The buggy was a patchwork of colorful fabric. She could hardly guess what it was made of, although the ancient wooden wheels gleamed like polished mahogany.
And of course, as she had expected, she could see the bells woven along the edge. Each was perfectly made, reflecting her own pale, startled face back at her a hundred times over.
The wind picked up and all the bells began to chime.
She told herself not to respond. The goblin man couldn’t steal her away if she said nothing. That was the rule.
So instead, she turned her face slowly to the side. Forcing her eyes to remain on the town that was only a few steps away. The town he couldn’t enter, no matter how hard he tried.
But out of the corner of her eye, she could see him. The bird-like beak where his nose should be. The feathers that winged back from his eyes and accentuated the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He wore a cloak over his head, like that would somehow hide the differences. And she knew, if she looked at him or acknowledged him in any way, he would try to sell her something.
The goblin man reached out a hand into her line of sight. “Are you sure you don’t want to buy anything, Freya?”
Her heart stopped at the sound of her name on his tongue. He couldn’t read her mind. She knew the goblins weren’t capable of magic like that. Her mother had proven it time and time again.
He must have overheard Esther say her name. Nothing more, nothing less.
But that didn’t ease the sudden panic in her veins.
Fruit appeared in his palm. The apple gleamed in the sunlight. Its taut skin was so vividly red, she knew she’d seen nothing like it before. Probably never would again. Food grown in the faerie realm was lovely, but it would bind her as their slave forever.
Taking another deep breath, she took a shaky step forward. Away from him. Away from the temptation of the fruit that called out to her because she knew it would be so delicious. So much better than any food she’d ever tried in her life.
All she had to do was reach out and take it. She had money in her pocket. More than enough to buy a single apple from an old man with an old cloak and a horse that eyed her with fire in his gaze.
Shaking herself out of the spell, Freya squeezed her eyes shut and burst into a run. She didn’t care if she ran into someone in town. All she had to do was reach the boundary.
Her feet touched the edge of town and all the temptation fell from her shoulders like she’d shaken off chains. She spun around wildly, staring back at the goblin man who remained where he’d been. Seated on the buggy with the reins in his hand and an apple in his lap.
He tilted his head back in the sunlight and laughed. The sound was like that of a thousand voices all screaming over each other.
Freya covered her ears with her hands, but stared him down all the same. She would not be cowed by this goblin who thought he could frighten her. Not now that she was in the safety of Woolwich.
“I will never buy from a goblin!” she shouted.
His laughter died down, and for a moment, she thought his skin was shimmering. The feathers unraveled to reveal grey skin like moonlight beneath. Then his visage returned to the monstrous form.
“Oh,” he replied in that stone-like voice. “You are very brave, Freya. But also very foolish. I think you’ll buy something from me far sooner than you realize.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, blinked, and then he was gone. The horse. The buggy. Even the sound of bells had disappeared like he’d never been there at all. All that remained was the lingering scent of apple in the air. Fresh and crisp, like the last temptation after a day of cooking applesauce on the stove.
With a shaky inhalation, Freya turned around and started into town. She needed to find Esther, and then they needed to get back home.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about the goblin man.
Chapter 2
Their little hut at the edge of the wood was an odd building, full of subtle mysteries, but it was home. Freya dropped Esther off, then disappeared to wash the grime of the day from her skin.
And perhaps to wash the oil slick feeling from her goblin conversation off as well.
A long time ago, they had sectioned off a room for washing. Their father had been an incredibly intelligent man, and handy to boot. He’d sealed river stones into the wall, covering the wood and preventing the structure from rotting. A single stained glass window let light spread around her. Warped colors made rainbows cascade over the walls. The ceiling he’d left open with a contraption that caught rainwater in a reservoir.
Though sometimes the water was frigid, today it was warm. The sun had the entire day to heat the water in metal pipes her father had weaved across the roof.
Slicking her hair back, Freya tilted her face to the sky and let the water rush over her cheeks. Goblins. She hadn’t ever thought she’d get so close she might have touched one.
And who was the man? She knew monsters when she saw them. They were small, crippled creatures with the faces of animals. Horrible, gnarled things like roots dug out of a garden too late. Rotting. Beyond saving.
At least, that’s what her mother had always said. Freya tried hard to never look at them.
But this goblin man was different from the others. Though he’d certainly had the features of an animal, his spine had been straight and rigid. He’d been strong, clearly, and his hands had held the reins with the grip of a powerful man. Even his eyes had stared at her with a shrewdness that denoted intelligence.
Such things went against everything her mother had taught. The goblins weren’t strong. They weren’t powerful. They were nasty little creatures who could easily be crushed by a careless heel.
Opening her eyes, she reached up and turned off the water. She should leave some for Esther, poor girl. She was still mad about their conversation, and Freya didn’t blame her.
Their parents were a sore subject for them both. Neither wanted to admit they were truly gone. No one wanted to say, “Yes, my parents are dead and I’ve given up searching for their bodies to lay my mind at peace.”
But Freya remembered that night when they had left. She remembered the storm that raged through the forest, unnatural in its speed and smelling like the bitter bite of magic. Her mother had been the first to dart out into the night. She’d carried her basket full of herbs and offerings to the faeries.
Of course their father had followed her when she didn’t return. He had left with his pistol in hand, and nothing else but the shirt on his back.
Neither had left the forest again.
Freya knew what that meant. The magic had gotten them, whether a witch or fae conjured that storm, it didn’t matter. They were gone and wasting any energy on wondering when they might return was foolish. No matter how it eased the pain in their hearts.
She reached out and nudged the amethyst crystal on the windowsill. Her mother had always put crystals in every window, above every doorway, and over their beds. Each had a different meaning, something it protected against.
Freya didn’t know how much a rock could really help, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove them after their mother disappeared.
She wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed a second to run through her hair. The black locks reached her hips when it wasn’t piled atop her head in intricate braids. Brushing it was a burden, but Esther refused to cut it.
And just like that, as she scrunched her hair with the old worn out towel, Freya heard the sound again. Goblin bells.