Faerie Unraveled

by Linda Jordan

  He slid into the water, loving the feel of its cool saltiness, enjoying the surf. Still, even here there was a bit of melancholy. He missed the clean swiftness of the upper Liffey. The oceans were always confused about which direction they wanted to flow. A river generally knew what it wanted. At least until it got to the ocean. Then they often flowed upstream with the high tides.

  He swam beneath the surface for a long while. Reveling in breathing water in and out, cleansing himself. He hadn’t allowed himself to do that in so long. He wasn’t going anyplace in particular. Just swimming. The waning half moon rose in a mostly cloudless sky. It shone down beneath the waves.

  After a time Dylan caught the scent of fear from an angel shark. It streaked past him. Followed by a pod of orca. Equally terrified. He turned and swam after them. Trying to discern what they were afraid of.

  If they were afraid, so should he be.

  He swam as fast as he could, feeling something coming up behind him. Not large, but the threat was dark. Evil.

  He couldn’t catch the orca or the shark. He wasn’t that strong a swimmer. And he was out of shape. He headed for land.

  Dylan gasped for breath.

  Felt himself overtaken.

  Wrapped in cold darkness.

  Colder than even he could stand.

  Frozen.

  Filled with fear.

  He stopped. Paralyzed.

  And was taken.

  Chapter 3 ~ Egan

  Egan stood in the bustling kitchen, the calm at the center of a storm. He wiped his hands on the green apron covering his jeans and red T-shirt. A red bandana held back his black hair.

  This was his world.

  He loved the kitchen best of all. The chartreuse walls, the color of unripe peppers, contrasting with the steel counters and equipment. The floors were made of concrete, painted red to match many of the chiles used in the cafe. And covered with black mats at work stations to ease the workers’ feet.

  A driving beat played over the kitchen sound system, keeping everyone moving and on task. A good kitchen worked like a dance. Everyone doing what they were supposed to, where they were supposed to. Balancing, juggling and adapting to the circumstances.

  The spicy tomato soup smelled just right. He took a spoon and tasted the green chili sauce, set two more chilies down in front of Andre and motioned for him to add them to the sauce. Heat filled his mouth and throat, but not enough. This batch of peppers wasn’t as hot as usual. The weather had been unsettled when they were ripening. Not hot and dry enough. Hopefully, the next shipment would be better.

  He watched the new dishwasher. The boy kept putting dishes into the racks which still had large chunks of food on them. Then he put a plate in letting the silverware drop into the bottom of the washer.

  Egan walked across the kitchen to Kevin, the head chef, and said, “You need to retrain the new boy. Now. Before he breaks the dishwasher.”

  Kevin nodded, watched the boy for a few minutes and went over to talk to him.

  Egan made a walk through of the kitchen, checking the plates that were going out. Making adjustments to a few of them. Checking temperatures of the roasted chickens coming out of the oven.

  This was what he lived for. This ballet of staff and food. The smells, the tastes combined to form an alchemy of sensation. They worked towards a common goal.

  To give their customers the best possible dining experience. To connect them with their senses and with the natural world.

  He left the kitchen and entered the inside dining room. It was half full. Not bad for a Santa Fe First Friday before eight P.M. Things would heat up after that, as the art patrons wandered over from the galleries. By ten the place would be packed.

  Afro-Latin Jazz played softly over the sound system. Loud enough to cut the silence of the large, airy room and mask clattering dishes, soft enough to have a conversation over.

  He was struck once again with how the terra cotta floor looked perfect with the eggplant colored walls. The designer had been right. Tropical vines with orange flowers grew on metal trellises attached to the walls giving impressions of abundance and lushness. The lighting was dim and romantic, candles glowed on each table. Everything was set up, white plates, chartreuse linen napkins.

  The bartender was flirting madly with one of the men sitting at the bar. Perhaps a bit too much. He’d check back again later. Perhaps she needed talking to. He’d ask Maria, one of the waitresses, who never missed anything.

  Egan walked outside. He stood in front of one of the patio heaters, savoring the warmth it put out. Even though the temperature outside was still in the high 60’s. The warmest it had been so far this spring. He loved the heat. It was his element.

  The outdoor dining room was already full. People basking in the twinkle lights and the beginning of the warm temperatures for the year.

  The outside was enclosed by adobe walls, also lined with metal trellises and vines. A dark purple awning, which could easily be rolled up depending on weather conditions, covered the entire patio.

  Tonight was the first night they’d opened up the outside room. It had been a mess after winter. It had taken a full week to get storm debris cleaned up, get everything hosed down and furniture moved out.

  He’d hired out the planting of the pots to a local garden store. They’d done a beautiful job, the patio was now filled with large, lush tropical plants with red, yellow and orange flowers. Some of the foliage was dark purple which made a nice contrast.

  Since it was still a bit chilly out, he’d need to keep a couple of the patio heaters going all night for the plants until the nighttime temperatures warmed up.

  The cafe was nearly perfect. Everything running as it should.

  He looked at the people next. Wait staff seemed to be doing their job. The customers looked happy. They were eating and laughing.

  Everything was as it should be.

  So why did he feel anxious? Something felt wrong. Not just a little off. Completely wrong.

  He needed to be himself to understand. To let go of this human body and be who he was. Perhaps later tonight. After the rush.

  He pulled the phone from his jeans pocket and texted Tomas. Can I make glass tonight?

  Then Egan went back inside and stood in the shadows, looking at customers and watching the bartender. She was definitely flirting too much. Getting her job done, but too much flirting.

  His phone pinged back.

  Sure. I’ll be leaving at 10. Let yourself in and make sure you lock up and shut everything down when you go. I’ll leave the furnaces on.

  Egan smiled.

  Hopefully, in the heat he’d be able to figure out what was wrong.

  He glanced at the filling tables again. He recognized Samuel Fredrickson, a local reviewer. Well, it had to happen. Good to know he was in the house.

  Egan stepped back into the kitchen.

  “Okay, look lively people. We’ve got a reviewer up front. Let’s focus and do better than our best, okay?”

  “Sure boss,” said Kevin.

  His reply was echoed by the rest of the kitchen staff.

  They were a good bunch, his crew. Dependable, skilled and hard working. A few of them even had the gift of genius.

  Once a week, he and Kevin let each of the line cooks design a special menu item. That kept them excited and creative. A sort of competition had grown up between them, each trying to come up with something that would blow the others out of the water. They were each other’s competition, as well as biggest fans.

  The night moved quickly with nothing going wrong other than little things. The dishwasher, a homeless kid, would work out. Eventually.

  The bartender was another matter. Egan talked with her on her break and found she was slurring her words. He smelled her soda glass and it reeked with whisky. He fired her on the spot, giving her two weeks of extra pay and making her promise to get help. He called in another bartender and staffed the bar until she arrived.

  Egan wasn’t a great barte
nder. Didn’t have the gift of chitchat.

  After closing, he shut down the immaculate kitchen, turned off all but two of the outdoor heaters, set the alarm system and took the deposit to the bank. There wasn’t that much. Most people paid with cards these days. Still, he didn’t want it sitting around the cafe.

  He walked from the bank to Tomas’ shop. It was becoming chilly, might even get below freezing tonight. He was wrapped up in a warm wool jacket and wore gloves.

  The streets were still busy with people going to the few galleries still open or to late night cafes or bars. He went down the alley and frightened a cat away from its kill. Probably a rat. He didn’t look.

  He unlocked Tomas’ door and went in, locking it behind him. He punched in the code for the security system, then reset it.

  It was deliciously warm in the front room. He walked through the showroom, filled with glorious glass art in vibrant colors and fluid shapes, lit only by a few strands of dim lights.

  In the back, he turned lights on, shutting the door to the front room. He didn’t want customers seeing the light and knocking on the door.

  He didn’t want to be disturbed.

  The back room was all concrete. Gray and boring. Egan had a hard time understanding why Tomas had such a beautiful shop, but kept his workspace so ugly. Maybe it inspired him to make such beautiful art.

  The furnaces were running just fine. Egan took off his coat and gloves. He sat in an old wood chair close to the supplies, out of the main work area. Then he slid out of his human body. It slumped back in the chair, looking dead.

  Egan gazed back at it. Leaving it behind always made him feel sort of melancholy.

  His Fae body was humanoid, but hairless. His head, back and the tops of his arms were scaled in reds, oranges and yellows. As he’d aged, a bit of black had appeared. His skin had an orange tinge to it.

  He opened the largest furnace and crept inside. The opening was barely large enough to get his shoulders through and his body felt cramped. His lizard-like scales sucked in the heat coming from a heating element above. He pulled the door closed as much as he could from the inside and crouched in the heat. The surface of the furnace felt like rough concrete, although it was probably some sort of synthetic stone mixture. He closed his eyes, pretending the heat was actual flames.

  Someday, he’d buy a house way out in the country and build massive fires every night. And bask in their heat.

  Of course it wasn’t the same as it used to be. There used to be others. But they’d all retreated with the rest of Faerie. He hadn’t been able to let go of the world. He was older than most Fae. Had been alive since before the Earth cooled.

  He’d lived inside volcanoes most recently. Loved the sulfurous fumes.

  He loved the human world and he missed Faerie.

  There was no way he could have both.

  He went deeper inside himself.

  What was this danger he’d been feeling? It felt menacing. Dark and cold.

  He sensed confinement, restriction.

  Pain.

  He felt incredible pain.

  His limbs were frozen and he gasped in agony.

  It was real.

  He pulled himself back to reality.

  He couldn’t move.

  Egan found himself in a cold iron box.

  Which was moving.

  Every part of him was in torment.

  What was happening?

  He had no answers and finally his consciousness fled.

  Chapter 4 ~ Adaire

  Adaire glanced at the cloud filled sky. It felt like rain. Moisture gathered in the air, making it heavy. The street was nearly empty of traffic, since it was midday. But it was lined with parked cars.

  It must be nearly one. She hadn’t happily adopted the human concept of time, but she was trying to keep appointments.

  The planting strip was anchored with grand horse chestnut trees. They were all in bloom. This variety had coral pink flowers held upright on panicles larger than her head. The trees were glorious. They had a faint sweet scent that no human could ever smell.

  She turned the corner onto a side street and was astonished to find a large front garden almost completely filled with Rhodies. All in bloom at once. At least it was a stunning show.

  Adaire didn’t want to think about what it would look like in a couple of months. She believed in diversity. Nature planted that way. Humans should too.

  Two more blocks.

  She tugged at her black hoodie and glanced down at her khaki pants and work boots. Her long black hair tied back. She looked like a Gardening Coach. Professional. Like she knew her stuff.

  Which she did.

  She was a dryad in a human’s body. She understood plants at a level humans never could. She understood the soil and how it affected plants. And while masquerading as a human, she’d taught herself about their view of plants.

  Humans understood so little.

  She walked past gardens with scraggly unkempt foliage and a stray tulip or late daffodil cropping up. Other yards were completely barren, nothing but overgrown grass. Some front yards were completely filled with concrete.

  Those made her weep inwardly. Better to have covered it with gravel and beautiful rocks.

  Adaire kept going until she reached the address on her post-it note.

  The house was a Craftsman style built on a rare double lot. Rare for this part of the city at least. It looked like the dwelling had recently been repainted and shined up.

  The garden needed a lot of work.

  A hundred foot tall Douglas fir, which was struggling, had been planted far too close to the house and was awkwardly pruned off on the side next to the building. In the back yard stood a towering blue spruce which was brown and nearly bare, probably from spruce aphids.

  When would people in Seattle stop trying to grow blue spruce? The trees just weren’t meant to grow in the maritime Northwest.

  The garden was absolutely overgrown. Too many big shrubs in too small a space. None of them had enough room. They weren’t happy. The front garden was shaded by the fir and filled with fungal diseases. There was no air flow.

  She had no problems with funguses, but most humans wanted nice looking gardens with healthy plants. This one didn’t qualify.

  Would the back be worse or better? And how could she politely tell this woman her garden was a disaster?

  Adaire climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

  A pale woman with short blond hair answered. She was older, perhaps in her 50’s.

  “Are you Eleni?” asked Adaire.

  “Yes. Adaire?”

  Adaire nodded.

  “Oh, do come in. I need to get my shoes.”

  Adaire went inside the entry way and stood in an area where shoes were stacked neatly.

  Eleni sat on the bottom step of stairs which led to the second story. She tied a pair of running shoes.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  “No thank you. I just finished some before I left home,” said Adaire.

  She looked into the living room. Hardwood floors, Mission style, brown leather furniture and white walls with framed Impressionistic prints on them. The house looked immaculate and spare. Everything in its place. A mixture of hardness and softness.

  “Okay, where shall we start?” asked Eleni. “Front or back?”

  “Wherever you’d like,” Adaire said.

  “Let’s begin in front. Oh, I have so many questions. Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Adaire followed her out the front door, closing it behind them. They walked down the concrete steps and stood on the front sidewalk.

  Eleni said, “I just bought the house a month ago. I’ve always lived in apartments. So, I’m brand new at this. I just retired and I want to learn how to garden.”

  “Do you know what sort of garden you want?”

  She noticed Eleni had a clipboard with a pen stuck onto the clasp.

  “
I’ve been tearing pages out of magazines. I thought you could tell me what’s possible and what’s not.”

  Eleni turned the pages of blank paper back until she came to glossy magazine photos. Then she handed the clipboard to Adaire.

  Adaire looked through the pages of photos pulled from the pages of garden magazines. Exquisite gardens each of them, or they wouldn’t have been chosen for publication. Each one had a balance of evergreens and deciduous, perennial and annual, trees and shrubs. There was beautiful hardscaping and skilled stonework. Lovely garden art and beautiful water features.

  “These are all very ambitious gardens,” she said, looking at Eleni.

  “But could I do them?”

  “They require substantial money, unless you’re planning on doing the paths and fencing yourself. As far as the actual gardening, yes you could do that. It’s a matter of choosing the right plants for your space, but this sort of garden is extremely time consuming. All-consuming.”

  “I just retired. The house is perfect. I have no family. I’ll go mad unless I have an all consuming thing to do.”

  “Okay then. The only problem I have with nearly all the gardens you’ve chosen is that they’re full sun gardens. You’ve got that massive tree there that throws your front garden in complete shade. I’m guessing the spruce in the back yard does the same. It looks like it’s on the south side of your lot.”

  Eleni motioned for Adaire to follow her. She opened the warped gate made of old wire fencing and they went into the back.

  It was worse than the front. Rose bushes, stringy and covered with disease languished in the shade. A stray daffodil here and there managed to live with the shade. Mostly, it was buttercups and blackberry vines. No one had touched this garden in years.

  “Same problem back here,” said Adaire. “This was once a lovely full sun garden. Now, it’s all in shade. The spruce that’s making the shade here, plus the fir that’s out front, are both sick trees.”

  “Can they be saved?” Eleni asked.

  “The spruce isn’t suited to our climate. It’s got spruce aphids. It would take tons of chemicals to keep it alive. And it will never regrow the parts that are brown or bare. The fir out front, I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. You could call in an arborist, who could probably tell you one way or another.”