Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,29
that possible?”
The edges of his eyes crinkled. “Those toadstools you were talking to earlier?”
“They said hello.” Their voices like ants on helium. “It would have been rude to ignore them.”
A full-on smile curved his lips. “They release hallucinogenic spores into the air.”
“Wait.” I pulled on his arm. “Then how do you know anything in Faerie is real?”
“There are no toadstools in the cities, and you build up a tolerance,” he assured me. “I witnessed a human cycle through the process a long time ago. Since you are half fae, you will transition faster.”
“Speaking of humans...” I kept my voice level. “How will Mom handle the transition?”
“At worst, she will be disoriented for a few days.” He swatted at a tiny pest by his ear. “At best, her captors planned ahead and brought provisions to ease her acclimation. Given her status, it would be in their best interest to keep her comfortable. You would be disinclined to negotiate with them otherwise.”
He took my hand and led me underneath mossy tree limbs wreathed with thorny vines. A sharp sting at my earlobe wrung a curse out of me. Figuring a thorn was to blame, I flinched when I reached up and felt something the size of a half dollar stuck to my ear. Please, please, please don’t be a tick. The harder I tugged, the tighter it clung.
“Beware,” a small voice chimed. “Beware the Rook. Beware the Rook. You are his pawn.”
The cold fingers of déjà vu caressed my spine.
One hard yank and the not-a-tick came off in my hand. Its tiny face was streaked with reddish-brown stripes like war paint, and its fangs were flashing. It bit my thumb and drew blood.
It was an actual pixie, like the ones from the children’s books Mom never read to me.
Two inches tall at the most, it was beautifully androgynous and—ouch—a little bastard.
I tightened my grip before holding it closer to my face. “What did you say?”
It clamped its hands over its pointed ears and screeched.
Holding it at arm’s length, I whispered, “Sorry.”
“Thierry?” Raven stared at my hand. “What is that?”
“It’s a pixie.” I twisted my hand for his inspection. “It bit me.”
“They do that.” He glanced between it and me. “Did it say anything?”
The pixie’s eyes grew round. It shivered in my fist despite the balmy warmth.
It was scared. No. Terrified. Of Raven.
Hot liquid puddled in my palm and dripped through my fingers. Great. Peed on by a pixie. Now my adventure was complete.
“Oh yuck.” I used that as an excuse to fling the tiny fae from my hand. It fluttered its wings, trailing glittering light as it zoomed into the canopy overhead. “Should it have?”
He tore a papery leaf from a nearby tree and passed it to me. “They sometimes act as messengers.”
“Oh really?” I paid close attention to drying my hand to keep from meeting his gaze.
“Remember that pixies are small-minded creatures,” he said. “They often confuse messages.”
If I hadn’t heard that same threat before, then I might be more willing to believe him.
But I had, and I wasn’t.
Raven was the one person who could tell me who the Rook was and what danger he posed to me, but the stark fear in that pixie’s eyes when he spotted Raven made me hesitant to ask. Someone had gone to great lengths to warn me away from Raven, but who? A Seelie rival of his? Or someone else, someone eager for the war Raven mentioned?
Confrontation was out of the question. I needed Raven to get me to the Halls where I could meet with fae who could help Mom. What I didn’t need was for him to get his feathers in a twist and leave me out here on my own. As easily as Faerie had enchanted me, I would be licking rocks or carousing with toads before nightfall.
The smart thing would be to bribe Mable into making discreet inquiries about Rook after I got home.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I let the damp leaf flutter to the ground. “How much farther?”
“Another mile.” He started walking. “Maybe two.”
Behind his back, I scanned the air for my winged messenger. It was gone. Unscathed I hoped.
I jogged a few steps to catch him. “Will someone be at the Halls I can ask about Mom?”
“Yes.” He picked up his pace. “You will have your answers when we arrive.”
“That guy, the consul.” Yet another fae who preferred the disembodied-voice approach to conversation. “Who is he?”
“It’s not safe to talk here. When we reach the Halls, all