CHAPTER TWO
Ifollow Mr. Phillips inside the bookstore and abruptly pull up short. All the awe I abandoned while I was frantically searching for my destination returns. The interior of the shop is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. From the outside, Flight of Fancy looked like any other business with its two-story cream exterior and green-and-white striped awning. I was too preoccupied to even look at the window display. Now Flight of Fancy has my full attention.
The interior is a white-dappled blue that resembles a midday sky, the ceilings high to accommodate the tallest bookshelves I’ve ever seen. A wooden staircase leads to a second-floor loft area, which is so crowded with shop patrons, I can’t see what it holds. Chatter fills the air, along with scents of paper and tea, the latter courtesy of the small café located at the back of the first floor. Movement catches my eye from the nearest wall, drawing my gaze to a book that has slid from one of the tall shelves of its own accord. My pulse kicks up as I expect it to fall, but its descent is slow and graceful. The front and back covers splay open, and to my surprise, they begin to flap like wings, its interior pages gently rippling as the book soars from the shelf to the checkout counter.
Behind the counter stands a female fae with blue skin and pastel blue hair that ripples on a wind I don’t feel. She’s gorgeous, dressed the way I wish I was, in a white blouse, a blue skirt, and a matching waistcoat. She extends her hands, and the flying book alights upon them, going still as it lands.
“That’s Arwen.”
I jump at the sound of Monty Phillips’ voice. I was so entranced I’d almost forgotten the publicist’s presence. “Oh?”
“She’s the shopkeeper at Flight of Fancy. A sylph. She uses her air magic to make the books seem enchanted when she takes them from the shelves for customers.”
I assess the fae woman with new eyes. So that’s what a sylph looks like. She might be offended to know I mistook a wisp for her kind earlier today. The blue flamelike creature who sent me off course looks nothing like the humanoid beauty behind the counter. Then again, I read in my visitor’s brochure that most fae can shift between two physical forms, what they callseelieandunseelie. A fae’s seelie form is a manifestation modeled after human likeness, while unseelie form often takes on the appearance of an animal, spirit, or element. Most of my encounters have been with seelie fae, as those who prefer their unseelie form often reside in the wild. Ever since disembarking the ship that brought me to Faerwyvae, I’ve only been in three locations: the port town, the train, and…here. So my experience with faekind in general is quite limited.
“Who is this, Monty?”
Another voice steals my attention from the sylph, this one female. But when I glance before me, I can’t locate the source.
“Ah, Daphne, you’re here,” Mr. Phillips says, his gaze lowered to the floor.
I follow his line of sight and find a small furry creature staring up at me. Before I can think better of it, I utter a yelp and launch a step back.
“Rude, but all right,” the female voice says.
I blink at the creature. The voice came from its direction, but I saw no movement from its mouth to suggest the animal had spoken. And…what kind of animal even is this? A weasel of sorts? It’s about the size of a house cat, but with a shape I can only describe as an elongated fox with an arched back, small triangular ears, and a long fluffy tail. Its fur is a gray-brown but with a cream throat and underbelly.
Mr. Phillips snorts a laugh that he manages to turn into a cough. “Daph, this is Edwina Danforth.”
“Ah, our very late author, gracing us with her presence.”
“Miss Danforth, this is Daphne, an intern at Fletcher-Wilson.”
“Intern,” I echo. Embarrassment heats my cheeks and I face the creature named Daphne. “I’m so sorry. You simply startled me. You’re the first unseelie fae I’ve met.”
“Clearly you haven’t met a pine marten either,” she says, her tone low, flat, and unamused. Again her voice carries from her form despite the lack of motion from her mouth. It must be fae magic that allows her to communicate without the use of lips or vocal cords.
“I haven’t,” I say, desperate to remedy the awful first impression I’ve made. I shift from foot to foot, unsure if it would be more respectful to crouch and speak to her eye-to-eye. But since Mr. Phillips remains standing, I do the same.
“Is this all your luggage?” Mr. Phillips asks, gesturing toward my carpet bag he still carries. “Or did you store the rest at the station?”
“The latter,” I say.
“Then I’ll store your bag behind the counter and fetch the rest while you get settled. You can handle the signing while I’m gone, right, Daphne?”
“Is this your way of sneaking out for another smoke break?” Daphne says with the same unamused monotone she used with me. Perhaps that’s just her usual voice after all? I’d rather that be the case than to think I truly offended her.
He chuckles. “Take her upstairs, won’t you, Daffy Dear?”
She huffs, but darts toward the staircase. “Right this way, Miss Danforth.”
I belatedly follow, my gaze tilted toward the loft and the crowd that gathers beyond the oak railing. It makes sense the signing would be held there. From the look of things, it’s already underway.
My tour companion must already be here. He, of course, would have arrived on time, unlike me.
Anxiety tickles my chest at the thought of being put on display before all these strangers, not to mention a fellow author, but I do my best to breathe my worries away.
As Daphne slinks up the stairs, my awe over meeting my first unseelie fae returns. Questions burn my tongue, and it’s all I can do to keep them in my head and not utter them out loud. But I’m desperate to know. Does Daphne have a surname, or am I really to address her by first name like Mr. Phillips did? Does she always take unseelie form? Does she have a humanoid form, or is she the type of fae who prefers never to shift? Is a pine marten’s fur soft? Would she let me pet her, or is that the most offensive thing I could?—
