Heather M. Fawcett

"In the early 1900s, a curmudgeonly professor journeys to a small town to study faerie folklore, where she discovers dark fae magic, friendship, and love. Cambridge professor Emily Wilde is good at many things: She is the foremost expert on dryadology, the study of faeries. She is a genius scholar and a meticulous researcher who is writing the world's first encyclopedia of faerie lore. But Emily Wilde is not good at people. She could never make small talk at a party--much less get invited to one. And she prefers the company of her books, her dog Shadow, and the Fair Folk to that of friends or lovers. So when she arrives in the hardscrabble village of Hransvik, Emily has no intention of befriending the gruff townsfolk. Nor does she care to spend time with another new arrival: the dashing and insufferably handsome Wendell Bambleby, who manages to charm the townsfolk, get in the middle of her research, and utterly confound and frustrate Emily. But as Emily gets closer and closer to uncovering the secrets of the Hidden Ones--the most elusive of all faeries--lurking in the shadowy forest outside the town, she also finds herself on the trail of another mystery: Who is Wendell Bambleby, and what does he really want? To find the answer, she'll have to unlock the greatest mystery of all--her own heart"--

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

Emma Miller

I could not tell if he was terrible at drawing cats or if he simply had a terrible cat.

Taryn

He leaned back, a smile playing on his mouth. “You know, Em, you could make life so much easier for yourself if you tried to be liked once in awhile.” “I do try,” I said, over loud. His words stung more than he could have guessed. I tried and tried - or at least, I used to, and nothing had ever come of it.

“If something is impossible, you cannot be terrible at it.” My hand tightened briefly on my pen. He smiled again. “You are not so terrible, Em. You merely need friends who are dragons like you.”

I gazed at him a moment longer. His mourning was a tangible thing that hung in the air. I have never loved a place like he has, and felt it’s absence as I would a friend’s. But for a moment, I wished I had, and felt this as it’s own loss.

It sounds odd to admit that I find the company of such a boisterous person restful, but perhaps it is always restful to be around someone who does not expect anything from you beyond what is in your nature.

In any event, these are practical people, and they care more about what you did than the why of it all.

He had a habit of doodling, marginalia I was inclined to ignore given that a full half of these sketches were of me, including one that made me very still. In it, I was bent over my notebook, hair tumbling over my shoulders as it usually does in the evening, my chin on my hand and a small smile on my face. It was a very detailed work, each stroke carefully chosen. I could see the places where he’d smudged the ink with a thumb to create shadow - the curve of my neck. The hollow between my collarbones.

Shadow padded up to me and put his head on my knee, all forgiven, as it always is with dogs. If I had frightened my cat as I had Shadow, she’d ignore me for days, or possibly put a curse on me, but then cats have self respect.

I gave him a long thoughtful look. “What?” He said. “It’s your chin. It’s still a little crooked.” His hand went immediately to the feature. “It is not.” I shrugged. “Perhaps it’s my imagination.”

Alexa Writes

few were about, being most likely in their felds or fish- ing boats, but those few stared at me as only rural villagers at the edge of the known world can stare at a stranger.

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries quotes

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