But there were no Faires at this time of year—not around here. If there was, she’d know, because her band would probably be playing at it.

And these little men . . . there was a nasty undercurrent to the jovial delivery of their conversation. She could sense it as clearly as she could on those nights when the band just couldn’t connect with a crowd, when nothing you did up there on the stage was right.

“Hiding on us, do you suppose?”

“Unless some green-brees had him for a late-night snack.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Unless he’s not a he.”

“What’ve you got there?”

Lizzie already knew. Whoever was rummaging around in the back of the car must have found her little knapsack with its toiletry bag and change of clothing and underwear in it.

“Nice.”

“I’d like a soiled pair better.”

“Where do you think she’s got to?”

“Prob’bly went looking for help.”

“And left her fiddle behind? Not likely.”

“She carries water around instead of poteen, so she’s not much of a fiddler, is she?”

“I say she’s hiding.”

Lizzie heard a series of wet thumps and realized that they’d dropped their loads of meat in the trunk of the car.

“Let’s have a look-see, shall we?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Hello, hello, wee fiddler,” one of them called out in a loud voice. “Why don’t you come out and play?”

“Whisht—not so loud.”

“Why not? I want her to hear us.”

Lizzie heard the whack of someone being slapped on the head.

“Ow. What’d you do that for?”

“If you’re that loud, something else might hear us, hey?”

They all fell silent. Lizzie pressed her face against the elm, wishing she had something—anything—in her hand to defend herself with.

But she didn’t.

She had only herself.

Best defense is offense, Johnny would say. If you know you’re in trouble, don’t try talk. Just come out swinging.

She swallowed, her throat and chest tight, and readied herself. She’d slip from behind the tree and charge them, take them by surprise. If she was lucky, maybe they’d run off. If she wasn’t, she’d hurt as many of them as she could. She had good leather boots on and the toes were hard. She made fists with either hand.

But while the little men had been silent, they hadn’t been still.

“What have we here?” a gruff voice asked.

And just like that, the element of surprise was taken from her. She’d never heard them moving through the dry weeds, but here they were, all five of the little men, arrows nocked in bowstrings and aimed in her direction. They stood around her in a half circle. With the elm at her back, there was no avenue of escape.

“Pretty thing,” one of them said with a grin.