Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,45

swore you would return my brother to me. He lives where you live now. Goes by the name Sean.”

“I can’t prison-break your brother then look the other way while he dials the windmill.”

“Rook said. He told me you would help,” he trumpeted. “You will help.”

I spun, ready to punt the fur face and move on, except the fluffy bunny was gone, replaced by the tallest horse I had ever seen. Twenty hands high if he was an inch. Broad too, built like a draft horse.

“You’re a púca.” Karma really was a bitch.

The horse executed a bow that brought its eyes level with mine. “Want a ride?”

“Do I have a choice?” That thing could trample me.

He nickered. “I am helping. Then you will help. We can be friends now. Climb aboard.”

“I’ve never ridden a—” He kept bending until he knelt on the ground. “Well. Okay then.” After circling around to his side, I fisted his mane and climbed on his back.

When the horse rose, I gulped down a knot of panic. This was almost worse than riding the Morrigan’s back. Gliding through the air had been fun right up until the near-death landing experience. Down here it was duck or let the low-slung branches knock the head off my shoulders.

Without a saddle, I kept sliding to one side. The best I could do was clutch the tufts of his mane and clench my thighs. The púca executed a slight hop step over a fallen limb that almost unseated me. My stomach flip-flopped until I flattened against his spine and pressed my face to his neck.

Maybe Rook was right. Maybe Macsen had done me a favor by allowing Mom to raise me as a human. Faerie was so alien. I hated how it made me feel weak, like prey.

Fae in my world, I could handle. I knew the rules there. Here all bets were off. When I got home, if I got home, I was kissing the first plain old, non-magical dirt clod I found.

Sensing how tender my stomach was, the púca showed mercy and ambled the final yards to our destination. “Down you go,” he said with a snort. He knelt, and I slid onto jelly legs.

“Where are we?” I hadn’t noticed on the way in, but this section of forest seemed greener.

“Near the border of Spring.” A wave of magic rolled over him. “We’re safe enough here.”

While brushing off the residue of his change, I noticed he had reverted to his rabbit form.

“Hurry it up. Hop to it.” His long ears rotated while his nose wrinkled. “Someone’s coming.”

I sensed the same eerie presence as before. “Where am I hurrying to?”

“The burrows of course.” He jumped up and down. “Well. Shift. Come on. Move it along.”

“Shift? As in shapeshift?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have a smaller skin than that?” He sounded incredulous.

“What are you talking about?” His brain must have shrunk too. “This is the only skin I have.”

“This won’t do.” He rubbed one paw with the other. “You’re too big. Enormous.”

“Thanks.” I exhaled through my teeth. “Now what?”

“He’s here.” His eyes rounded at the base of a distant tree. “You’re on your own.”

With a flash of his tail, the púca vanished into a shadowy hole, leaving me alone. Again.

While I debated whether to return to Autumn, the sensation of being watched turned overwhelming. “Who’s out there?” I called where the púca had been staring.

“A bystander,” an ominous voice rumbled, “nothing more.”

“Great.” My teeth began chattering. “Who knew death was the ultimate spectator sport?”

If the creature who had spoken remained, he deigned not answer me.

Over my head in the pitch-black sky, a sharp cry sounded. A trim black bird landed between me and the voice in the woods, hop-stepping until he stood by my side.

“I tried.” The púca’s voice startled me. Pink eyes peered from the mouth of a tunnel. “She can’t shift.” He ventured out to greet us. “No one said she couldn’t.”

The black bird bobbed its head, and the púca’s narrow shoulders slumped.

“When I get home—” if I got home, “—I’ll talk to your brother, okay? No promises.”

The fur face somersaulted into the air. “With my thanks.”

Huh. Go figure. I had just earned a favor I could call in later. First time for everything.

Once the púca darted into its burrow, Rook rustled his feathers.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I scowled at the fidgety bird, who cocked his head at me. “We both know chances are slim I’ll come out the other side of