Wildwood Larkwing by Shari L. Tapscott

Author:Shari L. Tapscott [Tapscott, Shari L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B072MRYC3W
Published: 2017-08-31T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Aren’t You a Shifty Fellow

Ivan’s farm is not a farm at all, but a shack in a meadow. A sad-looking brown vegetable patch sits withered by the dilapidated front gate, betraying the fact that it likely went wild long before the first freeze of the season. It looks as if someone cared about the cottage at some point, but it’s fallen into a sad state of disrepair.

Yesterday’s rain turned to sleet overnight, and the damp chill seeps through my cloak. I’m so busy studying the shack that I don’t watch where I’m going and step in an ankle-deep puddle. The water soaks right through my thin boot, which was designed more for fashion than function. Now that my stocking is wet, it clings to my foot, and the frigid water squelches between my toes with every step I take.

I glare at the puddle.

For a moment, I wish I were with Adeline, back in the inn, where Sebastian instructed her to stay. The weather is miserable enough this morning she didn’t bother to argue this time. Not surprisingly since he seems to hate the cold, Flink stayed to keep her company.

Avery gingerly climbs the rickety porch stairs and raps on the door. As we wait, he crosses his arms under his cloak, attempting to stay warm. The first real snowflakes mix with the sleet, gracefully wisping to the ground.

After several moments, the door swings open, creaking on its hinges, and a familiar, twitchy-looking man pokes his head out. He narrows his eyes at us, apparently not liking what he sees.

“What do you want?” he demands.

“Only a moment of your time,” Avery says smoothly. “We understand you’re in possession of a wildwood larkwing butterfly, and we would like to buy the insect from you.”

Ivan’s eyes move to each of us in turn, lingering a little longer on Avery. “Come inside.”

Avery glances over his shoulder, questioning whether this is the greatest idea. It’s probably a bad sign if the pirate is leery. Yet, we find ourselves following the man anyway.

The interior isn’t any nicer than the exterior, and I find myself hovering near the door, not sure where to stand. Leftover chicken bones languish on a pewter plate on the table, remnants from last night’s dinner. A gray and white cat stares at us from beside the plate, unblinking. He rises to his feet when we enter, his long tail twitching. The creature is polydactyl—has too many toes. The extra digits make his furry white feet look huge compared to his body. When he decides we aren’t going to fight him for his dinner, he yawns wide and settles to his belly to continue licking the bones clean.

Sebastian wrinkles his nose at the mess, repulsed. I’ve seen goblins with better manners.

A fire crackles from the sooty hearth—the merry sound misleading. Ivan stands next to it and crosses his arms. His hair is a common brown, his eyes slightly too small for his long face, and his lips thin. He reminds me of a weasel.

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