Page 12

Severin

Less than an hour later, Shadow steps through the door from Faerie in his fae form, naked again.

He’s followed by…

“You must be joking,” I mutter.

A flock of pixies flies into the clearing in a flutter of bright-blue.

The sunlight mutes some of their usual glow, so evident at night, but each miniscule fae still looks as if they swallowed a magical candle that lights them from within.

They wear clothing made out of blue leaves, matching their blue skin, hair, and moth wings.

Their attire reminds me that blue birch no longer exists in Avalon, another loss to the Dark God, and I vow then and there to bring the magical trees back to my home.

“What’s this?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Your first lead,” Shadow says. “They want to open a pizza place.”

“Pizza!” The pixies echo in a high chorus of shrieks, the flock swirling through the air in a complicated dance of excitement.

A scowl tugs at my lips. I despise not knowing things. “What is pizza?”

“The best food ever!” a tiny voice cries as a diminutive woman darts over to flutter in front of my face. “It’s round and flat and delicious!”

“That description could refer to almost anything. What makes pizza so special?”

“Pizza is the best!” the pixie leader says.

“Pizza!” the rest of them scream.

“There’s even sweet pizza!”

As the others repeat their now-familiar cheer, Shadow says, “The humans call those waffles. They’re pretty good for breakfast. Regular pizza is savory and good for lunch or dinner.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘regular’ pizza!” the pixie cries. “All pizza is special! There’s pizza and potato pizza and sweet pizza and egg pi—”

“You cannot be serious.” I glare at the werepanther. “Ferndale Falls needs a bakery, not a pizza eatery.”

“The rumors are true! You really are a meanie!” The pixie shakes her finger at me, her scowl as fierce as any of mine but so tiny it softens the menace. “No one should live without pizza! That’s evil!”

“Humans love pizza.” Shadow shrugs, setting his long, silver-tipped hair swirling. “They’re the ones who invented it. It’ll be a good eatery for the town. ”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Goddess, this isn’t what I want. Who does a man have to maim to get a decent roll of bread?

“Look at it this way.” Shadow grins. “Your people were historically horrible to pixies. You owe them one.”

“We employed them,” I snarl.

“You trapped us in lanterns,” the little leader shrieks, her wings moving so quickly in agitation they blur. “All the stories say so!”

“You make excellent lights.”

“You take that back!” A tiny sword appears in her hand, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. Her flock bristles behind her, sparkling as they brandish their weapons.

My shadows writhe under my skin, and I grimace as I fight to contain them.

“My, my, you certainly do have a way with people.” The werepanther steps between us, his too-wide grin flashing an impressive set of teeth—and fangs.

“Look. You both have something the other wants. The pixies want to open a pizza place, and King Severin can make that happen. Severin needs businesses for Ferndale Falls, and letting the pixies successfully set up shop will show other fae that he can be trusted.”

My teeth grind together as I turn over his words again and again. Yet no matter how hard I search, I can’t find a flaw in his logic. It’s damned annoying.

“Fine. You can open a pizza eatery, though I don’t see how you’re going to do it. Pixies don’t have food magic.” Not like brownies do.

“We’ll hire humans.” Her sword disappears as she darts across the clearing, heading for town. “We already know the ones. We’ve been scouting for days !”

Shadow starts after them, shamelessly naked.

“You can’t go into town like that,” I snap.

“I thought you had protective magic up to hide anything fae from the humans.”

“We have protective magic to hide anything magical .” I snort. “Trust me, your cock doesn’t qualify.”

“Please. I have a magnificent cock.” He throws his arms wide. “If any humans see me, it’ll be the highlight of their day.”

Instead of answering, I shoot a bolt of magic at him, clothing him in a cotton shirt and leather pants and boots.

“I can work with this.” He glances down at himself. “I make anything look good.”

I roll my eyes and leap into the air, following the glow of the pixie flock into town.

A half hour later, I find myself standing on Main Street with a couple of my best conjurers while the pixies lead us to the storefront they want.

“This one!” The leader flutters up to the door of a closed café, the windows dusty and dark, the colorful siding sun-faded to a soft blue.

My shadows unfurl, sliding into the lock and opening it. With a wave of my hand, the door swings inward.

The flock pours inside, their combined glow lighting the interior and proving me right—they are indeed excellent light sources.

I barely refrain from saying as much as I weave between square wooden tables with upturned chairs resting on their tops. The stale smell of dust makes my nose itch. I could be rampaging across a battlefield instead of this. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“My people will refurbish as you see fit, and I will pay your initial rent,” I say. “But after that, it will be up to you to run your business successfully. Do you have the funds to do so?”

The leader pipes a high whistle of pixie speech not slowed down for my benefit, then says, “We do.”

All around her, each member of the flock pulls out a gold piece from that secret place they store things. The coins look massive in their diminutive arms, weighing enough to pull each pixie toward the ground as their wings strain against the sudden increase in mass.

“Very well.” I turn to my conjurers and nod.

They lift their hands, and magic blasts outward in an explosion of power.

It’s a spell of rejuvenation, restoring everything to its original, pristine state.

All of the furniture gleams, the finish restored to show off the lovely wood grain.

The walls glow with fresh color, becoming the rich gold of a warm sunset.

Human lights flicker on overhead, burning with a steady brightness no candle can match.

We move into the kitchen, and another pulse of rejuvenation magic sweeps across the room, leaving behind sparkling countertops and cupboards and restoring all of the human machinery to brand new.

Several large metal boxes begin to hum, and Shadow opens the door of one to release a blast of cold air.

I run my fingers across the steel surface, detecting no ice-fae magic.

It seems humans really did develop some interesting abilities over the past few centuries .

“Now the outside!” The pixies dart back through the dining room. “We want a sign.”

With one additional expenditure of magic, the building’s wooden siding becomes as blue as a summer sky, the fanciful trim a vibrant purple. A sign appears, letters scrolling across its surface as if painted by an invisible hand: Slice of Life.

The pixies cheer and swarm around the sign, like moths pulled to a lantern, but I frown, unable to puzzle its meaning.

“What’s going on?” Hannah calls out.

I spin to find her hurrying toward us across the green. Even human clothing can’t hide how tall and graceful she is, and I have the sudden desire to see her swathed in the lightest of Faerie silks instead, gossamer layers floating around her, offering teasing glimpses of skin.

When she nears the edge of the green, a fox runs out from beneath one of the rhododendrons I conjured yesterday, keeping pace beside her as she crosses the street.

She comes to a stop in front of me, her eyes glued to the building at my back. “What? How? It looks new!”

“My betrothed. It’s so very good to see you.” I step close to press a kiss to her cheek. When she startles with surprise, I clasp her to me to hold her still and cast a quick cloak of silence spell. “Remember, my dear. We need to pretend our betrothal is real.”

“So we need to pretend we’re in love every time we’re in public?” Hannah looks up at me. Her eyes are even more beautiful up close, flecks of gold and radiating lines of black adding a lovely complexity to their rich brown .

“Will that be an issue?” I raise an eyebrow.

She shakes her head, the quick movement brushing her silky hair across the edge of my jaw. “Nope. No prob. I can totally do that.”

“Excellent.” I dismiss the silencing spell and release her to turn toward the building. “I have found the first new business for you, as I promised. It will serve pizza.”

“Pizza!” the pixies shriek, diving from the sign.

Hannah’s eyes go wide.

The fox chuffs and barks, flicking his tail so the bushy white tip waves like a flag.

“Of course I’ll ask,” she says to it, then looks at me. “Are those pixies?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been seeing them for days! Or, okay, not seeing them , seeing them. They keep zipping past me and disappearing out of sight. I worried I was hallucinating!”

I scowl at the little menaces. “Were you toying with a future queen of Faerie?”

“Queen?” The lead pixie’s expression goes cunning. “How can she be queen? All of the orc kings are wed.”

Such impudence! My tattoos flow across my skin, leaking shadows into the air as I growl, “She’ll be my queen.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal.” Hannah raises her hands and pats at the air, her tone conciliatory. “They didn’t hurt me or anything. It was just a few pranks. The worst thing that happened was I almost dropped some cookies.”

The fox dances at her feet, yipping up at her.

“No,” she tells the animal. “You couldn’t have had them even if I dropped them. They contained chocolate. I’ll get you your own cookies.”

“You’ve bonded to the animal,” I say, recalling the old stories of witches. “He’s your familiar.”

The fox gives a little bark and growl and glares at me. It has a surprisingly effective glare, and I should know, since my warrior days have left me with a rather impressive array of glares and scowls.

Hannah laughs. “Finn says he’s not my familiar. I’m his witch.”

Whatever they choose to call it, it’s an excellent sign. Only strong witches have familiars. Hannah will have no problem winning one of the bride trials.

She turns back to the eatery. “Slice of Life. What a great name for a pizzeria! I love it.”

I have no idea why it’s such a good name but will never admit as much. That’s one of the first things you learn about being a king of Faerie—never show weakness.

“The human witches of Alarria helped us with the name,” the pixie leader says. “We consulted with the great Pizza herself.”

Hannah shoots me a puzzled glance, and I shrug, as clueless as she. It’s Shadow who says, “That’s the witch who can conjure food. The pixies named her Pizza as an honorary title.”

“This is amazing, and the town certainly needs a pizza place.” She waves toward the revitalized storefront.

Shadow smirks an I-told-you-so smirk, his grin widening to an impossible extent.

I ignore him.

“But we have to do paperwork,” she says. “The building needs to be officially rented from the town.”

“You pay start-up costs! You promised.” The head pixie jabs a finger toward me. “We must go and hire the humans who will make pizza!” the leader pipes in her high voice, then lets out a long series of whistles. The flock splits in two, each streaking off in slightly different directions.

Finn races after the second group and leaps into the air, jaws snapping shut only an inch shy of a lagging pixie.

The diminutive imp whistles like an angry tea kettle and dives for the fox, tugging on an ear.

The others join in, making a game of it, the fox yipping happily.

The mass of them moves across the town green, an orange streak of fur surrounded by a tiny tornado of glowing blue.

The roving herd of tulips scampers over, adding to the chase.

Hannah’s eyes track them until they zip out of sight, a smile tugging at her lips.

I want her to look at me like that. Pulling out my coin purse, I pluck out several gold coins. “How much will rent be for these first two weeks?”

“Are those real?” Her eyes widen as she presses the tip of one finger to a coin, stroking over the likeness pressed into the metal, my likeness.

“Very real and very pure.”

Hannah smiles at me like the rising sun cresting the horizon, lighting up the world with warmth.

Even though I just told her we need to pretend to a real affection, her reaction feels completely sincere.

Longing aches in my chest with a new feeling I can’t name but am already addicted to. Fuck me. Our arrangement is fake. She’s supposed to be the human I use for my own ends, nothing more.

Yet as I bask in her admiration, one thing becomes amazingly clear.

I’ll do anything to have her look at me like this again.