Page 13 of Beyond the Cottage

A nymph in a simple blue dress stopped at the bars. She carried a large, leather-bound book propped on a hip.

Gretta tilted her head.

The woman was tall and graceful with the generically pretty features of her species. She didn’t look threatening—she wasa nymph—but her placid expression told Gretta this wasn’t a fellow captive, either.

The woman pulled a pencil from behind her pointed ear and opened the book. “Your name, please?” She shoved a thick, pale braid off her shoulder.

Gretta’s eyes followed it down and down…

How was hair that long possible? The ends skimmed her goddamn ankles. The murky green light in the corridor obscured its color, but the braid shined from good health and hygiene.

How the hell did shewashall of it?

Discarding the stupid question, Gretta came closer. “Lab Coat must be desperate if he’s recruiting henchmen from Feverscent Forest.”

“I’m not from the forest. At least, not recently.” The nymph looked Gretta over and jotted something in the book. “Who’s Lab Coat?”

“That tall, dark drink of ogre piss who stole my dust.”

The pencil on the page scratched to a stop. “Oh—we’re not thieves. Our pixies are here willingly, and they’re well-compensated for their donations.”

Gretta spread her arms and looked around the cell.

“Well, yes,” the woman said with a delicate blush. “I suppose I can understand your confusion. Let me assure you that you won’t be harmed, and you’ll also be compensated. Now, your name please?”

“Are you dumb? Obviously, I’m not here willingly.”

The woman stopped writing again. The vacant docility in her pale eyes sharpened.

Had Gretta finally found a weak spot with one of these fuckers?

“Or maybe you’re not dumb,” she said, “just crazy like those bastards who kidnapped me. Tell me, do you lot only bathe in kitten blood during the full moon, or is it more of a daily thing?”

The nymph slapped her pencil on the page. “I’mnotcrazy. Neither are they. This is an unprecedented situation within our otherwise legitimate business.” She resumed scrawling with a muttered, “I suspect the director had a very good reason for incarcerating you.”

“Which one’s the director? Lab Coat?”

“This conversation is wasting both our time. If you’ll let me do my job, he’ll answer your questions after. Your name?”

Dread traced along Gretta’s spine. Was Lab Coat coming back?

As much as she wanted to confront the asshole again, she couldn’t ignore the unevenness of their playing field. Gretta was an unarmed shrimp who couldn’t fly. He was a ruthless behemoth with the key to her prison cell.

The nymph tapped her pencil on the book. “Yourname?”

Gretta recalled the newspaper Philip had shown her the day before and sneered. “You can call me Hacker. What’s your name?”

“Seven. Age?”

“Seven?” It had to be another alias.

“Age?”

“Twenty-six.” No point in lying about that.

“Height? Weight?”

“Five-two, and none of your business.”

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