by Selena Kitt
“You weren’t single for long,” Gloria’s husband interjects.
“It’s true.” Gloria sighs, looking at her husband. “Steve came back home and made it pretty clear he was still interested.”
“Oh no…” The irony makes me cringe. She’d given up their baby, thinking things were over, but then he came back home and wanted to get back together!
“Oh yes.” Gloria nods, the absurdity of it all showing in her eyes. “We started seeing each other again. But I still didn’t tell him.”
“She waited until I asked her to marry me.”
“There he was, on one knee with a ring, asking me to marry him,” Gloria says. “And I burst into tears and said, ‘I can’t marry you, I had your baby!’”
“That must have been a shock,” Rick replies, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, but once I knew… well, we tried to find her,” Steve says “We told the adoption agency we were interested in being contacted, if she ever expressed an interest…”
“It was a closed adoption,” Gloria tells me across the table. “We didn’t know who adopted her.”
“I ended up in foster care,” Maya says, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “And my original records disappeared.”
“They disappeared?” I looked between Maya and her mother, incredulous.
“They said they couldn’t find them. Something about a computer crash, I don’t know.” Maya shrugs, taking along gulp of wine. “So I didn’t know they were looking for me.”
“And we didn’t know she was looking for us.” Gloria touches her daughter’s hand
“Zeph did a reading on me and he said he thought my parents were close by.” Maya smiles at Zeph and I feel that sharp zing of jealousy in my middle. “In the same town maybe.”
Then Maya looks at me, cocking her head, quizzical.
“You know he’s psychic, right?” she asks.
“Yes.” Of course I know he’s psychic. I also know he’s a vampire. That’s a fact Maya doesn’t know, and for some reason, that makes me feel better.
“I was going to take her to… another friend of mine,” Zeph explains. “Someone who’s even better than I am.”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I scoff, nudging him under the table like I saw Gloria do to Steve.
“I’ll let you meet him.” Zeph smiles, but I see a little sadness in it, and I know it will never happen. I’ll never meet any more of Zeph’s friends, because I’ll be fey again, and they won’t be able to see me.
“That’s when the strangest coincidence happened,” Maya says, shaking her head as she looks between Zeph and her mother. “We were on our way to see this psychic friend of Zeph’s when I realized I’d forgotten to pick up my prescription…”
Of course, I already know about this coincidence. I’d been instrumental in making it happen. And she’ll never know it, I realize, looking at the wonder on Maya’s face. All the strange coincidences humans experience every day, all the near misses, they never knew it was the fey behind it all, looking out for them, through the voice of The Maker.
“I’d just started working at Walgreens the week before—I’m a pharmacist—and here comes Maya,” Gloria says, shaking her head in disbelief.
Little did they know, I think. So very little.
“I was so excited about going to Zeph’s psychic friend, I started talking to her about it while I was picking up my prescription,” Maya explains. She’s talking mostly to me and Zeph, because obviously everyone else already knows this story. But she’s also looking over at her mother, and they’re both telling it together, almost as if it’s happening again, right now.
“And before I know it, I’m telling her about a baby I gave up for adoption…” Gloria laughs and Maya does too. I can tell they’re reliving that strange, joyful moment. I remember Maya’s excitement when she came running out of the pharmacy, smiling too.
“But how did you know?” I ask. “I mean, how did you know for sure?”
“Her birthday,” Gloria replies. “It was the same day, same year.”
“Plus, look at us.” Maya leans toward her mother and they press their cheeks together so we can see them, side by side. It’s quite obvious, like that, the two of them cheek to cheek, the eyes, the nose, even the cheekbones. They’re both very pretty women.
“The resemblance is striking,” Zeph says, smiling.
“So I found my birth mother, but I didn’t realize I’d also found my birth father too.” Maya smiles at Steve and I see him smile back, just a little. There’s pain there, in those eyes, but there’s love too.
“Any brothers or sisters?” I inquire, looking down at my empty plate with an inward sigh. Somehow I’ve eaten my entire Christmas dinner without really thinking about it, because I’ve been so engrossed in the story.
“No,” Gloria replies, shaking her head and looking at her husband.
“I came back from Iraq with no swimmers,” Steve explains, sitting back in his chair, arms crossed. His plate is empty too, I notice.
“Swimmers?” I look at him, confused, then at Zeph.
“Low sperm-count.” Gloria lowers her voice when she says this, as if someone might overhear. “Something in the water over there I guess.”
“More like something in the chemical weapons.”
“So we couldn’t have any more children,” Gloria says, putting a hand on her husband’s arm.
“But you have Maya now,” Zeph says, leaning back in his chair too. He’s just picked at his food, but I know he’s not hungry. He’s never hungry, at least not for food. His hand is back on my thigh, his fingers massaging the little bruises there, making me shiver.
“Yes, and we’re grateful.” Gloria looks at her daughter, eyes wet.
“So am I, Mom.” Maya dabs her own eyes with a napkin.
“It’s a beautiful story,” I tell them, drinking the last of my wine. I understand now why humans like it so much. I feel relaxed and happy and warm now.
“So how did you two meet?” Maya asks, turning to look at me and Zeph. Her gaze follows the line of his arm, which leads directly to my lap.
“Um…” I blink, looking at Zeph to save me, wondering what to say.
“Hey, what do we have for dessert?” Zeph asks, plucking his cloth napkin from his lap and dropping it into his plate to cover the food he hasn’t eaten.
“Dessert?” I perk up as Maya takes her cue and stands, helping her mother clear the plates. “What’s for dessert?”
“Oh we have three kinds of pie,” Gloria says, taking my plate and Zeph’s.
She goes on, listing what flavors of pie, but I can’t really hear her because Zeph’s whispering into my ear what he’s going to eat for dessert.
It involves pie too, he says, but an entirely different kind.
Chapter Thirteen
We both can’t stand to waste any time. Zeph’s hand is under my skirt the whole way back to his house, making me moan and arch in the passenger seat. His fingers press and probe but it isn’t enough. I want him, and I can’t wait. The minute he pulls into the driveway, I’m in his lap, straddling him, and before I know it, my skirt is up to my waist, the Wal-Mart panties with a day of the week printed on the them—Tuesday I think, although today is Saturday—pulled aside, and Zeph is inside me.
We rock and cling to each other, and I find myself sobbing as we make love. It’s too much pleasure, too much pain. The intensity of my own feelings overwhelms me. Even as I’m climaxing, shuddering in his arms, feeling his stiff, throbbing length as he empties himself up into me, I have tears rolling down my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Sam,” he whispers, holding me close, kissing my wet cheeks. “I love you, I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
“It’s not enough,” I sniff, holding on even tighter, as if by clinging to him, I might be able to stay. “I love you, Zeph. I do. But…”
How could I tell him that loving, that love, isn’t enough. The pain of losing someone is too great. Being wi
th the one you love, that’s everything. I saw it in Gloria’s eyes, in Steve’s. I’d seen what it had done to Maya over the years, being without her parents. I just found Zeph, and it doesn’t matter to me what he is, what I am, whatever state of being we’re in. I love him, and loving him means I want to be with him. Not just now, not just in this moment, but forever.
I’d been curious about lust when I was fey, but hadn’t fully understood it until I was human. Lust is something fleeting, easily sated. Like hunger. It might come back again, but it’s transient, something temporary. Love, that’s something else altogether.
I hadn’t counted on love.
Love is far more powerful, profound, and compelling. Lust takes over my body, but love takes over my whole being. I ache all over, just thinking about being separated from him. I know I can see him again, when I’m fey, that he’ll be able to see me. We can talk, be together—but it will never be like this again.
“But what, little one?” he whispers.
“I don’t want to go.” I don’t turn to look at the clock on the dash but I know what it says. It’s close, the witching hour. I feel it. Already my body feels like it isn’t mine. Like my soul, the part of me that goes on forever, is on its way. I want to tether it, anchor it here. “I want to be with you.”
“I know.” He gives a shuddering sigh, his face buried against my neck. “I want it too.”
It’s longing beyond longing. I can’t stand it, can’t contain it.
“Where are you going?” Zeph calls, but I’m already out of the car, stumbling through a foot of snow, turning in circles and screaming up at the stars.
I think I’m a little drunk.
Why had they allowed me to become human, even for a moment? I understand now why so few requests like mine are ever granted. Knowing love is bliss. Knowing loss is hell.
“Sam!” he calls to me and I throw my arms out wide in surrender, falling back into a freezing cold snow bank.
“I’m making an angel!” I move my limbs in the way I’ve seen children do in the snow. “Come make an angel with me!”
“You’re going to freeze to death!” Zeph laughs but he trudges over, falling back into the snow beside me and doing the same. My breath goes out into the cold night air in white streams, up toward the stars and the eye of the moon.
“Hold my hand.” I reach out for his and feel his palm against mine. “Now our angels are holding hands.”
But I know they won’t last. It’s all so transient, so brief. Zeph’s eyes meet mine in the moonlight and I see he feels it too.
“I want forever,” I whisper. I might be human now, but the fey in me knows forever is possible. It’s a paradox that hurts. This snow, this flesh, this world—it’s all temporary.
“You’ll have it again,” he says, looking sad. “It’s not long now. You’ll be fey, and forever will be yours again.”
“No!” I shiver, my teeth chattering. My skirt is soaking wet. I’ve left my stylish little jacket in the car. I can’t feel my bare legs in the snow—they’re numb with cold. And I don’t care. “I want forever with you!”
“Oh Sam.” He holds out his arms and I roll toward him, letting him enfold me. I am on him completely, no part of me touching the freezing ground underneath now, and I wish I could climb inside him and hide. “My sweet, beautiful girl.”
“You’re immortal, Zeph.” My cheek rests on his chest. There’s no heart beating there. He can’t die, because he’s not alive. But he’s here, with me. “Make me immortal, like you.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is hoarse, pained. “Won’t you miss it?”
“Being fey?” I shake my wet head. “Not as much as I’ll miss you.”
“But what about The Maker?” He speaks of these things like he knows them, but he swears he was never one of us. How is it possible? “Won’t you miss it? That constant presence…?”
I hesitate, remembering. When I was fey, The Maker had always been there. It was a voice in my head, guiding me, giving me direction. I was always connected. As a human, that connection is gone. I can’t feel it anymore. Although there are moments—sometimes when I’m making love with Zeph, or when I decorated the Christmas tree—when I feel it again. Briefly, but it’s there, if just for a moment.
“I feel it now, sometimes,” I tell him. “Not often, but…”
“If I turn you—Sam, you won’t ever feel it again.” His arms tighten around me. “You’ll be cut off from The Maker. Forever. That’s what turning is. It turns you away from The Maker.”
“Like you,” I whisper with a shiver, trying to wrap my mind around what it means. The absence of that presence was one of the first things I noticed when I became human.
“You don’t want that.” Zeph kisses the top of my head. “You don’t want to be like me.”
“Tell me who you are,” I plead with him, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Who is Char? Who is Muriel?”
Zeph studies me in the moonlight, searching my face, and I know he’s searching my mind too. I don’t hide it from him, what I saw, what I overheard.
“Vampire.” He says the word with such bitterness. “From the Turkish ubyr, meaning witch. Or the Russian netopyr, meaning bat. They’re all wrong, little one. I don’t have wings anymore.”
“Anymore… what do you mean?” I cock my head. “You said you weren’t fey?”
“We don’t have long,” Zeph reminds me, his voice hoarse, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to waste time—”
“Yes!” I insist, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Don’t try to distract me from it. Tell me the truth.”
“The truth,” he repeats softly. “I wonder who knows the truth. All of it, I mean. They don’t tell you everything, little one. The Maker doesn’t want you to know.”
“What are you talking about? How do you know?”
“I know more than you do, but not much. Not enough.” He sighs, grabbing my hands in midair. I’d been about to beat them against his chest in frustration. “Sam, you’re one of the bright fey. You do what The Maker asks, and everything you do undoes something else.”
I stare at him. His words have stopped me. I’m barely breathing.
“But you’re not the only ones.” He lets go of my wrists, eyes glinting silver in the moonlight. “There are dark fey, Sam. And the dark fey belong to The unMaker.”
“The… what?”
“They don’t let you see each other,” Zeph goes on as I struggle to make sense of his words. “The unMaker sends the dark fey to wreak havoc and The Maker sends the bright fey, like you, behind them to clean up the mess, as much as possible. And neither of you know the other exists.”
I try to take this in. The fey have only ever learned things on a need-to-know basis. I always thought this was because we would be less likely to protest or interfere. It’s absolutely verboten to not fulfill an assignment or to question one, but sometimes we can’t help ourselves. Sometimes we question the fates of humans. Sometimes we get too personally involved.
But can Zeph really be telling the truth? Are there other beings like us, dark twins, who push children into the street and force us to follow behind to pull them out? Is there another, more sinister force out there, trying to unmake everything as soon as The Maker has created it? And if this is true—why haven’t I ever heard of it?
“I’m not like you, Sam.” Zeph touches my cheek, his fingers cold. “I’m not fey. I’m… I was… I guess humans call them angels? My full name is Zephiel.”
Zephiel.
“You were an angel?” I tilt my head at him is disbelief. The word brings a smile to my face. I have all the human visions of angels dancing in my head. It’s just the way they must imagine fairies—or vampires. It seems too incredulous to believe, and every distortion takes me away from the truth. I remember watching It’s a Wonderful Life and wonder if it’s true, if an angel gets its wings every time a bell rings. Probably more silliness, like pixie dust and sugarpl
ums.
“We all have jobs, like you,” he tells me. “Some of us are messengers. Some are watchers. I was a protector. A guardian.”
“A guardian angel?” I raise my eyebrows. First vampires—now guardian angels?
“Hey, if I can believe in fairies…” He flashes a smile and I know he’s read my mind. My stupid, vulnerable human mind. I’m an open book to him. “I protected children, specifically. They were my charges.”
“All of them? That’s a big job.” Of course, this explains why he’s teaching in a preschool. Maybe we can’t really ever get away from our true natures, I think.
“No, just the ones assigned to me.” He smiles, teeth a flash of brightness in the moonlight. “One of those children was Maya.”
“Maya,” I repeat softly, thinking of the way he looks at her, how he tries to help her. It makes me jealous, but I’m beginning to understand. “So… what happened?”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes are on the sky, far away.
“One of the dark fey came to kill her,” he says finally.
“To kill Maya?”
“She wasn’t born yet,” he says. “She wasn’t even breathing yet. But she had a heartbeat.”
The realization hits me like a blow to the gut.
“The abortion?” I whisper. “The one Gloria decided not to have?”
“I knew The unMaker had sent his little minion to do his work.” The anger and bitterness in Zeph’s voice is frightening. “The dark fey aren’t like you, Sam. They… they’re mean, devious, vicious. Everything The unMaker needs them to be. But The Maker doesn’t allow us to interfere. Angels aren’t allowed to change the course of fate. We can’t stop the fey. We can’t do anything but watch. The only protection we can offer is against human forces, not the fey.”
This is all new information and I’m trying to process it as fast as I can. There’s only one thing I can say, given what I know, but it’s woefully inadequate.
“The Maker must have had a reason…” I tell him. I’m shivering and he holds me closer.
“I know.” Zeph looks grim. “And even knowing that, I couldn’t do it. I don’t know what it was about this one child, this one instance…”