So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction

by Christopher Barzak

  ---

  "Wake up. Come on Chelsea, wake up!" Trinny pulled at her friend, but the redhead slept stubbornly, as if she was curled on a comfortable bed and not a pile of rocks. She was going to ruin her night clothes if she didn't stop lying on the ground, Trinny thought with irritation as her gaze flickered around the foggy clearing. It seemed despite her best efforts to bring Chelsea into this magic her friend wasn't going to wake up to share. She hadn't even stirred when they had been summoned and the magic had surrounded them so intensely. It always felt like a jerk from strong hands to Trinny, but Chelsea didn't even crack an eyelid. Trinny supposed she should be grateful that the magic had pulled Chelsea along with her... at least her friend was here, which showed that at least some of her worry was unfounded.

  "What troubles you, my darling?"

  Trinny's eyes fluttered as her mistress came up behind her, a pale and perfect hand coming to rest at the girl's waist, another lifting to stroke her throat. The touch rendered her immobile and unable to speak. The faery's cheek brushed against Trinny's own as she peered over her shoulder at Chelsea.

  "Well, I must say that I am very surprised you disobeyed me." The hand at her waist tightened, clawlike fingernails digging into her skin.

  "She's my friend," Trinny muttered, feeling suddenly childish with her protest.

  The faery made a sound low in her throat, a warning noise that made Trinny shiver. "But we are your friends, are we not?"

  Trinny turned around to face the carnival that had entertained her for the past six nights. Creatures with hideous masks and graceful bodies whirred together in dances that required more joints than a human possessed. A table dripped with fruits, chambered like labyrinths and gleaming skins like jewels. A fountain of fresh spring water poured from midair. Beyond all these things was the beauty of her mistress. Her brown skin resembled mahogany; her hair fell like a shower of willow leaves beneath a curtain of foxgloves.

  Her offer was not true friendship, Trinny realized, but still generous beyond measure. Trinny let her eyes flick back to Chelsea, still curled tightly on the ground and slightly snoring. The faery drew her attention back with a sharp tug.

  "Don't think on her overmuch." Her mistress' lip curled upward. "After tonight, I won't have you worrying with that world."

  Trinny nodded, as was expected, and even though she heard the tenderness around the words there was something about the phrasing that set off a vague twisting of worry within her stomach. The nervous feeling couldn't quite make its way to her brain, however, and she sunk down beside Chelsea's still body.

  "Don't wake her." Then the faery disappeared in a cloud of sweet perfumes.

  Trinny reached over and brushed Chelsea's arm, her lips quirking. A glimmer of gold caught her eye, one of the floating baubles that lit the oak base in a soft glow. She smiled and stretched out her hand, letting the little spell flicker over her fingertips. When it died, she looked back over at Chelsea, half expecting to see her smiling back. There was only silence.

  Biting her lip she crawled back over, glancing between the sleeping body and the faery revels. Chelsea had to wake up. If she didn't, she would never know how wonderful this place was. Without seeing what Trinny had found, Chelsea would never be able to trust Trinny again. Her mistress would be upset, probably, but it was also true that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. She reached over and lightly shook Chelsea's shoulder. No response. She shook harder, and Chelsea's face scrunched up to show she was coming around. Trinny gave her one more good shake, then rocked back as Chelsea's eyes opened and she sat up, her joints cracking with her stretch. For a second she appeared unfocused, but Trinny saw her eyes open wider and heard her suck in a breath. "Oh. you're awake." Trinny feigned surprise and grinned at Chelsea, whose mouth was open in a perfect 'o' of shock. "I told you."

  "Trinny, this--"

  "Isn't it beautiful?" Trinny sighed, hugging her knees to her chest. Her heart ached at the perfection of the faeries' revelry.

  "Trinny," Chelsea's voice trembled. "Trinny, can't you see what this is?"

  With her brows drawn together, Chelsea didn't look entranced at all. She looked pale and scared and a light sheen of sweat appeared along her hairline. Biting her lip, Trinny twined their fingers together. Chelsea winced. "You're so cold."

  "You don't like it?" Trinny blinked, bemused. How could anyone see all this splendor and not adore it?

  "We have to get out of here." Chelsea stood and then stepped into the shadow of the oak tree. "They've got you under some kind of spell." She reached out and grabbed at Trinny's arm, but Trinny pulled violently away.

  "No! Chelsea, you just don't understand." Trinny crossed her arms and hugged herself. "They love me here." She reached up and touched her pale cheek, ghosting the movements her mistress often made. It made her shiver; no one in her world would dare to touch her so sweetly.

  "Trinny, you have to try . . ."

  Did Chelsea want to make her think here was bad as well? An anger fueled by helplessness welled up in her. "I'm tired of trying!" Trinny threw down her arms, her heart leaping. Her breath turned rapid and shallow. "I shouldn't have brought you here. You don't know what I have to go through every day..." Flickers of unease and disappointment snapped against her charmed contentment, and her sentences were lost as she gulped for air. "I'm so sick of it." Exhausted, as if all the past days' effort struck her at once, Trinny would have collapsed had not Chelsea grabbed her. She hung there like a broken doll, her weight propped against her friend. She felt Chelsea's cheek against her hair and gave a defeated whimper.

  Then her friend gasped and stiffened. Without even turning she sensed her mistresses' presence behind her and the eyes of all the dancers turned on them.

  "Is this how you answer my kindness?" Her mistress pulled her away with a single hand. "I should kill you both for allowing my company to be defiled by such ugly mortal eyes."

  Trinny hung suspended, her eyes staring at the ground instead of the faery's anger. Her mouth moved in mute apology. She seemed to dangle for a short eternity, any words her mistress was saying lost in the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  Her mistress dropped Trinny then to loom over them. Her skin had darkened to the color of stained bark and her eye deepened to a black void. Trinny thought for a moment that her mistress would strike her, but instead the bony fingers traced her features as if to memorize them. Trinny was torn, wanting to flinch at the chill touch yet aching to lean closer for more affection. But she could hear Chelsea crying close by and the sound stopped her from being lost in the caress even as a prickling began against her skin. Trinny realized her mistress tried to repair the enchantments torn by human emotion. An otherworldly voice whispered in her mind, telling her how much she wanted to stay, how loved she would be. But the subtle violence behind the faery's touch, her thumbs jabbing against Trinny's temples and dragging slowly down, contradicted the sweet words. Trinny tried to protest, but her voice was stilled. She knew now what the mistress had dictated; she was to stay, for good. The thought, so tempting just minutes before, now terrified her.

  Panic rose in her, punctuated by the hitches in Chelsea's frightened sobs. Even as the threads of magic began to weave around her, Trinny shrieked, pulling away from the net with all the will she could muster. For a moment she couldn't breathe as the spell tried to hold her, but the energy broke, and the ground trembled beneath them. Trinny continued shaking and thrashing even after the earth stilled. She could feel Chelsea's hands pressing into her back, clutching at her. Trinny breathed in deep and turned her face up to look at the faery, a little frightened of what she would see. Her mistress's eyes burned, and Trinny thought she saw a strange jealousy there. Silently, she pleaded to be let go. Chelsea had been right; now that she could see with clear eyes she knew this was no place for her. If she didn't leave she would go mad.

  "If this is your choice." The faery's words hissed like wind through the Spanish moss, barely reaching Trinny's ears. A cryst
al orb appeared in her palm, which she threw down against the twisted roots of the oak. The jewel shattered into a dozen little sparkling shards that bounced into the air, and the sound left Trinny momentarily deaf. There were shocked murmurs from the crowd of fae, all wide-eyed and leaning forward eagerly as if they would love nothing better than to see fresh human blood on dirt. They were rewarded with a few drops from Trinny's palm, where a shard had cut. She pulled the little diamond from her skin. When she looked up again the fae had disappeared, and she was left sitting beneath the oak with Chelsea, holding what looked like a piece of dull beer bottle.

  ---

  They hiked along the highway and found a gas station where they called Trinny's parents to come get them. The plan was to say that they had snuck out and ended up the victims of a prank--their friends abandoning them. It meant certain grounding, but right now Trinny liked the idea of lying in her room for a month.

  The manager kindly gave them cheap coffee and a place to sit, and Trinny nursed the bitter concoction, letting the taste ground her. Chelsea half-dozed in her plastic chair, head tilted back against her shoulder. Uncomfortable, Trinny shifted her weight, crossing her legs, then uncrossing them. She turned each way experimentally, then sighed and threw her own head back. Even her own touch seemed unbearable and clumsier than ever. There were so many things she wanted to say to her friend, apologies, confessions, excuses. Her hand clenched convulsively around her wound. It burned as if scalded.

  "Chelsea?" Trinny winced as her voice hit her own ears, the vocal cords raw. There was an answering 'hm?' as Chelsea's head lolled over, her eyes not opening. Trinny curled her toes, twitching a little. "I have to tell you something." There was another monosyllabic answer, which Trinny took as an invitation to proceed. "Chelsea, it wasn't just the magic. . ." Trinny found her eyes prickling wet from the stress and the confession. She hoped her friend would understand without needing any other prompting, but Trinny steeled herself for a rout. To her surprise, however, Chelsea didn't even open her eyes.

  "Yeah, you're a dyke. I figured."

  "You figured?" Trinny echoed, confused. That was it? "You're not going to . . . I dunno, argue with me?"

  "Do you think it would make any difference?"

  Trinny fidgeted, dragging her foot along the dirty laminate floor. "No."

  "Then no." Chelsea opened her eyes and gave Trinny a crooked smile. It was a trifle as far as offers of acceptance went, but better than nothing. Trinny looked down at the gash on her palm. The burn in the flesh was starting to cool, the reddening lessening even as she watched. She let out a slow breath, hoping the pain would soon heal away to nothing.

  A consummate overachiever, M. Kate Havas earned her BAs in English and Art History from Wesleyan College in Macon in just three and a half years. Aside from writing fantasy she enjoys costuming and dressage, and currently lived in Georgia with her horses. "Touch" is her fist published story.

  Attracting Opposites

  Carl Vaughn Frick

  For my husband Gary.

  First, a little family history. It is not uncommon for a faerie and a pixie to fall in love. Nor is it as unseemly as a pixie and an imp. Publicly, pixies look down upon imps as backward bumpkins, bumbling in dark and damp domains. Imps see pixies as uppity, giggly snobs, sniffing too many snootfuls of pollen. Both do agree that elves are much worse. Upon the odd dawn when a pixie awakes next to an imp in some flop of a fen, usually the blame falls on too much imbibing of the imp's home brew (imps excel at crafting fine, intoxicating liquors).

  Neither imps or pixies trust faerie glamour. Formal faerie society is full of high falutin' court intrigue and mysteries beyond mere human minds, such as the curious and ancient faerie tradition of secretly trading human babies with their own offspring. Imps write this practice off as mere mystery for mysteries' sake, to mask any lack of depth, more faerie makeup to cover up their fear of being ordinary. The pixies all find this funny, and often try to exchange a faerie baby with a pig or a chicken. Considering all the layers of faerie glamour demanded by their obligations, it can take years for such a trick to be discovered. Once a faerie princess actually did marry a pig, but that is another tale involving much impish liquor.

  Theodore Winkle was one such faerie changeling, transplanted one early August morning into the crib of a human family of Unitarians. Unitarians, of course, can embrace anything, even the utter mystery of raising a faerie child in the human world. Young Theodore Winkle was very creative and crafty, sensitive and mature beyond his base classmates, and possessed the ability to talk with the animals. Cats adored him. Ma and Pa Winkle accepted their son and were thankful that their God had so blessed them with this gift of diversity.

  Theodore Winkle happened to be attracted to human males, partly desiring what he sensed he could never be. Faeries do sleep with anyone or anything, if that is what they want.

  In the faerie fashion, to the outside world, Winkle showed himself as something he was not, which made many people desire him all the more. Humans too led lives veiled with fantasies. Theodore's fashion never appeared the same in the eyes of different humans, which led to much confusion when his name came up in circles of gossip. Winkle would flash his sharp little smile while gently munching on a fresh salad of nasturtium petals and other edible flowers, his favorite food.

  At night he dreamed of summer shorelines lit by reflections of jewels the scale of mountains. He saw seabirds shaped in human form gliding across the warm waves, sea breezes sang vibrations passing through strange formations of coral. These dreams

  always made him feel lonely, to ache to walk through the jeweled sand in hand with a lover he had yet to find. As is said, beauty without the beloved is like a sword through the heart.

  Out in the real world Winkle learned the trade of cosmetology, using his innate gift of glamour. An unsettling aspect of faerie illusion is at times you catch a glimpse of the true form out of the corner of your eye. This would bother his more sensitive customers; by nature people go to beauty parlors because they are already insecure with themselves.

  What made Winkle unique alienated him from the world around him. This is the human curse.

  He nurtured friendships with quirky, artistic, neurotic outsiders, one of which told him about this thing called a faerie gathering. This friend, who named himself Barry Tone, trilled in a high falsetto about all the " faerie magic" he would see once he came to the gathering. Winkle was uncertain, as a similar ruse had been used years before to lure him into going to a Unitarian summer camp. It turned into Hokey-Pokey hell. Four dreadful weeks in the woods with a congregation who knew they were there, but didn't know why.

  A plump and envious harpy at his work had caused endless trouble for Winkle. His boss knew he was the most talented cog in the salon, and that Winkle could make even a harpy look seductive, and just assumed Winkle needed some time off.

  So one sultry August Saturday Winkle and Barry drove to where the faeries came together. Barry assured Winkle that there would be plenty of flowers to eat. Winkle feared that to mean nothing but free-range dandelions. He brought along plenty of strong vinaigrette salad dressing

  Where the faeries came was an old tumble-about farm situated in a small, secluded valley sequestered away from encroaching civilization. The bones of many hippy communal projects gone wild lay strewn about absorbing back into the landscape. The terrain was hot, dry, and dusty, and left Winkle sighing and realizing there would not be the promised flowers to nibble, maybe only a fate of warm iceberg lettuce.

  The faeries represented there were of the odd human sort, a lot of tailings swept out from the mainstream gay world. Winkle feared that another round of the Hokey-Pokey awaited him in this strange place. A self-defined faerie wearing a stained smock who called himself Big Cuddle Bare strode up and greeted them with a sloppy, needy kiss that left spittle on Winkle's face. He smelled of garlic and sweat. Winkle started to fear this was going to be worse than the Unitarians. Being a true faerie that wore the face of
desire in a place such as this, where he would be the new meat to ogle and grope made Winkle start to look longingly at his car.

  Barry said he would be right back as he skipped off with another faerie named Black Hole, and that would be the last time Winkle saw him for the next two days.

  Winkle found a glen of trees far away from the giggling and groping where he set up his tent. A lone crystal was strung up on the mossy branch of an old twisted maple tree next to his camp site. Sitting in silence, Winkle watched the goings of the forest creatures who shared his site at this strange place of giggling and groping men in stained smocks. A small brown lizard warmed itself on his left shoulder.

  Winkle ached for the other who was yet to be a part of his life. The sun set behind the valley ridge casting the calming light of dusk. A chorus of crickets soothed his lonely heart. Then some idiot started screaming and pounding on a drum. In the dark Winkle began to explore. True faeries see fine at night without the aid of flashlights. The land hummed and glowed with activity and anticipation.

  Weird and wonderful alters draped with bangles and relics dotted the domain. Through a landscaped garden full of statues and beads Winkle walked past a smoking circle that looked like a refugee camp, a refuge of beer cans and cigarette butts. Winkle kept his distance.

  He entered a structure that appeared to have been a barn badly built by some committee of conflicting design, unfinished here while overwrought there. A chaotic kitchen set up inside was finishing serving up some rather grayish looking lentil stew. Even warm iceberg lettuce would have been better. Winkle found some granola stashed in a large bag kept in a garbage can as protection from the raccoons, and munched while watching. He was offered a hit of marijuana from a passing pipe, which he accepted. A tape of trance music played from a battered stereo system covered in red dust. A nymphet nearly naked lad danced, swirling a glittery shawl to his own internal rhythm.