Page 9 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

Into the basket go more bread and honey and another slice of pie, this time alongside roasted potatoes with herbs from the garden and a few slices of cold ham. I have no idea what fae like other than sweets, so it should be enough. Upon further thought, I find a jar and add in milk.

Digging a second basket out of Mam’s cupboard, I unearth another old quilt and make the kittens a new nest. It’ll be easier to carry than the crate.

They mewl and nip at my fingers, and I murmur soothing things as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

The whimpering keeps up, and I am more assured of my decision to take them back this afternoon.

They have eaten some, but after all this time, they must be bordering on starving.

Someone knocks.

I pause. Una or Niall would be shouting by now, and I’m not eager to speak to anyone else. Carefully, I set the basket in the kitchen, in with the broom and kitchen rags, where no one can see or hear them, and open the front door.

“ Mister Haskel,” I say, too surprised to sound properly dead.

“ Ah, oh, Niamh, are your folks home?” The man is a nice-enough fellow, a tall, skinny reed not much older than my own father.

Still, he knows what his son did and nevertheless comes by every so often.

It’s been so long I’ve nearly forgotten the discomfort of it.

Last time he was here, Niall stood in the background and glowered, which was perhaps unfair but made me feel better nonetheless.

I like to think I am not bitter, but I know I have not rid myself of that certain fault.

Heat is already rising behind my chest, and my hand is aching as if it is possible for the scars to split back open and pour blood.

“ They won’t be home for a few weeks.” I hear my heartbeat behind my ears. “ Are you here for any particular business I should pass on?”

“ Ah, no. ” He gives a little wave of his hand and backs up to his horse, who’s currently eating the tops off Mam’s carrots, sticking his thumbs into the pockets of his bright red vest. The fabric is finer than any we have here; Una would be jealous.

“ Just arrived back from the city and had a few things to do in the next village. I was merely heading through. I have some things to discuss with your father, but I’ll call on him in a few weeks. ”

I manage not to let my eyes narrow. “ I’ll pass it on. Have a fair day.”

Watching to ensure he heads down the path, I shut the door too hard and stomp back to the kitchen, the nerves of returning to Faerie replaced by a familiar pit in my stomach.

The gall of that man to still interact with our family after his son’s actions.

Perhaps he has never believed it—I am merely a girl from the next village over, after all.

Everyone probably thinks I had a lie in the hay with him, which I would have.

I am very aware that I would have, with very little prompting, if I had not been left to the trees and the monsters.

And Mister Haskel has business to attend to with my father, evidently. Da is the wealthiest man in our little cluster of cottages, so I am not surprised. Raging, but not surprised.

It has been ages since I’ve visited the city, but that hardly has me interested in what he’s doing there. I wish to be uninterested in them for the rest of my days.

Feeling the anger all the way to the tips of my fingers, I watch out the kitchen window until he disappears before retrieving both baskets and taking the back way out once more.

I half expect something to have changed with the hawthorn tree, but it remains as it was, pale and soft and stable. I close my eyes, and honeysuckle envelops me. Much as the afternoon before, it is deathly still, leaves swirling to the forest carpet with nay a breeze to knock them down.

As I maneuver through the walls of books, I push aside the unwelcome visitor in the mortal world and consider what I’m going to do.

This morning I had quite decided to leave the kittens and make a run for it, sacrificing the basket along with them.

It remains an option. I could leave the basket, then the honey and milk and wrapped food on the floor beside them.

They will not get dusty. Una would certainly prefer I never lay eyes upon the faerie ever again and will likely take my own basket to my head when she discovers I have.

Another part of me considers.

I could call out to him. Or, at the very least, call out so he will know I’m leaving them here. He only suggested I leave them on the steps because it was obvious I was fearful. I could call out to him, yes.

And ask again if there is something I can do to offer help.

It would be a foolish thing to do, Niamh.

I know it, and I still creep to the top of the steps, set the baskets down, then pick them up again.

For a few minutes, I simply continue to stand there, wondering if he’ll notice me a third time and come looking.

Perhaps he will not, for he promised to stay away so I would not have to be frightened of him.

It seems a deceptively kind thing to offer.

Perhaps not. What use would a faerie have for an uninteresting village girl?

“ Hello? ” I whisper, then curse myself for doing so. He did mention to bring them tomorrow, so perhaps he is not paying attention, and I should leave them—take the safer route and leave while I can.

On the empty section of the bookshelf, the honey and bread and pie are gone. He took them. A smile curls at my lips. Perhaps it should not, but someone from Faerie was pleased with my cooking.

I creep a little along the bookshelf, glancing down the aisle leading to the back of the room where he must be staying. He came from this direction both times. The late-afternoon light makes it all slightly more unsettling than this morning, but what can it hurt to deliver the baskets?

“ Hello? ” I try again, and receive no answer.

Perhaps he is not staying here after all and is only intending to return for them.

But he was here this morning and the evening before.

Frowning, I consider again leaving the baskets before creeping down the hallway.

Reconsidering, I stop making my footsteps silent.

I’m not trying to sneak up on the man.. . creature... faerie .

At the back of the room, around the edge of yet another dusty bookshelf, is a room with a door ajar. Faint warm light filters out. I watch it for a moment but see nothing else of note—not from this angle.

“ Hello? I brought the kittens.” I look down at my white knuckles, fingers clenched around the basket handles. “ And more honey.”

Silence.

As carefully as possible, I step up. Knock gently on the jam of the open door.

It slams shut, a blast of air sending my hair and skirts back. I yelp, nearly tripping over the edge of the nearest shelf. My heart leaps into my throat, and I lean against the wood, smelling the dust disturbed into the air.

A moment later, what I’ve just witnessed catches up to me.

Magic.

I shouldn’t have come up here. I don’t belong in Faerie. He may have looked friendly enough, passive enough, but he was not human . And I was fully ready to walk into his lair.

Idiot girl , I tell myself, then push off the shelf.

The door cracks open. I freeze, instinctively clutching the basket of kittens closer. A familiar shape of fine clothes and long dark hair stands silhouetted against the warm light in the room.

“ What are you doing?” he asks, and his voice is rougher than before.

Why did I come a day early?

“ Kittens,” I squeak, trying to clear my throat without making too much noise.

Even in the dark, I can see he’s staring as if I’ve lost my mind, which I’ve just decided I have.

Before I can think through the words, I find myself saying, “ I’m sorry, but I wanted to bring them back tonight since they’re not eating and are probably terribly hungry. I thought I could just bring them now—”

“ You were to leave them on the step.”

He’s quite correct. “ I know, I’m sorry. I, um... brought more food?”

He’s quiet for so long that I don’t know what to do.

In the dark, I can’t make out enough of his expression to truly read it, which might be preferable.

He doesn’t have his walking cane and leans heavily against the doorframe, and I see the same long hands gripping the edge of the frame too tight.

When he shifts, he looks shaky, as if I’ve caught him in a worse state than before.

Many men—human or otherwise—would not appreciate such a thing.

Behind him, I can’t make out the room, but there’s a crackle of a small fire, likely from one of the chimney hearths I saw outside.

Perhaps I merely startled him. I remember his expressions in the light of day—frightening and nonhuman but not unkind.

Gathering my courage, I take a step forward. “ Here, I can bring these in for you—”

“ Get out.”

I falter, pausing to set the basket of kittens down on the floor instead. “ I—”

“ Get out! ”

His voice shocks me to my bones, an unnaturally high sound of pure rage.

Not human. Despite my attempted bravery, I flinch against the bookshelf, knocking my shoulder blades hard against the edge of a book spine.

He shifts against the doorframe, and whatever fear held me moments ago returns with force.

Not for the first time, I flee as quickly as I can in the dark, tripping over the bottom step and past honeysuckle until I am safe on our side of the woods and his voice is just an echo in my thoughts.