by Lexi George
Mother-of-pearl, Sassy dreaded the drama. Going home meant dealing with Mama, and Mama was a handful on the best of days. Mama would not be happy with Sassy for breaking Wes’s heart. Poor Wes adored his Sassy Bug. He was going to be crushed when Sassy ended things, but she couldn’t marry a man she didn’t love. It wouldn’t be right . . . for either of them. And then there was the whole I’m not human thing. Wes wouldn’t marry a Rite Two Episcopalian, much less a woman from another species.
Evan sauntered down the sidewalk looking bad-boy delicious in a pair of Trey’s jeans and a black tee shirt. His glossy dark hair was tucked behind his ears, and his studs and earrings were on display. Hard to believe this was the same grubby creature Sassy had stumbled upon in the witch’s shed a mere two days ago. He’d changed. So had she.
“Hel-lo, mama.” Evan gave a low whistle and looked Latrisse up and down. “Where you been all my life?”
“In school learning about helping verbs, dickwad,” Latrisse said. “And I am not your ‘mama.’”
She spun on her sexy high heels and disappeared into the store with an enticing sway of her hips.
Evan watched her go, his sensuous mouth tilted in a smile. “Dayum. I’m sorry I didn’t hang with y’all now.”
“Do not be,” Taryn said. “’Twas a tedious and everlasting process.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her. She talks a good grumble.” Sassy patted the steering wheel. “Hop in. We’re headed to the mill.”
“I’m gonna pass.” Evan’s gaze lingered on the entrance to the Greater Fair. “Think I’ll poke around town a bit. See what I can dig up on Ora Mae. Is she kith or isn’t she. Maybe figure out where she’s hiding.”
Taryn frowned. “Grim told you to accompany us. He was clear on the matter.”
“Grim ain’t the boss of me.” He gave the huntress a sly look. “Unless you’re scared you can’t handle it.”
“Handle what?”
“Whatever. Always something when the Sassinator’s involved.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry, babe. But you’re a shit magnet.”
“Stay here, then,” Sassy said with a huff of indignation. “And good luck with the witch. Not.”
Evan grinned and raised his hand in farewell. Sassy put the car in reverse and eased out of the parking place, putt-putting down Main Street and over the bridge. Several miles later, she turned off the main highway and onto a lonely road that paralleled the river. A pickup truck passed them going the opposite direction, but there was no other traffic, just trees, trees, and more trees. Beeches, birches, oaks, maples, hickories, and pines crowded the edges of the road. Birds twittered in the bushes. Once, they stopped to let a box turtle heave itself across the road.
For the umpteenth time that morning, Sassy wondered where Grim had gone. He’d disappeared after breakfast. There’d been some kind of meeting with Conall—Evan had let it slip over toast and eggs—but more he would not say. Neither would Grim. Looking sterner than usual, the big warrior had shaken his head and stalked off. Hadn’t been seen or heard from since.
It was enough to make a girl grumpy. She’d been counting on Grim to be with her at the mill. Her first day and he’d gone off the grid. What if he didn’t come back? The thought made her tummy feel hollow and squishy at the same time.
Sassy peeked at the huntress. “Where’d you say Grim went?”
“I did not, but if you must know, he went to look for something.”
“The witch?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“That information is not mine to divulge.”
“Is he coming back?”
“Of a certainty.”
The empty feeling inside Sassy lessened. Then something occurred to her, something awful.
“Grim’s not in danger, is he?”
“Danger is a demon hunter’s destiny. Grim is a warrior well-seasoned.”
Bunny rabbits, that sounded as though Grim was going into battle. The hollow feeling was replaced by panic. Sassy clutched the steering wheel. Grim could get hurt or even . . . even . . .
No. She would not go there. Negative thoughts attracted negativity. She would be positive. The alternative was too terrifying.
“Sassy, are you well?” Taryn asked. “Your hair is many hued.”
Sassy took a quick peek in the rearview mirror. Her hair resembled paint chip art. Startled, she swerved across the road and almost landed in the ditch.
“Mother-of-pearl.” She guided the car back between the lines. “I can’t show up at the mill like this. No one will take me seriously.”
“Calm yourself,” Taryn said. “Halt the carriage beneath yon reaching elm to regain your composure.”
Sassy parked beneath the tree. She turned off the engine and sat, letting the green quiet of the woods sooth her. Grim would be all right. He had to be. Anything less was unacceptable. Taryn was right. She needed to stay calm. Flying off the handle and imagining the worst was neither perky nor productive. But, boy, the next time she saw Grim Dalvahni, she was going to put a bug in his ear.
A sudden thought made Sassy bolt upright. “Is Grim with one of those awful females, the ones the Dalvahni have sex with?”
Taryn gave her a curious look. “You wish to know if Grim is with a thrall?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“I just do, okay?”
“He is not.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Oh. That’s a relief.”
“To the contrary, emotional and physical release is the sole purpose of the thralls. Judging from his short temper and ill humor, I believe Grim would benefit from their services.”
“Taryn.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Taryn shook her head. “I do not understand you.”
“I know what you mean. I confuse me, too.”
Sassy leaned back to admire the tree over their heads. The elm was quite old, thick of trunk with a wide brim of spreading branches that reminded her of an outrageous derby hat.
Humm, the elm said, dozing in the sunshine.
The sound was comforting. On impulse, Sassy kicked off her shoes and scampered up the tree. To Sassy’s delight, Taryn joined her, climbing the tree with the easy grace of a tree nymph or an elf. Side by side, they sat on a sturdy limb and swung their legs back and forth.
“This is nice,” Sassy said. “I could stay here forever.”
“Inadvisable. Unless you can subsist on bark, you would soon grow hungry and thirsty. And a tree does not offer much shelter in winter.”
“Way to kill the dream.”
“It is my nature to be practical.”
“I’ve noticed. The Kir and the Dal are alike in that respect.”
Taryn thought this over. “A fair assessment, I suppose, though I find it irksome. We have the same Maker, so there are bound to be similarities.”
“And some rather glaring differences.”
“Obviously.”
Sassy drew the woodsy air into her lungs. A pleasant tingle spread from her chest throughout her body.
“Being in the woods agrees with you,” Taryn said. “Your hair is already losing its former startling hue.”
“That’s nice.” Sassy drifted on a wave of well-being. “I like being outdoors. It’s the fairy fusion, I guess.”
“Of course. That would explain your follicular response to emotional stimuli. The fae are mercurial beings.”
“Whatever the reason, I’m happy in the woods,” Sassy said. “I think I’m going to love working at the mill and being surrounded by trees.”
Humm, the elm said, as though agreeing with her.
Sassy smiled and pressed her cheek against the rough bark.
“Humm,” she crooned back.
Taryn stopped swinging her legs. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to the tree. Can’t you hear it?”
“Exactly.”
Sassy bounced happily on the branch. How lovely to have a friend to share this moment with. None of her friends in the Lala Lavender League would be caught dead in a tree.
She put her ear to the furrowed trunk.
“It’s my second day speaking tree, and Mr. Elm is a little groggy from the morning sun,” she said, “but he’s singing about the excellent shape of his crown and a lark . . . No, his bark. He’s quite proud of his bark, and he’s elm-lishously happy to be spreading his roots in the bottomland where the soil is moist.”
The humming abruptly ceased. Nearby, a trio of young maples stopped shaking their leaves for attention and went still.
“That’s odd,” Sassy whispered. “The woods have stopped talking. The elm is frightened. He says something bad is coming. He feels it in his roots. He says we should leave.”
“Stay here. I will investigate.”
“But, Taryn—”
The huntress vanished.
Sassy clung to the tree and strained her ears to catch some sound, any sound, but the woods were silent. She shivered, foreboding slamming into her like a freight train. She’d felt this suffocating, bone-jellying sense of evil before. It was the witch. She was out there, old and ripe with malevolence; impossibly strong and burning with hunger. She was coming for Sassy, the thief who’d stolen from her. Those teeth, those horrible teeth like blackened files in the hideous gaping mouth, would tear into Sassy’s flesh as the witch consumed her in great slobbering bites.
Sassy crammed her fist into her mouth to keep from screaming. Where, oh, where was Grim when she needed him? And where was Taryn?
Demon hunters, Sassy thought in righteous indignation. She had half a mind to get in the car and let Taryn walk to the mill.
A wheezing snort made Sassy look down. The witch was beneath her. The Hag snuffled the roots of the elm, her pitted cucumber nose a-twitch. Her bones jutted through her skin. Greasy strands of lank hair clung to a scalp crusted with angry, oozing sores. A revolting smell steamed from her, a stomach-turning mixture of garbage and dead things.
Sassy shrank back and drew her knees to her chest to make herself smaller. The witch was between her and the car. No escape that way. What to do? Hard to think, with the witch a few feet away, groping for her scent like a hound after a pork sandwich.
Perhaps if she was still and quiet, the witch wouldn’t see her sitting among the branches. Perhaps she should—
Mose. Mose would know what to do . . . if she could remember the super-secret password.
His name was a mouthful that ended in moscarella. No, that wasn’t right. Marshmallows, why couldn’t Mose have picked an easier moniker? Sassy frowned in thought. It began with an i. Irilmoska-something-or-another.
Irilmoskamoseril? Yes. That was it.
Lips stiff with fear, she pushed the word out of her mouth with the merest exhalation of air so as not to alert the witch.
Fat chance. The Hag lifted her head with a hiss and spied Sassy in the tree.
“There you are, sweetmeat.” The witch’s eyes were runny black pools of malice. “You’ve given old Ora quite a chase.” She crooked a yellow claw at Sassy. “Be a good girl and climb down now and I’ll break your neck before I eat you.”
Sassy shook her head, too terrified to speak.
“Playing hard to get, eh?” The witch growled. “You’ll be sorry. I’ll catch you and take your tongue first so you can’t scream. Then I’ll gnaw your feet off so you can’t run. Next I’ll hang you by the neck to get tender. And when you’re fat and oozing with rot, I’ll—”
Taryn materialized at the foot of the tree, her bow drawn. “I think not. I think ’tis you who will be sorry.”
The witch sprang away with a snarl, her long arms propelling her down the road with the speed of a rabbit. Sassy heard a sharp twang as Taryn loosed an arrow, followed by a howl of pain.
Sassy scurried out of the tree and threw her arms around Taryn. “You came back.” Sobbing with relief, she clung to the tall huntress. “You came back.”
“There, there.” Taryn gave Sassy an awkward pat and pushed her away. “No need for excitement. I did not leave. I was cloaked.”
Sassy wiped her wet cheeks. “You saved my life.”
Taryn shook her head. “Any warrior would do the same, and with greater skill. I missed the shot and let the creature escape.”
“You got her. I heard her holler.”
“’Twas but a flesh wound, I fear.”
Sassy stamped her foot. “Stop it. If I say you’re amazeballs, you’re amazeballs.”
“Very well. I am amazeballs, whate’er that means.”
Mose materialized with a roasted chicken in one gnarly, long-fingered hand. “What’s the emergency?” He wiped his greasy fingers on his tunic. “I’m busy.”
“The witch was here,” Sassy said. “She tried to eat me.”
“Is that all? Suck it up, buttercup, and don’t call me again about that stupid witch. Got it?”
“I got it. I’m on my own with the witch. It’s not fair. What kind of mentor are you?”
“The kind that doesn’t wipe your tush.” Mose cocked a brow at Taryn. “Nice brogans.”
He disappeared in a shower of lichen powder.
Taryn sneezed and looked down at her feet. “By the vessel, what happened to my boots?”
Taryn’s formerly utilitarian boots were red and sparkly, with chunky square heels.
“Ooh, they’re glittery,” Sassy said, clapping her hands in delight. “Like Dorothy’s ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, but kick-butt, like you. What made you decide to change them?”
“I?” Taryn gave Sassy an indignant glare. “You did this.”
“Me? I didn’t—” Sassy paused, thinking. “W-e-l-l, now that you mention it, I do recall wanting to do something nice for you—for saving my life, you know. And I remember thinking how much I hate those Doc Martens.” She gave the boots a judicious once-over. “They’re pretty, but a little too glitzy for daywear, in my opinion. I’d save them to go clubbing at night or maybe wear them to a concert, if I were you.”
“Save them for—” Taryn’s face was a thundercloud. “Remove the spell at once.”
“I can’t. I don’t know how.”
Taryn said something in a language Sassy did not recognize and stomped to the car.
Sassy hurried after her. “Gracious, there’s no need to get in a snit. If you don’t like them, change them back.”
Taryn gave Sassy the Kirvahni equivalent of a duh look. “I cannot undo your magic.”
“Oh. So take them off and magic up another pair.” Sassy wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. “Grim does it.”
Taryn pressed her lips together and looked straight ahead. “I will wear them for now. In future, however, should I intervene on your behalf, a simple thank-you will suffice.”
She opened the car door and got in. Folding her arms across her breasts, the huntress stared straight ahead. Brr, someone was frosty.
Sassy slid behind the wheel, cranked the car, and pulled onto the road. The Dalmatian materialized in the backseat looking solid enough to touch. He poked his head between the front seats and barked.
Taryn stiffened.
“Ask your sister.” Taryn’s voice dripped with ice. “The boots are her doing.”
Sassy glanced in the rearview mirror. She could swear the dog was laughing at her.
Man’s best friend, indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As they drove down the woodsy road, Sassy had a lot on her mind. Her close encounter of the nearly fatal kind with the witch—and Grim. Wesley and Grim. Running the mill and Grim. Her unexpected fairy cobbler abilities—so many ugly shoes in the world, so little time—and Grim.
Grim, Grim, Grim. She had a bad case of the grims. Maybe terminal.
There was no further sign of the witch, thank goo
dness. Sassy turned down Peterson Mill Road, a wide dirt avenue bracketed by scrub pines, various varieties of oaks, sweet gum, and maple saplings, and infested with wild privet hedge. She pulled over as a huge truck carrying telephone poles lumbered down the road. The thing bore down on them like some wheeled behemoth.
Taryn straightened from her slump. “By the vessel, what is that?”
“That’s a log truck. It’s carrying telephone poles, I think.”
“I should like to drive one of those. I should like that very much.”
The truck boomed past, kicking up a cloud of gravel, sand, red dust, and a strong chemical smell that made Sassy cough and sputter. When the fumes and grit had settled, they continued down the road. They heard the mill long before they saw it, a brangle of whines, bangs, rumbles, hums, and thumps. They drove through the front gates, and Sassy slammed on the brakes, the odors of raw and treated wood, sawdust, and machinery fumes assaulting her. Her temples pounded. Bunny rabbits, her headache was back and she was queasy.
Trey barked sharply.
“He says you need to move. You are blocking the entrance.” Taryn glanced at Sassy when she didn’t budge. “Are you well? You look wan.”
Sassy took her foot off the brake. “I’m fine. I’m excited, I guess.”
She parked the car next to a neat brick building marked Office. To the right and across the dusty yard was a cluster of sheds. Some of the sheds held drying lumber. A tremendous clanging and strident whining came from within the largest structure, and conveyor belts clanked and groaned.
Beyond the sheds was more lumber, bundles and bundles of yellow wood stacked like graham crackers in the sun. Behind the planed wood was a mountain of cut timber some forty or fifty feet high, trees hewn at their prime and arranged in piles against a backdrop of verdant Alabama forest. Red dirt trails ran into the woods like bleeding veins.
Bile rose in Sassy’s throat. Goodness, she was letting her imagination run away with her.
She focused her attention on the yard where forklifts scurried to and fro, mechanical ants carrying stacks of lumber in their strong mandibles. On the far side of the bustling compound, a yellow Caterpillar with a long arm and a grappling hook loaded logs onto the bed of a truck. Another Cat moved logs onto a conveyor. A man wearing a hard hat and an air of authority stood in the midst of this activity discussing something with a burly woman in coveralls. The woman saw them. She stared at the Maserati a moment and jerked her head in their direction. The man turned. He gave Sassy and Taryn a hard look and started toward them.
