The Faerie King

by Ash Fitzsimmons

  The process was novel for us both. Meggy had dated Jack Horn in high school, but their relationship had largely been built around school and the things that might come after—Jack would go east for college and pray for a spot in the NFL, Meggy would wait for him in Arizona, and in the far distant future, they’d start a family. They had been children, still figuring themselves out over hamburgers and cheap beer. By the time Meggy realized she didn’t want Jack, she was pregnant, I was gone, and Jack was dying. She had never dated anyone but Jack, and suddenly, she found herself married and a mother—and too soon, a widow with a missing child. She hadn’t felt like exploring a new relationship while she put her life back together.

  That said, if Meggy was a bit out to sea on the particulars of adult courtship, I was clinging to a life raft in the middle of the ocean, trying to keep my head on the right side of the water. I’d never dated—the few relationships I’d had before Meggy, if you could fairly call them relationships, were brief and largely sexual. What made our evenings stranger was the fact that we had a history. My prior understanding was that dating is supposed to be about getting to know someone and whether you would like to eventually climb in bed together, but that wasn’t the case with Meggy—I knew her, I liked her, and whether I chose to admit it to myself, I’d very much enjoyed the events that led to Olive. Then again, I soon realized that the Meggy I’d known was a young woman barely out of her teens. This Meggy, who drank vodka martinis at dinner and listened to the Ramones when she was tidying her store, was in many aspects a stranger to me, a creature hinted at by her younger incarnation but hardened by too much grief, too young. She was still unsure around me—in one moment, laughing at a joke we’d made twenty years before, in the next, squinting slightly at me with her head cocked, perhaps looking for traces of the man she’d known in my face. But as the weeks of our re-acquaintance grew into months, I noticed more laughter and less reticence, and I saw the Meggy I knew in this other Meggy’s eyes.

  I loved her. I had loved her, and I loved the person she had become. But it was far too early to press her to move in with me, not when Meggy had yet to come to terms with who and what she and I were. If she needed to pretend that we were two ordinary friends meeting for Chinese and sex with a view to something more, I could play along. I knew she was working through the cognitive dissonance inherent in our relationship. Meggy had been dealing with Arcanum contacts long enough to cultivate a mistrust of faeries—and now, not only was she fae, but I kept showing up, wanting to buy her dinner. If it made her happier to focus on books and movies and songs I’d never heard, I wasn’t going to make a fuss.

  Still, even if Meggy and I had our uncertain moments, at least I could rest comfortably knowing that no one was trying to kill my girlfriend. The same couldn’t be said for my brother.

  Simply put, I had no clue what to do with Aiden. I’d felt terrible about abandoning him with Joey for most of his first day in the realm, but when I stopped by after seeing Grivam off to look for leftover mutton, I found Aiden sound asleep in the new loft and Joey stretched out by the fire, feeding blackened bits of meat to Georgie by hand. “He’s fine,” Joey assured me, passing the platter of rare, yet well-charred, chops. “Tuckered out. He’s been a big help, really.”

  After dinner, I floated Aiden, still unconscious, to his room, leaving Joey to spend another night alone with his dragon, who sent up psychic distress calls if he was out of her sight for five minutes. Eventually, I collapsed into bed myself, making a note to catch up with Aiden—hell, to try to get to know Aiden—over breakfast. When morning came, however, he was nowhere to be found in the palace, and after a few minutes’ frantic search, I tracked him back to the barn, where he was shoveling muck at Joey’s side. We said our awkward hellos, and I told him I’d be in my office if he needed anything.

  He never came by.

  That evening, I sent an aide down to the barn to bring Joey to my office. He jogged in ten minutes later, closed the door behind him, and picked a piece of straw out of his hair as he headed for my desk. “You wanted to see me?” he asked, smoothing a stray lock back into place.

  I held out my hand and beckoned for the straw, then incinerated it and sank onto one of the couches. “I’ve got to take Aiden home tonight,” I said, watching Joey claim the couch opposite mine. “Promised his mother.”

  “Okay. I’ll see that he gets a shower. Don’t want him going back smelling like manure, eh?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Joey waited for a moment for a follow-up that didn’t come, then frowned, leaned over his knees, and rested his chin in his palm. “What’s up, boss?”

  I sighed and massaged my scalp. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Aiden. He’s avoiding me.”

  Joey steepled his fingers and glanced at the ceiling. “He’s working through a mess right now, Colin. You’ve got to give him time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Aiden grow up Arcanum?” he replied, giving me a knowing look. “Come on, man, don’t make me spell it out for you.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed. “I’m still the Antichrist?”

  “Hail, Damien,” Joey said with a snort, then leaned back against the cushions and shrugged. “Okay, it’s not quite that bad. He’s working through it. Keeps telling me you’ve been awesome—his word, not mine,” he added, “but he’s twitchy as hell right now. I’m pretty sure that little revelation from Val didn’t help the situation.” He paused, then folded his arms and waited for me to look back at him. “Don’t take it personally, eh? You’re a lot to take in, even in ideal circumstances, and this ain’t ideal by a long shot.”

  “I just thought we’d made progress,” I muttered.

  “Well, he’s not rocking in the corner, so I’d say it’s a start.” Joey flashed a conspiratorial half-smile. “Listen, there’s this stable hand on the Faire circuit, Rodney Delgado. You want to talk about horse whisperers, that guy’s a friggin’ magician—and yes, I meant to say that,” he rushed, catching my smirk. “Anyway, I saw a lot of him during the summers growing up. He’s the kind of guy who’ll sit there and listen, not say anything, just let you vent.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And when you’ve explained how the universe hates you and your parents are completely uncool, and unfair, and lots of other things that start with un-, he puts a handle in your hand and sets you to work. And by the end of whatever he’s told you to do, you’re tired and sore in places you didn’t know you had, but you feel better about life.”

  I nodded. “And this is why you’ve had Aiden shoveling shit for two days?”

  “More or less. If he’s exhausted, he’s less likely to worry about all the messy ways to die here.”

  “I suppose I owe you one, Joey.”

  He grunted. “Nah. Aiden needed a sounding board, and I haven’t had much company of late—we’re good. I like him.”

  “You do?”

  Joey rolled his eyes. “Well, I mean—youths, you know. But he’s got potential.”

  I chuckled. “You’re not one to talk about youths, kid.”

  “Me?” he replied in wide-eyed mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a well-seasoned, well-adjusted man of the world.”

  “You’re barely twenty-five.”

  “I’m a mature twenty-five,” he countered.

  “We’ll continue this conversation once you’ve reached your centennial,” I said, and pushed myself off the couch. “Okay, I did promise I’d swing Aiden by his parents’ apartment. Once he’s presentable, would you send him this way?”

  “I’ll do you one better and escort him because I’m a mature guy like that,” said Joey, then touched an imaginary hat brim and let himself out.

  An hour later, as I watched the stars rise out my office’s bay windows, Joey rapped on the door and led Aiden in, clean once more if still somewhat damp. “Have fun, I guess,” he said, and showed himself out as
quickly as he’d come.

  Aiden straightened the collar of his golf shirt and cleared his throat. “So, uh…we’re going back to Montana?”

  “I promised your mother,” I replied, maintaining what I hoped was a non-threatening distance. “And…you know, we can stay as long as you like. Or you can stay permanently, if that’s what you’d prefer. I mean,” I rushed, “no pressure, you’re welcome here, but if you’d rather, um…stay…”

  “I don’t think this’ll take too long,” he replied a few seconds later, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between us. “Can we get it over with?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I stepped around the desk and gestured at the wall, and a gate opened into Greg’s office. “Look, Aiden, before we go…”

  His eyes met mine, and I struggled to read what was written there. The kid’s face was a mask but for a few minor tells, a slow tic at his left eye, a tension wrinkle between his eyebrows, a certain tightness around his mouth. In other words, nervous and trying not to show it.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said quietly. “Not intentionally, I mean—accidents happen—but I won’t make plans to do you ill. And I know it’s asking a lot of you, but please try to believe me.”

  He studied me for a moment, then folded his arms and nodded.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy of late,” I continued as Aiden hugged himself. “You’ve yet to even have a proper tour, and that’s my fault. I just, uh…well, you and Joey seemed to be getting on, and…I didn’t want to intrude.”

  Aiden mulled that over, then looked back at me. “You’re not mad?”

  “Mad? At you? Whatever for?”

  He shrugged. “After what Val said…about me—”

  “Moon and stars,” I sighed, cutting his explanation short. “Aiden, if I were angry with anyone over that, the very last person on my list would be you.”

  It could have been my imagination, but I thought I saw his shoulders relax a degree. “I didn’t want to make things worse,” he said in a rushed mumble, “and Joey let me hang out, and Georgie wants a lot of attention…”

  I waited until he ran out of steam, then said, “If you’re having fun with Joey, that’s great. I don’t want to interrupt. But, uh…you know, if you…you get bored or something…”

  Aiden glanced at the open gate. “We should probably—”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” I waited until he was through, then stepped across after him and closed the gate behind me. The realm sent up its usual mental protest at my departure, but I’d become more adept at ignoring it and pushed it to the back of my mind. I sniffed deeply, conscious of the odd smell of the air—recycled and dry, yes, but also devoid of much of the scent of magic to which I’d grown numb of late. Funny, I mused, how quickly one acclimates and forgets.

  Greg’s office was empty, and Aiden looked around at the bookcases and wet bar nervously. “Are we supposed to be in here?” he whispered.

  “Probably not,” I replied, heading for the beverages, “but there’s not much Greg can do about it, and I doubt he wants me taking a self-guided tour of the silo. I trust you know the way home?”

  He headed for the door, but looked back before leaving. “You’re not coming?”

  I snorted and reached for a tumbler. “I’d rather not get into a fight with your parents, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Good call,” he said, sounding relieved, and slipped off down the darkened hallway.

  Shortly after I’d settled onto the couch with a glass of small-batch bourbon and a three-year-old National Geographic, the door opened again. I glanced up over my magazine, and the gray-haired newcomer harrumphed as she crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “Why am I not surprised?” she muttered.

  “Hello, Missy,” I replied, turning back to the article I’d left. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Small chance of that.” She walked around the room to Greg’s desk and pulled something flat and slim off the blotter. “You here to see him?”

  “No. Just waiting.”

  Missy sniffed and leaned against the wall. “So I’m supposed to leave you alone with Greg’s things, am I? His computer? All the Arcanum records?”

  I looked up again, holding my finger on my place. “Do I look like I’m here to dig through your files?”

  She cut her eyes to his desk and the darkened computer monitor.

  “I don’t touch the damn things,” I added, following her glance. “Greg knows that. Really, don’t let me keep you.”

  I could feel her eyes on me as I bent back to my reading. After a moment of listening to the wall clock tick, she asked, “How’s the view up there?”

  “Up where?”

  “On your high horse. Must be nice.”

  Sighing, I closed the magazine and put it aside. “Be plain, would you? It’s been a long week.”

  “You know what I’m talking about.” She put her flat thing aside—something computer-related, I supposed, seeing no practical use for it—and stared at me over the back of the opposite sofa. “Tell me, what’s it like being right all the time? Knowing everything there is to know about Arcanum politics? Oh, wait—you don’t, do you?”

  Her sarcasm was trying my patience, but I knew nothing good would come of unnecessarily antagonizing Missy Harrison. “I’m going to assume you’re hinting at something related to Aiden. In that case, yes, I think Greg fucked up in a colossal way, and all of your wit and charm isn’t going to change my mind. Anything else?”

  She shook her head, and her short hair barely bounced with her displeasure. “You’ve got some nerve, faerie boy,” she muttered.

  “As do you.”

  “I’m not the one sneaking into other people’s offices uninvited.”

  “I’m waiting for my brother,” I replied, picking up my drink. “Where else would you like me to go?”

  Her thin eyebrows rose. “You really want to know?”

  “Good night, Missy.”

  “Oh no,” she retorted, “as long as you’re here, you’re going to hear me out.”

  I sighed and folded my arms in mimicry of hers. “If this is the Batman speech, Greg already gave it.”

  “Just shut your mouth and listen,” she said, glaring down at me. “That man has done a damn fine job keeping this organization from imploding, all right? And sometimes, for the greater good, he’s made decisions he didn’t want to make. Believe me, I’ve been hearing about it almost every night since 1970.”

  I stared back at her, drumming my fingers on my knee.

  “Howard didn’t want that boy,” Missy continued. “Half the Council wanted to pack him off to foster care, and a few magi—I’m not going to name names, but it was more than three—suggested putting him back up top and letting the cold take care of the problem. That child is alive right now—”

  “You could have brought him to me from the start.”

  “Right, because you have such an excellent track record with children,” she snapped. “Let’s see, late nineties—were you still snorting then, or were you just an old drunk?”

  She had a point, and I felt my neck begin to flush. “Be careful.”

  “Or what? You’re going to strike me dead in my husband’s office?” She grunted and rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, did I upset you?”

  “I’d tell you to go screw yourself, but that wouldn’t be polite.”

  “Such a gentleman,” she said with a smirk. “And I’m not finished yet. You know the Matherson boy? Want to know why he’s still around?”

  I put my drink on the table and leaned back against the sofa. “Because Mrs. Matherson knows which is the business end of a sword?”

  “And because Greg didn’t let the Council kill him before June ever had a chance to swing that sword,” she said quietly. “I’m not even going to get started on little Ms. Pavli.”

  “All right,” I said, “he didn’t kill three children. Does that generally warrant a medal among you people, or am I missing something?”


  “I’m saying he did the best he could.” Missy planted her hands on the back of the couch and gave me an unblinking stare. “Let me put it in terms you’ll understand. If Greg upsets the Council enough, they’ll kick him out. Then we won’t have a clear succession. There could be multiple contenders. Couple three grand magi running around, each claiming he’s the real one. Hell, you might get a grand magus out of each installation. Know what happened the last time we had a problem like that?”

  “Great War,” I replied, holding her gaze.

  “Uh-huh. You want to go through another one of those?”

  “Wouldn’t be my problem, would it?”

  She seemed taken aback at that. “The Arcanum eats itself alive, and that’s not your problem?”

  “Nope.” I glanced at the ceiling tiles. “What’s the Arcanum’s refrain…ah, right, ‘We don’t get involved in court politics.’ Works both ways, my dear.”

  Missy slowly shook her head. “I have no idea how he’s put up with you this long.”

  “Because,” I said, going to my feet for a moment’s height leverage, “Greg knows I’m not the enemy. I’m the closest thing to an ally you have.” Her defiant stare didn’t waiver as I finished my drink. “So you can make excuses for him all you want, Missy, but he knows damn well why I’m peeved. That’s not some poor little foundling he kept alive out of the goodness of his heart—that’s my brother. And I saw too well what Greg’s kindness looks like.”

  She sniffed. “Since when has family mattered to any of you?”

  “Since someone named him Aiden.”

  Before Missy could snap back at me, the door opened again, and Aiden slipped into the room. “Magus,” he mumbled, glancing at her. “Um…am I interrupting?”

  “That was quick,” I interjected. “Is everything—”

  “Can we go?”

  “Sure.” I reopened the gate, traded a final look with Missy, then followed Aiden back into my office. When the gate was closed again, I asked, “What happened?”