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“And you are not, although I cannot determine any more than that.” He glanced over my shoulder. “I do not see the package. Why would you come alone? Is this what your people refer to as a shakedown?”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “Why do you think I’m here to give you a package?”
He patted the nearest tree trunk. “Because this is the appointed meeting spot.”
“I have no plans to meet anyone here. I’m walking home.”
“I see.” He paused, uncertain. “Have you seen anyone else?”
An idea occurred to me. “You’re not looking for two werewolves, are you?”
His face scrunched in a ball. “Werewolves? There are werewolves in these woods?”
I folded my arms. “Let me get this straight. You made plans to meet someone in the woods and you don’t know who they are or, evidently, where you are? What kind of package are you collecting?”
He sniffed with indignation. “None of your concern.”
“If you want my help, I need more information. If not…” I turned to walk away.
“Wait,” he said quickly. “Perhaps we got off to a bad start.”
I spun back toward him. “I’m listening.”
“My mother made the arrangements, but she is too unwell to travel and sent me in her stead. I would prefer not to return empty handed. Mother would be so disappointed.”
“A mama’s boy. Nice. You don’t meet too many of those anymore.”
He frowned. “Are you mocking me again?”
“No, it’s my tone. I sound like I’m mocking everything.”
He nodded. “I have an uncle like that. Leopold. I find him exhausting.”
“Then I’m sure we’ll get along swimmingly. Did you come through the crossroads?”
He blinked rapidly. “How did you know?”
“You’re one set of green tights short of a Keebler elf. What’s your name?”
He eyed me with distrust. “Why do you ask my name?”
“Because I want to steal your soul. Why do you think? We’re having a conversation. It’s polite.” And, as my grandfather always said, know with whom you’re having the pleasure.
His large eyes narrowed. “You know you speak to a fairy. Names hold great power.”
“Only if we let them, but that’s not what we’re doing here, is it?” I asked matter-of-factly.
His tongue flicked across his upper lip. “No, I suppose not.”
“Here. I’ll start. My name is Lorelei Clay.”
He recoiled slightly. “A bad omen. Both your names mean death.”
“Well, I give you my word that I have no intention of killing you. I’m merely passing through on my way home.”
He continued to regard me with suspicion. “My name is Sian,” he finally said.
“A pleasure to meet you, Sian. Did you happen to encounter any werewolves when you came through the crossroads?”
