Of Thorn and Thread (Daughters of Eville #4) - Chanda Hahn Page 0,105
me rebuild the lesser fae court.
“Dah!” I waved back.
Sneezewort pointed at the old hob hill and the home he had just repaired.
“It looks wonderful,” I commended.
“Already occupied.” Sneezewort rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Really?” I placed my hands on my hips and studied the closest hob home.
A female hob with a pile of scraggly red hair, in a dress made of leaves, walked out the front door and shook out an old rug.
“Durn women,” Sneezewort bemoaned woefully, a contrary reaction compared to the rosy color that bloomed along his cheeks.
His murmuring didn’t last long before something caught his eye and he went charging, screaming at the air, swinging his shovel.
“More Pixieees,” Sneezewort howled, taking off after the little pixie who dodged the whack of the shovel and pulled his moss hat over his eyes.
“PFFFFttttt,” the pixie blew his tongue and then flew up to the top of the never tree and hid among the branches of their new home.
“Stupid pixie.” Sneezewort thumbed his nose toward his arch nemesis. He turned back to the hob homes, and his waddle became a little wider as he headed to greet the new occupant.
I couldn’t hold back my own grin as I headed deeper into the firethorn thickets to check on the fairy circles. The firethorns parted, allowing me to pass unharmed, and a blur of gold darted past me, making a beeline straight for the circle of mushrooms.
Hack was my second visitor that traveled all the way north in Sneezewort’s bag. Hack gave me plenty of grief when he arrived and demanded treats. He seemed to settle into life at a faerie court. He rolled around in a patch of dark grass and then strolled over and made a show of chomping on a cowslip. He gave me a perturbed look.
Tastes bad.
“Of course it does. Not everything that grows near a fairy circle is edible, nor does it taste good.”
He glared at me, and his tail gave one flick before he turned away.
Stupid pixie lied.
I held back laughter and tried to hide my amusement.
“Did she?”
She said if I roll in a fairy circle, everything you eat tastes good.
I sighed. All pixies were mischievous. I was going to have a long talk with the pixie after I sorted out the new guardians that had moved to our court. Across the glade, I could hear the three new basajaunak pushing more giant stones toward the entrance with Basa. He was the one who had saved me as a child, and in doing so, his own family had perished. Basa was alone, guarding the fae queen for years. Until I came along. He was thrilled to add the basajaunak to his family, and their marks on his stone.
Mother was right. As an empath, my presence seemed to attract new life to the courts, and fae thoughts didn’t plague me as much as those of the human variety. Maybe because their thoughts were simple or purer of intent.
Hack flicked his tail at me and squinted his eyes.
Hungry.
“You’re a hunter.” I waved my hands at the air. “Go catch something.”
Hack coughed, showing his disdain before he stretched, showing off his feline claws.
Fine. I’ll go catch something. He sauntered off into the brush. And then leave it on your pillow.
“Hack!” I yelled out in feigned irritation, realizing that I was so close to my future of living alone and becoming a crazy cat lady. Except, instead of cats, I collected mischievous fae.
I felt a featherlight tickle poke at my thoughts, and I turned, searching the glade.
There was nothing there but the fields of daylilies I had planted in honor of my mother, and beyond the glade was a wall of firethorns—my own added protection against non-fae, in case they ever thought to attack again.
The feeling didn’t pass, and so I crossed over the fairy circle and walked to the edge of the glade, staring at the wall of thorns.
“I told you I would always find you.”
My heart fluttered in my chest, but I knew I had to be imagining his voice. Slowly, I turned and cupped my hand over my mouth to hold back my sobs.
Liam’s golden hair had grown longer, touching the collar of his shirt. A brown traveling cloak had replaced his red cloak. His tan was more gold, and there were dark circles under his eyes, and scratches from the firethorns across his cheeks and arms.
“What are you doing here?” My voice was barely above a whisper.