Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

It seemed Otter was permanently assigned to be my chaperone, and my long and lanky cousin sauntered beside me as we crossed the wildflower fields to the hobs' barn. I owed the orchard caretakers an explanation, or at least a debrief. Sawyer and Ame accompanied us, trotting ahead with their tails in the air and heads looking every which way. Overhead, three of the largest pixies—who I'd come to call Dart, Flit, and Zip—took turns dive-bombing Otter's head in an attempt to pull his hair, much like mockingbirds would do to a cat when it was near their nest.

"Shoo!" he told them, swatting at the air and always missing. "Same side, guys! Same side!"

They weren't convinced, and they clearly thought my instructions to leave him alone were made under duress.

"Can we go back to the farmhouse where I won't get my ears chewed on, please?" he groused.

"Just a minute," I said, seizing the chilled handle to the barn's sliding door.

"Hey, fellas," I greeted loudly before I even slid the door open along its frosty track. No doubt they were on high alert and posed to swing makeshift clubs or hurl apples the moment the door opened, despite Sawyer previously informing them we were no longer at DEFCON 1.

As I fully expected, an apple hit the doorframe just left of my head, detonating into a shower of mealy pulp and juice. Green magic flared in Otter's hand.

"Hey!" I protested.

"Sorry," Ricky said, not an ounce of remorse in his voice. "It slipped."

"Stand down," Roland commanded.

The hobs, half-hidden in the bales of straw, slowly emerged from their defensive positions. The only one not wielding a club was Dale, who had Rhett in some kind of choke hold to keep the rooster quiet and prevent him from giving away their ambush. In the wan autumn light, the hobs assembled a wary distance from the barn entrance, keeping ahold of their weapons and eyeing Otter.

Doing my very best Cody Beecham impression, I thwacked him in the arm with the back of my hand. "Stop that."

My cousin scrunched up his face in a brief show of disagreement before clamping his fingers into a fist and snuffing out his magic.

"Gents, this is my cousin Otter," I introduced. "Otter, these are the hobs of Sweet Cider Farm."

"Ah," Otter mused, rubbing his chin. "So that's what you call these. Dad and I thought they were some kind of hobgoblin."

"Hobgoblin!" the hobs cried indignantly, raising their weapons once more.

"Like Wystan?" Roland blustered. The pixies shrilled angrily at the name, zipping through the air like silver hornets. "Absolutely not!"

"Easy, fellas," I said, flinging a glare at my cousin. "I made the same mistake when I first came here, remember?"

"Yeah, but you didn't hurl spells at us," Walt said, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

"You attacked us ," Otter fired back. "With apples and glass bottles and— You egged us!"

"You big baby," Ricky jeered. "Can't stand a bit of yolk in your hair?"

"That eggshell almost scratched my retina!"

Frowning, I asked, "Isn't the retina at the back of the eye?"

"It was a really big piece of shell."

"Uh-huh." I gave them all a warning look. "We don't have time for this. Listen up, everyone, Grumpy—Lewellyn," I corrected myself, "has been reassigned to Daphne and Shari's house on Weaver Lane. That means I need you all to patrol the property with Sawyer and Ame in case the magic hunters resurface."

"Magic hunters?" Otter asked. "You never mentioned these magic hunters to Grandmother!"

"Yet. I haven't mentioned these magic hunters to Grandmother yet ."

He shook his head, sweeping his long hair out of his eyes. "Don't you think you're in enough hot water as it is?"

"And only I will be patrolling with the hobs," Ame informed. "Sawyer is going with you." To her ward, the caliby cat instructed, "Don't let your witch out of your sight."

For the first time, Sawyer didn't protest the implication that he was my familiar. He merely went to my side and sat, tail curling around my ankle. I didn't protest Ame's decision, as the cat undoubtedly had a good reason… that she would tell me about when it suited her… or never at all.

"Dale," I continued, "my aunt Peony is the cook of my family, but she's unfamiliar with ovens and stoves and the hearth is quite small compared to the one she is used to. I was wondering if perhaps you'd be willing to assist her?"

"As a sous chef?" the hob asked brightly. "Me?"

"Uh, maybe work up to that title? My family has some, um, prejudices against the Fair Folk—"

"You don't say," Ricky drawled. "You should've heard what that younger one was calling us when we were pelting him with apples."

"That would be Marten. My brother."

"Your brother?" Roland blustered. "But you're so nice and he's so, so… not ."

Joe removed his long red hat and held it over his heart like he was paying his respects at a funeral. "I'm so sorry for your association."

"You sure he wasn't swapped at birth?" Ricky asked, scratching his head. "Fae changelings used to be all the rage a few centuries ago." He shrugged. "Guess that Unseelie fae was just taking him back home through the portal."

I winced.

Roland immediately rounded on him. "Shut your trap or I'll stuff your hat so far down your throat it'll keep your toes warmer than your socks!"

"When we get him back, I'll make sure he apologies to you all," I promised. "Until then…"

"We won't antagonize the witches and we'll guard the property," Roland summarized, "but you make sure they treat us with the same courtesy we'll be showing them. We're not going back to the ways of the Pembertons and all the humans before them."

All the hobs shuddered at the thought.

"I understand." To Dale, I said, "Maybe bring over a crock of the apple butter and a bottle or two of the wassail? Food gifts tend to go a long way in my family."

"I'll get the fresh stuff," the hob declared, and we dispersed to our tasks.

On the way back to the farmhouse, I caught Otter giving me a sidelong glance. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "It's just… You really took Boar's comment about you being a pushover as a challenge, didn't you? Stealing the grimoire, running away from home, setting up your own cider farm with hobs , befriending Fair Folk like that garden gnome, bonding a familiar, getting frisky with shifters. You took the Hawthorne rule book and literally chucked it out the window."

"I can't tell if you think that's a good thing or a bad thing." The rear garden gate swung open with a light touch, and a little pulse from the hearth rippled beneath our feet. It was different from its warning pulse, softer, gentler; Grandmother had spelled the hearth to track the family's comings and goings to better keep us informed as to where each of us was at all times.

"It's a thing," Otter said noncommittally.

Then he seized my arm and spun me to face him, his face alight in that jovial way of his I hadn't seen since fleeing the manor. I never noticed how his eyes sparkle like Uncle Badger's .

"But you know when this all blows over in a few years that Lilac is gonna freak out about your lumbersnack." He grinned. "You know hers was just an eagle. You claimed a bear."

"I don't think I've claimed—"

He waggled his eyebrows at me. "That's not what I heard by the maple tree."

Just the insinuation alone was enough for me to feel Arthur's phantom touch on my skin, his breath on my neck, his warm hand sliding up my thigh, under my dress.

I choked on a breath, wheezing. I'd felt lust for Arthur before, but this fantasizing—and in front of other people, no less!—was on another level entirely. It had my whole body thrumming, even my soul; the invisible chain between us hummed like a strummed guitar string. It left me wanting, painfully aware that I hadn't— What had Otter said? Claimed? And yet, deep down, I knew it wasn't a wholly sexual joining I yearned for.

"Shut up , Otter," I whisper-hissed, clamping down on the flush that had me no doubt resembling a freshly boiled lobster. "Don't you have groceries or something to get?"

" There you are." Dressed in one of my gypsy blouses and her battle leather pants, Aunt Peony looked like a biker mom on her way to a parent-teacher conference. She seized Otter's wrist and hauled him away towards the larger of the two unmarked cars that were now parked by my sedan. "If you had any idea what it takes to provision for nine—"

"Ten," I corrected. "Arthur's coming over tonight." Just the sound of his name on my tongue sent another shiver through me.

" Ten people," our aunt continued as if I'd never interrupted, "you would not be dilly-dallying." Her thrusting a long pink T-shirt into Otter's chest nearly bowled him over. "Put this on, and be quick about it."

She handed me a pair of folded fleece leggings, a few pair of socks, my boots, and my parka. "These are for you, Meadow." As I dressed, Sawyer tugged my old filthy wet socks to the porch one by one, his nose crinkled in permanent disgust.

Otter shook out the shirt. "Flower Power" stretched across the chest in glitzy lettering. "No freaking way. Isn't this one of Rose's T-shirts her sorority was selling as a fundraiser back at college? I'm not wearing this!"

"Yes, you are. With that shirt and my blouse, we'll look like a pair of hippies who are also proud supporters of the leather industry and not the stranded witches we are. We're in the middle of Corn and Cattle, USA. We'll blend right in." She snapped her fingers. "Hurry up. I don't want to miss the before-noon sales."

Grumbling, Otter unclasped his shortened battle robes and tugged himself free of his battle leather vest that clung to him like second skin, tossing both onto the porch railing. Then he wiggled into the shirt, which was almost as much a second skin as his vest, and gave our aunt a patronizing two thumbs-up with a matching grin.

Her thrusting a piece of paper—torn from my birch-bound notebook, it would seem—and a pen into Otter's chest nearly bowled him over yet again. "Now keep up , Otter. And scribe for me as I drive. Oh!" Spinning on her booted heel, Aunt Peony turned to face me and asked, "Meadow, dear, where's that grocery store again? Galleon's? Gallipot's?"

"Galloway's. At the town rotary, take the north spur. You can't miss it."

"Thank you!" she replied in a singsong voice, spinning back around.

"Oh sure," Otter complained, "talk to Meadow all sweetly, but me?"

Seizing Otter's wrist again and resuming her hauling, Aunt Peony replied, "You are the king of dawdling, Otter. Everyone knows this. Now what did I tell you? Keep up!"

Though they were not meant for me, I took Aunt Peony's words to heart too. The rest of the family was waiting for me in the gravel driveway, Grandmother drumming her fingers on the hood of the sedan. The five of us split between the two remaining cars, Grandmother and Dad joining me in the sedan to maintain the power of three, should the small foray into town warrant it, and for my protection. Grandmother slid into the backseat in a rustle of black wool and creaking black leather, as she didn't drive, or at least I'd never seen her behind the wheel. While Dad had tried to sit in the passenger seat, Sawyer had beaten him to it, hunched with his fur fluffed and tail lashing. Dad cleared his throat and joined Grandmother in the rear.

As I pulled out onto the country road, Aunts Eranthis and Hyacinth following in the second car, Sawyer moved out of the seat to perch on the compartment of the center console so he could stare at the two witches in the back with as much unimpressed disdain as he could muster.

"Sawyer," I cautioned.

"Just a little longer," he murmured back at me, whiskers twitching.

"And you are?" Grandmother drawled.

"Sawyer Blackfoot. I'm Meadow's cat."

"Don't you mean ‘familiar?'"

"We, um, haven't made it that far in our relationship," I answered.

"I haven't graduated Grimalkin University yet," the tabby cat said.

Grandmother snorted. "They have a university for you lot?"

"Sure do." Sawyer's tail lashed. "It's how I knew that spell that knocked half you lot flat on your tails."

"Powerful magic for an unbound familiar," Dad commented, sharing a look with Grandmother. Some communication passed between them, and my palms broke out with a nervous sweat. "How… unusual."

"I'm kind of a big deal," Sawyer said. "Best remember that."

"You might take a page out of Roland's book and not antagonize them," I whisper-hissed at the cat. I seemed to be whisper-hissing a lot lately. "They're my family."

"I'm your family too," he hissed back at me.

"And where is your moonstone collar?" Grandmother asked sharply.

Sawyer straightened proudly. "I don't wear one."

"I see."

At the same time, my grandmother rapidly churned the manual hand crank to lower her window and my father lunged forward to seize Sawyer and hurl him out the car.

"Thistle thorns!" My foot stomped on the brake, momentum and claws helping Sawyer launch out of my father's hands and into my lap. Behind us, Aunt Eranthis screeched the second car to a halt. "Dad! What the h—"

"How do you know that's just a cat?" he shouted back at me, drawing his knives.

"Because I know my cat!"

"That's not good enough, Meadow, and you know it." Grandmother had already summoned her magic. "He's been back and forth and out of sight countless times since we've arrived here. He could be compromised. That could be a glamoured fairy in your lap. I see some fuzzy edges around him."

"That's my fur," Sawyer cried. "I still have fuzzy baby hair!"

"Back off , Grandmother. Dad!"

Both of them had called upon their magic now. I clutched the cat to my chest.

"Tell me how he lost the tip of his ear," she demanded. "Together. Now ."

"Hobgoblin!" we both cried.

Grandmother and Dad shared a look, then Dad put his knives away and Grandmother extinguished her magic. "We'll see about some moonstone at this Barn Market in addition to the opals." She flicked her fingers at me to keep driving as she rolled up the window. "Carry on."

Growling, Sawyer slunk back to my lap. "I can see why Ame doesn't like you," he told my grandmother.

"It's not my job to be liked, cat," she said sharply. "It's to keep my family alive and safe. You can bear the humility of a collar for a few days to do the same for my granddaughter." It wasn't a question.

Sawyer lifted amber eyes up to me. "Are you really going to let her collar me?"

I didn't have an answer. On one hand, I understood my grandmother's logic: moonstone dispelled the low-level glamours frequently used to mask an entity's true identity, so a cat wearing one couldn't be anything other than itself. Certainly not a fiáin. On the other hand, I knew my cat and it wasn't necessary. But…

"They don't know you like I do, Sawyer," I said, feeling miserable with every word that came out of my mouth. "And what we just went through right now? I don't want that—or something worse—happening to you because over something stupid as mistaken identity. So… yes."

The tabby tomcat made a little choking noise and promptly removed himself from my lap, tucking himself tight against the passenger side door, as far away from me as he could. He looked resolutely out the window at the rain that had picked up again. "I wish your family had never come here."

Biting down on my lower lip so I wouldn't cry, I finished the drive to the Barn Market in silence.