Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

I forced open encrusted eyes and glared murderously at the bedroom ceiling. From the gray gloom shrouding everything in shadow from the wardrobe to the settee, it was nearing dawn. Thistle thorns, I was exhausted. And starving. Had I not eaten anything last night? It wasn't like a Hawthorne to miss a meal.

Scritch… Scritch…

"I thought I told you to go away!" I shouted at the creature chewing and scratching around in my walls.

The bolt of green magic I sent up at the cathedral ceiling blew a grapefruit-sized hole in the plaster. Yelping, for it was no longer crumbs falling onto the bed but actual chunks, I threw the duvet over my head. The goose-down stuffing dampened the impact of the plaster hail, but it did nothing to deafen me again the shrill screech that reverberated through my bedroom.

In a panic, I tore off the duvet to discover a barn owl rising from a perching stand on the fireplace mantel. Ossian's owl! The ethereal hunter flapped tawny wings, soaring towards the holes I'd peppered into the ceiling. It swung two sets of dark talons up at the fresh wound in the plaster, right at the two judgmental yellow eyes that were staring down at me.

I yelped again, summoning another bolt even as the barn owl attacked, ripping into the plaster and screeching again. How well fed were these mice? It was the size of a cat!

But the creature was too fast for me or the owl. It receded into the network of tunnels it had no doubt created in the walls, and try as I might, I couldn't hear it nibbling or clawing about. The barn owl gave a frustrated hiss before circling back to its stand on the fireplace and perching. It directed two glowing blue eyes at me, so startling a color that I yelped for a third time.

Ignoring me, the owl settled its wings and closed its eyes to slits. In the predawn darkness, they resembled two blue crescent moons. After taking a deep breath, I snuffed out my magic and took a minute to truly absorb the implication of that grapefruit-sized hole above me.

I'd unlocked more of my magical core yesterday than ever before, aside from the Hawthorne hearth ember, thanks to the donation of the green life energy from the rambler roses. I'd run to tell Ossian, to show him with the cloch na wight, and then…

I couldn't remember what happened after that. Had we celebrated? Thistle thorns, had I gotten drunk and passed out? He was always warning me about fairy wine, and my head was certainly throbbing. No doubt he'd carried me all the way back here, along with that owl, and put me to bed… in yesterday's clothes. Though, the white fur coat could be seen hanging in my wardrobe.

Despite his aversion to the fashion atrocity that was my foraging bag, he hadn't removed it from my shoulder before putting me to bed. Ossian hadn't touched the censer either, and despite being smothered by the bedsheets, the Hawthorne ember hadn't died overnight. That fact hadn't prevented me from presently having a mild panic attack and flicking open the latch and letting the ember get a breath of the fresh, albeit freezing, air in the bedroom.

As the ember smoldered and continued to look as pathetic as always, I rested back on the pillows and fought through the murky haze that surrounded yesterday's memories. After a minute or two of straining, a revelation would not come. So I huffed a sigh and got up to wash the crust from my eyes and prepare myself for the new day. As I moved to the bathroom, the owl lifted from its perch, flying on silent wings to one of the pine-cone finials of the bed's posts.

"Shouldn't you be hunting vermin instead of watching me?" I asked.

Its eyes only glowed a brighter blue. It was unnerving. Unnatural. And why didn't the owl talk? Every beast in Ossian's court could. Normally I would've taken the time to introduce myself and get to know the bird, but every instinct said it would bite my fingers off if I tried to touch it.

Frowning, I diverted to the wardrobe for the day's clothes, retreated to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. The owl was once again on the fireplace mantle when I emerged, its eyes fully closed now that the sunlight had replaced the moonlight streaming in through the windows. I still crept as silently as I could from my own bedroom.

Alec had not yet returned from his hobgoblin hunt, so there was no one to shove me into the great hall and laugh as the bear attempted to rip me limb from limb. Instead, Ossian waited for me at the double doors. He was clad for a non-hunting day, which meant he was still (impossibly, given how cold it always was) barefooted but there was a shirt now tucked into his buckskin trousers. The ivory linen only accented the bow-like arch of his shoulders and his tapered waist, the paleness contrasting against his bronze skin and the deep copper of his hair. As always, a golden glow emanated from him as if there was a sun trapped inside his body. The corners of his jewel-green eyes crinkled as I hastened my step to greet him.

"Ossian." His name was a breathless exhale, as if I'd never seen anyone or anything so beautiful and alluring in my life. Every day I was struck dumb at his presence, melting under the sensuous influence of the golden haze of our fated mate bond.

The big blue jewel at his throat blazed as he welcomed me into his arms, pulling me into a fierce kiss that set my every nerve on end. "Morning, love," he murmured, the timber of his voice as smooth and luscious as butter sauce. He stroked both hands over my hair, lifting my face for him to look deeply into my eyes. I blushed under his attentiveness. "You're looking well rested."

"Despite the critters in my wall," I said, rolling my eyes with a laugh.

His eyes narrowed, all affection gone. His fingers pressed tightly into my scalp. "They're still scratching around in there? What of the owl?"

"Ossian"—I winced—"that hurts."

He released me only to grip my hands and bring my knuckles to his lips for a kiss. "I sometimes forget how delicate you witches are."

Again, no apology. What was it with men and their incapability of saying those two little words, I'm sorry ? Or was it only fae males?

"Delicate?" I zapped him in the chest with a feisty bolt of green magic. Not enough to hurt him—I wasn't that powerful yet—but enough to leave a fleeting sting. I was a Hawthorne, and one strong enough to be breaking the curse the matriarch of our coven had placed over me. The only delicate thing about me was my emotions.

He laughed, a rich sound like the ringing of deep-toned bells, and rubbed at the spot on his chest. "As compared to high fae, love. I meant no offense." Bracing a large hand on the double doors, he opened them both with a simple shove.

The grizzly bear surged to his feet at the end of the hall with a bellow.

My blood, which had been running hot at Ossian's touch, turned to icy sludge. I actually choked on my breath, heart stuttering. The fae king swept around behind me, perching his hands on the tops of my shoulders like an eagle's talons and leaning down to whisper in my ear. "So delicate."

I flushed with embarrassment, but only for a moment. The terror of that bear…

Straightening, he tucked my numb hand into the crook of his arm and guided me inside. Besides that teasing—and tasteless—remark, he was the gentleman, keeping his powerful body between me and the bear as he brought us to the table. It still the bore the gouges of yesterday. I swallowed audibly at the thought that those claws had almost done the same to my throat. They'd almost robbed me of my hand, too, had the beast not miscalculated the distance between us. And the black tourmaline—

"Never mind the bear," Ossian told me, running his finger along the length of my jaw and turning my gaze back to him. The golden glow of his skin brightened, and my thoughts turned warm. By the Green Mother, I could lose myself in those green eyes. "Let's get you fed, love. Another big day is ahead of you."

"The rambler roses!" I blurted, clinging to one of the two memories I could distinctly remember from yesterday.

He flashed me a doting smile. "Given your success yesterday, I've arranged a treat for you. It'll be waiting for you in the foyer when you're done eating. And after you've taken your tonic and charged another crystal, of course."

Of course. Always with the tonics and crystals, of course .

Mrs. Bilberry arrived then, announcing herself and the parade of woodchucks with her little gold bell. Bursting with happiness, both at my triumph yesterday and Ossian's generosity, I paid the growling grizzly bear no mind as I devoured my breakfast. We were that much closer to freeing my magic and summoning the portal, which meant his glaring looks were coming to their own end.

"Daphne! Flora and Shari!" I cried as I rushed into the foyer. My full stomach had protested the short sprint from the great hall to the foyer, but my heart had told it in no uncertain terms to shut up. And to keep my breakfast down.

The wan morning light of autumn shone on the white mare's flanks as Daphne spun around at the sound of my voice. The porcupine on her withers, halfway through crocheting a braid into Daphne's mane with a hook made from one of her very own quills, squeaked in surprise and held on tight. Impaled on Shari's quills and within easy reach of her paws were half a dozen balls of yarn and just as many spools of thread, and while they all shivered with the sudden movement, none of them fell free and unraveled along the ground.

Behind them in the main courtyard, Roland and the woodchucks busily unloaded a horse-drawn cart full of potted ferns, philodendrons, and other houseplants. Even a few young trees. Flora's cart wasn't the only vehicle in the courtyard; a brown mule flicked its overlong ears as an elderly raccoon and an equally old beaver unpacked a covered wagon. But a polite greeting would have to wait.

"Cider witch!" Flora barreled into me, her compact body knocking me clean off my feet. Despite being only thirty pounds, the honey badger hit like a freight train. She sniffed my mouth and worked down to the foraging bag at my hip. "Bring us any goodies from the royal table? I'm starving."

"You're always starving." Laughing, I shoved her off so I could stand. "Hi, Emmett! Hi, Cody."

The raccoon peered through his wire-rimmed spectacles before giving me a hearty wave, leaving the beaver to wrangle the handsaw out of the wagon bed himself.

Flora gave me a nudge with her snout, looking sour. "I have a fast metabolism, thank you very much. It's a full-time job maintaining all this muscle." The honey badger flexed then, her muscles bulging beneath her black-and-white hide.

"It's so nice to see you again after all this time, dear," Daphne said, trotting over so she could lip at my shoulder. I gave the fine-boned Arabian's slender neck long strokes and itched behind her ears. She nickered happily, tossing her head.

"Stop moving," the porcupine chastised. "You're ruining my braid!"

"Your braid?" Daphne asked Shari. "It's my hair!"

I turned to the quiet crafter and examined the braid she'd been working into the mare's mane. It was intricate and fastidiously perfect. "Nervous, Shari?"

"W-we don't get summoned into the castle proper that often. A-and—"

"'Course not," the beaver snorted, waddling by with a piece of oak balanced on his shoulder. "She and Cernunnos got better things to do than entertain the likes of us. C'mon, you old 'coon," he told Emmett. "Toss me that sack of nails. That table ain't gonna mend itself."

My delight evaporated. "T-table?" Surely he didn't mean the one in the great hall.

"The king said the bear got loose and did some damage," Cody said. "So he did the smart thing and called the professionals. I'll have that table looking shipshape in no time."

After stuffing some wood putty into his tool belt, the beaver clamped his orange teeth down on the piece of oak and padded off purposefully towards the great hall.

"You're going in there by yourself?" I demanded, racing after the carpenter. Thistle thorns, he was fast for an old rodent. "Without a guard?"

"Meadow!" Daphne neighed. "Get back here!"

I couldn't let the beaver go to his death alone. I had to stop him! "But the bear," I protested.

"Just needs a firm hand is all," Cody said confidently, his words muffled behind the mouthful of wood.

Reaching the great hall, the beaver spun around, forcing me to jump back so the board didn't take me out at the shins, and gave the double doors a mighty whack with his tail. As they swung inward, I flattened against the nearest wall. If the bear saw me—

The grizzly rumbled as the beaver waddled in.

"Ack, boy, shaddup," the crotchety carpenter chastised. "You want to be free of that chain and I want fully opposable thumbs, but we don't live in a fantasy world, do we?"

I debated whether or not to close the doors—but not lock them, as Alec had done—just in case the bear got loose. But if the bear did get loose, he could knock those doors down just as easily as he'd gouged the table. With them open, at least Cody would be afforded an escape route.

The bear continued to grumble as the beaver worked, but Cody paid him no mind. I used the boisterous sounds of the beaver chewing and gnawing the oak into the correct shape to mask my steps back to the foyer.

My friends met me halfway, each trembling in fright. Except Flora. But her eyes were very, very wide, a thin white halo surrounding their inky irises.

"The bear," the three gasped. I wasn't the only one terrified of the bear, though there seemed no rhyme or reason as to who was scared of him and who wasn't. Mrs. Bilberry and the woodchucks were indifferent to his snarls, but maybe that was because they were exposed to him twice a day. Though, I was too, and I still wanted to wet myself at the sight of him.

"That is the bravest beaver I've ever known," Flora said solemnly.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Emmett cautioned. "You'll just inflate his ego and next he'll be wanting to be knighted for being a fearless defender of the realm or other such nonsense. Then I'll never hear the end of it." He patted the velvet sack he'd slung over his shoulder. "Why, he'd probably insist on getting one of these rubies made into those stag-head pins the Brotherhood wear for his-own-self."

"Aw," Flora complained, sniffing the sack, "and here I was hoping you had some snacks from that old egret, Ms. Harris. She's always hooking you up with the tastiest freshwater clams and little minnows."

The raccoon shoved the honey badger away, lest her overcurious nose somehow rip through the velvet and soil the jewels.

"Rubies?" Shari asked, frantic. "Cernunnos said nothing about rubies to me. D-did he want me to sew them into one of your dresses?" She snatched up one of my hands in both of her paws, beseeching me. "Of course! The Winter Fete is approaching and he'll be wanting you to look spectacular. I-I didn't forget! I swear! I just don't remember which dress you wanted bedazzled? I'll do it right away—"

"Easy, Shari," I said, alarmed at her panic. She was acting like the fae king would have her drawn and quartered and fed to the falcons!

"Now, now, Miss Cable," Emmett soothed. "He asked for these special. Ain't got nothing to do with dresses. I suspect it's to adorn more of his silverwork."

Then the grandfatherly raccoon gave me a wink. "Maybe he's making you another piece of finery to go along with those earrings. A bracelet, maybe?" He waggled bushy white eyebrows. "Maybe even a ring?"

"Emmett." I blushed.

"Don't know what he's waiting for, if you ask me," he said, ambling towards the hall that would lead to the black door. "Maybe he's one of those males who needs a push in the right direction?"

"Mr. Trinkett." Daphne stamped her hoof, but she was more amused than angered. "Mind your own biscuits and gravy."

The old raccoon merely chortled and padded out of sight.

No sooner had his shadow disappeared did the porcupine swoon from the mare's shoulders. Her crochet hook might have clattered to the ground, but I caught her, thanking the Green Mother and all my lucky stars that her quills hadn't been erect.

"Shari, snap out of it," Flora barked, springing straight up in the air like a thirty-pound jackrabbit and swatting the porcupine across the tender nose.

Shari woke with a choking snort.

Daphne lashed her long white tail across the honey badger's flanks, which would've made any other creature yelp. "A little restraint, if you please, Flora."

"You okay?" I asked the porcupine, handing her the crochet hook.

"Yes." She gulped, smoothing down the fur on her belly. She always had to keep her hands busy. "I-I thought Cernunnos was displeased with the gowns I made you."

"The only thing he's displeased with is the fact you didn't make the necklines lower and the hemlines shorter, am I right, Meadow?" Flora laughed.

"Shush, Flora. You're embarrassing her." Daphne nudged my shoulder with her velvety muzzle. "Stallions can be pushy, dear, but remember you have your own hooves and can give him a kick if you're not interested. Just because you moved in with him doesn't mean you're to come running whenever he starts whinnying."

Color stained my cheeks like cherry juice on a linen picnic blanket. "Daphne—"

"Now who's making the cider witch blush?" Flora cackled. She butted me roughly in the leg with her head, making my knee buckle. "You gonna invite us in, or are we having girl-talk in the foyer where anyone can hear us?"

"Actually, I need help with something in my bedroom," I said quickly, relieved for the change in subject. "I've got a bit of a vermin problem." If Flora could solve it for me, I could get rid of that creepy barn owl.

"Vermin?" Predatory delight sparkled in Flora's black eyes. "We talking small and mousy or big and squirrelly?"

"You gonna be picky?" I teased. "It's a free snack."

"Can't argue with that!" The honey badger bounded ahead of me, loping for the east wing archway.

And skittered to a halt when Ossian appeared seemingly out of thin air, blocking the entrance. For a moment, he seemed tall enough for his head to scrape against the apex of the archway, his shoulders broad enough to touch each side of the passageway, his eyes feral and glowing green. He wasn't the benevolent, soft-spoken male who'd stolen my heart, but the fae king.

Out of nowhere, a warning voice rose from the recesses of my mind. It's dangerous to anthropomorphize the fae. They might look like us, apart from their height and pointed ears and general etherealness, but they are not human. They are not supes, either. And to confuse them as such would be a deadly mistake. Theirs is the magic of deception and illusion, designed to lull and distract, then strike.

Human or fae, one thing was for sure. He was anything but pleased.