Dwarves & Daisies

Manhattan Magic #1 - A Cozy Urban Fantasy

Scott Walker

Firefly Tales, LLC

Contents

Books By Scott Walker

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Books By Scott Walker

Learn more about Scott’s catalog

MANHATTAN MAGIC SERIES

(Cozy Urban Fantasy Series)

Melina Morgan has the sight: the ability to see through any fae illusion. But if the fae find Melina, they’ll kill her, which would, you know, totally ruin her plans for a quiet holiday at home. And that’s exactly what happens when a drunk dwarf lands in Melina’s backyard one night. In order to protect herself and her town, Melina will travel to the fae-filled city of Manhattan. Armed with a sliver of iron and her sourdough starter, Melina’s about to step into a world of magic, mystery, and mischief!

COZY VALES

(A Cozy Fantasy Shared World Collection)

If cozy fantasy is your cup of tea (or coffee - no judgment!), be sure to visit the Cozy Vales Queendom for a growing collection of books low on stakes but high on mystery, adventure, magic, and more!

THE LITTLE YŌKAI SERIES

(Urban Fantasy Procedural)

In a world where the Japanese supernatural spirits known as Yokai wander the physical plane, Bureau of Souls Agent Keiko Miller has an oath to protect the innocent and bring justice to the guilty. She also has a secret of her own: she's part Yokai. She'll have to protect that secret like her job and her life depend on it, because they do.

A Complete 6-Book Series

DELTA UNDERGROUND OPERATIVES

(VAL & TIMMERON)

(Urban Fantasy Dual Assassins)

She talks with the dead.

He communes with nature.

Can these opposites save the world?

After a secret organization recruits a death-dealing necromancer and a life-loving wood elf to become dualcasting assassins, the pair will have to work together to stop a deadly fae from zombifying the planet.

Cloak and Dagger

AMAZON VELLA NOVEL

(Urban Fantasy)

This year, Ivy Hunter got a lump of coal in her stocking the size of Cincinnati: her father died mysteriously on Christmas Day. Equally mysterious? The message he left Ivy, one which will send her down a path of magic, secret organizations, and monsters from beyond the mortal plane. Ivy's determined to find her father's killer - if she can live long enough.

Runed

ANTHOLOGIES

Folklore Tales of Old Japan

This collection contains seven short stories, all based on classic folklore tales from Japan.

Daily Story Seeds

With over 90 bite-sized stories ranging from dark to funny to whimsical, every mini-narrative in this collection has a seed of truth firmly rooted in our current world.

Learn more about Scott’s catalog

For all the bakers who know the true value of a good bread starter.

Chapter One

My mother had prepared me for a lot of things when it came to the fae. Avoid them if you can (if you can’t, don’t make eye contact). A bit of bread in your pocket will help keep them away (but iron works better).

She did not, however, prepare me for waking up to the sounds of a drunken dwarf puking outside my bedroom window.

At first, I figured someone was seeking shelter from the frigid night air. The temps in the tiny coastal town of Cold Creek, NC, could hit the freezing point in early December, and the past week had been unusually cold.

I’d spent most of my life in Cold Creek, and I knew the weather patterns. I’d prepared my house and yard for the icy conditions, so I wasn’t worried about frozen pipes or water leaks or stuff like that.

I also hadn’t worried about finding a fae in my backyard at four in the morning, which just proved how bad I was at predicting the future.

And why I never bought lottery tickets.

I parted the curtains an inch. The motion-sensor light in my backyard wasn’t on. Whoever had come into my yard had been hanging out for a while. I glanced down at the source of the sound—a dark form curled up in my flower bed. The form grunted and rolled over. The motion-sensor light kicked in, revealing his face in the process.

Between the glow of the moonlight and the holiday lights I’d strung along the gutters, it was clear the figure wasn’t a mortal.

Fae!

More specifically, Dwarf!

He wore a sapphire-colored felt hat over copper hair. His waist-long beard lay over a large gray coat which reached the tops of his black boots. Thick leather gloves covered his hands. Curled up and sleeping, he almost looked kind of cute, but I knew better.

At thirty-six-years-old, I’d long since outgrown my fear of finding monsters under my bed. I’d seen monsters—real monsters—and they didn’t hide out in children’s closets.

But they weren’t supposed to go near flower beds full of dormant daisies, either.

According to the collective wisdom handed down through my mom’s side of the family, daisies made the Fair Folk feel like they were suffering from the worst hangover of their lives.

I’d planted several rows of the flowers along the back side of my house for the express purpose of keeping the fae from getting too close.

And here was a male dwarf, happily snoozing amongst a bunch of them.

The fae turned his head and vomited.

Okay, maybe not so happily. Maybe not even snoozing, for that matter.

Upside? The dwarf was in no shape to cause much trouble while he was snockered like that.

Downside? There was still a fae camped out in my yard.

Contrary to popular belief, fae weren’t the kindly fairies found in books and movies. They were evil, dangerous, and to be avoided at all costs. Mom had often warned me, “No good ever comes from messing with the fae, and you can take that to the bank.”

She took a lot of things to the bank.

How did I know the fae were real?

Many of the Morgan women had been cursed with the sight: the ability to see fae in their true forms, not the glamoured, illusionary versions they used around mortals.

When I encountered the fae, I saw long-eared elves, winged sprites, and tinkering gnomes. I also saw the wicked red caps: goblins who stalked mortals with long, nasty knives and dipped their cloth hats in the blood of their victims. Okay, I’d only seen one of them and only one time, but believe me, that was more than enough.

Luckily for mortals, the fae kept to themselves, as long as their true identity remained hidden. But if you asked too many questions, stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong, or happened to possess the sight? It wouldn’t be long before the fae ferried you away to their world. Or played cruel games with you. Or simply killed you on the spot.

I slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. The back sliding door was still locked, for what that was worth. A fae could bust it or magic their way past it in a second.

Still, despite my pounding heart and sweat-soaked pajamas, I wasn’t completely freaking out. I had several defenses set up to discourage fae from making a house call. My little one-story home might not look all that impressive, but it was a fortress against the fae.

One of the precautions Mom had drilled into my head came floating back to me:

A pocket of bread

Fills Fair Folk with dread.

I broke off a piece of bread from a fresh loaf of sourdough and put it in my flannel pants pocket. Then I decided to majorly upgrade things and grabbed the whole loaf before sneaking back to my bedroom. I slipped under my bedcovers, grateful for the warmth but still nervous as a salmon swimming through bear country.

Unlike some fae, dwarves attacked mortals only if majorly provoked. Chances were, the dwarf would move on before sunrise. I mean, I’d done nothing to upset him.

Or had I?

The fae were notoriously fickle creatures who took offense at even perceived slights. Maybe—just maybe—I’d unknowingly ticked off the dwarf.

If I had, I was literally in the safest possible place. I could nervously wait him out if I had to. And short of confronting him, which would be an absolute last resort, I would have to do just that.

I wasn’t about to call my best friend, Dee Ashford, for help. No way would I drag her into this mess. And even though Dad was the only other mortal who knew fae were real, I wouldn’t be calling him, either.

As for my mother . . .

I wish you were still here, Mom. You’d know exactly what to do.

The dwarf finished purging the contents of his stomach, stirred around in the flower bed, and went still again.

Meanwhile, I spent the night staring at the ceiling and nervously waited to see what dawn would bring.

The loud beeping of my phone’s alarm turned my heart into a triphammer. I slapped at the screen to silence the alarm before the noise could wake the dwarf. I froze in fear and listened.

Nothing.

Phew.

A stealthy peek through the curtains showed the dwarf was gone.

Despite my relief, I made a quick check of all my defenses in case he returned.

In the kitchen, my broom carved from a rowan tree was still propped up next to the sliding door.

I also kept a thin line of salt on the inside of my windowsills and under the thresholds of my front and back doors. Fae absolutely hated salt. The windowsill salt lines were reassuringly still intact. A variety of charms and wards were casually placed around the house, along with lots of mirrors and flowers.

When the seasons allowed, I kept a patch of tomatoes in my garden and daisies in my flowerbeds. Iron decorations and a couple of wind chimes topped off my outdoor protections.

Finally, I had a two-inch sliver of iron hanging from a necklace which I never took off. Iron was, hands down, the best deterrent for fae. It burned their skin at the slightest touch. A well-placed stab or sufficiently deep cut was often fatal, as wounds from iron objects rarely healed. Steel worked, too, as it was mostly iron, but I was kind of old school.

So, the dwarf had suffered through my outside wards but hadn’t tried breaking into my house. Why? My best guess was he’d grown weak. Between literally sleeping in a daisy flowerbed and being surrounded by all the other wards, he had to be in a world of hurt.

All fair enough, but he shouldn’t have been anywhere near my house in the first place.

While I muddled over the mystery of the dwarf, I dressed, packed up my laptop bag, and piled some sugar cookies onto a paper plate.

I needed somewhere warm and full of people. Some place safe. Some place I could work without worrying about a dwarf trying to kill me.

I knew exactly where to go.

“Happy holidays, Melina! What can I get you?”

I nodded at Millie, the sole owner and proprietor of the establishment that bore her name. At seventy-three, Millie was as much a Cold Creek institution as the annual Fourth of July parade down Main Street. She’d opened the shop in the late 70s and had been running it ever since.

Millie’s was the most popular restaurant in town. Strong Wi-Fi and even stronger coffee.

Just like she did every year around the holidays, Millie wore a red-and-white pointed hat. I’m talking about the cone-shaped ones you typically saw on a gnome.

Not that I’d ever tell anyone about my sight ability, but even if I did, I wouldn’t have had the heart to tell Millie gnomes were a nasty, devious bunch.

“Merry Christmas, Millie,” I replied with a smile. “Double black coffee, please. Oh, and this is for you.” I handed her the plate of sugar cookies I’d made the day before.

Millie smiled back and clucked her tongue. “Melina Morgan, you are just the sweetest thing on two legs. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Don’t go eating them all in one go, okay?”

“No promises!” Millie shuffled off to deliver a plate of eggs to another customer.

The restaurant was busy. I smiled at a couple of familiar faces and settled in at my favorite corner booth. Millie had put tiny fake trees on each table and decorated the place with glitter-covered paper snowflakes. An instrumental version of a classic holiday song floated through the air.

I was already feeling better.

My computer was still powering up when Millie placed a large coffee mug in front of me and filled it to the brim. Her Farah Fawcett-flip haircut briefly tumbled over her shoulders before she swept it back in place.

“Here you go, dear.”

“Thank you.”

Lots of people liked big cities and all. They loved the hustle and bustle and lights and energy. And those same people usually complained about living in the fishbowl of a small town, where everyone knew everyone’s business.

But trust me: if you’ve never lived in a small town, you don’t know what you’re missing, and you can take that to the bank.

I spent most of the morning cranking away on my current freelance assignment: a technical writing gig from Morton Electronics. Based just a few hours away in Raleigh, NC, the firm was about to roll out a slew of new products.

One was a fancy microwave. Morton had hired me to turn all the dreadfully dull engineering notes into a user-friendly manual any six-year-old could understand. If I knocked their socks off with this assignment, more paid jobs would follow.

Millie had just refilled my a cup a third time when my attention caught on the conversation at the next table over.

“ . . . and let me tell you, whatever was in the air, Otis tucked his tail between his legs and started whimpering. Can you believe it? A big ol’ Labrador like him, acting all chicken. Never seen Otis get so skittish.” Skeeter Wilson, recently retired from the world of retail to indulge his passion for fishing, had a heart the size of his massive gray beard.

Across from him sat his old friend, Joe Edmundson. Also retired, Joe split his free time between fixing old appliances for dirt cheap and hunting ducks. “What spooked him?”

“Well, here’s where it gets weird. From across the lake, I heard a howl. Two of ‘em, actually.”

“Oh,” Joe replied in a dismissive tone. “Couple of wolves, that’s all.”

Skeeter shook his head. “Think I can’t recognize a wolf when I hear one? I don’t know what those creatures were, but they weren’t wolves.”

“So, you saw them?” Joe asked.

“Yep. They popped out of a clearing along the waterline and nosed around. The way they moved? Trust me, they weren’t any wolves.”

Joe sighed. “I’m not calling you a liar or anything, but Kincaid Lakes’s got to be at least half a mile across, and your eyes—”

“My eyes got nothing to do with it, Joe. I saw what I saw, and it wasn’t any wolf!”

A couple of heads in the shop turned around long enough to let the two men know they were getting close to causing a scene. Cold Creek residents were gentle folk who preferred the kinds of scenes you found in pretty greeting cards, posters, and pastoral paintings.

I tapped Joe on the shoulder. “Excuse me, guys. How long ago did you see this, Skeeter?”

“A few hours ago. I’d been planning on some early morning fishing. I got to the dock right before sunrise. The light was beginning to hit the lake—”

Joe interrupted him. “Skeeter, if it was before sunrise, you wouldn’t have seen anything but shadows across the lake.”

Skeeter waved a hand at his friend. “Bah. I just meant the sun wasn’t over the horizon. There was plenty of light to see what I saw.”

“If it wasn’t a wolf, what kind of animal was it?” I asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” Joe whispered.

“I heard that.” Skeeter frowned at Joe before turning to me. “I don’t know. It shuffled around on all fours, but it didn’t move like a dog or a wolf. And that howl.” His shoulders gave a single shake. “Never forget that sound as long as I live. Trust me, I wanted to tuck my tail and hide, too.”

“Sure sounds spooky,” I said. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course,” Skeeter replied. Joe rolled his eyes at me before turning back around.

Kincaid Lake wasn’t far from my house. If I walked out my back door and hopped the fence, I could cut a straight line to it in fifteen minutes. All that stood between my home and the lake was a small field and a strip of thick woods.

Were the creatures Skeeter saw fae? Possibly. How they might or might not be connected to the dwarf was still a big question mark. Heck, the dwarf’s presence alone was a big question mark.

Dad and I hadn’t randomly settled in Cold Creek. We were there because the town’s location was a natural ward against the fae.

Most people knew about the magical conduits called ley lines crisscrossing the planet and how the Fair Folk are attracted to them. That’s all real, by the way.

What most people didn’t know was how fae are especially drawn to intersections of ley lines. Pick any metropolitan city in the world, and I guarantee there’s a ley line nexus under it. The more lines at the intersection, the bigger the city.

Cold Creek was nowhere near a ley line. In fact, it was the opposite of a nexus. The town was a dead zone, an area of magical properties perfectly harmless to humans but seriously bad news for the Fair Folk. More than a few days in a dead zone, and a fae would be just that.

Which was why the spirits stayed away from Cold Creek.

Until last night, anyway.

I sipped my coffee and tried focusing on the microwave manual, but I kept picturing the dwarf breaking into my home. Then I imagined Skeeter’s mysterious creatures patiently waiting for me in the dark. Then I stopped my imagination before it came up with something even more troubling.

I packed up my bag, paid my bill, and said goodbye to Millie and the guys. As I walked to my ten-year-old sedan, I tried getting into a more optimistic mood. Despite the cold temps, the sun was high, and the day was bright.

Maybe I’d get lucky and come home to a dwarf-free backyard.

Chapter Two

The backyard was empty. I should’ve bought a lottery ticket right then and there.

The yard was fenced in on all sides. I had neighbors on the left and right. The back part of my property butted up against an empty field and beyond that, a copse of woods.

I make a complete circuit through the yard. My back patio deck looked fine. No wayward fae there or in the pergola.

My wind chimes and iron decorations were all accounted for. The collection of stainless steel rods I’d hammered into the ground along the fence line were all in place, too.

And though the dwarf had trampled the daisy stalks where he’d slept, he hadn’t ripped any of them out of the ground.

Weird.

Finding an empty yard was a tremendous relief. If the dwarf had stuck around, I’d have been forced to try more aggressive tactics. I really didn’t want to do that. Did I mention how touchy fae could be?

I worked on the Morton microwave manual until late Friday night, risking a peek through my bedroom curtains before getting into bed.

No dwarf.

The next morning?

Still no dwarf.

Which was good, because my bestie since high school, Dee Ashford, was coming over for a Slumming Saturday. That’s what we called our tradition of a self-proclaimed day of extreme leisure.

I changed into official slumwear gear: my favorite baggy sweatshirt, comfy flannel pants, and a pair of super snuggly slippers with the fake sheepskin lining that always kept my toes toasty.

Dee rang the doorbell promptly at two o’clock.

“Dashford!” I practically screamed. Dee had picked up the nickname after leading our high school track team to victory senior year.

Dressed similarly to me, Dee had her long brown hair pulled back from her round face. Her hazel eyes twinkled as she held up a Mason jar filled with tea leaves in one hand and a DVD in the other. It’s a Wonderful Life. My all-time favorite holiday movie ever.

“Let’s slum it up!” Dee said as she stepped inside. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “Smells like Christmas in here.”

“Just some star anise, rosemary, and cinnamon sticks in a stovetop potpourri.”

“Nice.” She put her stuff on the kitchen table. “What’s on the menu for today?”

I pointed at the bread dough rising in a bowl and a bunch of ingredients laid out on the counter. I’d been baking bread for as long as I could remember. Mom and I had spent many afternoons in the kitchen. She made sure I learned baking early.

I’d inherited my starter from Mom, and for some reason decided to call it Sourdough Joe. Joe had been handed down for a couple of generations, and the yeasty mixture was probably close to a hundred years old.

Along with the starter had come a wooden mixing bowl and a large wooden spoon. I felt connected to Mom when I used them, and I treasured them all. I couldn’t imagine cooking without them.

“Sourdough and sugar cookies.”

Dee fist pumped the air. “Yesssss!”

I put on a holiday playlist, and the two of us spent the day sipping cups of Dee’s custom tea blend and making a glorious mess in the kitchen.

“How’s your microwave manual coming along?” Dee asked.

“Great. I think I’ve got a good chance at snagging more work from them.” I waggled my eyebrows. “They pay really well.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“Better cross your toes, too,” I replied. “If I don’t start putting money into my savings account pretty soon, I’m going to be asking Millie for a job application.”

Dee made a scrunchy face. “It’s that bad?”

“Well, I’ve got another couple of months in the bank, but, yeah, it’s not looking great.”

“Why don’t you move back in with your dad?”

“I might have to,” I said.

But I’d do everything I could to avoid that. I’d become convinced he was in more danger simply by sharing the same roof with me. The recent visit from the dwarf was a sobering reminder of why I couldn’t move back home.

“If Morton likes your work, does that mean you’ll be moving to Raleigh?”

I snorted. “Hope not.”

“What? Why?”

“Big city, big problems,” I said.

“Would it really be so bad?” Dee asked as she glanced down at her cup of tea. “I always thought you were meant for bigger things. You’re so smart and all, you know? Figured you’d be on the first bus out of here after graduating from Cold Creek Community College.”

Thanks to my sight, that was never in the cards. Not that I could tell Dee that.

“Leave here and miss our Slumming Saturdays?” I replied with a grin. “No way.”

Dee’s face stayed serious. “With your grades, you could have had a full scholarship at a really good college, Melina. I don’t know why you hung around this town all these years. Look, I’ve loved having you here, but sometimes I wonder if you should have left a long time ago.”

I knew Dee had been trying to get out of Cold Creek for years. How could I explain myself without insulting her dream? Or telling her the real reason was I’d been hiding from the fae? I fudged my response with a mix of fact and fiction.

“Dad’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and I can’t leave him.” True enough, though not the whole truth. “Besides, I love it here in Cold Creek. I can’t imagine leaving you and everyone else.”

That was one hundred percent true. I did love the tiny town, and I simply couldn’t summon a smidgeon of remorse that fate had stranded me in such a lovely place with lovely people.

Had I considered what life outside of Cold Creek might offer, though? Many times. I couldn’t help wondering what was behind the doors I’d slammed after sequestering myself in Cold Creek.

“Guess I’m stuck with you, then,” Dee said with a fake grimace.

I threw a piece of popcorn at her. She tried catching it in her mouth, missed.

“’Fraid so,” I replied. Surfing off the casual upturn in the conversation, I found the courage to ask Dee the question that had been on my mind all day. “Hey, you haven’t seen anything weird lately, have you?”

Dee shook her head. “Nope.”

“Heard anything out of the ordinary?”

“No. Why?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Oh, Skeeter was at Millie’s yesterday talking about seeing some unusual animals down by Kincaid’s Lake. I was curious if you’d heard or seen anything unusual, too.”

“Not a peep.”

I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. If no one else was talking about weird sightings, maybe this whole fae thing wasn’t as big of a deal as I feared.

When all the baking was done, I ordered a pepperoni pizza and leveled up our drinks from tea to red wine. Night had settled in by the time we started the movie.

I cried at the end, just like I always did.

Having Dee around helped take the edge off my fae fears but hadn’t eliminated them. I’d spent the day with an eye towards the sliding door in the kitchen, worried the dwarf would make another appearance. But my paranoia was apparently as misplaced as a screen door on a submarine. No sign of the dwarf or any other fae.

Of course, that was when Dee dropped a bombshell.

“Hey, I meant to ask: when did you get a garden gnome?”

Insert record scratch.

“What garden gnome?”

“The one in your front yard.”

I nearly spilled my wine as I raced to the window. “Where?”

Dee came up beside me, squinted into the dark. “It was over by your lamppost.”

We both peered into the night. I didn’t see anything by the lamppost.

“Huh,” Dee said. “Could have sworn I saw one out there when I pulled up.”

I adopted a weak smile and shrugged. “Probably some prank. The Dennisons’ kid across the street is always up to some kind of mischief.”

Dee went to the kitchen for more wine, leaving me staring out the window and wondering how I was going to get rid of that dang dwarf.

A deep, deafening sneeze woke me out of a peaceful dream. The clock read 1:28 in the morning.

No, no, no!

Sure enough, the dwarf was back, along with the freezing temps. My nose tingled with cold, which meant my heat pump was struggling to keep the house warm.

I pulled the comforter over my head and tried to ignore the dwarf’s coughs, which went about as well as trying to nail Jell-O to a wall.

What am I going to do now?

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why the dwarf was here. Best I could tell, he hadn’t tried to break into my house. And if he was trying to kill or kidnap me, he was doing a terrible job of it.

But I wasn’t going to remain a prisoner in my own home, constantly terrified of what the fae might do.

He’s not exactly terrifying when he’s vomiting and sneezing.

Another thought surfaced in my head: what if he died in my backyard?

Hoo boy, how will I explain that one? And how could I live with myself?

Sure, I didn’t like or trust the fae, but that was a far cry from intentionally letting one die. What if he wasn’t drunk? What if he was sick or hurt?

Wait a second. If I helped the dwarf, maybe he’d be on his way.

Okay, what did I know about dwarves? Like a lot of fae, they mostly shrugged off extreme weather but were by no means immune to it. The dwarf would probably appreciate a blanket. And dwarves loved ale, mead, and hard cider. I didn’t have any of those, but I did have apple juice and vodka.

Better than nothing.

I mixed up a batch of my janky hard cider, which turned out surprisingly good. Four parts apple juice, two parts vodka, one part sugar, and heated on low until the sugar dissolved. I poured the concoction into a thermos to keep it hot.

From the hall closet, I snagged an extra blanket. Finally, I grabbed my rowan broom. Just in case.

If I was lucky, the dwarf would sleep through my delivery. If I wasn’t, well, that was what the broom was for.

My heart rate jumped as I slid open the back door. I stepped onto the patio deck and stopped next to the wrought-iron table and chair set.

My movements should have triggered the motion-sensor light, but the only illumination was from the large moon suspended in a cloudless sky. Had the dwarf deactivated it?

I glanced over at my bedroom window. The dwarf didn’t stir. I put the blanket on the table and the thermos on top of the blanket before retreating back inside.

My heart patted me on the back while my head crossed its arms and tsk-tsked at me. Only time would tell which was correct.

Turned out it didn’t take long at all.

Chapter Three

In the morning, I found the blanket and an empty thermos bottle on the deck table. What I didn’t find was a dwarf napping under my window. Even better? I didn’t find a dead dwarf under my window.

My heart stuck its tongue out at my head.

I showered, changed, and pointed my car towards Dad’s house, which was across town. For a town the size of Cold Creek, that meant a ten-minute drive.

Joshua Morgan lived in the same house he’d bought when he moved us here thirty years ago. I’d gone through elementary, middle, and high school in Cold Creek before attending community college.

I’d moved out three years ago, both to stand on my own two feet and to keep Dad safe from the fae.

He must’ve heard my car because he met me at the front door in his standard outfit: a button-down shirt and khakis. I’d inherited his dark brown hair and eyes, as well as his concern for others.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as he hugged me. “What’s going on?”

“Just came by to see my favorite father.”

I skipped the dwarf story. No sense worrying him, and he would definitely be worried.

Inside his family room, pictures of our little family—the perfect trifecta of happiness—covered the walls. Mom and Dad had taken tons of photos and videos when I was growing up, and he enjoyed being surrounded by the pictures. Coupled with the decades-old furniture, carpet, and floral wallpaper, it felt like stepping into a time machine.

It also felt like Santa’s North Pole home.

Dad had gone full out on his holiday decorations. A dozen of those musical figures that danced around to music lined the hearth of his fireplace. The familiar artificial tree with pre-strung lights stood proudly in the corner, and a stovetop potpourri scented the air. Lots of citrus, cloves, and cinnamon. The same potpourri he’d been making for decades. The same one Mom had made every year when she was still alive.

Dad started down his list of standard questions. “How’s your car? You need an oil change yet?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“And the heat pump? How’s it holding up?”

“Great, Dad.”

“You want me to come over and take a look at that washer again?”

I grinned. “You fixed it just fine last month. Besides, if I need help, you know you’re the first person I’m going to call.”

Except when I find a drunk dwarf in my backyard.

He smiled back. “Okay, okay, just making sure you don’t need anything.”

“I mean, a soda would totally hit the spot if you’re really asking.”

He laughed. “Plenty in the fridge, and bring me one, too, would you?”

I surveyed the house protections as I went to the kitchen. Dad didn’t have the same intuition Mom and I shared when it came to wards.

We just knew when something was less than perfect. We felt it in our bones. Dad could only rely on replicating our instructions and hope he hadn’t missed something.

I took two cans of root beer to the family room and handed one to my father. He was already settled in his favorite recliner, a monstrous red leather beast. The armrests were closer to gray than red, a testament to how much time he’d logged in the chair.

“Here you go,” I said. We opened our cans at the same time, and the synchronized snap and hiss made us giggle. We gently tapped the cans together in a silent toast. “You have any plans for the weekend?”

“Same old, same old. Work at the lumber yard and fix whatever decides to break around here next. Something always needs fixing when you’re a homeowner. Speaking of which, you know you can always move back home. Save you a ton of money, and you’d be saving me a lot of back pain.” He winked at me.

“Thanks, Dad, but I’m good,” I lied.

Six months after signing my mortgage, I’d lost my position at The Sunrise Market and Bakery. The grocery store had gone bankrupt after nearly sixty years. I said a tearful goodbye to the local institution and my assistant manager paycheck.

To make ends meet, I’d picked up as many odd jobs as I could and hung out my shingle as a technical writing consultant. The writing jobs slowly increased to a steady flow, but without benefits or insurance, I was no longer building up my savings.

Instead, I was slowly draining what little I had left.

Dad sipped his drink. “How’s Dee doing these days?”

“Great. We had a Slumming Saturday yesterday.”

He chuckled. “Still doing that, huh? What was it this time?”

“Baking. Wine and pizza. And we watched It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Dad nodded in approval. “Sounds like a blast.”

“It was.”

The silence welled up in the room as Dad’s eyes tracked across the wall of photos he’d hung. There were pictures of me going back to my baby days, plus more of the three of us when we were still a family.

Dad sighed and quietly said, “I miss Nebraska.”

Translation: I miss your mom.

“I do, too, Dad.”

“I didn’t want to move you here, but your mom insisted. As soon as we found out she was pregnant, she told me about Cold Creek. She made me promise that if anything happened to her, I’d move you here.”

“I know,” I said.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’d move you to the ends of the Earth if it meant keeping you safe, but some days, I wish we were all back in Nebraska.”

I crossed the room and gave Dad a long hug. “Me, too.”

I was born in Nebraska in a dead zone much like Cold Creek. I’d grown up a very happy kid blessed with two amazing parents.

That all ended one summer Saturday when I was six. We’d gone to a local park for a picnic, something we’d done dozens of times. Mom had spread out the blanket and started unpacking the food when Dad realized he’d left the sodas back in the car.

While he walked back for the drinks, Mom continued setting up lunch, and I sprinted to a nearby pond to skip rocks across the water.

The screams kicked my skinny legs into gear.

I’d found Mom’s body prone on the blanket. Her eyelids were half closed, and her words came out slurred. She fell unconscious just before Dad got back. He scooped Mom up and carried her to our minivan, then drove like a maniac to the hospital.

Mom never woke up. She died three days later after succumbing to what the doctors called a rare viral infection.

Dad and I had always had our suspicions, but we didn’t have a way to prove a fae was responsible for her death. And even if we had, what could we do about it?

I patted Dad’s arm. “I miss her. But we’ve still got each other.”

He smiled and squeezed my hand. “We sure do.”

My gaze lifted over his shoulder, drawn by motion in the kitchen window. More specifically, the blue hat rising into view outside the kitchen window. A pair of bushy eyebrows appeared next, followed by flint-gray eyes. I turned away, grateful Dad had his back to the kitchen.

Buttermilk biscuits! The dwarf had followed me!

I kept my eyes away from the window while I moved down the hall to the side door. I picked up the rowan broom leaning next to it. Mom’s broom.

“What are you doing, Melina?”

“Um, I’ll be right back, Dad. Just, uh, I thought I’d look at that thing you mentioned last week. You know, that thing you wanted me to check in the yard. Only take a sec. Be right back.”

Random words. I was spouting anything to keep him in the family room. I stepped outside before he could respond.

Holding the broom like a baseball bat, I eased up to the corner. With a deep breath, I jumped forward, ready to clock the dwarf. Instead, I found an empty yard.

Huh.

There was no way the dwarf was immune to my sight. I checked the yard again. Nope, he really wasn’t there.

If he’d been there at all.

Come on, you saw him. I mean, we saw him. You know what I mean.

You’ve been on edge since the first night. Your eyes are playing tricks on you.

You mean our eyes. And they’re working just fine.

If you say so.

I walked into the house and propped the broom back in its resting place.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked from the family room.

“It was nothing. Thought I saw a deer in the yard. Nothing to worry about.”

Maybe he believed me, maybe he didn’t.

The bigger—and more important—question was whether I believed me.

Chapter Four

Istayed at Dad’s for a couple of hours. Using the excuse that his fae wards needed some touching up—which wasn’t entirely a lie—I boosted the protections around his house.

On the drive home, my eyes flicked nonstop in all directions for any sign of the dwarf. Or other fae, because, let’s face it, odds were Skeeter hadn’t seen any wolves.

I pulled into my driveway somewhat relieved. I’d only spotted mortals during my drive.

A quick check of my backyard didn’t turn up any evidence the dwarf had returned but did raise more than a few questions.

Someone had raked up all the dead leaves that had been carpeting my backyard. Sure, you didn’t need magic to explain that away, but I couldn’t for the life of me guess who might’ve done that.

Even more mysterious were the buds on the daisies that shouldn’t have been blooming for at least five more months. How could I explain those without resorting to magic? Even the grass showed slivers of green, as if spring had arrived early. I turned in a circle and shook my head.

My neighbor, Mrs. Tilley, called out. “Hello, Melina.”

The fence around my yard was made of thick, six-foot-tall wooden slats. I couldn’t see Mrs. Tilley, but we often chatted across the fence.

She took a lot of pride in her roses and her garden, more so after her husband passed away last year. I’d been keeping an extra eye on her since then, and that had nothing to do with the fact that she made the most mouth-watering apple butter this side of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The sweet sauce was literally heaven on a slice of buttered toast, and you could take that to the bank. Twice.

Less heavenly was the thick odor of fertilizer in the air. An odd time of year to be gardening, but I couldn’t argue with her results. Her garden was well known in Cold Creek.

“Hi, Mrs. Tilley, how are you doing today?”

“A pinch under the weather,” she replied, “but still on the right side of the dirt.”

I laughed. “Me, too.”

She coughed. “I’m about done with my yard work for the day. Think I’ll head inside and warm up these bones.”

“You get some rest, and please let me know if I can get you anything, okay?”

“I will, Melina, and Happy Holidays.”

I ran some errands that afternoon, streamed a couple of hours’ worth of reality TV, and glanced out the window every five seconds.

I couldn’t get over the dwarf’s behavior. He was camping outside my bedroom window but hadn’t tried to harm me or get inside my house. He’d stalked me across town but then vanished into thin air. Then he’d raked my yard and used his magic to trick my plants into blooming. What the heck was he up to?

And I still had the nagging question of why a fae was in Cold Creek in the first place.

Before going to bed, I dust busted all the old salt from the windows in my house and replaced it with fresh lines of protection. Painstaking work, but it made me feel better.

I also moved my rowan broom to my bedroom and propped it against my nightstand. Finally, I scattered breadcrumbs around the backyard.

Hey, if the bread didn’t keep the dwarf away, it might attract a family of raccoons who would annoy the dwarf enough to get him to move along.

I’d be ecstatic with either outcome.

What sounded like a wrestling tournament in the backyard shattered my slumber. Voices, grunts, and what I swore were body slams on my back deck. No way those were raccoons.

Seriously? Okay, that’s it!

I grabbed my broom, anger overtaking my fear.

I slid open the kitchen door and stepped out onto the deck. An icy breeze whipped through my t-shirt and flannel pants. The wooden planks were cold against my bare feet.

The wind chimes hanging from the eaves tinkled, and I caught the faintest scent of pine from the woods across the way. The holiday lights hanging along the eaves casted a rainbow of colors, while the motion-sensor light gave off a hazy yellow glow.

My yard could’ve been the after picture of a hurricane. My flower beds were now nothing more than dirt piles. The deck furniture was scattered around the yard—no small feat considering how much wrought iron weighed. And the pergola looked like someone had punched cannonball-sized holes in it.

“You’re not welcome here, understand? Please leave and don’t come back!”

I said the words in the heat of the moment and regretted them a split second later. Telling a fae to move along was begging for retaliation. At best, they might subject me to pranks. At worst, well, I didn’t want to think about that.

But I got no response aside from the soft whistling of a winter wind. Maybe the dwarf had scampered after hearing me stomping through the house. Maybe he was hiding out in the dark. Maybe he’d taken the hint and never come back.

Maybe.

Tires crunched up my gravel driveway. Red and blue lights strobed in the night sky.

Police? What now?

I went to the front door and looked through the window. Tracy Linart stared back at me. Officer Tracy Linart, who had eight years with the sheriff’s office under her utility belt. We’d gone to high school together but never really hung out much after graduation.

I leaned the broom against the wall and out of sight before opening the door. “Hey, Tracy.”

“Evening, Melina. You know why I’m here?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“Noise complaints.” She leaned close, lowered her voice. “Jerry, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

That would be Jerry Montrose, my other neighbor.

“Noise complaints,” I repeated.

“Mmm. You do know we got a noise ordinance in Cold Creek, right? No loud parties after twenty-three-hundred hours.”

“Party?” I gestured at my sleepwear. “There’s no party here.”

A crash from my backyard triggered the howl of a dog in the distance.

Tracy narrowed her eyes. “Look, I don’t want to have to write you up. Just send everyone home. Have a little respect for your neighbors. It’s the season of giving, you know?”

“Yeah, sorry, Tracy. Thanks. And please tell Jerry I’m sorry, too. I’ll take care of it right now.”

Tracy pinched the brim of her deputy’s hat. “Good night, Melina.”

I’d tried being nice to the dwarf.

Guess it was time to get nasty.

The next morning, I was finishing up breakfast—a large black coffee with two slices of toast slathered in apple butter—when my doorbell rang.

I opened my door to find Jerry Montrose and his Golden Retriever, Sophie. The dog’s tail thumped in extreme wag mode as soon as she saw me.

Jerry was a little older than me and looked like an Olympic athlete in their prime. He was also one of the nicest guys in Cold Creek, and I was glad to have him as my neighbor.

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “Excuse me, Melina, I’m sorry to bother you so early.”

“No problem. What’s going on?” I aimed for as innocent a look as I could muster.

Jerry made an embarrassed face, lifted his shoulders.

“Gosh, I’m real sorry to have to ask you this, and you know I like to have as good a time as anyone. I mean, I don’t want to deny someone the right to enjoy themselves, but you see, when their enjoyment has a, well, an um-”

“Jerry, what are you trying to say?”

“I don’t mind that you didn’t invite me to your party last night. Really. I just would’ve appreciated it if your guests hadn’t stayed up so late.”

Dang it.

“Oh, that. Right. Yeah, I had a couple of friends over, but I went to bed early. They must’ve gotten a little out of hand.”

Jerry gave me a neighborly smile and a wave of his hand. “I figured it must be something like that.”

Now I felt truly awful.

The dwarf was making trouble for my neighbors, too. And Jerry thought I hadn’t invited him to a party that hadn’t even happened in the first place. That was the opposite of being neighborly, and I prided myself on being a neighborly person.

I’d have to try some other method to evict the dwarf.

But my day got sidetracked with an urgent request from Morton Electronics to deliver the microwave manual a day early.

So, I plowed through the manual and got a ton of work finished by dinner.

Then I pulled out the big guns: the small library I’d inherited from Mom.

Chapter Five

Next to the sliver of iron hanging from my necklace was a key. It unlocked a wooden box in my bedroom closet that held dozens of hand-written volumes.

The hands that had penned the books went back generations, and the books were passed down to the next woman in my family who had been cursed with the sight.

The books contained a collective wisdom spanning nearly two centuries. My ancestors had meticulously chronicled everything they’d learned about the fae. The subtle differences between the kinds of fae. Their favorite foods. The behaviors most likely to annoy or offend them. The best way to protect yourself.

The thick tomes even drifted into the shallow end of the magic pool. I’d catalogued eleven spells in total. Over the years, I’d tried my hand at casting them and gotten mixed results.

I’d dutifully logged my discoveries to my own journal. Hopefully, my additions would serve the future owners of the books as much as the previous ones were serving me.

Mom called the collection the reliquary. I called it an annoyingly large collection of books that desperately needed to be scanned and digitized.

Mom made me swear to never do that. She was paranoid about the fae to begin with, but she was also worried about mortals learning fae were real. Most mortals who interacted with fae survived the encounter precisely because they had no idea they were rubbing elbows with the Fair Folk.

If the contents of the journal went public, a lot of mortals would be in danger just for reading it.

Bottom line: I had no easy way to search the books, so I had to manually maintain an index on paper.

I consulted the index for anything related to dwarves and found several entries. The first one proved most troubling.

The dwarf had likely misconstrued my kind gesture earlier in the week as an invitation to make himself at home in my yard. Worse, having set the precedent of gifts, my failure to make additional offerings may have triggered the fae’s decision to party at night and cause trouble for Jerry.

I flipped through the index, opened a different journal, and found the following entry:

How to Deal with an Unwanted Dwarven Guest

The dwarven fae pride themselves on their craftsmanship, attention to detail, generosity, and sense of community. They will respond positively to any perceived appreciation of their talent or skills, an acknowledgment of their good will, or any indication that you have welcomed them into your home or neighborhood.

Once they believe they have established a personal connection with you, the typical dwarf will often busy themselves with minor repairs, general yard work, and festivities. Unfortunately, they tend to do so at night, and their good deeds often have unintended consequences.

Should you find yourself with such an unwanted guest, you may try the following:

1) Establish a Protective Perimeter

The establishment of a protective perimeter can be achieved with the placement of iron or steel at two-to-three-foot intervals along the border of the area you wish to ward (note: most dwarves can shrug off the effects of iron; see below for alternative methods).

I skipped a couple of paragraphs.

For dwarven intruders, the reliable iron charm will not suffice. This particular fae’s work with metals has created a general and quite rare immunity to iron and steel. Hence, you will need to resort to other methods to protect you and those you love.

One of the most effective methods for dwarves has been the lowly hydrangea. The floral scent is, to this type of fae, equivalent to sulfur’s effect on humans, though to a much higher degree. Potted plants can replace iron charms or wards as perimeter markers.

Additionally, you may employ very bright lights during the evening time (fire of any kind will not suffice, as dwarves are fond of fire). Fluorescent bulbs in particular work well.

Finally, the sound of rushing water has been reported to work in certain circumstances.

Please note, however, that these measures may have the reverse effect and will simply offend the fae spirit even more.

I weighed the risks and decided they were worth it.

The hydrangeas might be a stretch at this time of year, but I’d swing by the local nursery, anyway. I could probably snag some outdoor fluorescent lights at the hardware store, but the rushing water was going to require some creativity.

All that and a couple of fresh sourdough loaves should do the trick.

The clock read two-thirty. I had a lot of work to do before sunset.

Before heading out, I started making a batch of bread using a no-knead recipe that only required a few hours of work. Not my favorite recipe, but it worked in a pinch—and I was most definitely in a pinch. While the Sourdough Joe did his thing with the bread dough, I made my rounds.

I totally lucked out at the nursery. They’d just gotten a shipment of hydrangeas, and I bought all twelve of the potted plants. I scored again at the hardware store with four fluorescent outdoor lamps and some extension cords. Each put out some serious wattage, and if I angled them in each corner of the yard, I should be able to get full coverage.

For the rushing water, I found a YouTube video of a river. I hacked together a solution by recording the video’s sound and duplicating it a few times. With a bit of audio tech work, I had a ten-minute audio I could play on repeat on my tablet. Thanks to an outdoor Bluetooth speaker, I could even leave my tablet inside the house.

Meanwhile, the sourdough loaves turned out perfectly.

Normally, sourdough should cool for a few hours before you cut it, but I wasn’t eating the bread. I sliced the loaves as soon as they were cool enough to handle.

By sundown, I’d put the hydrangeas and bread slices around the inside of my fence, hooked up the lamps, and started the audio loop. The sky was just turning black when I closed and locked my back door.

I preemptively texted Jerry and left a voicemail on Mrs. Tilley’s answering machine to warn them about the lights and the noise. I made up a story about trying to keep the deer and raccoons from digging up my plants. Jerry gave me a thumbs-up and a “Good luck!”

I toasted my accomplishments with a beer and a thick slice of sourdough toast, then I sat down to check my email.

Work had filled my inbox. Again.

Sigh. No early bedtime for me.

I stayed up answering emails from my project manager at Morton Electronics and working on the microwave manual until my eyes crossed, which was around one in the morning.

Not a single peep from outside the whole time. I checked the backyard before going to bed. The yard appeared empty, and the bread slices were untouched.

I allowed myself a glimmer of hope that this was the plan that would finally work. I climbed into bed and nestled under the comforter.

A shrieking howl off in the distance had me sitting bolt upright a second later. Another followed.

I clutched my broom to my chest and tried lowering my heart rate to something approaching double digits.

This better work.

Chapter Six

You know those days when you wake up and just have a good feeling? Like, it’s going to be a great day, and you already know it before you got out of bed?

That was how I felt Tuesday morning, despite everything. Renewed hope, even it was misplaced.

I didn’t even bother picking up my broom before padding to the kitchen for some toast and coffee. I was confident my efforts last night had won the day, and the dwarf would be gone.

Based on what I saw as I looked out my back window, I was right.

About time. I should’ve consulted the reliquary right off the bat.

The area looked exactly as I’d left it. I stopped the waterfall loop and unplugged the yard lights.

With no small amount of pride, I scrolled through my news feed while sipping coffee and eating toast. I wished Mom was around to see my creative solution. She’d have been proud of how well I’d followed her guidance.

Pleased with my success, I went back to the microwave manual. If no one interrupted me, I could have it done by Thursday at the rate I was going. All was, once again, right with the world.

A knock on my front door changed all that.

“Hey, Jerry,” I said. “What’s going on?”

He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Melina, have you seen Sophie?”

Uh oh.

“Not since yesterday. Has she run off?”

Jerry fiddled with his hands, his dark brown eyes darting around. “I don’t think so. She’s never been a runner. Besides, I don’t have a dog door for her because she’s so big. She fell asleep last night in my bedroom like she always does. When I woke up this morning, she was gone.”

No, no, no . . .

“Did someone break into your house?” A long shot. Cold Creek had a near-zero crime rate.

He shook his head. “All the doors and windows were still locked when I got up. At first, I thought she might be hiding somewhere. Lately, she’s been acting skittish at night. But I can’t figure out what happened to her.”

I’ve got a pretty good idea.

I gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Jerry. She’ll turn up soon.”

“Well, I called the sheriff’s office and left a message at Doc Green’s place just in case someone spotted her or dropped her off. I’m going to keep driving around the neighborhood.”

Cold Creek was a small town, but there was a chance a resident wouldn’t recognize Sophie. However, she always wore a collar, and her tag had Jerry’s phone number on it. Anyone who found her would have a way of returning the Golden Retriever if they wanted to.

I didn’t mention that.

“I’ll put up some flyers this morning,” I said. “And I’ll call the Cold Creek Gazette about running a notice. Worth a shot.”

“Gosh, that’s awfully nice, Melina. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t even think about it. Oh, before I forget, hang on a sec.” I brought him a loaf of sourdough bread. “Made it last night. I know how much you like it.”

A small smile touched his lips. “Thank you, Melina.”

After Jerry left, I took a loaf to Mrs. Tilley. She didn’t answer her door, which made me a little worried. I placed the loaf on her front porch and left a second message on her answering machine.

Next up was a call to the Gazette. I reached the owner, Beverly Adams. She said she’d run a notice in tomorrow’s edition at no charge. Beverly knew Jerry, and she adored Sophie, so that was an easy ask. See what I mean about small towns?

I printed up a bunch of flyers and spent an hour stapling them to telephone poles. Then I drove around town for a while searching for Sophie and any sign of fae.

I even stopped by Millie’s and dropped off a flyer.

“Sophie’s missing?” Millie shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Awfully cold outside to be pulling a runner like that.”

“Well, she may have escaped. Or she may have been taken.”

By, say, a dwarf who may or may not be trying to kill me. Or maybe a couple of boggarts. Hard to say.

“Thanks for putting up the flyer,” I continued. “And spread the word, would you?”

Millie patted my hand and smiled. “You got it, hon.”

I left the restaurant feeling like I’d done as much as I could, though that did nothing about the major dose of guilt I had. If I’d dealt with the dwarf properly in the first place, Sophie wouldn’t be missing.

There was only one obvious cause for all the trouble: me.

And from where I sat, I was also the only obvious person to fix it.

I spread the reliquary books on the counter and flipped through them again. The process would be time-consuming, but I didn’t want to take the chance I’d overlooked something when I’d made the index.

Occasionally, I came across a hand-written note in the margin in Mom’s handwriting. Each time, it felt like poking at the scar her death had left on my heart.

Come on, Mom, I could really use some help here.

Ignoring the dwarf hadn’t worked. Appeasing him with gifts had backfired. Trying to convince him to move along had blown up in my face in the most spectacular way. And now I’d gone and made a bad situation far worse.

Could I reverse the damage I’d done? Or was it already too late? In my rush to shoo the dwarf away to protect my neighbors, had I unintentionally put them in more danger?

All questions I couldn’t answer at the moment. I needed a plan of action. A surefire way to get rid of the fae without, you know, dying.

In short, I needed a miracle.

Two hours later, the reliquary delivered one. I found a passage I’d missed during my indexing.

Dwarves, unlike their fellow fae, have a particular attraction to cooked meats and hard cheeses. Mead is a favorite, though a bottle of exquisite whiskey never fails to win their favor. Dwarves also appreciate gifts of metal craft (the more elaborate the design and the rarer the metals, the better).

Well, that certainly sounded more promising. And easily doable. Plus, if I wrote a letter politely explaining things, the dwarf might take pity on me. I’d be confessing to knowing he was out there, but at this point, he had to know I was aware of his presence.

And at this point, I was willing to try anything.

One dwarven feast, a metallic gift, and an eloquent note, coming up!

Guess what? Watching hours of reality cooking shows did not automatically make you a better cook.

I’d picked a Beef Wellington recipe and done my best. The first attempt wasn’t edible. Not for mortals, anyway, and definitely not for fae, who had even more refined palates.

After another trip to the grocery store, I gave it a second shot. That version was edible but far from what it needed to be.

My third attempt was, if I may say so, amazing.

I’d already written the note, which was filled with several attempts to appease the fae spirit: . . . sincere apologies for my thoughtless actions . . . in no way represents my views . . . would be honored and humbled . . .

As for the metal craft gift, I picked an ornate, ceramic-covered iron bowl. Dad had given the bowl to Mom soon after they married, and he’d insisted I take it with me when I moved out.

I’d gotten lucky with the Irish whiskey, as I had a bottle in the pantry. A birthday gift from Dee I’d been saving for a special occasion.

If this doesn’t qualify as a special occasion, what does?

I placed the Beef Wellington, utensils, a napkin, the bottle of whiskey, the largest glass I had, and the note on a serving tray. Just before sunset, I put the tray and ceramic bowl on the patio table.

Believe me, I was tempted to secretly watch from the kitchen, but I knew better. I closed all the curtains and blinds and distracted myself with some holiday music while I baked a batch of sugar cookies.

Two hours after sunset, I couldn’t take it any longer. I had a peek at the back deck. The note and bottle of whiskey were still there, untouched.

Buttermilk biscuits.

Part of me hoped the dwarf had moved along on his own, but either way, there was nothing more to do but wait and hope the dwarf found my gifts before the raccoons did.

Chapter Seven

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

Iblinked awake. The tapping was coming from my bedroom window.

I grabbed my rowan broom and parted the curtain. In the faint light, a short, shadowy figure stood next to the window, staring up at me through the glass.

The dwarf!

He pointed at the patio deck and moved out of view.

Okaaaaay.

My heart was pounding, and I was plenty awake by then.

I put on my comfy slippers and a coat, double checked that I still had some bread in my pocket and went to the kitchen. The fae stood on the deck, which was awash in the glow of candles.

The light gave the area an ethereal look, and the thin garland of ivy and holly decorating the table added a holiday feel. The colored lights topped off the effect.

The meal I’d left on the table was still there, but—somehow—steam was rising off the Beef Wellington. I didn’t have a microwave installed on the deck, so that was clearly fae magic, too.

Mom’s warnings came rushing back into my head.

It’s all illusions. That’s how the fae trick you. You think you’re eating the most delicious food, but it’s really grass and dirt.

But I had the sight. Illusions wouldn’t work on me. The food was real.

That said, I still had no clue what the dwarf’s motives were. And the motion-sensor floodlight still wasn’t working.

We stood there for a moment, looking at each other through the sliding glass door. The dwarf removed his blue felt hat and leaned forward in a shallow bow.

“Please join me and share a meal. I swear under penalty of death from Oberon and Aine that I won’t hurt you.”

Invoking the names of the king and queen of the fae wasn’t something the Fair Folk did lightly. Despite all the warnings I’d heard about how you couldn’t trust them, the reliquary made one thing clear: no fae ever broke an oath involving Oberon or Aine.

I reluctantly unlocked the door and stepped out into the cold. Warmth, actually; more fae magic. The dwarf eyed my broom. In a gesture of goodwill, I propped it up inside the kitchen before closing the door. The fae smiled broadly and motioned for me to sit with him at the table.

I could smell the meal as if I’d just taken it out of the oven.

“You set a fine table for a mortal,” the dwarf said as he took his place. He filled the glass with whiskey. “And you surprised me with all this, given your efforts to drive me off.”

“I’m sorry about that. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

The dwarf grinned, picked up the knife and fork, and sliced a slab of meat from the tenderloin. “This will go a long way toward me overlooking your poor judgment.” He cut the slice into thirds and put one of the large pieces in his mouth. He closed his eyes and made a grunting sound of approval. “Excellent.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said.

“Not a lot of your kind understand my kind. Least, not to the degree you seem to.” He lifted the napkin to his mouth and coughed. To my non-medical ears, the wheezy whistling sound had a not good at all quality to it.

“Are you sick?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The dwarf chuckled. “Ha! That’s cute, very cute.”

Despite how friendly he was being, I was still on guard. After all, I was doing everything my mother had warned me not to do: look a fae in the eyes, admit I saw them, interact with them.

But what were my options? And if the dwarf was being friendly—if I could keep him happy—I’d be protecting myself and my neighbors, right? Wouldn’t Mom want that?

Even so, the list of warnings continued flipping through my head like flashcards: don’t ever thank them; never tell them your name; never outright lie to them; don’t try to trick them; never accept a gift unless you can reciprocate . . . it was a long list, and I hoped I’d remember all of it.

“I, um, haven’t had much interaction with the fae,” I said.

The dwarf grinned at me, pointing the knife in my general direction. “Now that’s a lie masquerading as an exaggeration. You’ve been touched by the fae since the day you were born, Melina Morgan. Not only that, you’ve been gifted with the sight.”

He drank some of the whiskey, by which I mean he downed half the glass, then sat back and waited for my reaction.

Which was, to be honest, not particularly impressive when it came to playing it cool. Hearing my name shattered the little bit of bravado I’d scraped together.

How does he know my real name?

Come on, Melina, you think it’s that hard? All he’d have to do is check your mailbox.

Oh. Right. But he knows about my sight.

Yeah, that’s a lot more troubling. Maybe you should try to leveling the playing field.

“You seem to know a lot about me. I don’t even know your name.” I didn’t expect him to fall for it, but it was worth a try.

The dwarf waved his knife in the air, though not in an intimidating way. “And you never will. But you can call me Nod.”

“As in?”

“As in if you say, ‘Hey, Nod,’ I’m going to respond, ‘Yeah? What do you want?’”

Okay, I probably deserved that.

My nose once again caught the delicious aroma of the Beef Wellington: filet mignon seasoned with Dijon mustard and wrapped in bacon, prosciutto, and a pastry puff.

Thanks to my sight, I knew the food was real. Still, I wasn’t ready to risk eating it. I mentally shook my head, ignored the tempting smell, and focused on Nod.

“As you wish, then,” I replied. “Well met, Nod.”

He wiped a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth. “Likewise.”

“You know about my sight, then?” I asked.

“Lass, I know the elf who gave you the sight.”

Elf? A fae had given me the sight? That couldn’t be right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nod narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Hmm. I believe that might be the truest thing you’ve said so far tonight. Tell me, did your mother explain why my kind gave you such an exquisite gift?”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Gift? You mean a curse that has the entire fae community hunting me down and wanting to mount my head on the wall?”

The dwarf’s eyebrows came together. He gently placed his utensils across the plate and leaned forward. “You believe we cursed you?” He delivered the words with a mixed tone of disappointment and surprise.

“Didn’t you?” My kernel of confidence was eroding by the second.

“Melina Morgan, you are the sole mortal alive with the ability to see through our glamour. If you think we’d give that away to just anyone for just any reason, I’m not sure you deserve to have that power.”

I was honestly at a loss for words. The dwarf’s claims flew in the face of everything Mom had taught me. According to her, all fae were untrustworthy. According to her, directly interacting with them was potentially fatal for anyone and certainly deadly for me.

Yet, here sat a dwarf, pleasantly chatting with me.

“Do I have your word you mean me no harm?” I asked.

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “I already gave it, and I invoked the names of those I pledge my fealty to.” He glanced at the meal on the table. “Your hospitality had me thinking you were grateful for the service I’ve been providing. Am I wrong?”

Service?

“I, uh, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

The dwarf’s bushy bronze eyebrows inched together even more. “Don’t much care for misunderstandings even when I’m feeling bellowed up. I am not, in case you were wondering, feeling bellowed up at the moment.”

My hand reflexively went to the sliver of iron at my chest, for all the good it would do. Nod was tossing around some serious magic. I doubted I could have made it back inside the house if he chose to drop the charm offensive.

I smiled and waved a hand. “I meant there was a misunderstanding. But that’s all sorted out now. No problems at all.”

Nod chewed thoughtfully as he considered my reply.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, as I’d hate to have to spread the word about you not living up to your reputation.”

I felt the first trickle of sweat under my t-shirt.

Good heavens, now I have a reputation in the fae world?

“I’m sorry? What’s my reputation?”

Nod pointed at the wall next to my back door. I glanced over my shoulder, but all I saw was the metal siding that had covered my home for years. “Am I supposed to be looking at something?”

Nod stepped up to the wall behind me and wiped his palm back and forth across it. Glowing gold letters in a language I somehow recognized appeared. I say recognized, because I could read it. But somehow because it wasn’t a language I’d spent a single second of my life learning.

A nice mortal lives here. Watch out for her if you can.

P.S. Her sugar cookies are delicious.

The reality of my world cracked. I was on the fae’s radar. Not just that, they’d posted a sign on my house.

My finger trembled as I pointed at the lettering. “How long has that been there?”

“Since the day you moved in.” He made a V with his fingers, pointed them at his eyes, then aimed his index finger at me. “We’ve been watching you, Melina Morgan. Ever since you were born.”

Yep, definitely freaking out now.

I gripped the armrests of the metal chair to keep from sprinting back into the house while screaming at the top of my lungs. A few deep breaths and a white-knuckle grip kept me tethered. For the moment, at least.

“So, that’s been up there the whole time?” I asked. “And any fae can read it?”

Nod shook his head. “Course not. Can’t have any old fae discovering your whereabouts, now can we?” He said it like the question explained everything.

“Who can see it?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Just a few of us Fair Folk who have an interest in your well-being. Don’t go thinking we’ve painted a bullseye on your back or anything. We know what we’re doing.”

“I’m sorry. This is all a lot of information to digest.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Didn’t your mom explain things to you?”

Oh, absolutely. She explained how dangerous, untrustworthy, and conniving the Fair Folk are. How one misstep on my part could be disastrous. How your kind would kill me if they learned I could see their true form.

“She, ah, she explained certain things.”

“Sounds like she didn’t explain much at all. But it’s not for me to correct that. Let’s leave it at this: a small group of us know about your gift, and we’ve been protecting you since you took your first breath. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here to protect me?” The words came out haltingly, which was about as fast as my brain was working.

Nod sighed. “Come on, Melina, keep up. Yes, I’m here to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From whoever buried that ancaire oíche under your pergola. There’s only one reason to do that: summon a pack of wild boggarts.”

“Why on earth would anyone want to do that?”

Nod looked at me like I’d sprouted wings and flown away. “Why do you think? To kill you.”

Chapter Eight

My brain struggled to process the dwarf’s words.

Nod’s not trying to kill me, he’s trying to save me? But another fae wants me dead?

As if Nod could read my mind, he said, “A fae planted that ancaire oíche, and it’s been summoning boggarts for almost a week. The pack’s grown to three, and more are on their way.”

I shivered at the word boggart.

Boggarts were the result of a tragic incident involving a brownie—a small humanoid fae who preferred to settle down in a home they found attractive. If the human occupants treated them nicely, brownies would respond in kind. If, however, the humans ignored or mistreated a brownie, the fae might eventually transform into a boggart, a cruel creature who sought only to inflict pain on others.

And their transformation was physical, too. Their backs hunched over so far, they were often mistaken for four-legged animals. They let their clothes become greasy, unkempt rags, and they stopped cutting their hair.

One boggart was dangerous enough. Nod was telling me we had three on our hands.

And Skeeter? He was right. He hadn’t seen wolves at Kincaid Lake. He’d seen boggarts.

As for ancaire oíche, Mom had taught me just enough Irish to cobble together a loose translation.

“Are you talking about a night anchor?”

The dwarf grunted in approval. “That’s right. Glad to see your brainpan’s back up to speed.”

Night anchors were serious magic and not the good kind. Only the most evil fae used the small stone formations.

“I haven’t harmed a fae in my life,” I protested. “Why would anyone want me dead?”

Nod laughed, a deep, rolling sound of mirth. The laugh turned into a cough and ended in a sneeze. He blew his nose into his napkin. “You plant tomatoes in your garden and daisies in your yard. You put enough iron stakes in the ground to fill a forge. You carry around a rowan broom and salt your house until it’s a deer lick. But sure, you never harmed a fae in your life.”

I crossed my arms. “Protecting myself is not a crime, and I’ve never raised a hand against a fae.”

Nod sighed. “Look, you can split as many hairs as you like, Melina Morgan, but it won’t change the fact that you’ve harmed me and my kind. You can call it self-defense, but you can’t call it harmless.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m judging, mind you. There are fae who do mean you harm, and you were wise to take the precautions. Unfortunately, they no longer appear to be sufficient. And I’m learning Cold Creek isn’t the dead zone it used to be.”

Well, that was all kinds of bad. No wonder the fae were suddenly able to hang around Cold Creek for so long.

“You said the anchor’s been summoning boggarts. Why haven’t I seen any around here?”

“Because I’ve been keeping them at bay. Who do you think is making all that ruckus at night?”

“Are you saying the boggarts have been causing all the problems?”

He sighed. “Melina, if it weren’t for me, those creatures would have hammered their way through this whole block. I’ve been kicking them out of your yard and cleaning up as much of their mess as I can without getting caught.” He squinted at me. “You’re not as smart as I figured you’d be.”

“Well, that’s extremely rude, if you don’t mind me saying.” Fae or no fae, I was tired of being insulted.

Nod ignored my comment, sat back in the chair, and widened his eyes. “Wait. You thought I was the one causing all the trouble? So, that’s why you tried to run me off earlier.” He shook his head and muttered, “Not nearly as smart as I figured.”

Fury pulled me to my feet. “I was trying to run off whoever was making mischief! How was I supposed to know there were more fae lurking around besides you? How was I supposed to know you were protecting me?” I didn’t bother taking the edge off my voice. Maybe I would have if the dwarf hadn’t gotten under my skin.

“Easy, lass, easy.” His voice had gone soft. He gestured for me to sit. I did. “First off, I haven’t been lurking. Second, I’m in a pitiful state because you live in a dead zone. It may not pack the punch it used to, but I’m still feeling it. Hammer on all the daisies and chimes and whatnot you got in your yard, and it’s a wonder I can think straight. You have any idea how hard it is to protect you while my head’s in a vise and my bones feel like they’re on the anvil?”

I looked away. “I didn’t ask you to come here,” I replied meekly.

“Got that right. I was sent here.”

“That’s not my problem.” A lame response, but it was all I had.

“You’re right about that, too. Your problem is you got an ancaire oíche buried in your backyard, and it’s growing a pack of boggarts. But that’s not even your biggest problem.”

Oh, great. Things just keep getting better.

“And what might that be?”

“Whoever planted that anchor is fueling it with their magic. That’s the work of someone powerful. Someone smart. Until you figure out who that is, you’ll never get rid of the anchor, and that means the boggarts will keep showing up. Every couple of nights, another will join the pack. How many boggarts do you think you can handle?” He took a large pull directly from the bottle of whiskey while he watched me.

My silence was answer enough.

“Look, Melina, tomorrow night’s a full moon, and whoever buried the anchor is going to have a mountain of magic at their fingertips. I can handle a couple of boggarts, but if one or two more join the pack, well, even old Nod probably won’t live to see the sunrise.”

Talk about dropping your toast butter-side down.

I’d spent most of my life in Cold Creek. I’d carved out a safe, if not boring, life. Decades after losing my mom, I was as close to being happy as I’d been in a long time.

And now the fae had found me, just like they’d found Mom in Nebraska. In the snap of a finger, Cold Creek was no longer safe for me or Dad. And if that was true, we’d have to find another dead zone—sooner versus later.

“Okay, why don’t I just leave? I can go somewhere else for a while until we sort this out.”

“Whoever’s hunting you isn’t going to stop. They found you once, they’ll find you again. And they’ll keep sending the boggarts after you.”

“Then I’ll dig up the anchor and destroy it or take it somewhere else.”

The dwarf shook his head. “You don’t have the ability to destroy or negate it until you eliminate whoever created it. And before you ask, I can’t touch it. Instant death for a fae like me. You’re going to have to find and face whoever placed the anchor.”

His plan didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

Plus, I still wasn’t sure I could fully trust the dwarf. Despite Nod’s behavior, my paranoia came roaring back.

How did he know I couldn’t negate the anchor? How did he know the boggarts would follow me?

Maybe Nod hadn’t come after me yet because he needed to get inside my house. He already knew about the salt wards. What if he was trying to trick me into letting him inside?

Seriously, Melina? Come on. Listen to what you’re saying.

I’m saying we need to be careful. I’m saying I want more information before I trust this dwarf.

Fine. But on the chance he’s telling the truth, try not to run him off until you make up your mind.

“Okay. Let’s say I believe you. I don’t even know where to start looking for whoever planted the anchor.”

“I don’t, either, but you better figure it out and fast. In a week, that pack’s going to start tearing through this neighborhood, and by that point, there won’t be enough daisies in the world to stop them.”

Even though I really needed to finish the microwave manual, I pulled out the reliquary instead. No amount of money would help me if Nod was telling the truth.

I spread the books out on the kitchen table and started skimming pages. Like, all of them.

By lunchtime, I’d confirmed a couple of things.

First, the most likely culprit for the anchor was a farrow. These fae preferred to coerce or trick other fae into doing their bidding while remaining in the shadows. Using an ancaire oíche certainly fit that profile.

Farrow had lifetime memberships in the Unseelie Court, a collective of truly evil fae whose power waxed during the winter months.

The Unseelie’s counterpart, the Seelie Court, was ruled by King Oberon and Queen Aine. They, and the fae under their dominion, enjoyed a surge in power during the summer. Mom said they were still evil, just not as evil as the Unseelie.

Upshot? Taking down the farrow would be no small feat at any time of year. Trying it in December would be even more challenging, especially with Nod at his weakest.

Second, boggarts tended to be solitary creatures who preferred hunting alone. On the rare occasions they worked together, they were exponentially more dangerous.

Unfortunately, I learned nothing new about ancaire oíche in the journals.

So, what do you say? Can we trust the dwarf for now?

Let’s call it a partnership of convenience. And a temporary one at that.

Good enough.

I’d spent my life hiding behind lines of salt, bits of bread, slivers of iron, and all the other protections Mom had taught me. But now, after years of dodging fae and staying off their radar, in a matter of days I’d found myself facing a danger I couldn’t run from.

And I could no longer hide, either. The boggart pack’s ranks would continue to swell, and it would be months before their power waned.

Like it or not, I wasn’t as safe in Cold Creek as I’d believed I was. So, yes, if survival meant trusting the dwarf for the time being, then I’d have to do that.

The third and final thing I confirmed was that a full moon meant lots of extra magic sloshing around the physical plane. The boggarts and their summoner would be formidable tonight. But the moon lent its power blindly. Anyone could take advantage of the monthly lunar apex.

I found a spell in the reliquary that might come in very handy. Even better, the moon’s power would add an extra boost to the spell. And in a fit of inspiration, I brainstormed some creative cooking ideas to keep the boggarts at bay.

Heck, maybe Nod and I could actually pull this off.

Chapter Nine

Nod appeared on my deck just after sunset and knocked lightly on the glass door.

“I hope you found a couple of tricks up your sleeve since last night,” he said, before succumbing to a coughing fit. His bloodshot eyes and pale skin made my heart fall. Mom’s advice aside, I couldn’t ignore the dwarf’s suffering anymore than I could the reason for it.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

I held up my iron fireplace toolset, which included a set of tongs, a poker, a brush, and a shovel. The spell I’d found in the reliquary would deliver some serious magical hurt against any fae. Applying it to the tongs would give me a much-needed boost while wielding them.

Since I planned on giving Nod the poker and shovel, I hadn’t applied the spell to them. The dwarf was immune to iron, but I didn’t want to take the chance the spell might hurt him.

The boggarts and farrow wouldn’t be so lucky. At least, I hoped not.

The dwarf looked surprised and impressed, which was simultaneously insulting and a stroke to my ego. He hefted the tools, gave them a few swings.

“Good weight. These will do nicely. Right, then. Any idea who planted the ancaire oíche?”

“Based on my research, the most likely fae is a farrow.”

Nod whistled. “A farrow and a pack of boggarts?” I thought he would be disheartened by the news. Instead, he looked excited. Almost eager. The dwarf grinned and swung the poker in the air. “Now that’s a fight worth showing up for.”

Confident words, but the sneeze that followed ruined the effect.

“I’m glad you’re so optimistic,” I said as I held out a box of tissues. “But I don’t really have a plan for confronting the farrow.”

Nod cleared his large nose. The noise reminded me of a severely out-of-tune trumpet. “Won’t be easy, and that’s no lie. Only thing I can tell you is they don’t like facing their foes head-on. A farrow will distract you, send in their minions, throw up obstacles—do anything they have to in order to stay out of harm’s way. But if you can get close enough, even they will submit to iron.”

In one hand, I held my rowan broom. I picked up the fireplace tongs with the other.

“Okay,” I said with a lot more courage than I felt, “let’s do this.”

Nod and I stood watch on the patio. Without the candles and warmth of Nod’s magic, it was a cold bit of business.

And all my wards were taking their toll on Nod. His cough had worsened as the dead zone and my wards sapped his fae energy.

A full moon sat high in the evening sky. Normally, the twinkling of stars on a cloudless night left me feeling uplifted and calm.

Tonight, they felt like ominous omens.

Nine o’clock turned into ten and ten into eleven. My head was dipping. Nod had said to stay quiet and alert, and I had no problem keeping my mouth shut. I shivered in the cold air and tried to stay awake.

I guess I dozed off at some point, because I woke to a terrible crashing sound.

“Melina!”

I staggered to my feet in a panic. The motion-sensor was working again, and a pale light filled the yard. Near the pergola, a mound of shadows writhed and twisted.

From somewhere in the middle came Nod’s voice. “Find the farrow!”

I picked up my broom and tongs and stepped toward the boggarts. They weren’t shadows so much as blurs. They moved fast. Very fast.

Motion on my right caught my attention. I turned and barely had time to lift the tongs in defense. They connected with a boggart who’d tried to blindside me.

The fae creature whimpered in surprise and pain before retreating. Their back hunched over so far that their hands nearly touched the ground. Long, matted hair covered their head and back, giving the illusion of a pelt of fur. Their mouth opened and revealed an impressive set of sharp teeth. Worst of all was the swampy smell.

The creature hissed, their red eyes large with pain as the iron did its work. The tongs had literally left a long black mark and singed the fae’s hair.

I swung the broom as a follow-up attack, more for show than anything. The boggart easily dodged it and warily circled me.

Where is the farrow?

For a second, I thought a voice came from Mrs. Tilley’s yard, but the snarl of the boggart drowned it out as the fae leapt at me again. I used the tongs as a sword, holding them defensively in front of my body.

The boggart snapped at the iron with their mouth, locking the tongs between their jaws. The fae creature violently shook their head. I nearly lost my grip on the tongs.

Smoke seeped out of the boggart’s mouth. Teeth cracked and popped in reaction to the iron and the spell. Surprisingly, the fae’s jaws stayed clamped on the tongs.

I dropped the broom, grabbed the other end of the tongs, and pushed back. The boggart dug their heels into the wooden planks of the deck. We were in a standoff.

I looked around. The boggart had me pinned between the wrought-iron furniture and my back door.

The iron furniture.

I fell into a crouch and pulled on the tongs with every bit of strength I had. The boggart stumbled forward. I used their momentum to spin them around in a large arc and onto the metal furniture. The boggart landed on top of the table.

If they hadn’t liked the touch of the tongs, they hated being on top of the table. With a shriek, the fae released the tongs and leapt safely out of range.

“The farrow!” Nod screamed at me. “Find the farrow! They’re close!”

Close could mean a lot of things: Jerry’s property, the field behind my house, Mrs. Tilley’s yard—

A purple glow rose over the fence from her backyard. With the boggart no longer growling in my face, I caught the sound of a voice in the wind again. Indistinct and too quiet to make out the words, but clearly not mortal.

Nod cried out in pain. The trio of boggarts had knocked him to the ground. The creatures’ claws rose and fell, and their teeth clacked menacingly at the dwarf. I couldn’t leave him like that.

I swung the tongs like a batter in the bottom of the ninth inning of the World Series. The boggarts yelped and howled at the touch of iron.

With a shout of fighting fury, Nod got to his feet, dual-wielding the poker and shovel. The boggarts scattered from the reach of the weapons.

Red stains covered Nod’s clothing. Despite that, the dwarf looked like he was just getting started. “I’ve got these now. You take care of that farrow, or we’re both dead!” He turned to the pack, which had retreated to a corner of the yard. “All right, you beasties, who wants a shovel to the face, eh?”

Note to self: never pick a fight with a dwarf.

I turned my attention to the farrow or Mrs. Tilley or whoever was in her backyard casting magic. I grabbed my rowan broom and imagined having Nod’s courage.

With no gate between our yards, I’d have to go around to the front of Mrs. Tilley’s house. I didn’t like leaving Nod alone, but he was right. If I didn’t take down the farrow—right now—we wouldn’t survive another night.

Chapter Ten

Istopped in my kitchen long enough to pick up a large box of salt and the bag of sourdough bread bombs I’d made earlier. Think carbo-loaded fae grenades.

The chain-link gate on the side of Mrs. Tilley’s house opened with a creak. A purple light touched everything, blanketing the yard with an eerie look.

A hooded, humanoid figure stood in the yard, moving their hands and chanting a spell. They faced away from me, their gaze turned upward to the moon. The compost smell had reached automatic gag levels of awfulness, but there was no mulch in the yard.

Definitely the farrow.

I poured a circle of salt around me for protection, dropped the broom at my feet, and moved the tongs to my left hand. With my right hand, I started chucking bread bombs at the farrow. I scored a direct hit on my first throw.

The chanting stopped. The fae turned around. Where there should have been a face in the middle of the hood, there was only a smoking darkness. Something about not seeing any features at all sent a chill down my back.

I threw another bread bomb but missed. The farrow walked toward me. I frantically tossed the rest of the bread bombs at the fae, scoring hits with most of them. The farrow reacted as if the rolls of bread were cannonballs, staggering with each hit but relentlessly getting closer every second.

The fae moved around me, just out of arm’s reach. I spun to keep them in view and leveled the tongs at their chest. Without taking my eyes off the farrow, I picked up the broom.

“Melina Morgan, you are proving more of a challenge than I anticipated. You’re a cut above most mortals.” The pitch of their voice oscillated between male and female, with a rushing quality to it, like a wind tunnel.

“Sorry to disappoint,” I replied with as much sarcasm as my dry throat could muster.

“You’re still doomed.”

A scream came from my backyard, and it wasn’t one of the boggarts. Maybe Nod had been overly optimistic about his chances. The farrow’s hood swung back and forth, smoke trailing out of it. The movement reminded me of a snake.

“Where’s Mrs. Tilley?” I asked.

“Here. There. Everywhere. Nowhere. Does it really matter?”

The cryptic response left me more distraught than hearing my neighbor was dead.

“It matters to me. What have you done with her?”

“If you must know, she’s closer than you think. In fact, she’s been right under your nose the whole time.” The farrow paused, waited for me to put the pieces together. A trickle of undefined terror inched its way through my stomach. “Her soul’s in the ancaire oíche. If you like, I can add you to it. You two can be neighbors forever.”

“Please let her go,” I said. “She’s innocent.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Then take my soul instead and let her go,” I said.

“I think not.”

I drew inspiration from one of my favorite action movies. “Okay, then, how about I kill you and free her soul?”

A cackle from the depths of the hood. “Oh, you show spirit, no doubt. That will keep the ancaire powered for a very long time. I’ll have a host of boggarts under my control before long. They do so love to hunt, you know.”

Hunt.

My mind went to Dad. If they knew about me, they might know about Dad. I had to end this.

I doubled down on my fake courage. “This is my last warning. Release her soul and go back to your world or die here tonight.”

A breezy sigh escaped the hood. “You’re beginning to bore me, mortal. I get violent when I get bored.”

The farrow was on me in a second. A sharp pain blossomed in my wrist, and the tongs went flying. I swung the broom. The farrow slipped back out of range.

How could they be waltzing across the salt ring like this? And how were they getting so close to so much iron? Was the farrow that powerful?

Panic extinguished the false bravado from my heart.

I’m supposed to kill the farrow all by myself? They’ve shrugged off iron, salt, and sourdough!

I kept the broom pointed at the farrow as they circled me. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t take on a farrow, much less a pack of boggarts, even with Nod’s help. But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Your petty wards and protections won’t save you, mortal.”

“Then why are you stalling?” I replied. “Hoping the boggarts can finish the job you can’t?”

The growl from the hood indicated my taunt had found its mark. “I’ll cut your tongue out for that.”

The farrow cleared the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Like a linebacker, they knocked me outside the ring of salt. We toppled to the ground. Before I could stop them, the farrow yanked the broom from my grip and tossed it away.

I almost vomited from the stench as the hood drew closer to me.

The tongs, broom, and bread bombs were gone. I was no longer inside the ring of salt. I had nothing left to fight with. The farrow’s hand reached for my throat.

I’m going to die tonight.

And if I did, Dad could easily be next. And who would save Mrs. Tilley’s soul? How many of my neighbors would fall to the farrow’s growing pack of boggarts? What about Nod? Would he lose his life trying to protect mine?

I could deal with dying. Mostly.

I couldn’t live with the idea of others dying because of me.

But how am I going to defeat the farrow?

An explosion made the fae look up. I jerked in surprise when a boggart nearly landed on me.

I twisted my head towards my yard and saw a massive hole in the fence. The boggart near me stood, swayed, and slowly looked around the yard in a daze.

Nod stepped through the gap in the fence, casually swinging the poker in a lazy arc. “Come on, beastie, Nod’s got another one waiting for you!”

I did a mental fist pump. The dwarf drew back the poker as the boggart leapt. The swing of the iron hit the boggart squarely across their chest. Bones snapped, and the creature went down hard.

I reached for the iron sliver on my necklace. With a jerk, I broke the necklace and freed the iron.

The farrow turned back just as I plunged the metal into the center of the hood.

The creature’s high-pitched wail left my ears ringing. I didn’t care. I stabbed again and again. A mix of fear and fury gave me a burst of momentary strength. I kicked and pushed off the ground, my momentum rolling the farrow onto their side. Suddenly, I had the upper hand.

I heard the commotion of Nod and the boggart tangling with each other, but I focused on plunging the iron sliver into the middle of the hood and holding it there. Smoky shadows swallowed my hand and left only my arm visible in the moonlight.

The farrow’s body twitched, jerked, and nearly threw me off. Eventually, though, the thrashing ebbed until the fae went still. The dark smoke stopped curling up out of the empty hood, and the purple glow in the yard dimmed from view.

I dared to look away for a second just as Nod drove the poker into the boggart’s chest. The fae howled with pain and anger before collapsing to the ground. They didn’t get back up.

I staggered over to the tongs and, with both hands, plunged them into the open hood. The metal pierced the cloth and stuck in the ground.

Nod was breathing hard. He looked awful. The boggarts had left dozens of cuts and bites on his skin and torn out part of his beard. But he was grinning like a kid on his birthday.

“Now, that was a fight worthy of my skill. You took care of the farrow, yeah?”

I nodded, the adrenaline in my body retreating as I surveyed the results of the battle. We still had to deal with the ancaire oíche—and Mrs. Tilley’s soul—but for the moment, we were safe.

“I think . . .  I think I’m going to lie down now,” I said, right before I collapsed.

I hurt all over. I was lying on my patio deck. And someone was licking my face.

With a start, I sat up.

“Sophie!”

I ignored the flurry of aches in my body and threw my arms around the giant Golden Retriever. She wagged her tail and kept licking. “Easy, girl, easy. Let’s take a look at you.”

She seemed fine, thank heavens. Jerry would be over the moon. Might even forgive me for all the trouble he’d been through.

Nod was sitting in one of the wrought-iron chairs, puffing on a pipe that sent apple-scented smoke into the night air. “You don’t mince words, Melina Morgan. When you say you’re going to do something, you do it.”

Dwarf.

Boggarts.

Farrow.

Mrs. Tilley.

A cascade of memories tumbled into my head. I’d have loved to chalk them all up to a bad dream, but then I looked around.

Nope, definitely not a dream.

The hole in the fence and the nearly destroyed pergola confirmed it was all quite real.

“How do you feel?” Nod asked.

“Tired. Woozy.”

He grunted. “You’re sturdier than you look. When I said to take care of the farrow, I didn’t mean stick your hand in their hood. Touching a farrow like that’s dicey business, lass.”

I flexed my right hand. It was still numb. “Will I be okay?”

“Your hand will be fine in a day or two, but the real answer to your question is less clear.”

“What happened to the boggarts?”

“I purged their bodies from this plane,” Nod replied. Then he grinned at me. “Congratulations, Melina Morgan. You single-handedly took down a farrow.”

“We took down a farrow,” I said. “Together.”

Nod held up his thumb and index finger, spread them apart an inch. With a grin, he said, “Well, I may have helped a little.”

“I’m glad the boggarts are dead,” I said.

Nod snorted. “Makes two of us. Nasty beasts deserved what they got.”

“I mean I’m glad they’re out of their misery. They never wanted to be turned into boggarts. And I think they didn’t want to attack us. The farrow forced them to come here.”

The dwarf watched me closely for several seconds. “I might’ve misjudged your intelligence after all.”

Sophie licked my hand, a reminder that she needed to be reunited with Jerry.

Jerry!

He’d be over soon. And he’d probably already called the sheriff’s office about the noise. I didn’t know how long I could keep all this a secret.

“Someone had to have heard this. How will I explain it?” I asked.

Nod turned away with a sheepish look on his face. “Well, I may or may not have used some magic earlier to keep your neighbor asleep.”

“You put him under a spell?” I asked. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“You’d rather explain all this to him?”

I sighed. “Fair enough. When did Sophie turn up?”

“About thirty minutes ago. She’s a smart old pup. Knew not to come back until the coast was clear.”

“How did she escape from the fae?” I asked.

“Escape the fae?” Nod shook his head. “I set her free. The poor thing was freaking out every time the boggarts attacked. I told her to hide out in the woods until it was safe to come home.”

I frowned. “You know, I’ve been worried sick about her. You could have told me she was okay. I was afraid the boggarts had eaten her or something.”

Nod held up a finger. “You never bothered to ask. Shows how worried you were.”

I swallowed my pride. “My neighbor will be relieved. I’m sorry he can’t know the truth about who saved his dog.”

Nod tried to look sour, but I caught the twinkle in his eye. “Ah, now you’re just trying to bellow my fire.”

I looked towards Mrs. Tilley’s yard.

“What about the farrow? And my neighbor? The farrow said they’d put Mrs. Tilley in the anchor.” I knew the answers, but I had to ask.

Nod casually blew out a puff of smoke. “The farrow’s gone, only thing left is their cloak. I’ll dispose of that. As for your neighbor, if it’s her soul in the anchor, I’m willing to bet she’s in her house in a spell-induced slumber. The farrow would have kept her body intact so her soul wouldn’t leave the physical plane.”

Sometimes I absolutely love being wrong.

“Does that mean we can save her?”

The dwarf grinned. “Without a doubt.”

I smiled back with relief, glad not to have to live with her death on my heart.

“We still have to fix the fence and deal with the ancaire oíche, don’t we?” I asked.

“Mmm, but it won’t take long. I’ll help you unearth the ancaire, and while you dismantle it, I’ll repair the fence. After that, we’ll reunite Mrs. Tilley’s soul with her body. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

And we were. Nod was quick with his hands and got the fence repaired. Not perfectly, but well enough that you’d have to know to look for the damage.

“I could make it twice as strong if I had more time,” he grumbled. I believed him, too.

The ancaire oíche proved more challenging. With Nod instructing me from a safe distance, I unearthed the stone mound buried beneath the pergola. Each stone had been covered in a thick, black powder.

I dunked the stones in a tub of salt water and spread them out on the deck to dry. Just to be safe, Nod instructed me to deposit them in random locations around town later.

That left Mrs. Tilley’s soul. At the heart of the ancaire oíche, I’d uncovered a hexagonal brass container the size of a baseball.

Luckily, Mrs. Tilley’s back door was unlocked. We found her sleeping peacefully in her bed.

The dwarf performed a long, complicated spell that culminated with the miraculous feat of putting Mrs. Tilley’s soul back into her body.

As she began to stir, Nod pulled me out of her house. “She’s going to feel like she’s been on the anvil, but don’t you fret. She’ll be fine in a few days. I doubt she’ll remember much of anything that happened with the farrow.”

“You saved my life, Nod. You saved her life, too. I don’t know how to begin repaying you.”

For the first time, the dwarf looked genuinely embarrassed. “Just remember what I said about my kind. We’re not all evil. No offense to your mother, but I think she developed some thick-headed ideas about some of us fae.”

I’m beginning to think the same thing.

“I promise,” I said.

“In that case, it’s time for me to say goodbye, Melina Morgan. I don’t often say this about mortals, but I’m glad we crossed paths.”

“I am, too,” I said, the words coming out surprisingly easily.

“I’ll report back to Oberon and Aine. I don’t like this farrow business, not one bit. You best consider moving to a more powerful dead zone.”

The old instincts kicked in hard. Leave Cold Creek? Leave Dad? Or make him move again? More to the point, was I now taking orders from a fae?

No, no, no, and no.

Fleeing in a panic was too risky. Cold Creek might not be the bastion of safety I once considered it, but trying to dodge the fae while on the run wouldn’t be much easier. It would take time to find another dead zone, move there, and replicate all my protections.

Still, Nod’s words felt like the ticking of a clock that had just been wound.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Nod held out my necklace. He’d repaired it and put the iron and the key back on. “Thought you’d want this back.”

“You fixed the chain! It looks beautiful, Nod.” I hugged him in a moment of spontaneous joy. He gently patted my back.

“Tell you what. If I ever come this way again, you can repay me with another Beef Wellington. Deal?”

“Deal.”

In less than a week, I’d come face-to-face with a dwarf, a farrow, and a pack of boggarts. The wall separating me from the fae world had utterly crumbled.

Not exactly the holiday gift I’d been hoping for.

On a positive note, Morton Electronics loved the microwave manual and handed me another project right away. The money from the first project meant I could splurge on Christmas gifts for Dad and Dee.

As for the fae, I’d rebuild that wall as best I could and hope my interactions with the Fair Folk were over.

It seemed like the obvious answer to my predicament. A simple enough plan on paper.

But as Mom so often said, “Honey, the universe doesn’t care one whit about your blue-ribbon cookies if they’re burned to a crisp.”

Translation: despite your best efforts, sometimes stuff just happened.

My sugar cookies were never blue-ribbon level, and after discovering an origami crane on my front porch, those cookies would soon be charred briquets . . .

Continue your journey in the Manhattan Magic series with Spells & Sourdough!

After the fae turned Melina’s quiet life in Cold Creek upside down, all she wants to do is have things go back to normal. The Fair Folk have other plans.

So, when a mysterious mortal mage tells Melina he can tell her the truth about the fae and her ancestral gift, she’s intrigued. When he says he can offer her safety, she’s hooked.

The catch? She’ll have to visit the fae-filled city of Manhattan. And once Melina’s there, it doesn’t take long for her to realize everything has a price—especially the truth.

Good thing she’s armed with lots of sourdough bread!

Continue Melina’s Journey With Spells & Sourdough

About the Author

Scott Walker adamantly believes pizza is a food group, Han shot first, and Serenity is still flying somewhere out in the 'verse. Over the years, he's designed, crafted, and shared storytelling across a variety of experiences, including collaborative world building, tabletop gaming, and live-action role-playing. While Scott's imagination takes him to lands of mystery and wonder, he always returns to his hometown of Los Angeles. At least, he's pretty sure it's Los Angeles.

https://scottiswriting.com

Acknowledgments

Dwarves and Daisies’ journey from first draft to published story took many months and many turns.

I’m exceedingly grateful to BoundlessWords Beta Reading by Britt for providing deliciously insightful feedback on an early version of this manuscript. Her guidance was instrumental in helping me hammer this idea into something beyond my initial goals.

I’m also indebted to Danielle Fine of By Definition editing, who provided a line edit of a more polished version.

DWARVES & DAISIES

Copyright © 2022 Scott Walker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Published by Firefly Tales, LLC

Book Cover Design by MiblArt

ISBN: 9781956757095