She was quiet, so he finished off the fruit juice and threw the can across the lawn, then watched as one of the barbecuers ambled over to pick it up and put it in the trash.
“Don’t you want to be happy?” Tammy finally asked, in a small voice.
“I don’t think that’s even possible,” he answered sourly, then glanced at her. She looked childlike in her bewilderment, and it struck him, right in his aching heart: a sharp pain that didn’t fade.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I do. So why aren’t I? Why won’t the magic work for me?” He stopped, then started again. “I waited. I waited for hours, didn’t drink a drop. But being sober didn’t help.” He laughed bitterly. “Being sober never helps. You and this damn juice.”
“Well, the magic can’t work for you,” said Tammy gravely. She put her hand on his. “But if you want to be happy, I’m sure you can still find a way, Simon.”
He wondered suddenly when he’d told her his name. Had he shown her ID in the grocery store when she’d refused to sell to him? He hadn’t. They’d never gotten that far.
She looked at him with eyes older than the dawn and realization lit like a spark in a dark room. He knew who she was. What she was.
He gripped her hand in both of his. “Please,” he begged. “All I’ve ever wanted is to stop hurting so damn much.”
She put her free hand on his hair, like a benediction. “You can’t. You’re beyond the magic of Eden Falls. You know you are. Your angel blood takes you beyond our touch.”
He stared into her bottomless eyes, wishing he could drown in them. Then he scrubbed at his own eyes and stood up, drawing her up after him. He said, “That’s okay. That’s fine. What you’re doing here is wrong anyhow. They’re not human anymore, now are they?”
Her eyes searched his face as he kissed her hand. He drew the knife he always wore behind his back. Then, silently, he called on the angel magic he couldn’t escape, called on the power of a storm god father, called lightning from a clear sky. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, her mouth opened to cry out, to stop him, but the thunder rolled and he could not, would not, hear her. Her fingers closed tightly around his hand, but only because a body spasms when struck by lightning. Only because of that.
Simon broke the circle of magic chaining Eden Falls.
Nobody thanked him.
10 Ways To Refuse A Faerie
10 Ways To Get Rid Of An Uninvited Visitor
I am an old woman. You all know that. There’s lots of stuff I just don’t have time for anymore. That includes the Strangers. You know the ones. Showing up in shopping malls and on the YouTube, all flash and dazzle. Some people are worried about what their arrival means but I have enough on my plate. My schedule is booked!
But apparently the Strangers didn’t get the memo. One of them has been poking around the outside of my trailer. Pretty enough, if you like that kind of thing. But I do not. It’s just plain weird having him out there. He smiles at me when I come outside which is all wrong. So I did some research on how to get rid of the Strangers. This is what I’ve found.
1. Garlic on the outside windowsill. I can confirm this does not work. Not with his sort of Stranger anyhow. He just collected all the cloves.
2. Keeping the trash indoors. I don’t know who suggested this but they are stupid. Sorry. While the Strangers may share a few physical characteristics with raccoons and coyotes, they are not those. He has never even looked at my trash.
3. Salt around the outside of the trailer. This at least got his attention. He knelt down and tasted it. And he stepped over it with a giant step. It didn’t stop him from knocking on my door and leaving banana bread on my doorstep though. I assume he stole it from somewhere.
4. Not speaking to them. I tried to do better than this and not even look at him. Didn’t work. He’s out there across the street singing. Nobody should be able to sing like that.
5. Standing on the porch and saying in a firm voice, “Go away, you’re not welcome here.” He took that as an invitation. AN INVITATION. He came right up to my porch and started talking about some New Age gibberish (And I am sorry, Margaret, but you know it sounds like gibberish if you’re not up on all that crystal stuff).
6. Call the police. You see how desperate I am? I actually called the cops. They did not help. Of course. They had some nonsense about having more important fish to fry than a Stranger who was acting like a good neighbor. If they came out here and saw the way he keeps watching me, they’d change their tune— wait, no they wouldn’t. Pigs.
7. Iron around the house. Everything I read said this should have worked. I put some nails across my walk. He LAUGHED when he saw them. Then he picked them all up, put them in a bag on my porch and told me it was dangerous for the mail girl. He said if I needed any help with a project, all I had to do was ask.
8. Silver. Where is an old lady like me going to get silver? Besides, given what happened with everything else, he’d probably steal it.
9. Insulting them. Apparently this works in Sweden. But not here. The less said the better. Moving on.
10. Saying “thank you,” for every little thing they do. The Twitter gave me this advice. It would never have occurred to me. It just goes to show how unnatural these Strangers are. I started thanking him, sweet as sugar, every time I saw him. He gave me this hangdog look after the second time like he couldn’t understand why I’d do such a thing. The fifth time, he stomped away. It’s been a whole day Stranger-free now. Sweet relief! Thank you, Twitter!
10 Ways To Have Coffee With A Faerie
I had this problem a few weeks ago. Maybe you remember it. A Stranger kept hanging around my trailer. I am too old for nonsense like his, so I started working on getting rid of him. The only thing that worked at all was being very polite to him. Basically, I had to thank him every time I saw him. Well, status update. That worked for a while but then it got a little complicated.
First, that banana bread of his started showing up outside my door every day. And cookies. And some kind of little quiches. I caught him leaving them once at dawn. I explained (as politely as you can through gritted teeth) that I did not need some kind of Stranger Meals On Wheels yet. He just gave me a grin that I will be writing a stern letter to my Congressperson about, and ran away.
Then I started feeling some guilt. I think it was all the thank-yous that did it. It is hard for me to say thank-you as much as I was without feeling it. I don’t know how all the grocery store clerks do it all day! Maybe it is because they’re doing the same thing all the time? But the Stranger was all over. The more I thanked him, the more aggressively he did stuff I had to thank him for. He watered the plants outside my fence. Now they have big puffy crimson blooms. In February. Unnatural!! (But pretty. Guilt.)
So. Now I have a new problem. If I keep thanking him without doing something decent in return, I won’t have my self-respect. I have to take steps.
In case you ever find yourself in this situation (and I hope for your sake you do not), here is a list of ideas for how to handle the situation.
1. Take a tray of coffee out to the porch. You can offer him a hot drink when he comes by. He always comes by.
2. When he wanders by shirtless and dazzling like some tumblr boy, do not get flustered and holler at him to put some clothes on before you warm him up yourself. You’ll mean with coffee. It will be misunderstood.
3. I hope by the time he is on your porch, he is wearing a shirt. If not keep your eyes on his face. Except when you’re pouring the cup of coffee. Hot coffee hurts when you miss the cup.
4. When he takes your scalded hand, stay calm. He can’t make it worse and you do not need a cardiac arrest too. Perhaps he is a doctor. After a minute, the burn doesn’t seem that bad anyhow.
5. Once coffee is poured, a bit of chat is mandatory. Miss Manners says so. Unfortunately. Stick to safe subjects like the weather.
6. For some Strangers the weather is personal. Go figure. Move on to something else. It may all come
back to the weather. His job? Related to the weather. His family? The weather.
7. You can try discussing the garden. This may be uncomfortable because of his tendency to make flowers bloom in February, but at least you can let him know you appreciate his work. Do it carefully or he will give you that should-be-illegal smile again.
8. In desperation, you’ll find yourself gossiping about other neighbors. They probably deserve it as the good Lord knows they gossip about you.
9. When the conversation turns to politics, you might discover that he has interests other than the weather and trailer park inhabitants. This is probably dangerous. But thrilling. Who else talks to you about your political activism off the internet? Nobody, that’s who, especially not handsome young men.
10. Grudgingly allow that it might be all right if he comes back again another day for more coffee and chat. But not too often, mind.
10 Ways To Put A Faerie To Work
These Strangers sure are everywhere these days. Some of them have been doing kind of scary things. Others are more helpful. Perhaps you’ve found yourself with an overly helpful Stranger on your hands and are at a loss at how to put him or her to work. Here are some ideas.
1. Sort out your old boxes. Any Stranger who cares enough to be helpful will love this. Warning: they may draw certain conclusions from your stuff. These conclusions may be right. Just blame magic.
2. Weed your garden. I highly recommend this. Their ways are strange but you will never have unwanted weeds again.
3. Clean your house. I’m personally not so sure about this one because the day I can’t clean my little trailer is the day I’m ready to be laid out. But for busy folks like moms with small kids, it is a very efficient plan.
4. Escort you to a demonstration. It’s always good to have a little extra security at these things, especially when they can stop the cops from getting too handsy with a wave.
5. Adjust the location of your house by a few inches. It’s probably best if you’re not inside. Or around. Drop a hint, then go to shopping for an hour. Then don’t ask too many questions.
6. Be your copilot on a cross-country trip to crash a conference in DC. Do not let him drive. Not even if it’s an automatic. It is bad.
7. Bring him along to hold your hand as you go to an upsetting meeting with your doctor.
8. Go to Athens, Greece to see the sights. Hint: The Strangers have access to very fast travel. I only wish I’d known that before we drove to DC.
9. Let him carry your parcels in Rome.
10. Get a lift to the blogger meet up in NYC. So much better than flying. Note: This may lead to embarrassing questions. Embarrassing for you, not him. He has no shame and positively wants them to think ridiculous things. We are just friends! Anything else would be so inappropriate.
10 Ways To Refuse A Faerie
I’m not going to go into details, but I got some bad personal news recently. The sort of bad news we all face eventually. And I don’t really want to talk about it, thanks, so let’s not drag down my comments with depressing stuff, please.
But I also got an offer. It’s an offer I can’t quite believe but I’ve got to refuse anyhow. And just plain “no” isn’t good enough. I mean, there’s plenty of situations where that’s all that’s necessary. But sometimes you want to let someone down easy, because you care. (There, I said it, all right? You commenters can just hush now.) And whatever you say is going to last longer than you are, so maybe you make a list, like this one.
1. I’ve lived a good life. Even better since I met you. But I’m human. This happens to us.
2. It is not natural. Just like flowers in February. Sorry. I know you’re good with nature but it is natural for things to wither. Everything has a season and all that.
3. It isn’t right. I’m not the only person out there with this disease. Why should I get the miracle? I know you have some considerable affection for me but that doesn’t change the fact that other people are suffering much worse than I am right now.
4. In fact, I have friends in various stages of illnesses. How can I look them in the face? And don’t you look at me with those eyes. I’m the one who has to live with myself after.
5. And speaking of your affection, you’re immortal and beautiful and you don’t want to be saddled with a cranky old lady like me forever. Go find some movie star.
6. I am terrified of this illness. Accepting your offer would be running away. If I’m brave I can maybe help others be brave too. I’ve been wanting to do that my whole life.
7. This is just denial speaking. I read about it. If we wait long enough, we’ll accept it.
8. Of course I don’t want to die. I wish there was a cure for the whole mess. I mean, beside your way. Which is unnatural, not fair, and so, so kind.
9. What would I do as one of your kind anyhow? Besides things that make me blush, because you can’t do that ALL the time. Sure, I’ll be leaving a lot of unfinished work done. I was making real progress with the Oversight Committee campaign and your people need some kind of advocate still and that blogging conference wanted me as a speaker. That’s a lot of work, really.
10 .…You know what? Looking over this list… I changed my mind.
11. Yes.
Her Daughter, Pinned To The Sky
The Queen of Stone sat in state under the mountain, in a hall of sparkling crystal and cleft souls, and watched stained glass visions of the world above. She watched dancing waterfalls and lovers kissing. She watched the sea crashing into the shore and a solitary runner. She watched a crowded marketplace and a riot. None of it pleased her. The panes became fixed and cold, and she turned to look at the hall’s glittering ceiling far above, her gaze yet more distant.
Her court didn’t notice at first, engaged in the intrigues and whispers that filled immortal hours. But her handmaiden knew the signs. She knew, too, what to do when that scarred face and those empty eyes searched for the sky beyond the stone. “Your Majesty, perhaps we ought to check on the mortal’s window again. It was your favorite, do you remember?”
The Queen of Stone lowered her gaze to look once again upon her screens. “Her mother cried.”
“I’ve watched, Your Majesty. It’s better now.”
But when the stained glass that channeled the vision of a mortal woman came once again to life, she was speaking with another mortal: this one with faded hair and a lined face. An old mortal.
“Her grandmother,” said the Queen, her harsh voice crackling. “No better. Take it away.”
The handmaiden flushed in chagrin. “She’d been crafting a hammer when last I checked, Your Majesty.”
“She is a mortal. We know mortals. Their activities change rapidly.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The handmaiden watched her mistress raise her eyes to the ceiling again and turned her own gaze to the floor. Beyond the silence of the stained glass screens, the rest of the court shifted, whispers fading as they noticed where the Queen’s gaze was directed.
The handmaiden wondered hopefully what they might to do to pull the Queen’s attention back from where it must not go. It was their responsibility as well, one reason among many they all gathered here. Or so the handmaiden trusted. But one of them turned to the reflective wall and walked through it. A pair of courtiers retreated, bowing, down the hall.
Fleeing. The handmaiden turned her attention away from the cowards and back to her Queen. “Shall I play for you, Your Majesty?”
“Do not,” said the Queen of Stone. “Music is a cruelty now. It makes you all free, while I am….” She trailed off and one hand moved restlessly, as if to take in all of herself.
“You are our beloved Queen, Your Majesty,” said the handmaiden sternly. “We would do anything for you.”
“So beloved,” said the Queen harshly, sardonically. “Let me alone to look upon the sky, then.”
The handmaiden exchanged glances with those courtiers placed closest to the throne: those who both pleased her the most and most wished to be of ser
vice. But none of them, not one, was willing to disobey their mistress’s command.
The gentle rustling and chiming of the court faded into silence. Another courtier moved as if to leave and the ringing of his crystal gown drew the court’s eyes. The court’s eyes, but not the Queen’s. Shamed, he stopped where he was. Together in silence, they waited.
The Queen’s fingers tightened on the arms of her throne. Her eyes widened. “I see her. She is alone. How could we have— oh, I must—” The Queen’s skin heaved tectonically as rarely used muscles moved. Her gown crackled. A vast pressure grew, as if the whole world was about to fly apart.
The handmaiden took a quick, restless step forward. “Would you like to rest, Your Majesty? We could move you. You might find your private chamber peaceful—”
The Queen looked away from the ceiling at the handmaiden, her eyes glowing. But her skin stopped heaving, and the pressure on their world faded a little.
“I told you to let me be. If you don’t want to be spun back into the pumice that adopted you, be silent.” The edge in the Queen’s voice momentarily shattered the handmaiden’s will, and she sank to her knees, staring at the floor.
When she recovered herself enough to look up, the Queen was once again staring at the roof.
“Please don’t,” whispered the handmaiden. “Don’t hurt yourself—”
The Queen raised a hand without taking her gaze from the ceiling and the handmaiden felt the bonds that bound her to a body fraying.
Even if that was what it cost her, she had no other choice. “Your Majesty, you mustn’t—”
“Sorry I’m late,” said a cheery voice from the hall’s entrance. “It takes me a bit longer to get around. But I’m here now and with a gift for Her Majesty.”
The fraying of the handmaiden’s bonds stopped as the Queen’s head lowered, her attention momentarily diverted.
Etiquette of Exiles (Senyaza Series Book 4) Page 14