CHAPTER ONE
Wren

My hands curl around the bone china, the thin cup doing almost nothing to protect the skin of my fingers from the heat of the near-boiling tea. A rose petal bobs at the surface, a lavender bud following in its wake from where they’ve escaped the copper tea strainer.
I close my eyes, inhaling the aroma deeply, trying to ground myself in this moment, with this tea I’ve been saving for just this occasion.
The letter sits atop a lace napkin on the table beside me, all of which shakes nervously with the rhythm of my leg jangling against the floor. Closed with a red wax seal embossed with a diamond sigil that makes my heart beat all the faster.
The mark of the Enchanter’s Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild.
“Only the premiere organization for jewelry enchanters,” I tell Fenn. He’s curled up on the hearth, the embers of this morning’s fire still burning softly in the grate.
Fenn ignores me, as he usually does, his fluffy red tail flicking slightly in annoyance at the fact I’ve had the audacity to disturb his nap.
Having a nocturnal familiar can be incredibly trying.
“Maybe I should go next door and open the letter with Piper there,” I muse.
It’s not talking to yourself if your familiar is around. That’s an unwritten rule of witchery, I’m sure of it.
This time, though, Fenn raises his fluffy red head and blinks slowly at me.
“You think that would be a good idea?” A shoulder to cry on or a friend to celebrate with—either way, Piper will know the perfect thing to say.
If it’s another rejection, I can get a cupcake.
If the guild has finally come to their senses and decided to extend me an offer of membership, I can also get a cupcake.
Either way, there is a frosted confection in my future, and that heartens me. A little, at least.
Mostly, though, I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement and trepidation.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask Fenn.
He lets out a whiny yip in response, then bundles closer into himself.
“It’s an early morning for me, too,” I say, amused at my little fox familiar’s annoyance at me.
We keep late hours, in general, working the shop below our snug apartment in the late mornings for the few customers that come through my doors. In-person clientele are rare, brought in by the little word of mouth that gets out of Wild Oak Woods into the larger world, though we do a bustling mail-order business that keeps the lights on and food on the table.
Fenn and I have spent many lazy afternoons together, leafing through spell books in the sun-soaked window seats and slowly going through the massive inventory left to me by the former owner of Witchwork’s Jewelry. Evenings and late nights are best for spellwork and crafting enchanted rings, the highest in demand, and he’s there with me too, watching and lending energy where he can, my little magic fox battery and companion.
“It’s a good life we have,” I tell Fenn, and it is—I know I’m lucky. I know it.
But it’s a lonely life, despite the network of witches in town, my new friends. I love my work, but without the recognition from the damned guild…
I sigh, tracing my finger over the wax seal.
Fenn yips again, not even bothering to move his tail.
“I’ll bring you back something,” I tell him. My teacup rattles on its saucer as I set it down, gone cold while I brooded.
Fenn whines, my vocal little familiar voicing his strong fox opinions.
“Two somethings,” I amend. He rewards me by fluffing his tail and curling up into an even tighter ball.
I raise an eyebrow and huff a laugh, stuffing the letter in the pouch on the belt around my favorite green linen dress.
It takes no time at all to lock the door to my little apartment, the heavy key hanging on a long chain around my neck, and I make my way down the back stairs, avoiding going into the storefront at all, as if walking by my spare jewelry displays will jinx the contents of the letter.
My pulse picks up as the morning sun caresses my skin, and I slip into the back of The Pixie’s Perch, dodging the grumpy troll line chef who grunts at me in annoyance as I squeak through the door into the bustling dining room.
The bakery counter has a line that winds out the front door, full of perfect pastries in shades of pastel.
The morning rush.
“There she is,” Piper crows in delight, her pretty brunette hair tied back in a complex crown of braids. A pink ribbon’s laced through it, and she looks perfectly in place here, in her domain, surrounded by sweets and pastries chock-full of magical effects.
Muttering niceties, I squeeze through the crowd to the table she stands at.
“Oh,” I say, my heart fluttering.
They’re all here. Well, most, at least, of the witches of Wild Oak Woods, gathered around the table with expectant expressions. A three-tiered treat stand overflows with chocolate-filled pastries and tiny sandwiches, a pot of steaming coffee on a quilted pad next to it.
“You’re all here.”
Piper cringes slightly before bestowing me with a wide smile. “We knew you might need us.” She takes a pink frosted cupcake from the stand and places it on a thin china plate embellished with deer and flowers, and I swallow hard as she slides it in front of the chair.
“Sorry,” Rosalina says, her hands twisting anxiously in her long brown hair. “Squeak told me you had big news coming.” The mouse in question, her familiar, pokes its whiskered nose from Rosalina’s apron pocket. “We thought it would be best if we were here for you.”
I look around at the five witches, my friends, and my heart aches.
“Thank you,” I say softly, sinking into the empty seat at the table. “This is…”
“We’re your friends, like it or not,” Nerissa says crisply.
Willow snorts at the spellsmith’s customary bluntness, but the healer squeezes my hand across the table. “There’s no magic like—”
“If you say the power of friendship, I will throw a cucumber sandwich at you,” Nerissa tells her sourly, flipping her blue-black hair over one shoulder.
“I was going to say the power of a coven, but you interrupted me.” Willow glares at her.
“We’re not a coven,” Rosalina cautions. “You shouldn’t say that. You never know who’s listening. We would have to have a charter, and get approval, and sanctioned, and—”
“Squeak is probably listening,” Nerissa interrupts, jerking her head at the whiskers still sticking out of Rosalina’s pocket. “We all know the biggest gossip here is the one who gets it from the rest of our familiars.”
Squeak pops more fully out, chittering angrily at Nerissa.
I snort in amusement, which draws everyone’s attention back to me.
“Well, open it,” Piper urges, making a hurry-up motion with a flour-dusted hand.
I fish the envelope from the pouch on my belt, straightening a slightly crumpled corner. My heart seems to stand still in my chest, my anxiety ramping up.
“I didn’t plan on reading this in front of an audience,” I tell them grimly.
“It could be a yes,” Piper says. That’s Piper, though—she’s unfailingly positive no matter what. The pink ribbon trailing from her hair bobs as she nods in agreement with herself.
Nerissa shoots me a look of understanding, and that, more than anything, tightens my throat. Nerissa is more than a spellsmith—she dabbles in darker shadow magic, in things Piper and the rest of us wouldn’t dream of touching.
She has what my mother would have called ‘the knowing,’ and right now, I’m not sure I like that about her at all.
The envelope tears slightly as I pull away the red wax seal, and the breath whooshes out of me as I read it quickly.
Dear Ms. Wren Tierson,
We regret to inform you that your application to the Enchanter’s Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild has, yet again, been denied. We have, in fact, made note of all eleven of your failed applications, and while your work is impressive for a witch who has been cast out from their coven, we would be ill-advised to accept such an applicant.
We wish you well in your pursuits, and if you would like to purchase additional correspondence courses and materials, we are more than happy to provide them.
Best wishes,
The Enchanter’s Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild

“Well?” Rosalina prompts, the mouse in her pocket staring at me with glossy black eyes. “What does it say?”
“By the crone,” Nerissa says crabbily, “use your eyes. She’s been rejected again.”
I want to glare at Nerissa, but the pretty raven-haired witch is entirely right. I settle for staring at my hands instead.
“They said not to apply again. Pretty much.” My throat is tight, and I can barely force the words out. I pour myself a cup of black coffee, wishing I’d stayed upstairs in my little apartment where I could snuggle Fenn and cry in privacy.
“What?” Piper’s face is astounded, her eyes wide and mouth a thin line of annoyance. “How dare they?”
“They don’t want an outcast.” The word is bitter on my tongue. “Without a coven, they won’t even look at my application.”
Nerissa glares daggers at the open letter before me. I drink the coffee just to have something to do, and it’s too hot and strong and overwhelming after the bad news.
My shoulders sag in disappointment, and I fight the wave of self-pitying tears that threaten. “I needed this,” I say, flapping the letter at the four witches in front of me. “I need to be in their good graces.”
I set my jaw, more obsessed than ever with getting into the goddess-damned guild one way or another.
“I’ll figure out a way in,” I grind out. “I’ll be so good they can’t ignore me.”
Piper gives me a bleak look. “You’re already the best enchantress we’ve seen.”
“That’s not saying much,” Nerissa snarks.
Willow laughs again, but the healer watches me carefully. “We could start our own coven. Then you could try again.”
I shake my head, mustering a placating smile that doesn’t stretch to my eyes. “You know no one wants anything to do with me. The Elder Council won’t touch anything I’m a part of. Not after…” I trail off, and the rest of the women around the table pick up the conversation, discussing how, exactly, they could begin their own coven here in Wild Oak Woods.
I stew in my thoughts and pick at the cupcake in front of me, Piper’s signature pleasure spell woven into the frosting hardly touching my black mood.
Until the door of The Pixie’s Perch blows open, a gust of chilly air sending the chimes above it tinkling. The five of us whip our attention to it, the faint fingers of magic sending the hair on the nape of my neck upright.
A birch-branch broom just inside the pastry shop falls to the black and white tiled floor with a clatter, and I jump.
“Change is on the wind,” Nerissa says darkly. “Company is coming.”
Piper and Willow exchange a look, concern furrowing their brows.
The preternatural stillness vanishes as suddenly as it arrived, and the whole of The Pixie’s Perch seems to shake itself as business resumes at the same fever pitch like nothing happened.
Something happened, though.
Change is on the wind.
 
CHAPTER TWO
Caelan

I’m in a foul mood. Kieran is likewise in a foul mood, though that’s nothing new. The Unseelie prince scowls as he surveys the fish charring over the fire.
Only Ga’Rek seems to be enjoying our so-called jaunt outside of the Underhill.
Better here than in Her Majesty’s dungeons, though.
I cast a sidelong glance at Kieran. The prince has never been outside the palatial halls and luxuriously appointed rooms of the Underhill’s palace. Even as the fourth spare to the throne, the fae prince was spoiled rotten by his doting mother and all the two-faced courtiers hoping to score her favor.
Sighing, I turn my own fish over the fire.
Might as well get both sides evenly burnt.
Ga’Rek hums under his breath, and Kieran skewers him with a look the huge half-orc changeling is only too happy to ignore.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were happy to be out of the Underhill,” I say, finally giving up on an even char on the damned trout and popping a piping hot piece in my mouth. It’s not bad.
It’s real, at least, not the sawdust the Queen would be making us eat as prisoners of her magic beneath the palace.
A shiver goes through me.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” The orc squares his shoulders, sizing me up. “Would you rather be rotting in her dungeons?”
Kieran sighs, and I immediately roll my eyes at the now-familiar sound.
“I was just defending myself,” he says, and there’s a petulant whine to the comment that sets my teeth on edge.
It’s what he’s said, over and over and over again, since the night he nearly gutted his eldest brother and heir to the throne.
It is true, which is the only reason, I suspect, we were allowed by Her Dark Majesty to escape to the above world, to the mortal realm, several days ago.
Days, which are still a strange concept, still feel odd, even though I’ve been topside before, to wreak havoc and mischief on the mortals who live here.
I am used to the endless dark of the Underhill, of the Queen’s black moods and midnight predilections.
Even now, though, I can feel her presence, a dark shape in the shadows of the trees around us, though it’s weaker now, during daylight hours.
Maybe Kieran’s words aren’t the only thing rubbing my nerves raw.
“Fish is good,” Ga’Rek says, grinning broadly at me, his tusks gleaming in the small daytime fire.
“Better than sawdust and bonemeal,” Kieran says wearily, echoing my own thoughts. “What was I supposed to do, let him kill me?”
I want to stab the pointy stick in my hand through his royal eye, but I grit my teeth and keep the urge to myself.
Kieran, for all his faults, is my friend.
“You survived.”
“Why do you say that like it’s my fault?” he asks.
“Well, technically, it is your fault. This is all your fault. But you made the choice to live, so now we have to deal with it.” I shrug one shoulder, the stiff leather jerkin creaking slightly. “You can either drive us all crazy by repeating the same drivel over and over again, or you can shut up and decide to make the best of it.”
“That’s no way to speak to a prince.” He sounds completely mortified.
Ga’Rek bursts out laughing, and a flock of birds scatter overhead in terror. “You’re not the prince of shit anymore, Kieran. You can either be a dead prince or a living outcast. I know what I’d prefer if I were you.”
He sniffs, clearly annoyed with both of us but unable to argue.
“This is a good place,” Ga’Rek announces. “Besides, I know of somewhere for us to live. For a time, at least.”
If they think we’ll be in the Dark Queen’s good graces and allowed to return to the Underhill again anytime soon, they are sorely mistaken. I am saved from voicing the thought by our much-maligned fae Prince.
“What, in some hollowed-out tree with a bullfrog for company?” Kieran snipes. His bright green wings scrabble against each other, the buzzing a sure sign of his annoyance.
I resist the urge to stab him. Truly, good for me.
“Why?” Ga’Rek smiles even wider. “Did you find one?”
I burst out laughing. Ga’Rek was dealt a shit hand by the fae, taken as a child from his orc family and given fae strength and longer life in return for his service to the Crown.
It didn’t change him, though. He’s remained as steadfast and kind as he was as a child.
I should know, since I was the one that took him.
“There’s a village over that hill,” Ga’Rek finally says, jerking his chin over his shoulder. “At least, there was when I was child. I remember it well.”
Kieran scoffs. “When you were a child? That could have been three hundred years ago in mortal time.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s gone.” He shrugs a shoulder, though there’s a hint of sadness around his eyes. “Maybe we can still find something worth salvaging there. A place to seek refuge, shelter, at the very least.”
My skin prickles, the tops of my ears tingling.
There’s magic at work here.
It’s not the Dark Queen’s either.
The unfamiliar rub of it sends goosebumps prickling across my purple skin, and I squint into the distance, where my fae sight can just make out the merry puffs of smoke in the distance.
The perfume of magic, I think, comes from there.
Exactly where Ga’Rek seemed to think there would still be a village.
“We should go,” I say, stabbing the fish on a stick into the ground and rubbing my hands together. “I do so love mortals. A good plan, ‘Rek.”
He grins at me before taking my abandoned fish and swallowing the rest whole.
Kieran just looses a long-suffering sigh, his iridescent beetle wings reflecting the sunlight.

HOW TO TAME A TRICKSTER FAE

EXCERPTS