by Lexi George
Ew. Inappropriate squid, awkward turtle, and shady tree rolled into one. Sassy threw the piece of paper down and picked up a black floral lace-front thong. The thong came with a naughty black cage demi bra and an even naughtier note. Trish Russell, whoever she was, had wanted in big brother’s Swiss undies, too.
Somehow, Sassy did not think Meredith would approve.
She snagged a bright coral lace G-string out of the pile and went into the bathroom, where she scrubbed her feet in the tub. Rescuing monsters was dirty work. Drying off, she tossed the towel and the muddy robe into the hamper and slipped into the panties and Trey’s white tee shirt.
She found an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet, and brushed her teeth. First order of business tomorrow would be to buy new clothes. How would she get to town with no car?
No worries. She’d call Dab Holt, the Realtor. She’d give Sassy a ride to town.
Oh, poop, she didn’t have a phone. Cue swelling disaster music: Sarah Peterson was marooned in Backwoods, Alabama, without a credit card or a means of communication. Heroine swoons in horror.
Sassy shrugged it off with a yawn. She was too tired to worry about it tonight. Things would work out. Daddy Joel didn’t call her his lucky charm for nothing.
Padding out of the bathroom, Sassy climbed into Trey’s big bed, crawled under the covers, and conked out.
“Sassy should leave Hannah.” The room spun, and Grim put one hand on the wall for support. “She is impulsive and without heed for her safety. She could have been killed tonight.”
“But she was not,” Conall said. “I would not worry overmuch. Hannah has a way of finding its own. I’ll wager your Sassy is one of them.”
“—she is not my—”
“Report to me tomorrow when your head is clear,” Conall continued, cutting Grim off. “And bring Evan with you.”
“Give me leave to kill him instead. I would relish the deed.”
Conall sighed. “Tempting, but Evan may yet be of use. At any rate, his death would pain Rebekah.”
The unspoken message was clear: Conall would spare his demon wife pain.
“Keep him close and have a care,” Conall said. “Evan is wily and full of tricks.”
Grim shook his head. “Get someone else.”
“Guard Evan and do not kill him. That is an order. You are resourceful and your skill at arms and courage in battle are unmatched. You will find a way to keep Sassy from harm.”
“I could not save Gryff.”
The words tumbled out, surprising Grim. He never spoke of Gryff, especially to the captain. Though centuries had passed, the anguish was too fresh, his sense of failure too keen.
Conall squeezed Grim’s shoulder. “No one could save Gryff. It is time you accepted that fact.”
Grim would never accept it. He would not, however, fail again. He would keep Sassy safe.
“I must leave. I wish you joy in your charge.” Conall turned to go, and looked back. “And, Grim?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“No more chocolate.”
Conall disappeared.
Grim stumbled to the kitchen sink, turned on the tap, and doused his head in cold water. The Provider said many humans enjoyed intoxication. Went so far as to seek it out, which Grim found baffling. A warrior needed his wits about him to survive.
“Still pounded?”
Grim started and banged his head against the tap.
“Oops, that’s gonna leave a mark.”
Grim gritted his teeth. He hated that mocking voice. Shoving his wet hair out of his face, he turned to face Evan. Dressed and fresh from the shower, the demonoid lounged against the granite island, arms folded across his chest. He reminded Grim of a satyr, with his sly manner and knowing smirk.
An idle race, satyrs, in Grim’s experience, roguish and deceitful.
Evan lifted a pierced brow. “You don’t like me much, do you, Big ’Un?”
“I do not like you at all.”
“Ditto. What say we call a truce, for the Lollipop’s sake?”
“If you were truly disquieted on Sassy’s behalf, you would leave.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Very well.” Grim crossed his arms, mimicking Evan’s stance. “What do you propose?”
“I know Hannah. I know demons and demonoids. And I hate that frigging witch.” Evan’s eyes glowed. “The enemy of your enemy is your friend. You can’t be everywhere at once. I can be your eyes and ears when you’re off slaying dragons.”
“There are dragons in Hannah?”
“God, I hope not.” Evan shuddered. “Saw one once. Scared the bejesus out of me. I’m saying I can keep Sassy out of trouble.” He made a face. “Or help, anyway.”
“I will take care of Sassy.”
Evan snorted. “Oh, yeah, like you did today? That worked out well.”
Grim was silent. Evan had a point, damn him. From the satisfied expression on the demonoid’s face, Evan knew it, too.
“Think about it.” Evan strolled for the door.
Grim reached a decision. In truth, he had no choice. Conall had ordered him to keep an eye on Evan, and a Dalvahni warrior did his duty. Let the demonoid think they were reluctant allies on a mission to keep Sassy unharmed.
“Very well,” Grim said. “I accept your offer.”
Evan turned, his eyes narrowed in distrust. “What’s the catch?”
“Catch?”
“When a demon hunter makes nice, I get nervous. Why do I get the feeling this is going to come back to bite me?”
“I do not know. Perhaps you are suspicious by nature.”
“It’s called self-preservation. I watch out for myself, and I don’t trust anyone, especially demon hunters.”
“Watch out for Sassy, and you and I will have no quarrel.”
“We’re already in a fight. I’ve seen the way you look at her, like she’s a pork chop and it’s Meatless Monday.” Evan shrugged. “Not that I blame you. Sassy’s special.”
“Too special for the likes of you.”
“Guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Evan yawned. “I’m whipped. I’m hitting the sack. Why don’t you be a good little demon hunter and boost us a ride? Sassy will want to go to town tomorrow. We need wheels.”
He ambled out of the kitchen with easy grace.
“What do you make of that, Provider?” Grim asked when Evan had gone.
I find his description of your attraction to Sassy rather apt.
Grim said something foul in Yarthac.
You are vexed. My remark was meant as a gentle jest, a light-hearted exchange between comrades in arms.
“Spare me. Evan wishes me to fetch some sort of conveyance for Sassy?”
Correct. There is a place in town where you can purchase such a thing on the morrow. Humans call them automobiles.
Grim pushed away from the counter. “Nay, I will do it now. I will fetch the carriage from the creek.”
It would be unwise to dematerialize in your condition. You are still under the influence.
“You are mistaken.” Grim made it to the kitchen door and grabbed the jamb for balance. “The Dal regenerate at an accelerated rate. Even now, the chocolate is leaving my system.”
The container you emptied was quite large. And we do not know what effect the fairy dust may have.
“I am not pixilated,” Grim said. “I will dematerialize and return forthwith. Sassy is a-bed?”
The Provider heaved a sigh of resignation. Yes.
“And Evan?”
Upstairs in his room. His energy levels are weak. The change appears to have exhausted him.
“Good. Watch them while I am gone.”
Grim disconnected and staggered out of the house, passing through the shield without incident. Taking a deep breath of the night air, he concentrated. To his satisfaction, the familiar pulling sensation swept over him. The woods around him stretched and thinned like molasses candy.
He materialized in a c
learing. His brain spun and his gut roiled. Swaying, he looked around. Huge trees crowded the glade, dark green giants hunched against the dark sky, but he did not recognize his surroundings.
Perhaps a stroll would clear his head. Help him get his bearings.
He took a lurching step and lost his balance, landing on his back like an upended crab. He tried to get up, but his muscles refused to cooperate.
“Something is seriously amiss,” he remarked aloud.
The process of dematerializing and rematerializing has exacerbated the effects of the chocolate. No doubt the fairy dust has worsened your condition. The Provider’s dusty voice was reproving. I warned you how it would be.
“Party pooper.”
I beg your pardon?
“Par-ty poop-er. It is an expression. It means you are not amusing.”
I know what it means. Get up.
“I prefer not to.”
Shall I fetch someone to assist you? Duncan, perhaps?
“I am content.” Grim folded his arms behind his head. Stars wheeled overhead. “The night is soft and perfumed with pine, and I rest upon the earth’s downy breast.”
You are drunk and lying in the dirt.
“Spoken like the soulless engine of knowledge that you are.”
I am not—
Grim launched into a song, an old ditty about a fox on a chase on a moonlit night.
Grimford, I would caution you to—
Grim sang louder, lingering over the town-os, down-os, and bones-os at the end of each verse.
He finished the song and started another round.
The Provider gave up and went away.
Chapter Thirteen
Tuesday morning
Old Man River was singing and wouldn’t hush up. He burbled on about the fish tickling his belly and the sun warming his muscular brown back as he stretched toward the sea.
Old Man River liked to hear himself talk. Sassy didn’t mind. Being a river is a mighty fine thing, and the river had a lot to say.
The trees were singing, too, green songs about root and twig and tender new leaves, damp earth and nourishing rain. Summer was coming and the trees were happy. They flirted with the wind, unfurled searching fingers deep into the soil; hummed to the creatures in their branches.
Perfect egg, perfect egg, a bird in the window chortled, pleased with the treasure in its nest.
Sassy stretched and opened her eyes. The tray ceiling above the bed was café au lait. The color contrasted nicely with the creamy molding and tan walls, but this wasn’t her room. Her befuddled gaze wandered from the bank of arched windows to the muddy robe draped across an upholstered chair.
She groaned, remembering. She was at her brother’s house, in his bed. Clad in one of his tee shirts and some random chick’s underwear.
Yesterday had not been some crazy whacked-out dream.
The bird in the window tapped on the glass. Perfect egg, perfect egg, the bird trilled.
Sassy leaped out of the bed. Holy mother-of-pearl, she spoke bird.
And tree.
And river.
She ran to the window and threw back the curtains. The light outside was thick with the amber blush of dawn. Mist rose in wisps from the dewy grass and hung in garlands from the trees in the surrounding woods. A sculptured island of lawn carved out of a ten-acre plot of woods sloped gently down to the water. The Devil River was lazy here, deep and wide. Sunlight danced on the water near the shore. On the opposite bank, a dark mustache of trees fringed the lip of the river and cast shadow castles on the silvery surface. The rising sun set fire to the hilltops beyond, turning lush green vegetation into mounds of golden treasure.
A rap on the glass drew Sassy’s attention. A little bird with bright black eyes, crested head, and a round beak perched on the sill. A tufted titmouse; Mrs. Olsen from the senior center was an avid birdwatcher, and had shared her knowledge with Sassy.
Peter, peter, peter. The bird whistled and fluttered to a nearby bush. Perfect egg. Sassy see perfect egg?
Unable to refuse the invitation, Sassy opened the French doors and stepped onto the damp grass. The bottoms of her feet burned. Sensations flooded her body: sights, smells, sounds, and tastes. The overload of information whited out her vision and buzzed her brain with static.
Sassy clapped her hands over her ears. “Goodness gracious grandma, what in the world is that noise?”
A bullfrog voice penetrated the cacophony. “Don’t let it fash you. It’s their way of saying good morning.”
Sassy dropped her hands, wincing at the din assaulting her ears. She glanced around for the speaker, but no one was there.
Oh, dandelions. She’d finally lost it, snapped and gone mental
There was a tug on the bottom of Trey’s tee shirt.
“Hey, fairy puss. Down here.”
A funny little man peered up at Sassy from the grass. Two feet tall with ruddy cheeks and a long, sharp nose, the fellow wore a grease-stained yellow tunic belted at the waist, patched hose, and moth-eaten slippers. Black eyes winked from a sly face, and his large pate was adorned by an orange skullcap.
Sassy squeaked and jumped out of reach. “What are you?”
“Calm down, sister. I’m not going to hurt you. Name’s Irilmoskamoseril. I’m a nibilanth.”
“A what?”
“Nib-i-lanth. Nibkin? Nibling? Nibber? You’re jerking my twig, right? Sildhjort sent me.”
“Who?”
“The stag in the forest. Why do I always get the dim ones?”
“I’m not dim. I’ve never met a . . . a . . . whatever you are.” Sassy glared down at the little man. “There’s no need to cop an attitude.”
“Oho, there’s pepper in the sugar pot. I like it. I’m your—”
The unremitting racket muddled his words.
“My what?” Sassy raised her voice to be heard over the uproar. “I can’t hear you.”
“Oh, for the love of—” He put his knobby hands to his mouth, his lips forming a trumpet. “QUIET.”
To Sassy’s relief, the commotion ceased.
“That’s more like it.” The creature adjusted his tunic. “I’m your nestor. I’m here to help you through the change.”
“Change?”
“Don’t backslide into stupid on me. The fairy change, what else? You got a big dose of fairymones yesterday.”
Sassy’s stomach did a half turn. “Oh, no, you don’t mean this is permanent. I can’t live with Mother Nature blasting a soundtrack in my head. I’ll go bonkers.”
“Don’t run around barefoot. Shoes will help. And work on your filter. It may take you a few hundred years, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
“A few hundred—” Sassy’s knees buckled. “You must be joking.”
The little man hooked his ET fingers in his belt and regarded her. “Slug nuts, how much did Sildhjort tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me anything. He’s a big shiny deer.”
“Typical,” he said. “Glow and blow, that’s Sildhjort. Loves a dramatic exit. He sent you to intervene on behalf of the fairies. Strictly speaking, he should have kept his snout out of it. Not his concern.”
“The witch was doing horrible things to them. She was killing animals, too.” Sassy’s mouth trembled. “There were squirrels and raccoons and little dead bunnies piled up against the witch’s shield. I saw them.” She shook off the memory. “I’m glad I could help, but Sildhjort should have asked me first.”
“He’s a god. They don’t ask. Think they know everything.” He tossed her a small velvet pouch on a leather cord. “He sent you this.”
Sassy loosened the strings and upended the bag into her hand. Bits of black gravel mixed with purple rocks poured out.
The little man scuffed the ground with the toe of his slipper. “I threw in the amethysts. Figured you could use a little tranquility. Keep it next to your skin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hel-lo, you’re fae now and tuned into nature. T
here are earth fairies and water fairies and sylphs and salamanders, to name a few. The witch was probably going for the sparkly types, but who knows what she caught in that trap of hers.” He flashed a set of sharp teeth. “And you drank the fairy juice. Talk about your power shakes.”
“I did not—Oh, never mind.” Sassy dumped the little rocks back in the bag. “And this necklace will help?”
He shrugged. “Supposed to. The black ones are crater rock. The crater’s the source of Hannah’s magic. Enhances whatever abilities a super has. That’s one reason Sildhjort likes it here. Even the gods need a little pick-me-up now and then. And he likes playing with the locals.”
“I don’t want to enhance this . . . whatever it is,” Sassy said. “I want it to go away.”
“And I want to be a clurichaun and drink wine all day and ride around on a sheep. Instead, I get this gig. Deal, baby girl.”
“But—”
“Gotta go. Wear the necklace. It won’t break. It’s waterproof—invisible, too, if you want. Know how you dames like to be matchy-matchy.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but—”
“Call me, but don’t go crazy with it. I’ve got more than one nestling.”
“Call you how?”
He rolled his eyes. “What is this, your first fairy tale? Call me by name, of course. Irilmoskamoseril. Remember it.”
He vanished without warning.
“Goodness.” Sassy blinked. “I’ve got a fairy god grump.”
She slipped the necklace on and tucked it next to her skin. The cacophony dulled to a low roar like . . . well, like magic.
The little bird landed on a dogwood branch. Perfect egg. Sassy see perfect egg?
“Of course I want to see your nest.”
Sassy followed the bird as it took flight.
Grim woke up. He was wedged between two branches at the top of a linden tree. His mouth tasted like troll muck. Not that he’d eaten troll muck, but he’d stepped in it and smelled it enough times to know it was supremely foul. Somehow, his mouth had been coated in the sludge.