Page 79 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“She, she—” Piper attempts. Her frantic tears soak the fabric of my flimsy robe and I pat her back, shushing her and slightly out of my element.

Okay, maybe completely out of my element. “What is it, Piper? Are you hurt?”

“She—she’s coming for the autumn festival and, and—” she wails as a fresh bout of sobs rack her.

“I don’t understand, Piper, come upstairs and I’ll fix us some tea, and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

Piper makes a senseless noise that I assume is agreement, and I hurry her up the stairs before she can start sobbing again.

I take the basket from her and set it on the table, putting the kettle on for fresh ginger peach black tea, and cast her a worried look.

I’ve only known Piper for a handful of months now, but I’ve never seen her like this. The closest I’ve seen her to truly upset was when she couldn’t get a specialty flavor right. Her hands twist in front of her at the table, shaking slightly.

The cabinet door creaks as I open it, digging through my cups to find the sturdiest one.

“Why is there a cup of milk on the table?” she asks, sniffling.

“I have a brownie, remember? That’s what they like.”

The tea kettle begins whistling, and I add the steaming water to the pot and take my time setting it on the table, putting an old crocheted doily under the pot. It’s seen better days, slightly stained and frayed. I make a mental note to do better about keeping a few things company-ready.

It alarms me slightly to realize that I haven’t had anyone over to my small apartment besides Caelan.

Not even Piper.

Some friend I am.

I pour a steady stream of hot tea into the sturdy ceramic mug, then pour myself a cup.

“Honey?” she asks, sniffling.

“Of course,” I tell her. “I bought some the other day, it’s from Willow’s bees.”

“W-w-willow makes the best hon-hon-honeeeeyyyyy.” Her forehead thunks against the table, her shoulders shaking in despair.

Fenn puts his paws on the table, staring at the top of Piper’s head in confusion, head tilted.

“Piper, tell me what’s wrong or Fenn is going to start yowling, and trust me, you do not want that,” I snap, my voice firmer than I meant.

Her shoulders still, and then she draws a shaking breath.

When she manages to sit up, Fenn yips at her, body completely stiff.

“The Duchess is coming, for the autumn f-f-f-festival,” she sucks in a huge breath before continuing, fresh tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks.

“That’s great,” I say, my eyebrows rising. “That will be wonderful for the town, and hopefully bring us a lot of business and the opportunity to attract even more visitors?—”

“Everything has to be perfect,” she screams.

Fenn raises his head and I sigh, burying my face in my hands as he takes up the cry, howling.

A fox howl, to be clear, is not a normal dog howl. Or a cat howl.

No, it sounds like someone is torturing and murdering a human. That is the sound a fox makes.

Unpleasant doesn’t begin to cover it.

Unpleasantly demonic would be a closer description.

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