Over the Faery Hill - Jennifer L. Hart Page 0,22

the turn-in to the grocery store and headed out onto the highway, out to Firefly Lane.

Robin Goodfellow was waiting for me at the top of the hill. I stopped before the engine could die and then got out of the car and called up the hill, “I’m ready to make a bargain.”

His lips curled up. “Music to my ears.” He held out a hand. “Just come with me, my dear Joey, and I’ll show you how to make all of your dreams come true.”

I shut the car door and climbed up to the top of the hill where he stood. His sapphire eyes glowed with an ethereal light and swirls of amber light spilled from his hands until they created a corona with him at the center.

All the small hairs stood up on my arms as I reached through the eddying magic. Our hands touched.

“A favor for a favor?” Robin asked.

I nodded. “A favor for a favor.”

“A bargain is struck.” He grinned and I knew there was no turning back.

Chapter 5

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Some poor bugger somewhere had to pony up for it.”

-Notable quotable from Granny B

“So,” I said, looking around at the hilltop. “Did it work?”

Everything looked the same as it had before we struck the bargain. The amber motes had vanished as though they had never existed. The world around us appeared exactly the same as it had when I arrived.

“Did what work?” Robin raised an eyebrow at me.

“Um…did we travel back in time?”

He laughed. “Oh no, lamb. You can’t simply just pop backward and start mucking about with the timeline. You haven’t been trained yet.”

“Trained?” Alarm spiked. “You never said anything about being trained.”

“Didn’t I? A minor oversight.” He waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Have you had lunch? I’m starving.”

“Lunch?” I blinked. We’d just made an open-ended magical bargain and he wanted to have a nosh?

“Of course. Let’s go to that little greasy spoon where you were previously employed and we’ll hash out the details.” He raised his hand. The world tilted sideways as if it were being squeezed flat and the landscape shifted from the chill mountaintop to the parking lot.

I staggered and Robin caught me. “Easy, lamb.”

I scowled up at him. “Why do you keep calling me lamb? I have a name.”

“Are you one of those tiresome females that sees an endearment as some sort of masochistic plot to demean your identity?”

“That would be my mother.” She’d geld him with a butter knife if he ever called her by a name other than her given one.

“I assure you, Joey, I meant no offense.” His voice took on a husky note. “I call you lamb because it reminds me of how you looked in the bath, all covered in fluffy white bubbles.”

“Sshhh,” I hissed at him.

Reverend Phillips and his wife, Emily, exited the café and were passing us in the parking lot and casting us a strange look. “Lower your voice or the whole town will be speculating by supper.”

“Joey? Is everything all right?” Reverend Phillips called out.

“Fine, thanks. Just having lunch with my…,” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. Coworker didn’t fit. Neither could I pass Robin off as a family member since the Reverend knew the entire Whitmore-Blackthorn clan. I certainly wasn’t going to say boyfriend. That would set tongues waging faster than that time the real estate agent Merrilee Higgins got caught hooking up with Coach Calhoun in the vacant bungalow over on Pemberton Road.

“Friend.” The word slipped out. “My friend, Robin.”

Emily’s blade thin nose crinkled as she studied my wardrobe, taking note of the too-long men’s sweatpants. A knowing light lit her eyes as she studied Robin.

“Well, see you at Sunday service,” the Reverend said and he and Emily hustled to their station wagon, either to escape the cold or to run home and start burning up the phone lines.

“Your friend?” Robin asked and, for a moment, his voice lost that snarky edge of detached amusement.

My shoulders did a quick up and down. “I panicked. I wasn’t expecting to just poof on over here. Give me a little warning next time and I’ll come up with a better fib.”

“I see.” He gestured toward the door of the café.

“Oh no,” I balked. “I can’t go in there, especially not dressed as I am.” I gestured to my borrowed sweats.

Robin rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen how people dress in this town. Believe me, if you’re not covered with either engine grease

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