He narrowed his eyes. “Did you make me do that with your magick?”
She waved her palms at him. “No, I didn’t do anything, I swear.” Turning her lips inside did little to hide her mirth.
“It’s not funny,” he growled, struggling to his feet. “I ought to spank you for laughing.”
She covered her bottom. “Oh no, I can’t take any more spanking, Cade, please. I’m sorry I laughed.”
He glowered but stomped to the sofa and threw himself on it. “Clean up the dishes,” he said with an imperial wave. His command was unnecessary as Faye was halfway to the table, making efficient work of stacking dishes and carrying them to the sink. She washed and dried every dish, putting things away and wiping down the table.
“Do you have a dog?” she asked, pointing to the doggie door cut into his rear exit.
“I used to,” he lied.
“Must’ve been a big one.”
“Yep, wolf-dog. So what is your plan for getting my feet back?” he demanded, his ego still bruised from the fall.
“I’m uh… just going to do some research before I try anything else. You know, so I don’t mess up again.”
“Well, what kind of research?”
“Um, you know—looking stuff up.” She got out a broom and began to sweep his floors without being told.
He hardly believed it. She surpassed any fantasy of a slave girl he ever had—and he’d had more than a few. Fantasies, not actual slaves. This was the first time he’d ever been lucky enough to fulfill all the lustful dreams of his youth. Well, almost all of them. She hadn’t begged him to take her yet, which was still high on his bucket list. Faye Godmeyer’s heat index was off the charts.
Right now, though, he had a feeling she was blowing smoke up his ass. “Where do you look it up?”
“In a book, okay?” she snapped.
“Oh no you didn’t,” he said, infusing sharp warning into his tone.
Her hand flew to her bottom. “Sorry, Master.”
He scowled at her. “You have the book with you?”
“Yes, Master.”
He heard the slight sarcasm in her use of “Master”, but she had walked the line enough that he didn’t call her on it.
“So, enough cleaning. Go get the book.”
“Let me just mop the floor first.”
“Bring me the book and I’ll look while you mop.”
“Absolutely not,” she cried, “—Master.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a personal journal, not for your eyes.”
“Faye, I am losing patience with you. Go get the book and look up the spell.”
She threw the broom back into the closet with a clatter and pulled out the mop and bucket. “It’s not a spell,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am not a witch. I’m a fairy. Well, half-fairy, anyway.” The last words were muttered.
“You’re only a half-fairy? Is that why your magick sucks?”
The lights began to flash, growing bright then dimming. Though it snowed outside, he heard a loud clap of thunder roll through the house. Apparently, he’d pissed off the fairy—no,half-fairy.
