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“I heard they skin a rabbit from the inside out and sacrifice it to their gods.”

“Won’t be long before they try to sacrifice one of us, will it?”

My face burned with each step I took. It was normal for the fae to sneer at me.

But it still stung.

My hand self-consciously went to the black markings on my wrist—a crescent moon surrounded by stars. It was a mark every witch had from birth. My fingers curled around it in an attempt to hide it, but it didn’t matter. Most of the villagers in Tollino already knew who I was even without noticing the mark.

Trying to ignore the hateful looks of those around me, I made my way to Farmer Grant’s booth. He was a regular buyer from Gran and me. Short and rotund, he had a booming voice, and his mouth was often hidden behind his bushy white mustache. He was one of the few fae who weren’t hostile toward me and Gran. But that didn’t mean he had to be polite to us.

When I approached, Farmer Grant looked up, and his smile immediately vanished, making him look colder and more aloof.

It doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. He doesn’t have to like you to purchase from you.

“You have blackroot for me?” he asked gruffly, wiping his hands on his apron as he appraised me.

“Yes.” I pulled out three jars of blackroot, which Farmer Grant often used to help his crops grow more quickly. In exchange, he gave me a bag of wheat and a bushel of apples. His eyes shifted nervously, as if he feared someone might see our exchange.

I didn’t linger. I nodded my thanks, tucked my hood more securely over my head, and left his booth.

I scanned the crowd for Herman the butcher, who we often bought meat from, but his booth was nowhere to be found. With a frown, I tried turning back, but the crowd was so thick I almost got knocked over. Someone’s shoulder connected with my chest, and I staggered back, my hood falling in the process. An apple fell from the bushel in my arms, and I ducked to grab it.

Something heavy shoved me backwards, and I fell on my rear. Blinking up, I found a fae male with shaggy black hair squinting down at me.

“Sorry, lass.” He reached out a dirt-stained hand to help me up.

I took it, and with a grunt, rose to my feet. My braid had come loose, and I quickly tucked it into my cloak.

The male’s eyes widened as he took in my vibrant red hair. Cursing, I hastily tugged my hood forward, but it was too late.

“Aye, look at those brilliant locks!” he cried out. “Ye must be a firecracker in the sack, eh?” He let out a boisterous laugh and elbowed the male behind him.

My heart thundered loudly in my chest as I turned away from them. A strong hand tugged on my wrist, jerking me backward. I cried out, the bushel of apples falling from my hands.

Keep your magic close, Gran always told me. Your magic is a far more powerful weapon than any dagger.

I whirled to face the fae male, nostrils flaring in anger. To my horror, it wasn’t just two of them—but six.

My rage simmered, and fear quickly replaced it. I could handle myself against a few brutes… but half a dozen? Storms, this wasn’t good.

Swallowing hard, I asked as calmly as I could, “What do you want?”

“I’ve seen this one before,” said a fae with chestnut curls that flopped over his eyes. “She’s a witch. I’ll bet she’s got some potions in her bag.”

One of them reached for my satchel, but I smacked his hand away. Instead of recoiling, he laughed.

“She is a firecracker!” he hollered. He grabbed for my arm, but I summoned my magic, gathering power into my fingertips. I pressed my hand to his wrist, burning him.

He staggered back with a loud yelp, shaking his hand and massaging the scorch mark now burned into his wrist. “The bitch just burned me!”

Several more hands grabbed for me, but I fought and struggled, trying to get away. “Help!” I cried out. “Someone help!”

A few glanced in alarm toward me, but no one stopped. No one helped.

A large hand clamped over my mouth, silencing me. I bit his fingers, and he roared in pain. I was being dragged, my arms pinned behind me. The apples were abandoned on the ground as the fae males pulled me into an alley.

“Feisty one,” muttered the one I’d bitten. He was twice as thick as me, his towering frame large enough to make my blood run cold. “But she’s much too plump for my taste.”