by Abbie Lyons
Did the warden have eyes on all of us at any given moment? The thought made me shiver. Whatever the answer was, mission accomplished. I certainly wasn’t going to get any good sleep tonight now.
Chapter Nine
I STARTED TO SETTLE into my new routine, although “settle” is probably a bad word choice. I was feeling as on edge as I ever had in my life.
Kitchen duty was a nice escape from the boredom of my cell, but working beside Delilah was a little too much excitement. Everything was hot and cold with her. One minute she was rolling on the floor laughing, the next she seemed on the verge of exploding at you about something meaningless you said. Usually, though, she was taking her anger out on some of the Lesser Fae working in the kitchen. She didn’t have the same soft spot for trolls that I did. “Why are you so slow?” she’d yell at them as they washed dishes. “It’s not like you’re doing any sort of complicated enchantments! What’s the holdup?”
Occasionally Babs would gently remind Delilah that it wasn’t her job to run the kitchen. The wildest thing was that she actually listened to her. Babs was the Delilah Whisperer. Anybody else who told her she was doing something wrong was liable to have her do her best to rip them to shreds.
But just as I was getting used to my new duties, another wrinkle was thrown my way: Fae Citizenship Class.
Every few weeks, as enough new inmates cycled into the penitentiary, a new class would begin. The goal, from what I understood, was to teach us how to behave when we were back in the outside world. For some of the students, that day would be soon—a few of them only had sentences of a few months. Lucky bastards. For others with nearly lifelong sentences, that day might never come. Nevertheless, all new inmates had to take the class no matter when the material would actually be applicable to them again.
The classroom was about as bare and depressing as the mess hall. White walls, bright fluorescent ceiling lights, and wooden desks that looked to be in danger of falling apart if you leaned on them even a touch too hard. There was even a shitty chalkboard at the front of the room.
On the first day of class, I looked around to see if there was anybody familiar. But nope, the penitentiary was big enough that I was pretty sure I’d yet to lay eyes upon any of these Fae. As it was in the penitentiary at large, most were regular Fae, though there were a couple Lesser Fae—I still absolutely hated that term as much as ever—like a gnome and even a wood sprite, the smallest of the Fae.
It’d been a long, long time since I’d been in a class of any kind. My schooling in the Invisible Cities was cut short due to, well, me and April running away. I’d never liked it much anyway. Lots of nonsense lessons that were never going to apply to my life. But I had a feeling I would gladly trade school in the Invisible Cities for school in the penitentiary.
“Welcome, one and all,” a young-ish man with flowing bright orange hair said as he strolled into the room. Given that he wasn’t wearing a uniform of any sort—quite the opposite, he was wearing the Fae equivalent of a tie-dye shirt and jeans—I assumed he was the teacher. He didn’t look like anybody else I’d seen here so far. Actually, he would’ve fit in way more at one of my parties in the Hollywood Hills than he would here or Fae society as a whole.
That’s to say, I liked him already.
“How are we doing everybody?” he asked. He didn’t get any sort of response, but he pressed onward. “My name is Wesley. I teach Fae Citizenship here as a volunteer. I know most of you probably don’t want to be here. Learning citizenship sounds pretty boring, right? But I prefer not to think of this as a class. I like to think of it as an opportunity to share our feelings and just talk things out, you dig me?”
Wesley, it seemed, was an honest-to-goddess hippy. My kind of person.
“Let’s do a little ice breaker! After all, we’re going to need to be comfortable getting personal with one another. How about we go around the room and say our names and the quality we admire most about ourselves? I’ll get it started. Like I said, I’m Wesley. But you can just call me Wes! The quality I admire most about myself is my kindness and compassion.” He pointed to a guy in a desk at the front of the room. “How about you go next?”
This dude looked like the rough type. Shaved head and arms covered with enchantment tattoos. He had the physical makeup of a gorilla. Not the kind of Fae you wanted to fuck with.
“Hey, everybody,” he said, in a voice way higher-pitched than I would’ve assumed. Just a few notches below sucking a balloon full of helium. “The name’s Hammer. And what I like about myself is that I’m a loyal friend.”
Honestly, Hammer seemed like a pretty awesome dude. I did my best not to wonder too much about why he was in prison. It’d break my heart if precious Hammer did something unspeakably terrible.
A slender girl with curly green hair was next. She looked about as put-together as any other inmate I’d seen so far, aside from Prince Tarian, who was literal royalty. So I figured maybe this chick was important in some way, too.
“I’m Blossom,” she said, in a distinct accent that just dripped with class privilege. “My best quality? That’s tough to say. There’s a lot I admire about myself, but most of all, I like my work ethic. Nobody works harder than me.”
Nobody works harder than her? She doesn’t sound like she’s a fucking crystal miner or something like that.
Inmates continued to introduce themselves. Some were more memorable than others. In a classroom of fifteen or so, there was only so much I could keep up with. I was especially interested in the wood sprite, who was maybe an inch or two tall. Instead of sitting in a chair—because what good would that be?—she simply stood on a stack of books on her desk.
“Katinka is the name,” she announced, in a shockingly regular volume voice. “Most people know me for my tenacity.”
“Tenacity” was such a job interview kind of word. I wasn’t sure I could actually even define it if somebody put me on the spot.
The gnome, who looked like he was at least fifty years old—but knowing gnomes, was probably more like twenty-five—introduced himself as Randolph. What did he like about himself? His “remarkable craftsmanship.”
Finally, it was my turn to introduce myself. I’d been paying so much attention to this whole cast of characters that I realized I hadn’t even thought of what I admired about myself yet.
“I’m Emerald, but most people call me Em,” I began, like I always did whenever I had to tell others my name. But I was suddenly very aware of everybody’s eyes on me. Did they remember that I was the girl who supposedly killed her best friend? I didn’t know what any of the others were here for, but I couldn’t imagine there was much worse you could do than kill a friend. Were they judging me? Did they hate me already? I took a deep breath, collected myself, and pressed on. “I’m pretty sure the best thing about me is how much fun I am. I can throw one hell of a party.”
So maybe that wasn’t a great answer, but it was the first thing that came to my mind. But I did think it was the right answer. Creating an atmosphere of joy was one of the things I loved most in the world. And I was only beginning to see how much it sucked that I couldn’t be that same joyful presence while I was stuck here in the Enchanted Penitentiary.
“Thank you for sharing, everybody,” Wes said warmly. “I know sharing the way you feel about yourself isn’t always easy. But I want everybody here to have one another’s back. We’ve all made mistakes. That includes me! But we can’t let our mistakes define us. I just want each and every one of you to know that this is a judgment-free zone. You’re already paying for your mistakes. My job is to help you move past them.”
It was a far cry from the bullshit that the warden was feeding us at least once a day. I wondered if he’d disapprove of the things that our teacher was saying. I mean, shit, maybe he even had eyes on the class?
Wes stepped up to the chalkboard and wrote the word FORGIVENESS in big block letters.
“This is the word I want us to be thinking about not only today, but throughou
t our class sessions,” he explained. “And when I say ‘forgiveness,’ what am I talking about?”
Hammer’s hand was the first to shoot into the air. “Earning the forgiveness of the ones we’ve hurt by our actions,” he volunteered in that adorably squeaky voice of his, like some sort of Prison Inmate Elmo.
“That’s one part of it,” Wes said with a nod. “But there’s an even more important person you’ll each need to learn to forgive—yourselves.”
Okay, so it was admittedly cheesy. He sounded like one of those life coaches that are crawling all over Los Angeles charging 500 bucks an hour to share their advice. But at the same time, he sounded genuine. He was a true believer in what he was saying. After all, what other kind of person would willingly volunteer at a magical prison?
“A lot of people will tell you that the purpose of this penitentiary is solely to punish you for what you’ve done. But that’s only one side of the coin, you see. Ideally, this place is also here to rehabilitate you—to make you whole again. And in your many moments of quiet reflection, you have the tremendous opportunity to get to know yourself better and focus on what makes you special despite your mistakes. From there, you can really start down the long road of learning to forgive yourself.”
Mistakes. Let’s be real, I’d definitely made some mistakes in my life. It just turned out that the reason I was locked up wasn’t one of my mistakes. Running away without giving my parents any real reason why—that was probably a mistake. Completely ignoring where I came from and forgetting all the people who I left behind? That was another one.
I didn’t regret leaving the Invisible Cities for one second. But I probably could’ve done the whole thing a little cleaner. Not that I should be in jail because of that. It was something to reflect on, though.
But deeper reflection would have to wait. Citizenship class—although that wasn’t really feeling like the right name for it—was in the morning, and I had to go right to my kitchen duties from there.
“Hey there, hot stuff!” Delilah greeted me with a high five as I walked in. “Ready to cook up some food for all these fuckers?”
Going from the chill energy of Wes to the manic energy of Delilah was a little bit of a rollercoaster. At least she seemed to be in high spirits today—not like that couldn’t change at the drop of a dime. Or in this case, maybe something a little more like a troll dropping a dish.
“I have so much to tell you about,” Delilah continued, as I grabbed an apron off a hook. “There’s this bitch a few cells down from me who I just hate. And I think she gave me a weird look the other day. I can’t be sure of it, but I’m pretty sure she was mocking me. Anyway, what do you think we should do about it? She can’t just get away with something like that!”
There was basically a 100% chance that nobody has given Delilah any sort of look. But as always, the key was to humor her.
“I think—” I started to say.
My vision was getting blurry, and a gross feeling was quickly growing in the pit of my stomach.
“You think what?” pressed Delilah. “Speak your mind, Em! Tell me, tell me!”
I don’t know what it was: something bad I ate, the stress of prison finally getting to me, or the newly present thought of all my past mistakes. Whatever it was, I dropped to the floor.
Chapter Ten
JUST LIKE THAT, I’M back in LA.
Everything’s the way it was: the warm air, the swaying palm leaves, the smell of smog and salt mingling on our porch. I blink, and I’m back at the party.
Back in my bandage dress.
Back in the throbbing music.
I blink again, but I’m still there.
But it’s not late at night, now. It’s earlier in the evening, the sky still streaked with peachy blush and purpling clouds. I’m not drunk, just lightly tipsy, and feeling good, watching the glittering party guests shimmy their way off and on the dance floor, back and forth to the bar from the balcony that juts off the kitchen.
And April’s there.
She’s busy talking to some guys, though. I’ll catch up with her later. I’ll have plenty of time to talk to her later on, probably at 2 a.m. when we hit up In-n-Out for a juicy human cheeseburger. Or tomorrow morning, when we’re lounging in our pajamas and going over the drama of tonight.
I’ll just mingle for now, I decide, and sling back the rest of my cocktail.
“Emerald?”
I spin around on the balcony. Standing just in front of the sliding glass doors is a tall, bony girl with pale violet curls and a sour expression. I’m so shocked I actually glance into my glass to see if April had pranked me by enchanting it with some kind of hallucination spell, but nope. This is just a regular ol’ vodka soda.
“Gia,” I say, trying to keep any bitchiness out of my voice. Sure, it’s my party and I’ll fight if I want to, but I want to keep things chill. The night is young, after all. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to party, obviously.” Gia flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t know this was your house, or else...”
“Did you know it was April’s house, too?” I counter, putting a hand on my hip. “Because she’s my roommate. We live here together.” I gesture around me as though to indicate all that April and I share. All that she and Gia don’t share.
Gia folds her arms. She’s wearing a silvery, drapey top and a skirt so short that I can almost guarantee it’s enchanted to stay in place and avoid showing her ass to all the humans.
“I mean what are you doing here and not...home,” I say, trying to sound polite, and conversational, even though this girl is not someone I trust, let alone want at my birthday party. One thing’s for sure: I can’t let April see that Gia’s here.
I don’t know what happened between the two of them. April and Gia used to be incredibly close. Gia was basically April’s other bestie, but the three of us didn’t hang out very often as a trio. They had their thing, and April and I had mine. Then things started to get rough. April didn’t want to talk about it, even though I always offered. But I didn’t push, and April seemed to be content with sighing and mentioning some kind of “drama” and leaving it at that. Besides, all this was going down just as April and I were firming up our LA plans. In fact, the worse things seemed to be with Gia, the more intense April got about making our escape real. At the time, I figured it was just one of a bunch of things pushing her out of the Fae world and towards the glory that is the human realm. I felt the same way, too, albeit maybe not as intensely.
But now, with Gia here, I have to wonder if there was something more to their friend breakup than I’ve been privy to.
“I do go out sometimes,” Gia says. Her voice is bright, light. Friendly. I keep my eyes narrow, but give her a very, very slim benefit of the doubt. If I can avoid ruining my birthday party with some kind of showdown, that’d be ideal. “You know, to see human stuff. I’m sure you understand that the Invisible Cities get...” She sighs. “Dull.”
That I do. I nod. Beneath us, the music pulses, and a lazy breeze pushes at my hair, sends a shiver skittering over my skin, not unpleasantly. I clutch my glass, wanting to get back to everything, not wanting to babysit or even engage with Gia particularly.
“You’re going to kick me out,” she says, after a moment.
“What?” I jerk my full attention back to her. “No. I don’t care if you’re here.” I keep my own voice blithe and carefree too. Because, honestly, who cares if she’s here?
Maybe April will, a voice says in my head.
But I push it away. I don’t want drama right now; I really don’t.
“You’re here to party. So am I,” I go on. I shrug. “So whatever. It’s not like we have a limit on how many Fae can visit.”
A strange expression crosses Gia’s face, a combination of relief and curiosity.
“Sorry, Gia, but I really have to get back to my guests,” I say, with an apologetic smile. I push gently past her to the doors.
“Yeah, sure,” she
says, her tone inscrutable. “Hey, Emerald, it’s your birthday, right?”
I broaden my smile. “Yep. Well, technically tomorrow. We’re ringing it in at midnight.”
“Midnight,” Gia repeats. “Cool. Well, I brought you a present, if you want it. It’s downstairs.”
“Really?” The unexpected generosity takes me aback, but not in a bad way. I mean, who doesn’t like presents? And if this is Gia’s way of starting to bury whatever hatchet she has with April, then...I probably shouldn’t stand in the way, right?
“Wow,” I say. “You didn’t have to. I mean, thank you. Hey...” I charge ahead, the vodka soda pushing words out of my mouth without a chance for me to think. “April’s around somewhere if you want to say hi.”
Gia nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“Your present’s downstairs,” she repeats, her voice swimming a little in my mind. Okay, definitely need a lighter pour on the next one or else I’m never going to stay awake until midnight.
“Cool,” I say. “Thanks! That really was thoughtful.”
As I clop my way down the balcony stairs towards the main hub of the party, I have to admit that I feel a little touched. Like I said, Gia and I weren’t close, didn’t have anything in common beyond April, really, but if she wanted to show up with a present at my birthday party...
Wait a second.
I pause, swaying just a bit as I step out onto the patio flagstones.
I didn’t know this was your house, or else...
I turn to crane my neck at the balcony, but Gia’s gone. Back instead the house, or maybe gone entirely.
The music pounds in the core of my chest. If she didn’t know this was our house...why’d she show up with a present? Or was she lying?
And if so, about what?
My head spins.