Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

CAELAN

I whistle a tune to myself as I lean against the counter of the local apothecary shop, waiting for the witch they called Willow to appear.

The shop itself is a marvel of her witchcraft and her green thumb, and I have to admit the witch in question must be quite a talent.

My hands shake slightly, and I lace them together to hide it from Kieran, whose wings haven't stopped vibrating since the moment we walked in here.

I don't know how much my companions noticed when the stunning blonde enchantress walked into the syrupy-sweet bakery, but my heart hasn't stopped beating double time since I laid eyes on her.

Wren.

A witch.

After all these years, after days that flew into weeks and sprinted into months, a witch.

A witch!

My whistle goes sharp at the thought, and I tug at my sleeve, at the tattoo now vining across my skin.

The weight of Kieran's gaze drags across my arm, and I know he's seen it. I know he's seen the black edging along the purple of my wrist.

His wings buzz louder, and I grit my teeth at the noise.

How am I supposed to think straight with all that damnable noise?

"Oh!" We hear her before we see her, and to my surprise, Kieran stands up straighter, the high whine of his wings going blessedly, finally quiet as the witch, Willow, finally comes into view.

She's plump, a soft hourglass figure clothed in shades of emerald green to lovely effect, with glossy red-brown waves falling over one shoulder. Her hair's a flame against the greens of the many plants growing in every corner of the shop, hanging in gilded pots and stowed in wooden baskets.

There's even a thick wood bough over one table sprouting all manner of fungi, red-capped toadstools and white button mushrooms and a delicate yellow lace-type fungus I've never seen before.

"You are Willow?" Kieran asks, something like shock in his voice.

"You're an Unseelie fae," Willow responds, dusting her hands on a cream-colored apron. There's a bit of apprehension in her heart-shaped face, though her tone is clear and deliberate. "What brings you here? Who gave you my name?"

"Forgive us," I say, coming to my senses. "Piper and Wren sent us here. We are new in town, and looking for work."

Willow squints at me, then readjusts herself, standing straighter, though she is positively petite for a human and would be egregiously small for a fae.

Kieran clears his throat, and she zeroes in on him.

"You have beetle wings," she tells him.

He blinks, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as his wings begin to buzz again. Thank the sprites, though, he manages to pull them completely out, and Willow stands before him, her mouth agape, dazzled.

They iridesce in the sunlight streaming from the large circular-paned windows that make up the back wall of her store, and she closes her mouth with a snap.

"Well. Piper and Wren sent you? Are you just a pair of pretty wings or do you know your way around plants, fae?" She arches an eyebrow, her foot tapping beneath the hem of her dress. "Are you good with customers? Will you get in my way?"

Kieran makes a sound of consternation in his throat, his wings drooping slightly at her barrage of questions.

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing.

I like this witch, too.

Perhaps our jaunt above the Underhill will be good for Kieran.

As soon as I set eyes on my Wren, I knew it would be for me. I smile to myself.

"He's been trained in all manner of plant lore," I say for Kieran, deciding this is where the princeling needs to be—with a plump and pretty flame-haired witch who will put him in his place. "He can be moody, but he aims to please."

The witch levels a look at me. "Does he speak for himself?" she asks tartly.

"I am at your service," Kieran says in a low voice, surprising me by sketching an equally low bow.

His wings extend again as he straightens, and a pink flush rides across Willow's cheeks.

"It won't be easy," she warns. "I have snapping kaninduelas in need of repotting, the gnarburls are about to bloom, and I need to harvest the crostrein nuts."

I raise an eyebrow at Kieran, waiting for him to shirk any duties, especially those involving snapping kaninduelas, but he simply dips his head at her requests.

"I might have questions about how to do it to your standards, my lady," he says, all noble fae.

I roll my eyes and bite back a laugh. Either he's decided to accept fate's hand across his princely cheeks or he, too, has found a bossy little witch he likes.

Well, either way, it will make my life easier.

"Have fun," I say, breaking the staring contest between the two. "I'll head to Isley's… farm stand, is it?"

"She doesn't need help. She won't take yours, at least." The witch doesn't even look up at me, and my ego smarts a bit from all the attention she's lavishing on Kieran. Ah well, the young fae prince has always been short on attention from women.

Maybe this will do him some good, after all.

Although it is definitely not the kind of good the Dark Queen would approve of.

Which means it's the exact kind of thing I approve of… at the moment, at least.

"Where do you suggest I find work then, Willow witch?" I ask, stepping back as a strange flower begins to bud next to me. I watch it warily, putting space between the bloom and me and feeling the whisper of her verdant magic all around.

"Long Leaf Brews," she answers shortly, finally glancing at me. "The elf who owns it is welcoming of all manner of species… and she will probably be your best bet. Besides, she's busy with her new husband at the moment and could use some time off."

I wait, hoping she'll drop more hints that might help me get my way.

Not that I need help, but I do like to have an advantage when possible.

"You won't get her name from me," Willow says smartly, pulling a pair of glistening shears from her apron pocket. "Now go on, I don't need two of you scaring off clients. One with wings is enough. You come with me." She crooks a finger, and to my shock, Kieran follows without a look back.

I take a moment to glance around her strange, bewitching apothecary once more, avoiding the now blooming flower that seems to be leaning towards me, before making my way back outside.

Dusk's fallen, and I doubt Long Leaf Brews, whatever that may be, will be open for much longer.

An elf, a whole bustling coven of witches, the minotaurs… this is a strange place full of strange folk.

A fast clip-clop grows louder, and I dodge out the way as a huge male centaur with feathered hooves trots down the cobblestone street.

I should go find this elf and her new husband and make myself appealing to them.

Instead, I find myself following the muscled back of the dapple-grey centaur, back to The Pixie's Perch… and more importantly, back to the store next to it.

A jewelry boutique, fit for a metalsmithing witch with unkempt blonde hair and a wicked sharp gaze. Gold and silver gleam in the waning light, the last fingers of sunset setting the rare stones ablaze through the window.

Witchwork's Jewelry, a wooden sign overhead proclaims.

I drink it in, the lovely craftsmanship she's wrought on full display in the window. The magic chimes gently in the air, even through the glazed windows, the knack of her power compelling even without the stunning work on navy velveteen pillows.

Now that I know she's here, this blonde Wren, this little golden magpie of a witch, I will be hard-pressed to let her go.

My lips purse, and I begin to whistle tunelessly again.

The compulsion to pursue prey is as natural to my kind as breathing.

And Wren, the lovely, ethereal blonde enchantress, would make perfectly pleasant prey.

I smile to myself as she appears in the back of the shop, her strange brass magnifying glasses perched on her eyes as she works at a jewelry bench. I can barely make out the pink tip of her tongue as she concentrates, her red fox familiar curling around her ankles.

Even from here, I scent her—that rare perfume of deep, dark places in the earth, of gold and magic. Of power… and maybe something even better.

I shove my hands in my pockets and my grin broadens.

Yes, catching this little bird will be an excellent diversion from the nasty business of our exodus from the Underhill.

Now I just have to find out what will make her fly to me for help.