Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(44)

She missed them more than anything else. Her eyes drifted towards the moon peeking through the window, and she sent a silent good night to her siblings.

All her hopes and wishes lifted into the air and drifted out to sea. She prayed they were healthy and happy. She hoped Rosaleen had taken up that kind nobleman and now lived in riches, and Briana remembered to relax. Sorcha made the sign of the cross over her chest and breathed her worry into the moonlight.

“Please keep Papa alive.”

She couldn’t force those things to happen, not from here. Sorcha resorted to wishes and dreams. Perhaps the Tuatha dé Danann would hear her and see that her family would think kindly upon her choices.

A squeak interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh?” Sorcha turned and placed a hand on her hip. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Boggart still refused to speak although Sorcha was certain it could. Soft chirps were its only form of communication, and it remained glamoured.

Sorcha scanned the hut, trying to find whatever had made Boggart speak. The bread was over the fire, but it wasn’t burning. No bugs had come in through the open window. The fire was roaring at the correct rate and wouldn’t run too hot.

Nothing was amiss. Sorcha shrugged and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. This would be easier if you would speak.”

Another squeak, much louder than the first, echoed in the room.

“I don’t know what you want, Boggart!”

Multiple squeaks came from the creature who shimmered into view. Boggart dropped its glamour and revealed its true form. Skinny, wrinkled, and lightly dusted with white fur that smoothed over bare breasts, she resembled an albino rat. Her head hardly reached the top of the bed.

She pointed a knobby hand at the door. Sorcha noted that Boggart's fingertips were bulbous before glancing where she pointed.

“The door?”

A crashing boom rocked the wooden frame, bending the wood inwards. Sorcha flinched. Her hip struck the clay pot containing all her flour which exploded on the floor. White puffs fluttered into the air and covered the floor in an impressive starburst.

She cursed and stooped. Her frazzled mind said scoop the flour into her hands and back into the pot. Sorcha dropped to her knees and pulled it all towards her, fruitless in her attempts to clean.

The banging on the door wasn’t stopping.

“Who is it?” she called out.

Perhaps the broom would be a more appropriate way to clean this. She looked dubiously over at the straw covered in cobwebs. She'd ruin the flour if she used that. There had to be something cleaner.

Boggart shrieked, bouncing up and down while pointing at the door. Impossibly, the knocking turned thunderous.

Sorcha leaned back, placed her flour covered hands on her thighs, and stared at the ceiling. When had her life turned into babysitting and terrifying moments? She refused to be frightened of someone who couldn’t enter the hag’s hut, protected by the spell splashed in chicken's blood.

“Boggart, stop screaming.”

She didn’t listen to Sorcha. Instead, Boggart screamed even louder. Its high-pitched whine dug at Sorcha’s ears, a headache blooming inside her skull.

“Please stop knocking!” she shouted. “I’m coming! I just need to take care of this before I—”

The knocking stopped.

Sorcha let out a relieved sigh. She’d taken care of the deep bass, now she had to make Boggart be quiet.

Leaving the flour for later, she charged towards the panicking Fae. Sorcha knew how to calm children down, in fact, it was one of her better talents. Boggart couldn’t be any different from that. She was the same size as one.

Sorcha slid her hands underneath the faerie’s armpits and picked her up. Like a child, Boggart wrapped her legs around Sorcha’s waist immediately. Panting breaths brushed against her ear, but at least Boggart stopped screaming.

“Shh,” Sorcha whispered as she rocked back and forth. “It’s all right. Everything is fine, you can stop screaming now, little love.”

Although her fur appeared wiry, Boggart was as soft as a rabbit all over her body. Unlike Cian, Boggart wasn’t wearing any clothing. One of her feet moved restlessly against Sorcha’s stomach.

She only had three toes, Sorcha realized with delight. Three thick, bulbous toes that ended in blunt little black nails.

The pounding started up again. Boggart squeaked and nestled her pointed nose in Sorcha’s neck.

“Shh, it’s all right,” Sorcha repeated as she walked them towards the door. “Nothing is going to happen to you, it’s probably Pixie with more food.”

She hoped.

With the faerie wrapped around her like a second skin, Sorcha stepped over the massacre of flour and grasped ahold of the door ring. She sent a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening. If this was a will-o'-the-wisp or something equally terrifying, Sorcha would faint dead away.

“Best be safe,” she whispered.

She opened the door just a crack, enough to see who was behind it but not let them in.

The dim twilight made it difficult for her to see anything. It was just a blank space on the other side of the door. No walkway, no moon, nothing but black.

Sorcha arched a brow. Now that was unusual.

Something shifted in the darkness, bringing her focus much closer. That wasn’t darkness at all, but a black cloth so dark it appeared to be night.