The shop itself is a marvel of her witchcraft and her green thumb, and I have to admit the witch in question must be quite a talent.

My hands shake slightly, and I lace them together to hide it from Kieran, whose wings haven’t stopped vibrating since the moment we walked in here.

I don’t know how much my companions noticed when the stunning blonde enchantress walked into the syrupy-sweet bakery, but my heart hasn’t stopped beating double time since I laid eyes on her.

Wren.

A witch.

After all these years, after days that flew into weeks and sprinted into months, a witch.

A witch!

My whistle goes sharp at the thought, and I tug at my sleeve, at the tattoo now vining across my skin.

The weight of Kieran’s gaze drags across my arm, and I know he’s seen it. I know he’s seen the black edging along the purple of my wrist.

His wings buzz louder, and I grit my teeth at the noise.

How am I supposed to think straight with all that damnable noise?

“Oh!” We hear her before we see her, and to my surprise, Kieran stands up straighter, the high whine of his wings going blessedly, finally quiet as the witch, Willow, finally comes into view.

She’s plump, a soft hourglass figure clothed in shades of emerald green to lovely effect, with glossy red-brown waves falling over one shoulder. Her hair’s a flame against the greens of the many plants growing in every corner of the shop, hanging in gilded pots and stowed in wooden baskets.

There’s even a thick wood bough over one table sprouting all manner of fungi, red-capped toadstools and white button mushrooms and a delicate yellow lace-type fungus I’ve never seen before.

“You are Willow?” Kieran asks, something like shock in his voice.

“You’re an Unseelie fae,” Willow responds, dusting her hands on a cream-colored apron. There’s a bit of apprehension in her heart-shaped face, though her tone is clear and deliberate. “What brings you here? Who gave you my name?”

“Forgive us,” I say, coming to my senses. “Piper and Wren sent us here. We are new in town, and looking for work.”

Willow squints at me, then readjusts herself, standing straighter, though she is positively petite for a human and would be egregiously small for a fae.

Kieran clears his throat, and she zeroes in on him.

“You have beetle wings,” she tells him.

He blinks, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as his wings begin to buzz again. Thank the sprites, though, he manages to pull them completely out, and Willow stands before him, her mouth agape, dazzled.

They iridesce in the sunlight streaming from the large circular-paned windows that make up the back wall of her store, and she closes her mouth with a snap.

“Well. Piper and Wren sent you? Are you just a pair of pretty wings or do you know your way around plants, fae?” She arches an eyebrow, her foot tapping beneath the hem of her dress. “Are you good with customers? Will you get in my way?”

Kieran makes a sound of consternation in his throat, his wings drooping slightly at her barrage of questions.

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing.

I like this witch, too.

Perhaps our jaunt above the Underhill will be good for Kieran.

As soon as I set eyes on my Wren, I knew it would be for me. I smile to myself.

“He’s been trained in all manner of plant lore,” I say for Kieran, deciding this is where the princeling needs to be—with a plump and pretty flame-haired witch who will put him in his place. “He can be moody, but he aims to please.”

The witch levels a look at me. “Does he speak for himself?” she asks tartly.

---