Reaching out, I grab it by the knotted top, pulling it toward me. He might not be able to cross the boundaries of the circle and snatch them, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it.
Oh, I really don’t trust the gnome.
I regret drawing attention to the bag almost immediately. His bushy eyebrows rise sky-high when he notices how possessive I am of it.
“You leave me curious, girly. Of what’s in that there bag. You want to tell ol’ Grimly what you’re carrying?”
Huh. So he doesn’t know. I would’ve guessed that his super sniffer would’ve told him that I have a bunch of apples straight out of the Fae Queen’s gardens.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Fair enough.” He pauses, tossing his plum into the air. “If you say so.”
I watch the plum fly up, then drop back against his weathered palm. Up. Down. The simple action reminds me of the way I was thrown in the air by the faceless faerie folk.
I scowl. Little bastard’s doing it on purpose, I’d put some of my precious gold coins down on it.
“You’ve got your plum,” I point out. “I’ve still got two more things you need me to get. So, unless you want to call us square, let’s forget about my bag, okay?”
He thinks about it for a moment before busying himself by pulling his pipe from the pouch he has hanging beneath his layer of rags, trading it for the plum. He lights it, then says, “You’ve got the fruit. I’ll be looking for the raven’s feather next.”
I guess that’s a no then, huh?
Just like
he said he would, Grimly returns two days later. In that time I’ve discovered that Shanley was onto something when she seemed so excited to trade two of the Fae Queen’s apples for the cloak and the gold coins. I can’t explain it, don’t really understand it, but these suckers are magical.
And, since they’re faerie fruit, that’s saying something.
Seriously. While I rested, I allowed myself to have an extra apple each day. Just one is enough to keep the cramps away and, for the most part, keep me full. By eating two? I might be achy that first morning, but by the time Grimly comes back, I really am feeling good.
I’m even more determined to keep my remaining supply out of the gnome’s hands. I’ve taken to hiding the bag under my cloak, and I bury the apple cores in the dirt once I’m done with them. I don’t want him knowing what I have even if he refused to trade his tasks for that info. When he comes strolling into the clearing, I pull my cloak on in such a way that I tuck the bag beneath it before he notices. Maybe I’m being too cautious. Then again, in Faerie, I don’t think there’s such a thing.
Grimly doesn’t arrive at the beginning of the day like he did last time. He explains that that was on purpose. It had taken the last two days for him to find the raven he’s looking for and be sure that, each night, the same bird roosts in the same tree. Figuring that’s where it keeps its nest, Grimly waited until the shadows darkened before leading me over to it.
Not gonna lie. I’m really not looking forward to dealing with another tree. I didn’t mention the way I went flying for the plum—no point when the little gnome has got to be aware—but I’m hoping it doesn’t happen again if only because I’m blowing through my apples too quickly for my liking.
As we draw near a closely grown copse of naked trees, Gimly tells me that, just past them, there’s a clearing with one single tree. Because of course that would be the one I’m looking for.
Whatever. Let’s get this over with.
Before I can even start to pick my way past the guarded row of trees, Grimly disappears into the shadows. I don’t pay him any attention. I still have the petal in my pocket so I know that I’ll get back to my circle okay.
Well. Hopefully.
Once again, I’m pretty sure I know why Grimly needed me for this. It’s the way the trees are aligned. Just as empty, just as wintry-looking as some of the others, but they’re so close, it takes a nimble, slender human to wind her way through. I still get snagged by some of the branches, but anyone much shorter—like a gnome—or much taller—like the fae—would have a hard time getting past them. Add that to the fact that I need to be light enough to step carefully so that I don’t scare off the raven and I know that the gnome with his heavy steps and wide body would never have managed it.
I hold my breath, sucking it in as I slip past the last of the trees. It comes out strangled, though, when I come face to face with—
“Jim,” I breathe out.
Only it can’t be.
But it is. He’s standing there, in the middle of a small clearing. I know who I’m seeing. With his tousled black hair and friendly brown eyes. His crooked nose and sexy grin. Those mechanic hands, so soft and gentle despite the callouses. He’s smiling when he sees me, his arms open wide. Pure snow under his feet, a tall tree at his back, Jim nods at me, wordlessly beckoning me closer.
Wait a second—
Pure snow.