Spin the Shadows (Dark and Wicked Fae #1) - Cate Corvin Page 0,7
away, the door cracked open like it was beckoning me to my doom.
I mustered up the last of my energy and smashed myself backwards, tossing my head to hit him in the face and hopefully break his nose.
But his face was too high. He had a foot of height on me. The back of my skull smacked into a hard chest and bounced off, so I resorted to my back-up tactic: lifting my heel hard enough to smash into his balls.
I felt my foot slam into a thigh as I simultaneously jerked forward, and his grip on my arm slackened for one second. As soon as I felt his fingers loosen, I was off like a shot, racing past the porch.
Something snared my ankle and ripped my foot backwards. I sprawled on my face in the high grass, yanking up handfuls as I tried to get away. The smell of earth filled my nose as whatever had snared me pulled me back, dragging me easily over the grass.
“What are you doing?” he asked in exasperation. A shadow crouched over me, and this time he twisted both arms behind my back before he lifted me to my feet and steered me back towards the porch. The thing snaring my ankle had released me.
“I’m trying not to die!” I snarled, trying to jerk away, but the Ghosthand learned quickly. He held me slightly to the side so I couldn’t kick him and pushed me through the door.
I stumbled into a dark hallway and heard the death knell of the door being shut and locked behind me. Would he kill me here and dump my corpse, or was I going to be bound, gagged, and driven to one of the neighborhoods he tended to frequent?
“Die? You’re not going to die. What gives you that impression?” He sounded nonplussed as he prodded me down the hall.
I stepped into a room that looked like an office. An enormous ebony desk was set facing the room and one wall was plastered with notes and photographs. Bookshelves lined the wall behind the desk, and a fire was crackling in the hearth. A man’s jacket was draped over the back of the plush leather office chair.
A feminine gasp filled the room, followed by a sultry woman’s voice. “Oh, Robin, she’s perfect.”
I looked around wildly but saw no one else. Not until something on the desk moved.
The remains of a half-eaten dinner were laid out over an open book, but amid the stacks of files there was a miniature table and chair.
A tiny pixie sat in the chair, her legs crossed primly, goggling at me behind little spectacles made of wire as fine as spiderwebs. She held a doll’s teacup halfway to her mouth.
“That’s not why she’s here,” the Ghosthand- or Robin- said tersely. He released his grip on me and pushed me forward into the middle of the room.
I was trembling, but something seemed off. The pixie placed her teacup on her tiny table and stood up, smoothing down a skirt sewn from glossy green leaves.
“Why else would she be here?” She had a loud, stern voice for someone of her size, and looked me over like she was sizing me up. “She’s the right height, the right face, the right shape… much cuter than you, Robin. She’ll go further.”
“She saw Arrian’s remains.” There was a touch of a growl to Robin’s voice. “One of those damn cŵn annwn dug some pieces up again. I need you to brew that forgetfulness potion right now, Sisse.”
I pulled my eyes away from the assessing pixie. The photographs on the walls weren’t just any photos; they were mugshots, pictures taken from high on roofs and outside windows. Photos spying on people.
Turning slowly in place, I looked up at the man who’d captured me.
He was Gentry Fae. My breath caught in my throat; nobody had even considered that the Ghosthand might be Gentry. The idea was unthinkable.
And he was as handsome as his voice suggested. His hair and beard were thick and neat, the exact color of a raven’s wing, and eyes like sapphires gazed back at me suspiciously. His face was carved of harder lines than the usual angular planes of the Gentry Fae.
He wore black from head to toe, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms, but there was a small gold badge still pinned to his chest.
“Sisse. Potion. Now.” He cleared his throat, flicking a foul look at the pixie before turning his gaze back to