by Sophia Shade
Whoops. Wrong room.
I start to stammer an apology when the woman speaks.
“Imogen needs to come with us, Catherine.”
I can feel my mouth drop. I don’t recognize this woman. How does she know our names? For that matter, how did she know we’d be here?
“Who…” I start to ask, but Mom reaches behind herself to push me backward.
“Get in the car,” she says without turning. It’s a horrified whisper, and the fear in her voice is almost palpable.
“You can’t run,” the woman says, standing smoothly.
Finally, what my mother said registers. Run.
Are these the people we have been running from all this time? Who are they? Anger washes over me, along with a need to protect my mother. Is this how a mother bear would feel when protecting her cubs? That I’m the daughter makes no difference—my mom is scared. I can feel it in the way she is trying to pull me away from the door. The instinct to do what I can to keep her safe rises within me.
“What is the meaning of this?” My voice is sharp, directed at the strangers, as I dig in my heels.
“Go to the car,” my mother demands again, harsher this time.
But I stand firm. “Who are you?” I ask the woman. “Why is my mother afraid of you?”
The woman steps forward, the men shadowing her move. I’ve never considered myself a particularly brave person, but I have never seen my mother so directly threatened, either. And make no mistake, even though they have barely said anything, they are threatening us. They have us outnumbered. The men are broad and imposing in dark suits. They could easily be packing, and I wouldn’t know. And the woman seems so sure of herself. Tall and lean, with a short A-line bob without a hair out of place. Her crisp pencil-skirt suit doesn’t have one wrinkle, and it fits her as if it were custom made. Her facial expression is one of confidence, and she seems to have no concerns that we might get away or fight back. It tells me all I need to know about the outcome of this encounter
If I fight back, I will lose.
Two
Mother grips my arm, tearing my gaze away from the imposing figures, and frantically pushes me. “Run!”
Turning on my heel, I obey. I reach the passenger side, but before I can open it, a cold hand snaps down on my wrist. I freeze, staring in disbelief at the fingers gripping me. Lifting my gaze, I see one of the men standing over me. He raises his other hand, and my heart stutters in fear. Reflexively, I put my arm in front of my face to protect it from the blow I am sure is coming. My eyes clench shut, and I brace myself.
Instead, he quickly turns my hand over, placing something in my palm and folding my fingers around it. I open my eyes, but he drops it and takes a few steps back. The woman and the other man come out of the room, but they just stand there and study me.
“Imogen!” Mom yells, her voice a shriek as she starts the car.
I fumble for the handle, my heart thudding in my chest. Finally, I wrench the door open, jump into the front seat, and slam it shut. Mom floors the gas, and the car spews gravel as she peels out.
“What was that?” I scream, looking out the back window to make sure no one is following us.
“No, no, no… This can’t be happening.” Mom checks her rearview mirror, then refocuses on the road, somehow pushing her old beater car to throttle even faster down the street. “Please, gods, no.”
“Mom?” I ask, but she doesn’t respond. “Mom,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “What in the world is going on? Who were those people?”
It’s as if I’m not even there. She just grips the steering wheel, her knuckles as white as her face, and darts frantic eyes out the windows.
I take a few calming breaths. One of us needs to get her head together. I close my eyes, imagining Bob Ross painting some happy little trees, and almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Those people instilled instant fear in my mother—me too—but why? They didn’t do anything more than stare. Except that one man. He’d…
Oh my God. How had I forgotten so quickly?
I look down. My hand is still curled tightly around whatever it is the man placed there. I unfurl my fingers, but it’s just a card. Kind of like a business card, but there’s nothing written on it. And it’s not paper, or even card stock. It’s hard and gold—or at least gold-colored. I’m sure they didn’t scare the crap out of my mom just to give us gold, so it’s the card that must be important. But why would they give me a blank card? It didn’t make any sense. None of it did.
“Mom,” I try again, this time in a much calmer voice. “What’s happening? Who were those people?”
“You heard what they said,” she replies, voice hoarse. “They want to take you away.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why would they want to do that?”
Mom is quiet. I can practically see the gears in her head turning, and I don’t want to give her the chance to come up with a lie.
“Tell me now,” I say, interjecting as much firmness as I can into my tone. “Is this about Dad?”
She glances at me before focusing once again on the road. “Yes,” she quickly says. “It’s about your dad.”
I exhale, relieved to finally get an answer. Waving my hand in a get-on-with it gesture, I say, “And…”
“You…you won’t believe me,” she stutters. “I have tried a million times to tell you. Really, I have. But it all sounds so crazy, even in my own head. When I try to put it into words…” She shakes her head, eyes still straight ahead.
“Just spit it out,” I urge. “I mean, what could be crazier than what happened back there? Anything would make more sense than that.”
Mom blows a thin breath through her lips and laughs, but it’s strained. “You’d be surprised,” she mutters, but then nods, as if trying to convince herself she’s doing the right thing. “Your father,” she starts. She licks her lip, looking uncertain once again. “He isn’t… Well, he isn’t exactly…what you think he is.”
“You mean he’s not an accountant from Long Island?” I say with more levity than I thought I had in me at the moment.
“No,” Mom says, her gaze still darting in too many directions for me to feel comfortable with. “He’s much more than that. He’s not…” Her voice is haunted. “He’s not human.”
“Not human?” It surprises me that she’d choose a time like this to make a joke. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shake my head. “Are you trying to say he’s a monster for the things he’s done? If he’s like, in the mafia or something, just say so already, for the love of God!”
“He’s a faerie,” Mom says. She almost seems relieved after she says it.
Quizzically, I run that sentence through my head. A fairy? My mother has never spoken a derogatory word about anyone, and I know for a fact she sees nothing wrong with same-sex relationships, so why would she start now?
“You mean he’s gay? Mom, that’s an awful way to put it! And why would him being gay be a problem?”
My mom looks startled, confusion washing over her face. “Gay? Why in the world would you think that? Oh… Jesus, no, Imogen.” She laughs again. This time, it almost sounds amused, but she sobers quickly. “No, not gay. And I’d never refer to anybody who was as a fairy. I mean that your father is from the Fae realm, sweetie. He’s an actual faerie. It’s spelled F-A-E-R-I-E.”
My heart freezes in my chest. I’m not sure if I should be angry at Mom for lying or scared that she’s so delusional. She had said it would sound crazy, though, and I’d told her to tell me anyway. She wasn’t wrong. It is insane.
She glances at me, straight in the eyes. I don’t see any lies or malice. I see fear—fear of the people we’d left at the hotel, but also fear of me. She thinks I won’t believe her. That I’ll reject her. Regardless of how absolutely insane it is, I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Okay,” I finally say, now more for her sake than mine. “Okay, so, my dad is a faerie.” It makes me laugh just saying it aloud, but I try to control m
yself. “Okay, what does that mean, exactly? Like Tinker Bell?”
Mom lets out a breath, seemingly relieved. Probably glad I didn’t jump out of the moving vehicle and run as far away as possible. I’m still here, not that doing just that isn’t tempting.
“The world is a…strange and beautiful place,” she says, her knuckles easing on the steering wheel. “And your father was so handsome. He seemed to appear in my life at just the right moment. Just when I needed him.”
I sit stone silent. I’ve never heard Mom talk about Dad in such a kind way before. She barely mentions him at all. I do remember him, though, and even have a few pictures in my phone. He is handsome. Tall with dark hair and amber eyes. Eyes like mine.
“What happened?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Fae people, like humans, can be, you know…assholes. They get a thrill from coming to our world to sleep around with humans. It’s like a rite of passage for some of them. And, of course, sometimes the humans fall in love and children come along. But the Fae… God, the bastards, they don’t care about us. We are just a game to them. They think we are less than they are. Just something to toy with for their pleasure, and then to discard.”
Her eyes well up, and a few tears escape. I reach over and touch her hand. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, and sniffles once. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she says. “I came to terms with it a long time ago.”
“Then why are we running?” I ask. “Who are those people? Why did they want to take me away?”
“Those people, Imogen…” Mom shakes her head. She doesn’t want to say whatever it is, but I can see in the way that her hand trembles that she will. “Those people are why we have been on the move,” she says finally. “When Fae turn eighteen, they go to some stupid school to learn about their powers and their place in the world. That goes for halflings, as well, which is what you are. Your father warned me the Fae would come for you one day. But I won’t let them take you from me. I love you so much. I can’t let them…”
“Wait.” My mind is still catching up. Information overload. I have no idea what is going on. “Halfling…like me? You mean, I’m part faerie?”
Mom’s eyebrows pull together in an apologetic way. “Of course, dear. Your father is Fae. That can only result in one outcome…”
“Well, how am I supposed to know this?” I say, hot tears springing to my eyes. “You had my whole life to tell me. I don’t know how any of this stuff works! How could I know Fae were real, let alone they could procreate with humans? How was I to know I wasn’t just human like you?”
“You are human like me,” Mom says. “Just not…only human.”
“Right,” I mumble. I try not to sound angry. I try not to be angry. “I’m just attempting to understand it. I mean, really, Mom, I want to believe you, but I’m fairly certain I’m entirely human. This is real life, not some movie!”
“I knew telling you was a bad idea,” Mom says. “Listen to me, Im. Your Fae powers will manifest soon—now that you’re eighteen…”
“I turned eighteen back in March,” I say. “Have they been after me since then?”
“Since before then,” she replies. “I’ve always been able to outrun them. But now that you’re eighteen—maybe, too, since you graduated and are ready for college—your powers must be calling to them even more strongly than before.”
With a disbelieving huff, I turn to look out the window. If that’s true—if I’m starting to get Fae powers—then I’d feel different, wouldn’t I?
You have been feeling different.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. That couldn’t have anything to do with it. The headaches, the way the sun has started to feel on my skin…that can’t be related to Fae powers. Can it?
Suddenly, I’m overcome by laughter. Mom gives me her worried look, but I just can’t stop. The giggles have taken hold of me, and I hold my stomach, trying to stop.
“Imogen?” Her tone is tentative.
I shake my head, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes.
“Imogen, are you okay? What’s so funny?”
It’s hard to compose myself, but I finally rein it in. I feel a little silly for believing what she said for even a moment. Faerie? Jesus, what was I thinking?
I press my lips together, trying to decide the best way to handle this situation. For now, it’s probably best for me to keep going along with it. I need a clearer picture about what’s going on with my mom right now, so I can formulate some kind of plan to get her the help she needs.
“Are you okay, Imogen?”
I nod. “I’m fine, Mom. But…what’s your plan? Keep running? Forever? You just said that now we won’t be able to keep outrunning them because my powers are “manifesting”. I guess that makes me some kind of homing beacon?” It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. “Tell me, Mom. Am I suddenly going to sprout wings? Wiggle my nose to make stuff happen? Pop in and out of reality with a thought?” I huff out a laugh, but I’m angry.
“I…I don’t know,” Mom says, defeat clouding her voice. “Your father didn’t have wings, I’m guessing that won’t be an issue.” She offers a half-hearted laugh, as though trying to make light of the situation, but when I don’t laugh, too, her expression turns serious. “Imogen, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to answer most of your questions. Truthfully, I hoped you’d never have to know. I just want to keep you safe, somehow.”
I want to say, ‘If you want to keep me safe, tell me who those people really were,’ but I can’t. Instead, I play along with her delusions. “Safe from what?”
“The Fae world,” she says. “It is a dangerous place. The Fae are not good people.”
“But they are my people,” I say, surprising even myself.
Something about saying it aloud makes the idea no longer seem like a fairy tale. It feels…right. True. When I said it, the emptiness I’d been feeling inside subsides.
I always assumed it was because I didn’t have a dad, or maybe that since we kept moving, I didn’t have any roots. But this is it. My mom isn’t delusional. She’s telling the truth.
I’m half Fae.
I wasn’t just denied a dad and a home; I was denied a very real part of my being, of my soul. I need to know more.
I turn the card over in my hands, unable to believe what I’m about to say. But it comes out nonetheless. “I want to go with them.”
“Imogen!” Mom says. “You can’t…”
“I can, and I will.” I rub my fingers across the smooth surface. “I know you think you are trying to protect me, but if I am Fae, I need to know what that means. I need to know who I am. Where I come from. I need to know what being Fae means for my future.”
“I forbid it,” Mom says sharply. “I’ll never let them get their claws into you. So you can just…you can just…get that idea out of your head right now, young lady!”
I snort and shake my head, leaning my head against the window. “Sure thing, Mom.”
I don’t want to upset her, but this is my new reality. And I will find a way.
We drive for hours in uncomfortable silence. Finally, around three in the morning, we arrive at a house in the middle of nowhere.
“What is this?” I ask.
“A friend of mine said we could use his hunting cabin for a few days until we figure out our next move.” She sounds exhausted.
I grab my bag and make my way into the rustic cabin. It’s cozy, with a small kitchen, open living room, bathroom, and bedroom on the first floor. Upstairs are two more tiny bedrooms and another bathroom. I take one of the rooms upstairs without asking, and close the door behind me. It has little more than a bed and nightstand, but I don’t plan on being here long.
Sitting on the bed, I hold the card in my hand. I turn it over and over. It’s still completely blank.
“How do I contact you?” I whisper, not expecting an answer.
My eyes widen when strange letters appear as though etched in the card. It isn’t written in English, but s
ome other language. Somehow, though, I can read it. I’m positive I’ve never even seen anything like it before, but the words pop into my head, anyway. A name.
Absinthe Brayerwood.
“Absinthe?” I call.
Golden glitter seems to spill from the card. It swirls around, forming into a human shape. The woman from the hotel suddenly appears before me. I jump, trying to scramble away, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m already sitting on the bed. I just… I just didn’t expect someone to materialize out of nowhere.
It’s at that moment I know, undeniably, that magic is real, and my mother wasn’t lying. If I’d even had a sliver of doubt before, it’s gone now.
“Imogen,” the woman says with a smile she hadn’t worn before. It seems unnatural on her, as though she is trying something completely new.
“Um…hi?” I say.
“I’m glad you came to your senses,” she says. “We should leave immediately.”
“Whoa, hold up,” I counter, raising my hand, palm out. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, but I’m not going anywhere without an explanation. “I don’t know you or…well, anything. How can I trust you?”
“It is time, Imogen,” she says. “You feel the calling, don’t you? The change that is coming?”
I don’t reply, but I don’t have to. There’s a knowing that lingers in the air. She knows I’m going to go with her. I know I’m going to go with her. But I still need to have this conversation.
“First tell me why,” I say. “Why do I have to go with you? Leave my mom? Can’t I stay here and learn? She was already abandoned by my deadbeat dad. I can’t do that to her.”
“Only at Callador, a school for Fae, can you learn all you need to know,” Absinthe says. “About your history, your people, your powers…yourself. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
More than anything, I want to say, but I hold back.
“Your mother lied to you your whole life. She tried to keep you from learning the truth. You don’t owe her anything at this point.”