Spin the Shadows (Dark and Wicked Fae #1) - Cate Corvin Page 0,32

there’s some bad blood between the two of you.”

Robin’s teeth flashed white against his black beard. “Call it a traditional rivalry. If he stays out of my way, I stay out of his, but he’s a good contact for hard-to-acquire information.”

I nodded, thinking of pale, hooded eyes. “Thank you for sending Sisse,” I finally blurted out. “And thank you for being there, Sisse.”

The pixie preened on his shoulder. Robin glanced at me. “Can’t be too careful.”

I snorted. “I never thought I’d be happy to have someone creep on me all the way home.”

If Sisse hadn’t come down to shut me up, I might’ve ended up screaming my head off, making a damn fool of myself, or worse… drawing the Ghosthand back.

And I kept thinking of how Jack had called me Robin’s agent. Right now, I didn’t feel like much of an agent. I was a part-time, blackmailed employee.

Agent sounded a lot sexier. Definitely better than courier.

But that would also mean needing to learn to keep a cool head when I came across dead bodies. Robin wouldn’t have much use for a shrieking dryad—or one who took unnecessary risks.

Sisse got tired of sitting and fluttered off into the sky, leaving me and Robin alone. The rest of the walk home was strangely comfortable despite the silence and the exhaustion tugging at me.

When we got to my little apartment, I parked my bike out back, and was surprised when Robin actually walked up the stairs with me. “You’re literally taking me to my front door?” I asked.

“I said I’d walk you home,” he said behind me.

I hid a smile and got out my key. The light above the door was still on, meaning the twins were awake.

“My roommates are up,” I said, not putting the key in yet. They’d hear that.

And I had the strangest desire to prolong this moment.

Robin reached the top and looked down at me. He reached out and wiped a smudge of remaining tears off my cheek, the warmth of him a blockade against the cool night.

His blue eyes were so moody, capricious but caring by turns. A thought shimmered through my mind, how his dark beard would feel against my skin…

He’s your boss, Briallen. I tuned out the warning thought. Who needed the voice of reason at a time like this?

He leaned down and my heart stuttered in my chest, stopping dead for a moment before coming to life again and galloping frantically.

I rose up on my toes, and the little cat sìth from downstairs meowed loudly, jumping up on the railing next to us and staring with big yellow eyes.

Robin straightened up at the sound like he’d been shocked, dropping his hand. “You’re home safe,” he said briskly. “Take tomorrow as one of your days off and recover from this. Good night, Miss Appletree.”

I was left feeling empty as he turned and descended the stairs quickly, vanishing into the night.

The cat sìth mewed and pawed at me. I narrowed my eyes at it. “No fish for you, you fuzzy little cockblock.”

11

By the bright light of day, the Ghosthand’s victim seemed like a far more distant memory.

I’d dreamed of the charred flesh, the oozing handprint in the Unseelie’s chest, the coal-like dust spread everywhere, but as soon as I opened my eyes, it faded under a current of excited determination.

I wanted to be Robin’s agent.

And I was going to be late for work again.

I threw myself out of bed and got dressed, pulling on the wrinkled booty shorts that had spent all night in my backpack and pulling my hair in a high ponytail.

I looked in the mirror and decided mascara was in order. My late night had left purple shadows under my eyes. “Today is the day,” I told my tired reflection. “You can do this. You are awesome.”

I wasn’t even sad about putting on my fake fairy wings and practically skipped out of the apartment.

Carabosse was already outside, draped in glittering veils and watering her boxes of primroses at the bottom of the stairs. The cat sìth sat by her feet, its tail curled around its paws.

I waved to her, feeling cheery despite my tiredness. “Morning, Carabosse!”

The hedgewitch looked up and put a hand over her chest. “I never get quite used to those little hoochie pants,” she muttered, and said louder, “Morning, Briallen!”

I stopped and crouched down to scratch the cat’s little head. It purred and headbutted my fingers. “What’d the daily horoscope say?”

Carabosse paused in her watering and squinted at the sky, her