Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(4)

Tugging hard on her bodice, she pressed her hand against her chest. A hag stone, with natural holes bored through it by running water, hung around her neck. Another gift from her mother so she could always see through magic.

She turned and made her way back down the stairs.

Rosaleen was already exiting her room, closing the door gently behind her. Her hair stuck up in all directions, like a dandelion puff. She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting that one to be so quick. He paid for a half hour, so I suppose he can sleep it off.”

“Someone new?”

“He wouldn’t say who he was. Looks like a nobleman; his clothes are too fine to be working class.”

Sorcha pulled up her sister’s sleeve which was dipping dangerously low on her shoulder. “Fancy catching this one for good?”

Rosaleen blushed. “Oh, he’s much too fine looking for me.”

“And you’re a rare beauty. He would give you a good life, away from working so hard.”

“I couldn’t leave all of you.”

“None of us would think less of you for it. You’d be safe, well-fed, and you could visit. If he’s kind, think about it.”

“He was certainly kind,” Rosaleen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I can appreciate a man who doesn’t take much work.”

Sorcha chuckled and touched a finger to Rosaleen’s chin. “Think about it, little chick. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

“The tea is downstairs?”

“Ask Briana. There’s a few tonics left, and I’ll bring back more.”

They walked down the stairs together, giggling as Rosaleen told stories about the customers she’d already that day.

“Will you be gone all day?” Rosaleen asked as they reached the ground floor.

“Briana’s asked that I make myself scarce. It’s a busy day, and I don’t need to be underfoot.”

“We might need you if anyone gets too rowdy.”

“The men don’t pay for healing anyways. I’d rather find customers who will at least trade.”

“Not Dame Agatha?” Rosaleen’s eyes glinted with mischief.

“You were listening!”

“Just through the grate while he was getting ready! I haven’t heard a single rumor about Agatha being pregnant again, so what are you really going to do? Are you hiding a man?”

“Not everything is about men, Rosaleen.” Sorcha lifted her bag and pawed through it. “I’m just visiting the shrine, that’s all.”

“I thought you were done with the faeries?”

“No one can be done with faeries, Rosaleen. They will always be there, and someone has to leave offerings.”

They had argued about this since they were children. Papa and his girls lived in the city where people had forgotten their ties to the land. Sorcha had grown up on the moors. She knew will-o'-the-wisps by name and had spied on goblin markets. She left offerings for brownies and whispered secrets to the Tuatha dé Danann.

If she had never seen these things, she might have questioned whether faeries were real.

Shaking her head, she pushed her way through the crowd of men in the front room. Briana hadn’t been kidding. They were unusually busy, even for this time of year. Perhaps someone had spread word of the mysterious brothel filled with golden women.

Rumors said that Papa's daughters came from a line of goddesses. They were all unnaturally pretty with milk-pale skin and heart-shaped faces. Their full lips were always red and didn’t leave berry stains on men’s skin. Loose blonde curls never needed a hot iron, and they were graceful as dancers.

There were some who wondered about their odd duck of a sister. In comparison, Sorcha was a startling red rose among daffodils. She was taller than her sisters, with waist length red hair and tight ring curls that billowed around her like a cloud. Freckles dusted her skin from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. And everyone found her slightly pointed ears to be unnerving.

Faerie touched, the villagers used to say. Her mother must have had a changeling child she refused to give back. Or perhaps that was just a sign she was touched by the devil, like her witch of a mother.

Whatever the reasoning, Sorcha was odd, strange, unusual.

She pushed past the last man and stepped out onto the streets. A horse and buggy waited out front, the emblem of an eagle painted on its side in gold. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small shriveled apple.

Soft velvet lips plucked the fruit from her palm, and the horse groaned with happiness.

“You’ll be waiting for a while, my friend,” Sorcha said with a grin.

“Hey! Woman!” A whip cracked over her head. “Ain’t nobody ever told ye not to touch a stranger’s horse? Get out of here!”

She ducked away and disappeared into the crowd.

It was market day. The teeming mass of people all seemed to have something to sell. Unwashed bodies pressed against her, but all she could smell was fish, meats, and fresh fruit.

“Eggs for sale!”

“Flowers for your lady?”

“Fabric in every color!”

Sorcha kept her bag close to her side and tried not to make eye contact. She didn't need any trouble from the suspicious villagers who made the sign of the cross when she passed. Stalls lined the streets with food, billowing cloth, even jewelry from the far reaches of the land. Some vendors she recognized, others she did not.