“Great,” she hissed, yanking the band out of her hair and snapping it around her wrist. The unruly curls of her hair, currently dyed shocking pink, immediately wrapped themselves around each other. She sighed. She’d never been able to do anything with her hair. It had a mind and life of its own, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was part gorgon. So far it had driven four hairdressers to drink, defeated three straighteners, and eaten so many combs she couldn’t even count them.
And tomorrow the dye, which had been bright pillar box red yesterday, would be completely gone and her hair would be pure white again. Since she wasn’t anywhere near the crone stage of life, she continually dyed it.
All. The. Time.
“Should’ve bought stocks in a hair dye company,” she groused, sitting up and reaching for her tarot cards. She needed guidance to figure out what the fuck she was going to do with a real-life fae king who claimed she was his promised bride.
“So not happening,” she chuckled. Even though Oberon was as hot as fuck, and she’d happily climb him like a tree if he was anything else… like a nice witch or warlock. Hell, she’d even do him if he was a Shifter. But a fae? He wasn’t even supposed to be in this realm and a long-distance relationship was just not in the cards. Her life was here, and with a guy like that being away? She’d need shares in a battery company as well.
“Okay, guys,” she murmured to her cards as she began the spread. “Tell me what I need to know.”
Her lips pursed as she studied the cards. The ten of swords lay on her left indicating an unwelcome surprise. Great, she didn’t like the sound of that, not one little bit. But… the fae dragon had been a bit of an unwelcome surprise. She couldn’t say the final warning was since Whipsnide had been gunning for her since she’d started work at the museum.
She turned her attention to the middle card. The knight of cups. She closed her eyes for a moment. The knight of cups meant a knight in shining armor and appeared when a courtship was on the cards.
“Subtle much?” She shot a glare at her cards but knew better than to recast and ask for clarification. They were, literally, cats and got bored easily. Especially when she bothered them for the same reading more than once. If they could have knocked themselves off the table, they would have. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the last card in the spread.
It was the death card.
“Oh hey, who’s kicking the bucket?” Garlick asked, jumping up onto the sofa next to her and looking at the cards.
“It doesn’t always mean death, you know,” she told him absently, musing the appearance of death in this spread. It was upright, which meant an ending or a change.
“Perhaps the death of my career if Whippy finds out about tall, handsome and wingy over there.” She flicked a glance up at Oberon, who was sitting in the easy chair opposite, engrossed in studying the TV remote in strong hands. As she watched, he held it like a sword hilt, swung it around, and then looked disappointed when nothing happened.
Bless.
“Yeah, but…” the cat pressed with eagerness. “It could mean an actual death. Couldn’t it?”
She chuckled and packed the cards away.
“Garlick, sometimes for a familiar, you are way too bloodthirsty for comfort.”
“Yeah, but it’s part of my charm.”
“If you say so.”
6
Daffi’s morning started with no death, real or predicted, in the cards. Her morning reading was full of the usual fluffiness her cards liked to give her—chance of rain at 3 p.m.… avoid the shellfish at Marconi’s… tall, handsome stranger ready to sweep her off her feet and take her traveling. Since she was sure that last was Oberon influencing the cards, she ignored it. Fae magic could interact with mortal magic in unpredictable ways, and she was fairly sure the cards liked him.
And so did everything else. Unlike most mornings, this one went off without a hitch. The trains were on time, there were fewer crowds than normal (although she did notice that with Oberon about, people moved out of her way really quickly) and they arrived at the museum at half past eight, with breakfast muffins in hand since they’d had time to stop at the seller just outside the station. Daffi’s stomach grumbled in anticipation of the raspberry ripple lemon confection that was this morning’s breakfast.
The only Sybil in the ointment was the sight of Ms. Whipsnide’s second in command just ahead of them. Deliberately Daffi shoved at Oberon, pushing him behind one of the twin dragons at the bottom of the steps.
“Well, hello, wifey-to-be,” he murmured, sliding a hand around her waist. “I was beginning to think I’d lost my charm when you didn’t come to my bed last night.”
“You didn’t get a bed last night,” she told him, looking around his broad shoulder to see if Sybil had gone in yet. “You got the couch.”
“Okay…” he murmured. “You didn’t come to my couch. But… I cannot blame you. There was not enough room to lavish you with the attention a queen deserves. You should have silken sheets and the finest feather mattresses. Eiderdowns of the best fae satin and… of course, me.”
“Think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” she snorted and tried to push off from him, but the instant her hands contacted the broad, muscled slab of his chest, all her higher brain functions went bye-bye. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her knees wanting to weaken into a swoon—
“And that is more than enough of that, thank you very much,” she told him and her traitorous body firmly as she stepped away. Luckily, she hadn’t crushed her breakfast muffin or she would be licking it off his chest and not for any amorous reason. Cake was cake. There was no excuse for wasting it.
Besides, she’d have been licking it off his t-shirt anyway, not his bare chest. Unlike yesterday, today he was dressed like a mortal. More or less. The t-shirt and jeans she’d conjured for him stretched over his impressive muscle mass, making her tingle in her lady parts and relive that almost kiss all over again. Through some trickery of fae illusion, his wings had disappeared.
“What are you looking at?” he asked as she lifted up on her tiptoes, frowning as she looked at his shoulders.
“I can’t even see a bulge,” she murmured and then heat rushed to her cheeks as Garlick gave a dirty snigger.
Oberon’s grin broadened and he slid a hand down his body to cup his groin. “Need to look a lot lower, beautiful, and it’s all yours.”
Garlick gagged.
She shook her head at the pair of them and stalked off up the steps. There was no sign of Sybil, so she pushed her way through the rotating doors, letting the boys catch up when they were done being arseholes.
She passed Dave in the gift shop with a small wave, noticing absently that he looked a little upset. Probably been given the boot by one of his many girlfriends. Footsteps rang out behind them as they approached the Pendle witches.
“Whaddup, Daffs!”
She turned to find Meg behind them, running to catch up. As she slid to a stop, she swiped a corner of Daffi’s breakfast muffin in a practiced movement.
“Did you hear the news? Sybil bought it last night!”