by Lexi George
He sat up. Vertigo and pain assailed him. He grabbed a limb for balance, and groaned. Sweet Kehv, an angry imp with a red-hot mallet was trying to hammer its way out of his head.
“Where am I?” His throat and tongue were dry. The words came out a croak. He coughed and tried again. “Provider?”
Look down. I should think the answer obvious.
“Why am I in a tree?”
I believe you had some notion of catching the moon in a net of moonbeams and willow bark. That is what I surmised from our last “conversation,” if you could call it that. There was a great deal of singing and frolicking involved.
“A Dalvahni warrior does not frolic.”
You, sir, frolicked, and with abandon. Your gamboling stampeded a herd of deer. There is a dairy farmer hereabouts no doubt wondering what soured his milk. You have a fine voice, but it loses much of its charm when you are in your cups.
“I shall seek the man out and rectify the matter. Why do I feel so peculiar?”
You do not remember?
“Bits and pieces.” Grim pushed his hair out of his face, and winced. Gods, even his hair hurt. “Refresh my memory.”
There is quite a lot to tell.
“Make it brief. My head hurts like the very devil.”
Very well. This evening past, you became pot-valiant on chocolate and fairy dust. The demonoid Evan turned into something resembling a maddened ogre. Conall charged you with Evan’s care, and you left to fetch a motorized carriage.
“That I remember.” Grim grew cold. The Monster Evan could have killed Sassy. “I do not recall anything after I left to fetch the carriage.”
That is because you dematerialized, in spite of my warning. The Provider sounded chillier than usual. Suffice it to say I was correct. Frivolity ensued.
Grim was puzzled by the Provider’s odd behavior, but his pounding head made it hard to think. “Sassy is still asleep?”
No, she is in a tree. Admiring a bird’s egg, I believe. Tree climbing appears rampant.
Grim cursed. “You should have awakened me as soon as she left the house.”
You told me to watch her and Evan. I did. You cannot expect a soulless engine of knowledge to show initiative.
“What is this? I am in no mood to decipher your riddles.”
A soulless engine of knowledge has not the imagination for riddles.
“I am leaving,” Grim said.
He started to dematerialize but the Provider’s voice stopped him.
I would climb down if I were you. Your readings are abnormal. Dematerializing will likely make it worse.
Worse? The thought made Grim shudder. He felt like he’d been dragged by a team of eight-legged horses through a field of rocks. He decided to heed the Provider’s advice and climbed down the old-fashioned way. Jumping the last few feet, he landed ankle deep in leaves. The impact, though slight, shot a blaze of agony up his spine.
Dear gods, he was going to be sick.
He braced his hands on his thighs and waited for the nausea to subside. Where was he? More importantly, how far was he from the house? He was an excellent tracker, but his usual instincts were dulled by misery. Gods, what a muddle he’d made of things. Truly, chocolate was the work of Pratt, the god of mischief.
“Provider, give me my location.” Grim straightened with an effort and waited. His query was met with silence. “Provider?”
Puzzled by his longtime guide’s odd behavior, Grim stumbled through the woods. He followed the scent of water and damp bracken to a nearby brook. A brief swim would set him to rights. Then he would be on his way.
A little farther into the woods, the stream emptied into a quiet pool ringed by mossy stones and overhanging trees. Grim stripped out of his dirty clothes. Sending a mental warning to the pool’s denizens, he dove in. The water was cold and cleared his head, though the cursed queasiness persisted.
He swam back to the surface and found himself eyeball to eyeball with a blotchy brown snake with keeled scales.
Mine. The snaked whipped back and forth to indicate its displeasure at Grim’s intrusion. Bite.
“Peace, serpent. I have no designs on your home. Tell me where I am and I will be on my way.”
Water, the snake hissed, and swam away with a disdainful swish of its tail.
That was the trouble with snakes: excellent hunters but invariably sarcastic and unhelpful.
Grim climbed out of the pool and donned a fresh suit of clothes. Using his Dalvahni magic, he copied the denim breeches he’d worn the previous day. He added a black fitted tunic humans called a tee shirt. His boots he kept. A good pair of boots was not to be lightly discarded. Sore feet made a poor warrior, or so the Directive taught. Pointing a finger at the heap of clothes, he incinerated his dirty apparel. Unfortunately, he overcompensated and set the woods on fire.
He was attempting to rectify the matter when the Kirvahni appeared.
The Dalvahni and the Kirvahni were created by Kehvahn to hunt the djegrali. There any similarity ended. The Dal had their Great Hall, the Kir their Temple of Calm. The Dal were ferocious, relentless battle machines, unflagging in their fervor to seek out and destroy the enemy. They wielded sword, mace, and axe with equal skill and zeal.
The Kir were death in female form. They favored the short sword, bow and arrow, throwing stars, and knives.
Especially knives; the Kir were stealth itself and very, very good with knives. Their eyesight was keen, their aim deadly.
They were also meticulous, exacting, supercilious, and exasperating. Why Kehvahn had brought them into existence was a mystery.
Tall, lean, and strong of form, the Kirvahni wore her ruby red hair in a loose plait that hung below her waist. She was clad in brown doeskin breeches, a sleeveless tunic of the same, and boots. In one hand she carried a short sword. It was not her only weapon; of that Grim was certain. The Kir were fierce warriors, and this one appeared to be no exception. The ruthless intelligence in her hard gray eyes made Grim uneasy.
“What are you doing, warrior?” She spoke in the local language, her tone cool and superior.
“Putting out a fire.” Grim kicked himself for being unable to think of a cleverer retort.
“You are doing it wrong. Would you care for assistance?”
Grim sighed. Add critical to the list of things he disliked about the Kirvahni. The Kir exuded disdain. He’d like her to go away. Given the way his day had begun, he doubted fortune would favor him.
He stepped aside and waved his hand at the spreading wildfire. “By all means, instruct me.”
She made short work of it, dousing the fire with scrupulous efficiency. To her credit, she made no further comment once the job was done.
“You have my thanks,” Grim said. “What is your name, huntress?”
His politeness seemed to surprise her.
“Taryn. And yours?”
“I am called Grimford.”
She inclined her proud head. “Well met, Grimford. There is good sport here?”
“I tracked one of the djegrali here yestermorn.”
His statement startled him. It had been but the span of a few hours since his arrival. Yet the past hundred years were but a blur while the events of the day before were etched upon his mind.
Vivid and unforgettable, like Sassy.
Sassy—dear gods, what mischief had she gotten into while he tarried in the woods?
“I must go.” Grim gave the Kir his back. “I bid you good hunting.”
“Hold. I sense others of your kind nearby. What are their numbers?”
The question astonished Grim. He turned to face her once more. “Since when does the leopard question the wolf?”
“Since the leopard pulled the wolf’s tail from the fire.”
How like a Kir to taunt him with his mistake.
“The captain of my ‘kind’ is here.” Grim’s tone was curt. “Direct your inquiries to him.”
“Such is mine intention.” She looked him up and down, her shar
p gaze taking in his modern garb. “You arrived here yestermorn? You acclimate quickly.”
There was a hint of steel in her fluid voice . . . and suspicion.
“A warrior must be prepared.” Grim bowed. “Farewell.”
Grim strode off. Instinct more than sound told him she had followed. The Kir were sure-footed and silent as elves.
He whirled about to find her at his heels.
“Is there something else you require?” His patience was wearing thin. Sassy was unattended, an alarming state of affairs. The woman could unhinge the sun from its celestial moorings whilst he wrestled with this Kirvahni thorn.
“I would know where you are going.”
“To rescue a damsel from a tree.”
“They grow on trees hereabouts?”
A crop of Sassys? Perish the thought.
“No, by Kehv, they do not,” Grim said. “For which I am supremely thankful.”
“You blaspheme.” The Kirvahni looked down her nose at him.
“Kehvahn should smite you for your insolence.”
“Perhaps he finds it a refreshing change from the Kir’s ceaseless caterwauling.”
“We do not caterwaul. We lift his name in song.”
“Is that what you call it? I could have sworn someone was boiling a clutter of cats.”
Her lips tightened. “You are trying to goad me. A waste of time. Escort me to your captain. I would have his counsel.”
“Find him yourself.”
Taryn shrugged. “Easy enough. The Dalvahni leave a trail a blind man could follow.”
“If your strategy is to persuade me with flattery, huntress, you fail.”
“My strategy, sirrah, is mine own affair. Will you take me to your captain?”
He considered the alternatives. He could allow this haughty female to find Conall on her own and cause, no doubt, a great deal of botheration in the process. Or he could deliver her to Conall himself.
The prospect was tempting. After all, Conall had saddled Grim with Evan, and turnabout was fair play.
“Very well, I will take you to him,” Grim said, “but I would ask a small boon in return.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of boon, warrior? I am in no mood for games.”
“Nothing too onerous. Tell me, huntress, what do you know of milk cows?”
Chapter Fourteen
The titmouse flitted across the lawn and disappeared among the branches of a towering white oak. The tree was huge, at least eighty feet tall and four feet in diameter. Shattered trees lay in heaps, wooden corpses left by Monster Evan’s tornado fit the night before.
Perfect egg? The bird trilled from the green canopy. Sassy see perfect egg?
“I’m trying,” Sassy said. “My fairy kit didn’t come with wings.”
Thank goodness. Wings would ruin the line of a dress.
She surveyed the branches, mulling the best way to proceed. Even the lowest branches were over her head. She’d never climbed a tree. Mama said tree climbing was for dirty little boys, not young ladies.
Mama wasn’t here.
On impulse, Sassy pressed her palms against the oak’s fissured bark. Memories flooded her. The tree was old and measured time in seasons. In her mind’s eye, Sassy saw endless hot summers, dry, crisp falls, and damp winters that mellowed into springs rife with golden pollen and the noisy burst of growing things.
And fairies; fairies had made merry in this tree for centuries. These limbs had been an oaken hall where they danced in warty acorn caps and hairy yellow catkins.
Breaker gone? The oak’s melancholy voice startled Sassy.
“Yes, the breaker is gone, but you mustn’t blame him. It was the witch.” Sassy racked her brain for a way to explain. “She poisoned his sap.”
Bunny rabbits, she hoped she wasn’t being indelicate. Talking sap to a tree could be the equivalent of mentioning her lady parts in mixed company.
Ahhhh, the oak moaned wisely. Blight.
“My friend has an egg she wants to show me. Mind if I climb up and take a look?”
Tickle.
“I’ll try not to, though I can’t promise. It’s the toes, I would imagine.”
Tow-zes, the tree agreed.
The tree roots on the other side of the oak splayed out from the base in a thick tangle that resembled elephant trunks. Maybe if she climbed up the roots, she could reach one of the lower limbs. She lifted her hands from the tree trunk to investigate and felt a slight pull.
Peter, peter, peter, the titmouse chirped.
“Hold your tail feathers. I’m coming.”
Sassy placed the sole of her right foot and the palms of both hands against the bark. They stuck. Fairy Velcro—how creamy.
She scampered up the tree, quick and sure-footed as a squirrel, her toes and fingers finding purchase and clinging to the rough bark. The sense of power and freedom was exhilarating.
Mama was wrong. Girls did climb trees, and it was fun.
The bird had made its nest in an abandoned woodpecker hole. Sassy sat down on a stout limb to admire it. The little shelter was cup shaped and made of moss and twigs. Something soft lined the interior. Animal hair, Sassy realized, leaning in for a closer look. Tucked inside the soft hollow were three cream and brown speckled eggs not much bigger than a dime.
The titmouse bobbed her head up and down. Egg? Sassy see egg?
“Yes, I see them. They’re beautiful.”
The bird whistled in delight and gave Sassy a bright, inquisitive look. Sassy give shiny?
“Shiny? I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”
The bird darted to Sassy’s shoulder and pecked at her locks. Shiny?
“Oh, of course.” Sassy plucked a few strands of her hair from her head and laid them next to the woodpecker hole. “Consider it a baby present.”
The titmouse set to work adding Sassy’s blond curls to the lining of the nest. Dismissed, Sassy got to her feet and looked around. The river sparkled in the sunlight. On the opposite bank, the woods were a green smudge against the pale morning sky. So beautiful . . . it made her chest ache. She filled her lungs with cool morning air and committed the panorama and the earthy scents to memory.
As a child, she’d buried herself in books, longing for adventure and strange, magical places. She’d found them in Hannah, but that didn’t mean she belonged here. Her life was back in Fairhope. She had a gift shop to run, and Mama and Daddy Joel would be worried sick.
Wesley would be worried, too. They were getting married in September. Her bridal gown was an absolute dream. Silver embroidered tulle with a swirling skirt. Everything would be perfect.
Then why did she feel queasy at the thought? Pre-wedding jitters; had to be.
She closed her eyes and thought of Wes. Grim’s face rose before her instead. She saw the slash of his cheekbones and russet brows, his firm mouth and stubborn chin, his leonine eyes.
Sassy’s eyes popped open. Mother-of-pearl, this was a disaster. It was one thing to have a crush on Grim. Who wouldn’t? He was gorgeous. But this went beyond a crush and bordered on obsession.
It had to stop. She was an engaged woman.
She would march into that lawyer’s office and sell the mill today. Then she’d leave Hannah. Away from the crater, her fairymones would fade. Life would resume its familiar rhythm. She would marry Wes. Have his babies. They’d live in a house near her mother. They’d go to parties and the club.
She would be a model wife. No more talking birds and trees. No more witches or ghosts. No more purple-eyed bad boys who turned into the Incredible Hulk.
No more golden-eyed demon hunters.
It would be awesomesauce.
Then why did she feel like flinging herself out of the tree?
She shook off her doldrums and reached a decision. If this was her last day in Hannah, she’d make it a doozy. She’d climbed her first tree. What else should she add to her bucket list?
She’d ask the funny little man with the unpronounceable name. He would
know. Energized and filled with purpose, she scampered to the ground.
“Oh, Mr. Mozzarella.” She put her hands to her lips. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Mozzarella?”
He appeared. “Do I look like a cheese?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t think of your name.”
“I told you once. It’s Irilmoskamoseril.”
“Too long. I’ll call you Mose.”
“Fine. I’ll call you Glo-Ethel Liver Lump. How do you like them apples?”
“Glo-Ethel is a dreadful name, whereas Mose is perfectly darling.” Sassy beamed. “Like you.”
“Huh.” The little man eyed her. “That’s some smile, fairy puss. You’re quite the charmer.”
“That’s what I’m told.”
“Tell you what, toots. Mose is fine between the two of us. When you summon me, though, you call me by name. And you say it correctly.”
“That’s silly. Mose is much easier to remember.”
“I don’t make the rules, fairy puss.”
“I didn’t say it properly this time and nothing happened.”
“You’re a newbie. I’m giving you a pass. What do you want?”
Sassy clasped her hands to her breasts. “This is my last day in Hannah. I want it to be special. What should I do?”
“How should I know? I’m your nestor, not a tour guide. Go for a swim. Catch a fish. Kiss a handsome prince. Triumph over evil.”
“I freed the fairies, so technically I already triumphed over evil—”
“Whoopee. One down, three to go.”
“—and I can’t kiss a handsome prince. I’m engaged.”
“Sucks to suck. Guess that leaves the river.”
He disappeared.
The encounter with Taryn energized Grim, and he set off through the woods at a jog, determined to cleanse his body and mind of the remaining vestiges of the demon chocolate. Ignoring his pounding head, he quickened the pace to a sprint. His boots stirred drifts of leaves as he leaped over fallen branches and powered his way up and down the wooded slopes. The Dal were seldom affected by heat or cold, but his body soon grew slick with sweat as the poison leaked from his pores. He ripped off his soaked shirt, tossed it aside, and ran faster, legs churning and lungs pumping.