Robin had just taken human shape. I could see him clearly, now, by the light of the torches: he looked like a handsome young man with yellow eyes, his hair long and dark and curled. His black coat and vest were old-fashioned, like something from the Revolutionary War, and he was just settling a feathered tricorn on his head. The hat, and the hair, almost covered his ears, which were dark-furred and twice as long as my own.
He turned as I approached, and gave me a charming smile. “Feeling better?”
I punched him in the face, hard, swinging from the shoulder the way Jovana taught me.
“Ow!” cried Robin, staggering back and clutching his nose. “Oak, Ash, and Thorn, girl! What was that for?”
My fist hurt, the little bones of my fingers feeling like I’d set them on fire, but I tried not to let it show. “You didn’t ask if you could touch me. You didn’t ask if you could bring me here.” I waved a hand at the castle. “I don’t know how they do things here in the Fairyland, or whatever tortured corner of my subconscious this is, but where I come from, that’s called kidnapping, and I’m pretty sure it’s a felony.”
He took his hands away, and I felt a childish surge of pride to see that blood was dripping down his chin. He gave me an infuriating grin, almost a snarl. “Yet so I have done since time out of mind. For countless centuries, when drunken sots staggered home, or when foolish travelers were caught on lonely lanes after sundown, I came and I caught them up and gave them a wild ride — hah! — enough to keep them sober for months.” He spread his hands. “I am the pookha, little flower.”
I raised my fist. “Call me a little flower again,” I said, in my best Dirty-Harry do-you-feel-lucky growl.

Copyright 2015 © Christopher Russo.  All rights reserved.  No part or whole of this excerpt may be reprinted or copied without the express written permission of the author.