Boys, I’m here, I whispered. I’m here.
Confusion. Rows and rows of fruit trees. A roar of frustration. Not sure if it was mine or Doug’s. I opened my eyes to the sight and scent of coreopsis as bright yellow flowers bumped my cheeks. Bees, startled by my shout, backed away from gathering nectar and buzzed off.
Doug had taken the boys to another orchard. I’d been coming to the Pearmains’ long enough to distinguish the layout of their apple trees from others’. The trees in my vision were stone fruits, probably plums and apricots. Who on the island grew lots and lots of plums and apricots?
Still on my hands and knees, I let my spine sag and my head hang.
“We’re not ones to mandate supplication.” A feminine voice came from my right.
I growled again, this time loud enough that anyone in the kitchen should have heard me. I ducked and peeked under the bottom of the car’s door, debating whether I could ignore the rose red toenails connected to the voice.
“Please, do stand,” she continued.
I sat back on my heels, wiped my mucky hands on the broad leaves of a nearby comfrey plant, and fumbled for my car’s opened window. Footfalls in the house had me glancing toward the screen door as I stood. I tried to not gawp at the two unfamiliar, magic-infused beings.
“Mama! Papa!”
Némophilie and Silène skidded to a stop at the top stair and quickly composed themselves, curtsied, and fluttered the eight steps to the ground. They did not acknowledge me.
I turned, closed the car door, and beheld two ridiculously beautiful adult Fae.
The most striking difference between these Fae and Meribah’s version—aside from the fact they did not seem intent on killing me, at least not yet—was the hue underlying their skin. Under Meribah’s pale white skin were currents of icy, distant blue. Underneath the dusky surface of these Fae, the veins and lighter-skinned areas ranged from pale green to the palest lavender-pink, like liquid tourmalines.
“Are you ready to return home?” asked the mother.
The young women shook their heads and pointed to me. “Calliope Jones, Earth Witch, we recognize we owe you our lives. Mama, Papa, this witch needs to be rewarded.”
“Is this true?”
Both Fae looked at me.
I nodded. “I had help from a necromancer and a cat, but yes.”
“Name your price.”
If ever there was a time for me to pull the drama card, this was it. I might not ever have another chance. “I found your daughters and delivered them from certain death. Help me rescue my two sons from those who dared to capture your daughters, and I shall consider the debt paid.”
No one lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Or coughed. Or laughed. The two sisters and their parents turned their heads as one, toward the path leading to the older section of the property. A squad of twelve similarly-hued Fae materialized, marched close, and stopped.
“If you would follow me, I would like to wash up.” I swept arm toward the farmhouse. “We can speak over lemonade or iced tea?”
I was acutely aware of the contrast between these Fae and my grubby work pants, dirt-caked soles and hands, and the exposed part of my lower back. My shirt had come untucked—surprise—and stuffing it in my waistband would only spread more dirt.
Belle met us at the screen door and held it open. Before crossing the threshold, Mama Fae raised her arm and signaled to her squad. They turned as one and moved toward the back side of the farmhouse.
My savior and Plant Witch proceeded to exude an excess of charm. The way Belle poured her verbal ministrations over the newly arrived guests was a lesson in magical etiquette I wished I could stay to witness. I ducked into the half-bath across the hall from the sitting room and tried to make myself presentable. Scraping off dirt and taking a wetted washcloth to the remaining stains took longer than anticipated.
There were a lot more Magicals than before gathered on the back porch, down the steps, and under the big leaf maple tree. Belle and the Fae sisters were carrying ice-filled pitchers of drinks when I got to the kitchen.
“We’re really doing this?” I asked, keeping my voice to a whisper.
The three nodded, and into the afternoon light we went.
“Calliope, may we introduce you to our mother, Primevère LaFleur, and our father, Vadim. Our other father, Skandar, chose to remain at home, along with our sister, Heli.”
“Someone has to guard the court,” said Primevère before turning her gaze to me. “We know Meribah Flechette and her sister, Adelaide, and we are aware of their aspirations. Meribah had hopes her twin sons would make suitable partners for our daughters.” Distaste washed over their faces. “Vadim, Skandar, and I were not willing to promise our girls to anyone, especially as these two were toddlers at the time.”
Vadim hissed and muttered, “Gauche. Utterly, utterly gauche.”
Primevère patted his knee.
“Oh, it gets better,” she continued. “A messenger sent by the Flechette clan notified us two days ago they knew the whereabouts of our daughters and would be willing to enter into negotiations on our behalf in order to free the girls and see them safely back to Court. All they asked was for us to show up at their estate. Without our entourage.” She struggled not to laugh. “And reconsider the offer they’d made—what was it, eighteen years ago? Can you imagine?”
Harper was born eighteen years ago. I shook off the implications.
Vadim leaned forward. “As soon as we received their missive, we reached out to our spies, who could neither confirm nor deny Meribah’s claims, as it seems the entire staff at the Flechette estate was, as one put it, ‘in quite the uproar over ruined statuary.’”
He looked at Primèvere, and together they sent questioning looks to their daughters.
“As they were delivering their reports,” Vadim continued once his daughters confirmed the question in his eyes, “the daughter of one of my brothers informed us she had news of the girls’ true whereabouts. Our
