Chapter 12
Smacked in the Face with My Own Olive Branch
The smell of cinnamon wafts down the street, beckoning me into the bakery.
I breathe in deep as I step inside, thankful for the cool blast of air conditioning that greets me.
For once, there are no tourists at the cute white tables.
River and Rosalie chat with Ryder at the counter.
The trio looks over when the door opens, at ease when they see it’s me and not a human customer.
“Hey, Kit,” Ryder says when I reach the counter. “Playing hooky?”
“Rowan and Nadine are watching the shop.” I gesture toward the door. “Why is it so hot out there?”
Ryder laughs at my wilted state. “Because it’s summer?”
Not only is it hot today, but it’s surprisingly humid. I didn’t expect either this far north.
“All right, but is Vermont confused about its latitude? And why is it sticky?”
“It usually waits until July,” Rosalie says. “But this is normal for the area.”
“It might take a year or two to acclimate,” River adds. “Pacific Northwest coastal summers are cooler than ours.”
“So, what brings you to the bakery?” Ryder settles against the counter. “Are you here because you missed me, needed my air conditioning, or were summoned by the smell of cinnamon rolls?”
“I was on my way to the cafe, but my order isn’t ready yet, so I thought I’d stop in and say hi.” I peer into the back. “Is Arista working today?”
The winter pixie and I had a rocky first meeting thanks to her magic going rogue and dredging up one of Rowan’s painful memories. But I’d like to become friends.
“She went home after she put the rolls in the oven,” Ryder says. “She had a rough morning.”
“Is her magic acting up?” Rosalie asks.
“Always.”
River steps back, browsing the cookie case. “It’s too bad there’s not a way to suppress it.”
“A mage Ansel and I went to school with started experimenting with that a few years back,” Rosalie says. “But she ended up abandoning the project. People always get anxious when mages start tampering with pixie magic.”
She shoots me an apologetic look, as though even bringing it up makes her feel bad.
“No one else will attempt to manipulate magic, though,” Ryder says. “The high fae are purists, and elves rarely concern themselves with the other races. I doubt any of the other magic types would be helpful.”
“What was she using in her experiments?” I ask, intrigued. Goodness knows I wouldn’t mind occasionally neutralizing my own gifts. “What would suppress pixie magic?”
Rosalie looks like she wishes she hadn’t brought it up. “She was experimenting with shadow pixie dust.”
“How would someone go about collecting that?” River asks, a touch disgusted.
“I don’t know.”
Shadow pixies are spectral fae. The spectral fae are solitary, and their gifts, if you can call them that, are dark. They’re the fae of legend that gave our people a bad reputation. They thrive on sorrow, pain, death, and fear.
They’re the sirens who lure sailors to their deaths, the kelpies who offer aid and then drown their victims, the will-o’-wisps who delight in misguiding travelers. They’re the hobgoblins, the shadow fairies, the things that go bump in the night.
Europe was overrun with them in the medieval era, until they created the Black Death and the royal elves decided it was time to step in.
We waged a massive war right under the humans’ noses, sent them back to the Faerie realm, and the elemental elves created wards to prevent their return. But, naturally, some escaped.
Leave it to the mages to seek them out to experiment with their magic seven hundred years later.
The door opens, and we turn, careful not to continue our conversation in front of humans.
But the newcomer isn’t human. She’s high fae—and the very last high fae I want to see. Ever.
Keira’s eyes land on me almost immediately. It takes all my willpower not to duck behind River.
“Hello, Keira,” Ryder says, his voice flat and far from welcoming.
Her eyes flick over River, Rosalie, and me before she acknowledges the elf, not looking pleased that we’re here. “Ryder.”
Rowan’s ex-fiancée wears stylish shorts that look like short-cropped trousers again today, these a light khaki color.
She’s paired them with a black sleeveless knit turtleneck, a dainty gold necklace, and sky-high nude pumps.
She carries a leather handbag that probably cost more than most people’s monthly mortgage payment.
Her hair is down. The brunette layers are impeccably cut and bouncy from whatever expensive hair care routine she uses. Goodness, she’s polished.
Just like an apex predator, she senses my unease and flicks her gaze my way. “You’re Laverna’s niece.”
“I am.” I try to smile. It’s my only defense. “My name is Kathleen, but people call me Kit. And you’re Keira. I don’t think anyone actually introduced us.” I catch the pitying look that Ryder shares with Rosalie, but I can’t stop myself now that I’ve started. “It’s nice to meet you…officially.”
This is fine. I can extend an olive branch—I can be the bigger person.
Keira makes a vague humming noise as she studies me, then she lifts her nose ever so slightly and turns back to Ryder. “I was hoping to catch you alone. We need to talk about Rowan and the poor relationship decisions he’s made recently.”
And…olive branch rejected. I think that’s my cue to leave.
I don’t hear how Ryder responds to Keira because I mumble an excuse to leave and hightail it out of the bakery so quickly, I might as well be a forest animal.
Seconds later, I hear footsteps behind me. Terrified it’s Rowan’s ex, I turn. “Listen, I know you’re not happy—”
Rosalie pauses, looking unsure, and then glances back at the bakery. “That was nasty of her. Are you okay?”
Rosalie is just as pretty as Keira, with her dark hair and green eyes, but she doesn’t wield her beauty like a weapon. She’s also soft-spoken and a little shy, and I know it wasn’t easy for her to come after me to make sure I’m all right.
My shoulders sag, and I feel like I’m going to cry. “I’m not great with confrontation.”
“Ryder mentioned once that Keira is unpleasant…” She laughs a little. “That might have been an understatement.”
“It doesn’t sound like they get along well. I wonder why she’s there. Do you think she really wants to talk about Rowan, or was that just for my benefit?”
“I don’t know.” Rosalie gestures down the walkway. “You said you were going to the cafe. Do you want to walk together? I told Ansel I’d grab lunch, but I got distracted.”
“By the cinnamon rolls?” I ask, already feeling a little better.
She laughs again. “They smelled good, but no. Ryder asked me to make a tonic for his mother. She hasn’t been sleeping well.”
“That’s right—you’re an alchemist. Did you think about going into the healing arts instead of opening the rock shop with Ansel?”
“When we first moved here, I thought about running a small apothecary in our shop, but the natural health store was already established in town.” She dodges a small boy who runs ahead of his distracted mother.
“And hiding magic is tricky when you’re running a human-facing store.
Not only that, but I prefer to focus on fae remedies, and so many are toxic to humans.
So I just gift a few things to the locals here and there. ”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard Rosalie string so many words together.
“They’re not toxic to mages, though?”
“Some are,” she says brightly. “I have to be careful with those.”
As we walk to the cafe, she tells me about some of the more terrifying concoctions she learned to make in college, and my embarrassment over my run-in with Keira begins to fade.
I’m feeling pretty good when we walk through the cafe doors, laughing with Rosalie about a potion she made in her second year of high school that accidentally aged her handsome potions teacher thirty years.
“Thankfully, it was temporary,” she says. “And he didn’t fail me, probably because he didn’t want me to repeat the class. I’m sure he’d be horrified to learn I went into alchemy, though.” As we wait for a hostess to greet us, she asks, “Did you go to a fae high school?”
“No, I grew up around humans.”
“Lucky you.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Teenage pixies have it rough around people who can see their sparkles.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Even the thought of it nearly gives me hives. Humans can feel my summer magic, but they can’t see the glittering magic that surrounds me when I’m attracted to someone. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.
“Welcome.” Miralynn smiles when she greets us, already grabbing menus.
Standing at just over five feet tall, the mountain dwarf is even shorter than me, with sturdy shoulders and a wholesome girl-next-door sort of look about her. She’s sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. I’m pretty sure this is her summer job.
“A table for two?” she asks.
“I actually have a pickup order,” I tell her.
“And I’d like to make an order,” Rosalie adds.
Placing the menus back in the stand, Miralynn says, “You’re welcome to head to the bar, Rose. Kit, I’ll check on your food and be right back.”
“I’ll come by the tea shop later this week,” Rosalie promises before she heads to the bar. “It was nice talking to you.”
The door opens as I’m waiting, and I step aside so the customer can request a table, smiling on autopilot. That smile freezes when I realize the new patron is Mr. Eastwilden.
“Hello, Kit.” The hotelier’s eyes are sharp, and the smile he offers feels calculating. “I didn’t expect to find you away from your shop during business hours.”
“Rowan is watching the counter.”
“I’ve heard he’s returning to school this autumn. I suspect you’ll find it difficult running the shop alone.”
He’s heard a lot of things. Though we just met, I think it’s safe to say the man has been keeping tabs on me.
Highly uncomfortable, I say, “My friend from Washington is thinking about moving here. She’s going to help while he’s finishing his degree.”