Page 2 of Mischief Maker

Chapter Two

Faela

I t’s a long way back to the farm, down dark paths through dense forest, up steep hills and over rushing rivers. My trip here was a silent one, but with Kireth beside me, the way home is noisy and full of his mocking laughter.

“One little peasant girl,” he says as we crest the mountainside and start heading down again. “Brave of you to come all this way alone.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Our village is small, and no one would even think of wasting two days traveling with me.

They don’t much care for my presence anyway, as useless as I am and as decrepit as my land is.

Not a soul has stepped in to help me with the farm since Mother died, all of them fearing the dark illness that took her.

“Hmm.” Kireth hops over a log that blocks our path. “What if you came upon a bear? Or a wolf? What would you do then?”

“Probably die.” I don’t even have a weapon on me. Perhaps I should have at least brought a kitchen knife. “But I didn’t see any wolves or bears on the way here.”

“At least luck is on your side.” Kireth grabs a tree branch overhead and uses it to swing to the next tree, surprising Rye. My horse jerks, but I keep him on the path. “But luck may not be your friend for long.”

“Are you a harbinger of bad luck?” I ask.

He guffaws at my question. “You’ve invited me in. That’s enough bad luck to last a century.”

It seems to me that he wants me to believe he’s a menace, that he will do nothing to help my cause.

But for the next one hundred tasks, he must do as I ask: feeding the animals, watering the crops, repairing the house.

Kireth knows all this, and he’s trying to frighten me out of using my tasks.

And I understand, because if I were him, I wouldn’t want to be a servant, either.

But I’ve come this far. There’s no turning back now.

Finally, just after sunrise, we crest the last peak and the village spreads out before us—a handful of farms and a town square dotted by squat houses. The sun is coming up as we reach the far end of town and keep going, toward the dead stalks and sad, dirty sheep.

My farm.

Kireth’s constant chatter dies off as we approach the fences. They are starting to collapse on themselves, too. I’ve done my best to fix them so the livestock can’t escape, but it’s hard to keep up. As soon as I’ve repaired one board, another falls down.

Kireth takes in the dying plants and the dark-colored soil. Finally we approach the house, where the front door hangs loose from its hinges.

“I’m starting to see why you went all that way to call on me,” he says, surveying the house as we step inside.

The floor creaks under my feet, but not his, as if he weighs nothing.

He gazes around curiously, lifting objects and observing the dust underneath them, which has gathered at an alarming rate.

“All of this has happened in your time?”

I nod and hunch my shoulders. It wasn’t in the best shape when Mother was still alive, but with the two of us there, we kept up with the crops and the cows and managed to fix anything urgent.

“It’s an old house,” I say defensively.

Kireth tilts his head and his red eyes search my face. “Hmm.” He stands up straight then, and spins around in a circle. “So? Aren’t you going to give me a task to help you fix this mess?”

He almost sounds eager, like he wants me to give him something to do.

As much as I’d enjoy a few hours’ rest because I’m exhausted from riding all night, I still have to feed the animals, then see about watering and fixing what I can possibly find time to fix.

Maybe this is the perfect moment to use him.

“You’re not going to deal with the house right now,” I say steadily. “There are chores to do. I need you to...”

Wait. I have to think carefully about this. I only get one hundred tasks, so I’d better ask for something big—something that could take him most of the day. If I only use three tasks or fewer a day, I could keep him around for a month, two if I’m sparing. That should be a good amount of time.

“Perform all of the livestock chores,” I say, coming up with something as broad as I can think of.

Kireth’s mouth falls open. “What?” It morphs into a scowl, and his eyes narrow. “‘Perform all the chores’? You’re going to be one of those people, are you?”

I wilt under his harsh gaze. It’s intimidating to be told off by an immortal with glowing red eyes and not one, but two pairs of horns.

“What... what sort of people?” I ask, hating how meek my voice comes out.

“The kind who try to outsmart me.” He takes a threatening step in my direction. “Who think they are more clever than an immortal.”

I swallow hard as he finally comes to a stop with his face mere breaths away from mine.

His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and my eyes are drawn straight to them.

I hadn’t allowed myself to appreciate what he looks like before, but now that he’s so close, I take in his angular jawline, his strong chin, the way his nose is straight on the bridge but curved at the tip, with wide nostrils.

His cheekbones are triangular and high up, giving his face a playful shape.

He’s so near to me now that his horns cast a shadow across my face.

When I don’t answer right away, Kireth leans even closer, his eyes shifting from critical to curious.

“Do you like what you see?” He breathes his question on my skin.

“Um...” Blood seeps into my cheeks. The truth seems easier than coming up with a lie. Finally I answer, “You are beautiful.”

His mouth twists into a taunting grin. “Is that so?”

He’s an immortal. Of course he’s wonderful to look at. I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know.

I let out a deep sigh and remember why we’re here at all. The windows are cracked and the stairs are bowed, the rafters are collapsing and the walls are peeling.

“Of course I’ll try to make the most of what little I have,” I say, ashamed but steadfast. “There’s so much to do.”

Kireth spins around in a circle as he takes in the pathetic state of things. “And you really believe I can help you fix all this?”

“I have no choice but to hope you can.” Summoning this creature was my last resort. Without Kireth, I have no avenues left.

“Hmm.” He looks thoughtful for a moment as his gaze returns to mine. “Fine. Then I will do as you ask. But I will warn you—the more generous your task, the more generous my interpretation of it.”

I should have expected this. He is still a trickster, after all, so I nod in understanding.

“I will try my best,” I say, hoping that he won’t make my life even harder than it is.

Kireth sighs at my lackluster answer. “It’s a shame you have no fight left in you.” He swaggers to the front door. “I would like to know what is hiding behind the terrified little house cat you are now.”

Then he’s gone, whistling to himself with his long tail flicking behind him. I wonder what he could possibly mean. If anything, I am the mouse the house cat killed.

Kireth

This mortal is interesting, in her own way. Pathetic, really—scared and demure. Beaten down by the weight of the world, almost no resistance left inside her.

But I can detect something else in there, too, lurking underneath that soft skin. The way her pulse jumped when I got so close to her gave me a clue. There is a hungry animal inside, waiting to be released from its bonds.

A most curious woman indeed.

The one thing I’ll say for mortals: they are creative, if not very clever. Little Faela is trying to pit her wits against mine, and though it is brave of her, she will fail. I’ll make sure of it. Besides, this decrepit place is beyond my help, no matter how many tasks she’s able to dream up for me.

Livestock chores . Whatever that entails. I’ll make it up as I go along and take liberties where I see an opening.

That is why I was made, after all. A tool created by the great goddess Lucia, giving mortals what they want but wrapping it in poison for her entertainment. I have a role to play in this world: creating small doses of chaos and sowing a quiet discord in everything I touch.

Milking a cow is a simple task and has not changed over the course of my long existence.

I switch from one udder to the next, though these cows are sad and skinny and don’t have much to give.

When I bring the milk inside, the human is trying to fix the hinges on the door.

She’s struggling to find the right placement.

But she didn’t ask me to help her with the door, so I leave the milk on the table and return to these “livestock chores.”

There are also sheep, and if I know one thing about sheep, it’s that their wool is very desirable to humans. Perhaps I’ll shear them before the summer heat really sets in, and the woman can make enough money to hire a carpenter to repair these detestable fences.

Not that the state of her fences is my concern, or whether she has enough wool to sell for it.

There is a sheepdog who guards the sheep, and when I lean down and whisper in her ear, the dog gets to work chasing down the stragglers and bringing them into the pen.

I ought to punish the young woman for such a broad request. While I quickly snip off the wool, making sure not to cut any of the sheep’s tender flesh, I consider what best way to show her that my rules are not to be bent to her needs.

Ah, yes. I know just what to do.

When I’m finished shearing the sheep in exactly the way I want, I bundle up the stacks of wool with twine and deposit them in the storeroom.

The stores are shockingly empty, with only one half-full barrel of grain left for the animals and almost nothing in the way of human food.

How does Faela expect to survive for much longer?

This sad woman really does need help.