Page 63 of Pure Magic
“The woods should be right there.” He points across the stream. “If the directions were correct.”
“They said it doesn’t always appear.”
“Perhaps we’re not worthy of the fae king’s gift.”
We cross the shallow stream. I can’t ride another minute tonight, so stifling a groan, I slide to the ground. “It’s a long way to come only for him to hide himself.”
A low chuckle carries on the breeze.
Stopping, I listen. “Did you hear that?”
Adam dismounts beside me. “There was something,” he whispers.
“I am everything,” the wind replies.
A few feet ahead, a forest shimmers into existence.
Standing dumbly, I gape at the woods that were not here a moment before.
Chapter
Twenty
ADAM
It’s difficult not to laugh at Sara Beth’s wide eyes and mouth. Of course, my own heart is pounding with similar shock, but her tone was petulant toward the fae king just before he spoke.
Now his woods are here, and we stand mutely looking at them.
“I think we must enter, my love.”
“Yes. Come, and be welcome.” He sounds arrogant, even when he’s trying to be polite.
A deep frown pulls at Sara Beth’s lips as she steps into the woods. She looks from side to side and up before narrowing her gaze. “Show yourself, if you will. I’ll not chat with a disembodied voice.”
It’s hard not to chortle at her annoyance. She tolerances the same behavior from Goddess, but from this fae, it angers her.
She turns on me. “I heard that, and it’s not at all the same. I know Goddess. I was raised with her, and she has come into my life on many occasions. I’m invited into a wood that was hidden, probably as a joke, and now our host is still hiding.”
I try reason. “Perses didn’t show himself when we collected the staff.”
“Because he can’t enter this world.” She crosses her arms, tucking the reins into the fold.
Behind an ancient oak, a man emerges. He is tall, lean, and even from my perspective, far too good-looking. His face is more angular than a human’s and his cheekbones higher. White hair hangs straight to his shoulders, and his eyes are blue. Nothing about him can be confused with a human man.
Sara Beth’s eyes are even wider than when the woods first appeared. “You are the king of the fae?”
He bows. “I am Midhir. You are quite lovely for a witch.”
Frowning, but at least not looking at him as if he were for the taking, she curtsies. “We are in need of the hart’s antler. Will you provide it?”
In little more than a loin cloth, he crosses his arms over his hairless chest. His muscles tighten.
He reminds me of a wild animal about to pounce.
Eyes narrowed, Midhir shakes his head. “It is not for me to give. The sacred hart must find you worthy, witch.”
“I suppose if he doesn’t, we’re all in trouble,” I say flippantly, but the king’s sharp look makes me wish I’d kept quiet. In all the old stories, fae are not kind. They do what amuses them. If that’s dispatching me, that’s what he’ll do.
