The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

“Of course, it is. Just like faeries are superior to humans, is that it?”

He took a large bite of the apple, juice dribbling down his chin. “I don’t give your intelligence enough credit. You’re catching on quick, witch.”

“Don’t make me curse you again.”

“I’d like to see you try while we’re here.”

It was the second time he’d suggested he was stronger in the Otherworld. Aisling toyed with a loose thread on his stolen shirt and licked her lips. “Is faerie magic stronger here?”

“In a way.” He stared up at the sky, lost in his own thoughts. “The Tuatha de Danann made this place as a haven for the Fae. We’re more powerful because this is a safe place for us. Happy, content people perform magic far better than those who are distracted by ill thoughts.”

Her expression fell. Of course, magic was stronger in people whose souls were centered. Spells required concentration, and natural magic like the faeries performed required more than just knowledge. It was a powerful and beautiful thing when practiced correctly.

Aisling had never managed such magic.

The Unseelie studied her, flames dancing in his eyes again. “Have you ever tried faerie magic?”

“Many times.”

“Never succeeded, I’m assuming.”

“Why would you assume that?” She stuffed his pack in the roots behind her head, stealing the only cushion they had.

“Because you looked like I kicked a puppy in front of you when I said it.”

“I don’t even like puppies. I prefer cats.” Aisling punched the pack.

“Why are you always so abrasive?”

She frowned, chewing her lip and letting the heat of the fire warm her back. “It’s just my winning personality.”

“No, don’t try to deflect it. I’m genuinely curious, witch. Just what has made you push people away like you do?”

She didn’t want to tell him. Not because she didn’t like to talk about it; the past was in the past. It had shaped her strangely, but she was dealing with it. She didn’t want to tell him because her history felt like a weakness, and he would look down on her.

Aisling punched the pack one more time for good measure. “History. Lorcan raised me. He found me in the woods when I was little, a screaming child left to die. It’s just been him and me for a long time.”

“Lorcan raised you?” He looked at the cat. “Really? A cat?”

The subject of interest yawned, bright white teeth flashing in the light of faerie fire. “I wasn’t a cat then, nitwit.”

“So Lorcan shifted…when?”

Aisling spun around and wiggled into the tree roots. “The first time a pack of wolves, the sorry villagers, attacked me. Lorcan stepped in front of an arrow and shifted to stay alive.”

The Unseelie rubbed his chest. He said nothing, but she knew what he was thinking. They were both marked by her in some fashion. His starburst matched Lorcan’s. Each was a sign she harmed those who stayed around her. Too bad she refused to take responsibility for either of their choices. Lorcan didn’t have to save her, and the Unseelie didn’t have to stay to watch her burn. They were both responsible for their own mistakes.

“So you’ve been alone your entire life,” the Unseelie murmured.

“Hey!” Lorcan grunted from his side of the fire. “I was there.”

“As a cat.”

“Still a person.”

“But not someone who could bandage her scraped knees, provide her food, help her fix a shelter should the winds blow.”

Aisling snorted. “Even when he was a person, Lorcan made me do all that.”

“It was character building.”

“You were lazy as a human,” she corrected. “A cat was a well-chosen form.”

“It’s not a choice.” Lorcan rolled onto his back, all four feet in the air and bottom turned toward the fire. “Witches turn into cats. We have nine lives.”

Aisling touched her fingers to the eyes on her palms. Witches may have nine lives, but she did not. When she was young and the eyes were new, she had tried to skin them from her hands. The knife cut into her flesh too easily for her to hesitate. Lorcan had found her bleeding out on the floor with the eyes still burned into the meaty, exposed muscles.

She’d caught a fever and lay in bed for months while fighting the infection. She even died a few times, only to come back after Lorcan shocked her with a bolt of magic. No catlike form had saved her.

At first, she thought it was because she didn’t understand the magic. But then Lorcan had explained to her she wasn’t really a witch, and her entire world had shifted.

The Unseelie coughed, looking pointedly at her fingers, tracing the outline of the eyes in the air with his hands. “And those?”

She held her hands out, palms exposed to the fire. “These are my chains.”

“Excuse me?”

Lorcan twitched his tail and dramatically sighed. “The visible evidence of her curse.”

“Those are what make your face invisible to me?” The Unseelie stood and then quickly moved across the small hollow to kneel in front of her. He didn’t touch her hands but tilted his head from side to side as he inspected them. “I don’t recognize this kind of magic.”

“That’s because it’s entirely original magic.” She was ridiculously proud to wear proof of it, although she despised the curse. “The eyes channel my power through the spell that hides my face. The blackened tips are the shackles that prevent it from being broken.”

“All spells can be broken.”

“Which is precisely why my grandmother brought me all those faerie spell books. I’ve spent my entire life searching for a way to break this curse. From the first moment I saw a faerie, I knew I wanted to see and be seen by your kind for the rest of my life.”

He looked at her with something important in his eyes. Some unspoken promise she knew would make the wall around her heart crack.

Aisling cleared her throat. “It’s a shame I didn’t know you back then. I might not have wasted so much time.”

“Ah, there’s the reaction I expected,” he muttered. He reached forward, his hand hovering so