Page 7 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“You’re outvoted, Kieran,” Ga’Rek rumbles. “This is where we’re staying.”

A satisfied smile curls the corners of my lips as the witch pales, clocking exactly what we are in the span of a few seconds.

Her stunned reaction only lasts a moment before she’s all smiles and rosy cheeks again.

“Well, we haven’t had fae in town in… well, I don’t know when,” she babbles. “What can I do for you?” she asks.

“What’s your name, pretty witchling?” I lean against the curved glass counter.

Ga’Rek growls at me in warning, and I suppress a laugh at his expense.

The witch, however, just blushes. “If you think I’ll freely give you my name without knowing yours, you’ve got Wild Oak Woods all wrong.” She arches an eyebrow and spreads her small hands wide. “What can I get you?”

A laugh hums behind me, Ga’Rek as clearly smitten with her as it is day outside.

“We are, as you’ve noticed,” I pause for effect, glancing sidelong at Kieran’s deep lavender skin and bright green beetle wings, “new here. Can you recommend a place for us to stay?”

“Change is on the wind,” the witch mutters, her attention lingering a moment on a birch broom beside the door.

I follow her look, confused by her non-answer. Mortals are such strange creatures. Witches, though, are even stranger.

“Answer me this,” she says. “Do you mean the citizens of our town harm? Do you come here for sport?” There’s an icy ring of glass in the questions, some of her syrupy sweetness falling away.

“No,” I answer, honestly, for once. “We seek refuge away from the Underhill.”

Kieran’s jaw drops, and even Ga’Rek gives me an annoyed look, his green brow pinched, huge ham hands fisting at his sides.

I do roll my eyes, now, and it feels glorious.

“From the Underhill,” the witch repeats. In an instant, her icy demeanor melts, though concern still crinkles the corners of her eyes.

Kieran shifts on his feet, and Ga’Rek puts a massive hand on his still frenetically buzzing wing.

“Right.” She nods once. “Well, you’ll find Wild Oak Woods to be welcoming of strangers who are welcoming of it.”

“You speak as though the place is alive,” Ga’Rek says, leaning forward, surveying the small witch from head to toe.

“What place isn’t?” she counters. “Now, sit down and I’ll bring you bread and salt. We can go from there.”

“Clever,” I say in admiration. “Bread and salt with the Unseelie fae.”

An old magic, but a classic. Freely offered bread and salt, while not necessarily foolproof, as many fools have found, ensures we mean the shopkeep witch no harm, and will create a pact of sorts between us.

There are loopholes, but for now, I’ll play her little witchling games.

The door breezes open again, the bell tinkling merrily, and my attention whips to the newcomer.

Another witch.

With delicate, high cheekbones, a small, pointy chin, thick full lips and grass-green eyes. A snarled mess of blonde hair hangs heavy down one shoulder, and those spring eyes are rimmed in red, as if she’s been crying.

The tips of my ears tingle again, and this, this witch, I realize, is who I scented back in the forest.

She smells of dark places in the earth, of gemstones and gold and of the wildest magic I’ve felt in all my years.

I see her, and my heart stills inside my chest, and when it begins beating again, I don’t feel the same, not at all.

“You,” I breathe, my eyes wide.

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