Kit knew the goblins were responsible for the man’s death because Redring casually told him so, several weeks later. They had met the fisherman a while back, lured him onto a path, enchanted him, gotten him to hand over all the gold and valuables around his house, then lost interest in him and allowed him to pine away and ultimately wander out into the forest and die. They weren’t interested in keeping him, and that was the way they treated those people.
If they wanted to keep someone, though, that was almost worse. Because that meant turning them into a goblin.
The majority of goblins in the tribe had once been humans. Possibly all of them; Kit hadn’t unearthed a clear answer on that, nor had his ancestors. Seemed like some of them had been goblins so long they barely remembered where they came from. That, apparently, was the up side, if you could call it that: they couldn’t die, or so Redring claimed.
“All fae are pure energy,” she had told him once in scorn. “We change shape at will, we heal at will. No, Sylvain, there is no getting rid of us.”
His ancestors’ written records agreed: the goblins couldn’t be killed. At best, they could be changed into some other magical form, or so the other liaisons had heard, but that kind of power was beyond human ability. Only other fae could pull it off, and other fae never showed up to talk to Kit, precisely because he was the goblin liaison.
Which was exactly why he was out of luck when it came to throwing off this family curse. And whoever came after him would inherit it. That would either be his own offspring if he was dumb enough to have any and subject them to this, or the next of kin, whom the goblins would track down and latch onto. Could be Grady, for example.
They closed the shop and walked out to Kit’s truck to go home. Kit glanced in concern at his cousin as Grady hopped into the passenger seat. No one on his uncle’s side even knew about the goblins. Kit ached to share the load, but at the same time didn’t want to dump this on anyone, especially people who were more or less cool.
Grady gave him an arch little smile.
“What?” Kit said.
“You’re so dreamy about your date you’re forgetting to turn the truck on.”
Kit irritably turned the key in the ignition. “That’s not why. I’m just…thinking about stuff.”
“She did seem cool. And not bad-looking.”
“Not bad-looking at all.” Kit’s thoughts shifted back to Livy talking to him over milkshakes, her face flushed in the warm diner, her lips shaping each word so deliciously. A more pleasant thing to think about than curses. Not that he should think too fondly about any woman. It’d be inhumane to bring a girlfriend into this lifestyle. Then again, if things got serious between him and some woman, such as Livy, he could always invoke immunity from the goblins for her. However, they might have already enchanted her sister, in which case such a gesture would be too little too late.
“Did I see you kiss her hand?” Grady’s question came out innocent enough, though teasing danced plainly behind the words.
Kit backed onto Shore Avenue, the one and only main drag through town, and set the truck forward toward the bridge to Crabapple Island. “Some moves never go out of fashion. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Well. I won’t expect you to understand tonight’s dinner. It involves eggplant.”
“God help me.”
“You’ll like it.”
He probably would like it. And Livy’s sister probably was just depressed, not goblin-struck. There was even probably a way to axe the contract with the goblins and send them packing.
Kit just had no idea what it was.
While Grady sliced up eggplant, tomatoes, and smoked gouda in the kitchen, Kit claimed he’d left his wallet in the shop, and took off.
He brought another scrap of gold from his meager stash at home, this time a spoon from the flatware set that had finally come in the mail, 24-karat gold over stainless steel. Garish, ridiculous-looking stuff. No wonder it had been cheap. But Redring and company would seize it happily.
In the woods, in the cold windy dark, he whistled a few notes. A goblin whistled back, and the path opened to him: a line of hemlock cones this time, dangling from spider-threads, the tip of each cone alight with a blue glow.
As he glanced up, he spotted their dwellings, now that he was in their realm: little lights lined their bridges and roofs in the treetops, a motley collection of stolen electric bulbs and magical glowing stuff. He’d never accepted their invitation to climb up there and check it out up close, and hoped he never would.
“Sylvain, what a sweet surprise.” Redring descended to him and morphed into her pink-clad quasi-human form.
He held out the gold spoon. “I’m bringing you this, and I have a question for you that I want you to answer honestly. Please.”
She grabbed it, licked it, and stuffed it into her bathrobe pocket. “You can ask.” Her tone suggested honesty wasn’t promised.
He forced himself to respond as calmly as possible. “Did you invite a young woman recently? Around last month, when you were looking for that milk steamer?”
Smothered laughter rippled through the trees. Lights bobbed and boughs swayed. But then, they laughed at nearly everything he said.
“Kiiiit,” Redring reproved. “You think we would steal away your fellow citizens?”
“I know you have. That’s where most of you came from. You used to be citizens somewhere or other, right?”
Redring flicked her long nails through the air. “Oh, so long ago, who can remember?”
“Did you invite this girl?” he asked again. “Her name is Skye.”
“Mine!” someone else shouted above, and others cackled.
Redring looked straight into his eyes, sending a chill along his spine, and said, “Of course not. We know you don’t like that. And you’re so good to us.”
All the other unseen goblins snorted and giggled.
“Look,” Kit said, “I can get you two more forks and a butter knife to go with that spoon. But you’ve got to tell me the truth.”
“Do we have to?” Redring tapped her lower lip, and looked over her shoulder as if consulting her minions. “I don’t recall that we do.”
“You’re messing with me, as usual. Fine. But if you could just tell me if there’s anyone under a spell, so I have some idea what to expect—”
“I told you we didn’t.” But she sounded a little too saucy. “We’re hurt you would doubt our word.”
Hysterical laughter now from above.
He was wasting his time. Maybe, even, they really hadn’t done anything to Skye, but if he bugged them enough, they would go mess with her, or with someone else.
“Never mind. Forget I showed up.”
“Bring us the gold forks!” Redring insisted.
“Yeah, sometime.” He turned and walked off.
Why had he even bothered? He had read that some types of fae couldn’t lie, but goblins were clearly an exception. They lied all the time. He knew it firsthand, and all the former liaisons had written down the fact. If they’d attacked Skye or anyone else, and if it was like every other crime of theirs, he’d never learn about it until way too late, if at all.
He had to admit, in some ways, he truly did not want to know what they got up to. He might never sleep again if he knew.
CHAPTER SEVEN