The Faerie King

by Ash Fitzsimmons

  She shook her head in silence.

  “Meg,” I tried, “I can’t protect you.”

  She continued to stare down at me, and I’d just accepted that all I was going to get from her that morning was the silent treatment when she muttered, “I told you, I don’t want protection. I’m going after my daughter, and so help me God, you’re not going to stop me. Is that clear?”

  “Please, Meggy. Don’t do this.”

  But she had said her piece and would offer nothing further, and I headed for the loft and my little group of refugees. Briefly, I mulled over the notion of compelling her to leave—overpowering her would have been a moment’s work, perhaps another forced sleep or enchanted paralysis—but I abandoned the idea as ludicrous before I hit the staircase. If I wanted Meggy back, I had to respect her judgment. If all went well and she had a little while to come to her senses, then maybe…

  Toula ran up and grabbed my wrist before I reached the second stair. “Tell me she’s leaving,” she whispered, cutting her eyes to Meggy on her perch.

  “You want to reason with her?”

  “She’s not speaking to me. Come on, get her out of here.”

  I pulled free of her grip and shook my head. “Her decision. If she changes her mind, let me know,” I said, and marched upstairs to face the winter.

  Take someone with a hefty dose of fae blood and set him loose in the mortal realm to fend for himself. Odds are, he’ll do one of two things: either try to blend into his surroundings and keep a low profile or say to hell with subtlety, build a seaside mansion, and procure a sports car. I’d chosen the former route, more or less, while Robin had opted for opulence and a steady supply of pretty, flexible guests. From the looks of things through the gate, the Stowes were more in line with my school of thought, with the exception of their ice- and snow-free driveway, an impossibility without magic in light of the two-foot drifts and fifteen-mile-per-hour wind. Aside from that little convenience, however, the homestead looked remarkably mundane, a modest ranch house with faded vinyl siding and deep blue shutters, all bathed in the bright white glare of a security light. Whatever piece of enchantment was keeping the driveway clear had also been extended to the curving concrete path across the snow-covered lawn and the front stoop, which was bedecked with a broad welcome mat decorated with palm trees.

  I stood at the gate, which I’d guided into place with the picture in Vivi’s mind, and shivered with the sudden nighttime cold as little puffs of snow began to blow through onto Joey’s rug. “Think anyone’s awake?” I asked Vivi, who was turning up her collar beside me. “It’s a little early…”

  “Someone’s always awake,” she replied, then stepped through and promptly sank in a drift to mid-thigh. Cursing my directional abilities—“You just couldn’t park the gate on the driveway, could you?” she yelled over her shoulder—she slogged through the snow until she reached the cleared walk, then stomped her shoes clean, brushed the worst of the clinging mess from her wet jeans, and ran to the front door. She didn’t bother knocking, but simply placed her hand on one of the door’s painted panels and waited until the latch clicked open. By then, Hal and I had crossed the snow to join her—I’d foregone the ice bath in favor of melting a path across the yard, and he followed behind me—but we remained on the stoop while she pushed her way into the house. “Mom? Dad?” she called in perfectly accented Fae as she crossed the threshold. “It’s me! Anyone around?”

  As the door fully swung open, revealing a foyer the size of a modest ballroom lit with softly glowing brass wall sconces, Hal fell back a pace and muttered, “Whoa.”

  “Keep it together,” I told him, watching the last of the snow drop from Vivi’s clothing onto the polished hardwood. “Exterior glamour. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  “She didn’t mention that her parents live in a friggin’ TARDIS,” he replied, but found his spine again and straightened his T-shirt as we waited in the cold. “What do you suppose happens when the neighbors try to borrow sugar, huh?”

  I glanced around at the empty night and silent road running behind the gate. “What neighbors? They probably protect their privacy—”

  “Vivian?” a female voice called from within the camouflaged château, and a petite brunette who could have been Vivi’s sister appeared from a side hallway, clutching her fuzzy white robe closed at her breast. “Oh, child!” she exclaimed, catching sight of Vivi in her wet, underdressed splendor, and threw herself onto the girl. “I thought you were dead, why didn’t you call, it’s been all over the news,” she chided in a rush as she pulled Vivi into a crushing embrace. “We’ve been so worried—I kept telling your father we needed to check on you, but—”

  Her breath caught as she turned to the open door and spotted the two of us standing there, waiting. “Mrs. Stowe,” I said, watching as she pivoted Vivi out of my line of fire, “I’m sorry to trouble you, but Vivi and I thought she would be safer with you for the time being.”

  She pulled back slightly from her daughter, just enough to catch Vivi’s wide-eyed nod, then released her and tightened her robe belt. “Lord Coileán,” she replied stiffly, keeping Vivi behind her, “I…I don’t know what my daughter has done, but—”

  “Hey, Mom? Mom,” Vivi interrupted, tugging on her mother’s sleeve as she stepped out from behind her impromptu shield. “It’s all right, we’re cool. He got me out of Skipton when the monsters came through.”

  “Cool?” she echoed incredulously, wheeling on Vivi and jabbing one finger in my direction. “That is a high lord, no one is ‘cool’ with high lords, and certainly not—”

  “I mean her no harm,” I said, cutting the panicked chastisement short. “The Fringe recently assisted me—if anything, I’m still in your daughter’s debt.”

  That caught her attention, but she remained flummoxed as she looked back and forth between us. Finally, she managed, “I don’t…my lord, I fail to understand—”

  “Told you not to underestimate us,” said Vivi, flashing her mother a toothy smile, then deftly swapped places with her to serve as a buffer. “Long story short,” she said, holding up her hands for quiet, “little trouble in Faerie, he still thinks something could be lurking back in Virginia, so I was wondering if I could crash here for a few days with a few, uh…friends. Pretty please?”

  Mrs. Stowe peered at Vivi, then finally noticed the man standing beside me, who had given up on his stoic act and was rubbing his bare arms. “Is that…”

  Vivi turned, following her glance, and nodded. “Mom,” she said, effortlessly switching tongues, “this is Hal.”

  Whatever reservations Vivi’s mother had about my presence were thrown aside as she ran for the door in a sudden maternal flurry. “Oh, you poor dear, you’re freezing!” she cried, dragging Hal into the house. “Where is your coat, young man? And your boots? And—goodness, child, don’t they sell gloves down south? Come in, come in,” she insisted, then glanced toward the wall as a fireplace blazed to life. “Stay there, thaw,” she said, parking him beside the mantel, “and Vivi—ah, Rufus,” she called as a dark-haired man popped his head out from a door off the foyer, “go to the kitchen, bring the soup, I liked that batch. Hurry, now.”

  Rufus squinted at the sudden commotion, then spotted Vivi and beamed, instructions forgotten. “Hey, the princess is back!” he cried, throwing her into a headlock before she could slip away, then ground his knuckles against her skull as she protested the mistreatment. “What happened? Mother’s been frantic—”

  “Soup!” Mrs. Stowe ordered.

  He released his squirming sister with an impatient grunt. “Hope you’re in the mood for caribou.”

  “It’s for him,” she replied, nodding toward her uneasy beau, who had inched closer to the fire while Vivi was being manhandled.

  Rufus’s eyes flew open. “You told him?”

  “Coileán kind of dropped in on us,” she said, cocking her thumb at the open front door, and grinned as Rufus froze in his tracks. “It’s okay, he’s with me,”
she said with nonchalance, then pushed him toward another door. “Shoo. And hey, Chief,” she added, looking back my way, “if you want to come in out of the cold, I’m sure Mom won’t mind.”

  Mrs. Stowe nodded hesitantly, and I closed the door behind me, shutting out the freezing wind. “I won’t trouble you long,” I said, catching sight of a fair-haired man jogging down a distant hallway. Physically, he could have been Rufus’s brother, but Vivi’s eyes lit up when she turned and saw him coming.

  “Dad!” she cried, waving from the foyer. “It’s all right! I’m alive! And I brought Hal, so be nice!”

  He disappeared in his tracks and reappeared an instant later beside Vivi, bathrobe flapping and long arms reaching out to envelop her. When he broke away, his face was red and wet, and he swiped at it with his sleeve to hide the evidence. “We were so worried—”

  “Martin,” his wife murmured, “guests.”

  At that, he looked up from his daughter to find Hal huddled by the fire and me standing by the door, then made a face remarkably similar to his son’s recent expression of shock. “My lord, I…we’ve done nothing—”

  “Save it,” Vivi interrupted, stepping away from her frightened parents. “Like I was telling Mom, Skipton might not be the safest right now, there’s a little issue in Faerie that I’ll tell you about once I’m dry—ooh, thank you, don’t mind if I do,” she said, snatching one of the steaming bowls from her brother’s hands as he reappeared in the foyer—“but Hal and I need somewhere to land for a few days, and I’ve got four other folks waiting who could really use a bed, and everyone’s harmless, even the guy who thinks he’s Gandalf. Please?”

  The elder Stowes looked at each other uncertainly, but Rufus, who by then had thrust the remainder of his burden into Hal’s hands, broke the silence. “Aw, come on,” he told his parents, “if they can put up with Vivi, surely they can’t be that bad. And what did you do,” he asked her, giving her attire a quick sneer, “rob a lumberjack?”

  “Jealous?” she replied with a smirk, and joined Hal by the fire. “It’s en vogue.”

  He headed for the door, retorting, “Just tell me you didn’t pay actual money for that,” then added a quick, “Sorry, coming around,” as he sidestepped me and opened the door. “Hello!” he yelled across the yard, waving at the gate and the four anxious people waiting on the far side. “Come in, it’s frozen! Oh, wait—don’t do that alone, let me help,” he added, then darted out across the lawn as Eunice took a tottering first step back into the realm.

  I shook my head and joined Vivi, who was shoveling stew into her mouth like she hadn’t seen a meal in a week. “See where you get it,” I said, glancing at the open door.

  Unlike the rest of the room, Vivi seemed completely at ease. “Yeah, Rufe and I can be pretty effective when we work together. I mean, I’m his favorite sister, after all.”

  “You’re his only sister,” said another male voice, and Vivi raised her spoon in salute to the blond in black sweatpants who had appeared beside her parents. “And what’s all this about?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, did we wake you?” she said with a malicious grin. “Does someone need a beauty nap?”

  He began to counter, took a second look at me, and promptly shut his mouth.

  Vivi watched his surprise register and chuckled. “That’s my youngest older brother, Harry,” she told Hal. “Rufe’s the next one up the line,” she added as he slowly walked back inside with Eunice on his arm. “I don’t know where the other guys are, but they should be here in a few days.”

  Hal had begun to relax fractionally as he thawed. “You three are close?”

  “Eh, relatively,” she replied, tucking back into her breakfast. “We’re the youngest of the bunch. Sibling alliances and all that. Not that I’m much good in a fight,” she admitted with a shrug, “and Harry’s still pretty useless, all things considered, but for Rufe…well, you’ve got ten older brothers, you take what you can get, know what I mean?”

  “Ten?” he echoed, clutching his bowl. “You…wait, how many—”

  “I’m the youngest of thirteen,” she said, giving his back a solid thump. “Only girl, and from the looks of it, the only one lacking in the fae genes department, so the boys…you know, they’re either beating me up or defending my honor with extreme prejudice. But don’t worry, I already told the family all about you,” she chirped, then yelled across the room over the din of the incoming arrivals, “Hey, Lothario, she’s too young for you! Mitts off!”

  Rufus, who was still holding Eunice’s arm, waved dismissively at his sister. “There is no rule against assisting a lady, you little vagrant.”

  Hal’s grip on his soup tightened as he looked from Rufus’s smooth face to Eunice’s wrinkles and helmet of frosted hair. “Too young?” he muttered.

  “He’s eighty-nine,” Vivi explained.

  “Ninety, thank you, and his hearing is excellent,” Rufus replied. “And I’m still waiting on your birthday gift.”

  “Keep pestering me about it and you’ll get an Erector Set.”

  “Deluxe, I trust.”

  Vivi stuck out her tongue and turned to her unsettled boyfriend. “Just ignore him when he’s being a jackass. It works for me.”

  “Ninety?” he said, blinking rapidly.

  She glanced at me, rolled her eyes, and wrapped her free arm around Hal’s waist. “Harry’s only forty-seven, if that’ll make you any happier. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

  As she dragged him off into the depths of the mansion, I surveyed the foyer. Paul had cornered Martin and flashed his warmest professional smile as he made the rapid introductions. Across the room, Slim had taken Mrs. Stowe’s hand with a cheery, “So nice to see you again, Rohese, lovely place you’ve got here, sorry about the intrusion,” while Stuart turned in a slow circle, gawking at the ceiling fresco with his mouth open. I traded glances with Eunice, who nodded and held up crossed fingers, then saw myself out into the cold. Vivi could handle the explanations without my assistance, and I sincerely doubted that the Stowes were sorry to see the door latch behind me. For all of my promises of goodwill, there was no getting around the fact that my encounters with members of Oberon’s court had a history of going south.

  When I descended from the loft, I found Oberon waiting in the barn, stroking Georgie’s neck as Joey glared from the shadows. “I thought perhaps you’d reconsidered,” he said, giving the dragon a final pat. “Pity.”

  “Something I can do for you?” I muttered, brushing past him toward the sunlight as the last stray flakes in my hair melted and dripped onto my collar.

  “Me? No, I’m just enjoying the morning,” he replied, sounding almost chummy. “Pleasant day, warm breeze—it’s giving Florida a run for its money. One does tend to forget after a long absence—”

  “You can talk about the weather later,” Toula interrupted, pressing a plastic compass into my hand. “Going to need a blood sample, Gramps. Prick and stick.”

  “Do what?” I asked, turning the compass around and over in search of a hint.

  Helen had followed on Toula’s heels and cut in before she could get snippy. “Unless you’ve got a map of the Gray Lands hiding around here somewhere, Toula and I thought we could use a tracker to find Moyna. A blood sample would give us a vertical trace, yeah? Well, if we tie the trace to the compass, we can use it to zero in on her. Open a gate and keep it slightly unstable so we can move it until we get close to the target.”

  “I mean,” Toula added, “the alternative is to randomly choose locations and hope we find her someday. Your call.”

  I began to agree, but before I could do so, Meggy swooped in and snatched the compass from my hand. “Would you give me that?” she snapped, casting baleful looks at Helen and Toula, then produced a short brass blade from nothing and sliced open her palm. “There,” she said, wiping the welling blood on the plastic casing, “like I told you five minutes ago, I’ll do it. Stop wasting time.”

  With a strained sigh, Helen pluc
ked up the bloodied compass between finger and thumb. “And like I told you five minutes ago, you’re useless for this.”

  “I am her mother—”

  “Big damn deal,” the wizard muttered as she traced runes in the air over the compass. A few seconds later, the needle began to spin, then pointed straight to Oberon. “Vertical traces go in both directions,” she explained, tossing the compass back to Meggy. “It’s going to point to the most proximate living match to you, up or down your family tree, which would currently be your father—unless, of course, you wanted to step out of the realm for a bit?” she added, turning to Oberon. He folded his bare arms and grinned, and Helen beckoned to Toula with a muttered, “Hit me again, Pavli.”

  A second compass, twin to the first but clean, appeared in Toula’s hand, and I produced a blade and did my part without being asked. Helen repeated the spell, but when she ceased her casting, the needle spun about in a slow circle as if scanning for a signal. “Bingo,” said Toula, then looked up and did a quick head count. “Helen, Aiden, Val, Megs, Gramps, Percival”—she flashed Joey a mischievous grin—“and Godzilla. That it?”

  I’m Georgie.

  “She knows, she’s just being Toula,” said Joey, tightening the dragon’s chest strap. Georgie must have replied directly to him, as he began to chuckle at nothing and hoisted himself onto her back.

  “And your…reinforcements?” asked Oberon, cocking his head at the tense knot of guards circled around Val.

  “In case anything tries to slip through behind us,” I said.

  We regarded each other, both very much aware of the lie, but he merely smiled. “Good boy,” he replied, then strolled toward a rudimentary bench outside the barn. I assumed the attempt at furniture was Joey’s handiwork—it was little more than a glorified sawhorse—but as Oberon approached, it morphed into a bright green Adirondack with a built-in cup holder. He flopped down, suddenly equipped with an oversized Bloody Mary, and stretched his legs. “Go, if you’re going,” he said, waving us on with the unburdened hand. “I don’t like to wait for my entertainment.”