Everyone in Fairy knew she’d often danced across the lines of black and white, and though she’d now managed to firmly reclaim her true form thanks to Siria’s duplicity being found out, she’d gladly and willingly accept any curse when it came to protecting the lives of those she loved.
The only reason Shayera had never been assigned a godmother was because of a horrendous oversight by the assigning manager of Godmother, Inc., a technicality Danika believed they’d have time to work out. She’d never meant for the girl to be unprotected and well Rumpelstiltskin knew it.
A blast of white heat exploded beside her foot, shooting up sparks and making her momentarily loosen her grip on him.
His visage was as equally menacing and hateful now as it’d been jovial just seconds ago. “Do not goad me, woman, for I swear you shall lose, and I’d hate to think of a world without you in it.”
Then without a backward glance, he peeled off, kicking up large chunks of red dirt and debris as he drove the last bit of distance into the normally quiet hamlet.
Danika gathered her hands to her breast and hugged herself as the sky cleared and the birds once again filled the woods with the sound of song, a sense of dread filling her bones.
“Oh, Gerard, I fear I cannot help you this time.”
Chapter Two
Rumpel paid no mind to the heads popping out of doorways, watching with large, round eyes as he drove past. They knew who he was and knew why he was here. He was the dark imp.
Pack of fools. If they only knew.
Though he’d worked hard to establish the moniker through the years, it didn’t mean he relished it either. All feared his power, and he’d never really understood why. True, he’d rolled a few heads in his day, and perhaps even thrust a blade through a heart or two, but they’d deserved the deaths they’d gotten.
His deals were fair and always honest—if the participant signed the line, they knew exactly what they were getting into. He refused to feel sorry for being honest; it simply wasn’t his way.
Just at the end of the cobbled lane sat a well-appointed white brick chalet with a straw roof and a red oak door. Surrounding its entire perimeter—front, sides, and back—was a thick hedge of red roses.
Something about the placement of the home struck him as odd almost immediately. It seemed to have an isolated feel to it. Even though there were plenty of homes along this street, humans mingled on lawns and in shop fronts, but all of them seemed to keep their distance from this house in particular.
As though there was an invisible barrier surrounding it. The home was pretty, he supposed, so far as human dwellings went. But all the eyes staring on—and there were many—seemed to glower, not at him, but at the house itself.
Shrugging the thoughts off as little more than fancy, Rumpel licked his front teeth. He’d tasked Aeric with searching out the names on his list, and now Rumpel was down to the last three out of fifty. To say he was feeling disgustingly dejected would only be putting it mildly.
Maintaining this calm fa?ade was far from easy; if he didn’t find the one soon he’d be sorely tempted to begin a reign of death and bloodshed the likes of which Kingdom had never known before. He was a man not to be trifled with, ever. One foul, bloody decision eons ago shouldn’t continue to cost him as it did. For a man of his power, being so bloody powerless was a sensation he was not familiar with and did not relish.
A small boy played beside the stoop that led into the house. His head jerked up at the sound of Rumpel’s motorcycle. The child stood and walked up the front of the hedge. He couldn’t have been older than ten, maybe twelve. With a thick head of blond curls and deep brown eyes, he didn’t appear to be in the least bit afraid as he stood there waiting for him to approach.
It wasn’t uncommon for a child to show no fear of him. Usually only adults cared about such things as rumors and innuendos. Pulling up beside the curb, he killed the engine, giving Genesis a final pat to her chrome tank before sliding off. She purred beneath his touch.
“Boy.” He jerked his head at the door. “Where is your father?”
“My name is Briley, and he’s not home,” he said in an even, measured tone, curiosity flitting briefly through his eyes when he turned his stare briefly at the bike. Then he blinked and his lips turned down. “But I don’t think you’re here for my daddy, because Daddy would have told me about you, Rumpelstiltskin.”
Shocked at the perceptiveness of the boy, Rumpel frowned. Only briefly, mind you. It was rare that he was taken aback by someone, especially a youngster.
But there was something about the child, a mannerism that was just slightly odd. Not bad. Just different. A slope to his eyes, a sort of perpetual youthfulness about him that hid a keen intellect.
“You’re not from here, are you?” Rumpel asked, studying the boy.
Briley toyed with a red petal. “Kingdom, you mean?”