Spin the Shadows (Dark and Wicked Fae #1) - Cate Corvin Page 0,5

and the Garda handed my card back. “Your presence is approved and recorded. Proceed.”

He pulled the gate back, and I shoved my card in my pocket before pedaling inside. The gate whispered shut behind me as I entered what might as well have been another world.

Whereas Mothwing Falls was cramped and crowded, with apartments layered over shops and artisan studios pressed between them like putty, Thornwood was a place of shade and mansions.

Enormous willows hung over the street, glimmering with pixie lights, and each manor was encircled with stone walls and plaques declaring the names of old Gentry families. More than one guard stalked the shadows, their unseen eyes on my back as I pedaled through the district.

It was almost entirely silent, although at times I’d catch a wisp of laughter, the clink of glasses, a cut-off moan. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, only stopping to check the name on the last package.

Oddly, there was no name, but the address was legible. It was near the very back of Thornwood, in the old sector. There were rumors that some of the older houses in Thornwood were actually where Queen Titania had lived and founded Avilion, before the Seelie Palace was built.

I sighed and pedaled harder, even though I’d already busted my time limit on being out past nightfall.

The manicured mansions gave way to the original buildings. More than one fairy ring of mushrooms glowed under the moonlight on front laws, and the stone walls surrounding the houses became rougher, overtaken by moss and tipped with sharp iron spikes.

I finally found my address nestled at the very end of a dead-end street, and found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to lose a package this one single time.

The house was painted with shadow, the windows dark. A gnarled blackthorn tree rose above the stone wall surrounding the house like a sentinel.

I leaned my bike against the wall, tucked the package under my arm, and tried the gate. It opened easily under my hand, unlocked and inviting.

This looked like exactly the kind of place the Ghosthand Killer would live.

Maybe I was walking right into a trap, and my body would be the next soulless husk they’d find sprawled out on the street… I could already imagine Oriande Snowdrop adjusting her pearls as she prepared to give a moving eulogy and boost her ratings…

I shivered as the gate closed itself behind me. I was being dramatic because I was tired and ravenously hungry. I wouldn’t even turn down an apple right then.

I picked my way over a stone path lined with foxgloves and belladonna, all the way up to the black front door. A piece of paper had been pinned to it.

“‘Please deliver to the back entrance’,” I read, and scowled. Suddenly my theory about the Ghosthand didn’t seem so far-fetched at all.

But there was a beaten path in the overgrown grass leading around the side of the house. I jumped off the porch and followed it, cursing when unseen thorns brushed my legs and drew blood. “This is why we need real pants, Numa,” I muttered.

I rounded the corner and my stomach cramped. There was another blackthorn tree, but scattered around it was smaller bushes, each dripping with faerie fruit.

The berries seemed to glow under the moonlight, crimson red and bruise purple, promising to be tart and sweet and plump with juice. My mouth flooded with saliva and I thought back ruefully on the free tart I’d turned down.

They weren’t my fruit to eat. The sooner I dropped the package, the sooner I’d be home to make myself dinner.

I found my way to the back door and porch, where a stone sat like it was expecting the package. I placed the paper-wrapped parcel on it carefully, just in case the owner was watching, and paused when I felt eyes on my back.

Every hair on the back of my neck rose.

I decided to take a risk. Keeping a tight rein on my magic, I felt for my fellow tree, the blackthorn with twisted branches. What lives here? I asked.

The tree said nothing in reply, but it gave me the distinct impression of being smug and watchful. It was a well-fed tree, happy with its sun and water and rich soil.

More feelings twined into my mind as I reached out: the faerie fruit bushes, cajoling and caressing me.

They’d worked so hard to dig their roots deep; their owner tended them with a loving hand, gave them everything