Page 11 of Shadowed Summer Sun
“Oh, I will like you.” He magicked up a new poppet from the stalks on the table and floated it over to me, “Wind that up tight with this string.”
A string appeared in my other hand, and I paused, lingering on the expert craftsmanship of the poppet and the wide hollow eyes that stared up at me.
Jack cleared his throat, narrowing his gaze, and I did as instructed. If menial labor were the challenges presented by this Unseelie Fae, I wouldn’t complain, but even I wasn’t that optimistic.
“A wonderful knot, witch. To the tree!”
He snapped us to the space before the oak, and my stomach lurched. Struggling to keep it in check, I glared at him as Jack continued to plaster on that infuriating smile.
“Hang it up, deary.” His eyes gleamed with malevolence, “Nice and tight.”
I looked back down at the poppet. It had clearly been spelled, but I couldn’t read the Fae’s potent magic to discern its purpose. Taking in the other grim dolls hanging from the branches and the sickly blue tint they all sported, I could guess, however.
“Why have me do it when it so clearly brings you much joy?”
“That’s just the tick, Summer. Joy for me,” His eyeballs seemed to stretch and take up more of his face than natural, “Pain for you.”
I squeezed the poppet in my hand, and the claws returned to my back.
Follow the Ol’ Willowies into the Vinemire Forest and seek a bauble from Bluestack Jack… The brighter the light, the darker the shadow…
Tying the string to the tree branch only took a few moments, and when I released the poppet to hang, it dropped like a stone. A terrible, quick pop echoed through the clearing as the string pulled tight, and then we were back in the Hut.
“Ah, lovely. A nice cup of tea now, don’t you think?”
Bluestack Jack lounged on his makeshift bed as he spoke and pointed toward the pitiful excuse for a fire, where there was now a teapot hanging from a stand.
“You want me to make you a cup of tea?” I furrowed my brow at him.
“I want you to make us a pot of tea. I never drink alone.” Again that toothy maw lit up with a grin, and I noted how there were more teeth in there than previously.
“Very well.”
I went to the fireplace, which was mostly ash and char. The tiny flame in the center struggled to breathe and would surely die or take hours to heat the pot if I did not clean it. Pulling a small besom from my pack, I swept away the cinders, careful not to touch the fire or disturb the single lump of coal that kept it burning.
The fire brightened slightly with fresh air better able to fuel the flames. I added more tiny bits of kindling I found off to the side, blowing gently. However, it struggled to take tangible form and quickly died down again. I needed to free the space from the chill that gripped it.
Pulling my boline out, I eyed Jack as he lay there and watched like a hungry cat. I cut off a lock of my hair, braided with a crow feather and aquamarine bead. Tossing it into the fire with a sprinkle of holy water, I watched the flame consume it and burst into life.
“Oh, is that all it needed? Well, you’ve saved me for the long winters.” Jack spewed sarcastically.
I glared at him before returning to the fire and moving the teapot over the flame. It felt off, and checking inside, I noticed that there wasn’t enough water for two cups. Just one.Ugh, you damned Unseelie bastard.
“Where is your well?” I asked sweetly.
“Well, never heard of the thing.” He shook his head and shrugged. “I make all the water I need.”
“Can you make more?” I asked, grinding my molars together.
“I don’t need it. You do.” He chuckled, and I nearly threw my boline at his face.
I didn’t have enough holy water to spare for a full cup of tea. Perhaps half of one, but that left me shy of the total ingredients, and Jack would surely use that to my disadvantage. I eyed the room, searching for any type of fluid that I might add to the tea.
That’s when I remembered his brown bottle. Fae liquor was notoriously dangerous. I grimaced as I walked to his box table and took the bottle back to the teapot. A mere half cup spread through the entire brew. That might do. Unstoppering the small flask, I poured the deep brown liquid into the pot.
It smelled like worms and gasoline and gravestones, and I gagged, biting back the growing nausea just barely.
“Have you finished my tea, deary?” Jack sat up, sitting cross-legged and seemingly meditating.
