Faerie

by Jenna Grey

  She loitered under the leafy shade of the tree arch, shielded from the already too-hot sun, enjoying the cool shade and picking out the patterns of sunlight on the road as she ambled through it. Then, from the corner of her eye she caught the glimpse of something in the shadows, just a dark shape, fleeting and barely there.

  She spun around, and stared at empty space. Surely the Shadow people wouldn’t come out in daylight? But it was leafy here under these trees and there were shadows to hide in, amongst the dark foliage. She scanned the obscuration to see if she could see any movement, any sign of something out of place, but there was nothing. She even know what kind of dark creatures these were, not really. Were they djinn or sluagh? There were many forms of dark fey, most of them solitary. But this creature had others with it, minions to do its bidding – that made it powerful, powerful and terrifyingly dangerous. If there had been something there, it was gone now.

  As she passed out of the archway of trees she stopped in her tracks, covering her face with her hand; there was a dreadful smell in the air and she knew immediately what it was – the pungent smell of decay and death. It hung heavy on the air, a sickly sweet smell that was like no other – and so much stronger to her because she was fey. She wrinkled up her nose, her eyes watering and finally had to cover her face with her jumper sleeve, because the vile stench seemed to be seeping into every pore of her body.

  She carried on walking, the vile smell getting ever stronger with every step she took. There was something dead ahead – literally, by the side of the road, a largish shape that she couldn’t quite make out; it looked like a dead animal, shrouded in flies. She found herself walking towards it, against her will, drawn to it as if by some unseen magnet.

  The sheep, a full grown ewe by the looks of it, had been torn in half – around its belly – and lay in two pieces a couple of feet apart. The poor creature’s head was thrown back, its teeth bared in a rictus grin, its eyes just white sightless orbs, bulging from its skull. Lily almost vomited, but managed to keep it down, barely, dry retching. She’d never had a strong stomach. Its entrails and organs had spilled out like party streamers and lay draped over the carcass, the organs scattered on the ground around it, as if they had been ripped out and simply tossed aside; its heart with the mesenteric attachments lay in a fomenting, bubbling mess just under its chin. Worse, far worse – lying in the remains of its mother’s organs was the foetus of an almost full-term lamb, its wool dyed red with its mother’s blood. Lily stared down at the poor little thing, and wondered if it had been still-born, or if the pathetic little creature had drawn breath before shock or exposure killed it. She wiped hot tears from her eyes, as she realised that none of the local farmer’s would have a ewe in lamb this late in the year – this was probably one of the pet sheep from Meadow Farm just across the field. The kids were going to be devastated when they found out about this. If she could get her hand on the bastards that did it, she’d turn them inside out.

  Were the Shadow People responsible? Why would they do such a thing – they were malicious, yes, but what was the point of this wanton carnage?

  Unless they knew this was the way she came to college every day and just wanted to spite her..

  She caught a movement again, just a hint of something in the corner of her eye, almost out of sight and thought she heard someone laugh. She spun around and yelled:

  “Leave me alone!”

  But if there had been something there, it was gone now.

  She was about to walk away, and gladly so, when she spotted what was lying beneath the carcass. She moved closer, batting away a great swarm of flies that seemed intent on entering every orifice – nose, mouth and ears – to get a closer look, and sure enough, half hidden under the sheep’s head was a large coil of rusty iron chain. The flies were attacking with a vengeance now, but she wouldn’t be deterred; she battled forwards, covering her mouth and nose with her jumper sleeve. A large bluebottle somehow found its way through into her mouth and she spat it out, making noises and squealing; they were in her eyes, her nose, her hair, as if they were protecting their treasure. Now she knew why the Shadow People had done this terrible thing – and she was all the more determined to foil their cruel machinations.

  She really didn’t want to touch the chain – because it was covered in every vile thing imaginable – it had probably come from a tractor, or some other antiquated piece of machinery and had been lying half covered in mud for ages by the looks of it. It was certain that nobody wanted it – they certainly wouldn’t want it now, covered in blood and other vile things. Beside it was a large piece of old tarpaulin, covered in moss and mould.

  She tentatively reached forwards, and using the edge of the tarpaulin to protect her hands, she began to ease it out. It was a grim task, pulling the chain out of the brambles and stinging nettles, scratching her hands and decorating them in bright red spots of blood. As she pulled the chain free, the sheep’s head lolled forwards, spilling out maggots and making her squeak her disgust. She finally got it out and wrapped it in the filthy piece of tarpaulin, using the cloth to pick it up. It was disgusting, covered in mould and slugs, but she couldn’t touch the metal without using something to cover it, anyway. Cold iron was lethal to most fey. She had accidentally touched the iron wok in the kitchen once, and although it hurt, a kind of tingling sensation like stinging nettles, it didn’t do her any worse harm. The doctor had just put it down to an allergy to iron, which he thought was a bit odd, but let it pass and she just made sure that she didn’t touch anything made of iron if she could help it. She dragged it away a few feet and hid it under a bush, putting a protection charm on it, just in case the Shadow People tried any more of their tricks. That piece of iron chain could well be her salvation and she wouldn’t let anything stop her from claiming it.

  She walked the rest of the way, looking over her shoulder, jumping at every sound and trembling. She had to stop this, had to stop them getting to her. They could do nothing in daylight – this was her time, not theirs, and the most they could do was to lurk in the shadows taunting her – why should she be afraid? She finally reached the edge of the village, still shaking just a little.

  Lily stopped in her tracks for a moment, listening intently. There were footsteps behind... several footsteps, coming ever closer. She tensed and drew in a breath, bracing herself for the attack. She didn’t need to turn to see who it was. She could smell cheap perfume, hair spray and something like... bubble gum – Bryony, Brook, and Brittany – the three Bs. And if ever there were three Bs, it was the three girls rapidly closing in on her, like great white sharks moving in on their unsuspecting prey.

  The girls overtook her and crowded her, Bryony and Brittany on one side and Brook on the other, although as Brook was the size of the average baby hippo, it was a fairly even weight distribution. The three bitches were enrolled in the hairdressing and beautician course, and Lily felt that it might not be a bad idea for them to practice a bit more on one another. Bryony had bleached blonde hair – an attempt to look like Beyonce, but without the raw materials and budget to back it up she’d ended up looking like a £10 hooker – black spider eyelashes – tarantula sized, and inch-thick make-up, several shades too dark, which almost floated on top of her skin like an oil slick, reminding Lily of a badly made waxwork. Brittany had gone for the Shakira look, with the same unfortunate results, compounding the tragedy by wearing clothes that were several sizes too small to constrain her overly generous proportions, and fluorescent pink into the bargain.

  Lily had had the misfortune to spend most of the last seven years at school with them, thankfully partially getting rid of them when they got to sixth form college and took different courses – Lily taking the arts and the three Bs taking the path of least resistance. They had waged a continuous war of attrition with her ever since they'd first met, demoralising her and ridiculing her at every possible opportunity – that, and screwing every boy in college, seemed to be their raison d'être.

  “Gary W
ilcox told me he fancies you,” Bryony said, with gleeful malice, nudging Lily and almost toppling her, as the weight of the books in her shoulder bag caught her off balance. Lily was quite certain that Gary had said nothing of the sort – to begin with he would never admit to anyone that he fancied Lily, and secondly, every time he caught sight of any one of the three Bs, he turned heels and ran as if every hound in hell was after him. Come to think of it, he would probably run a lot faster from the three Bs than he would from any creature from Hell.

  Lily said nothing, but thought terrible thoughts of dire retribution that involved some serious dark magic and duct tape, but she bit back her anger and gave a sickly smile.

  “Yeah, he wants to ask you to the end of year dance on Friday, only he’s too shy, why don’t you ask him?” Brook put in, squawking a vicious laugh.

  Gary Wilcox weighed more than the three Bs put together and had dreadful acne; just about the largest insult anyone could be paid was to be told that he fancied them. Lily kept the smile plastered on her face and said:

  “I really like Gary; he’s a nice person. I would have asked him, but I’m moving into my new flat that day.”

  That partial lie brought a chorus of derisive jeers. Lily did like Gary and he was a nice person – the rest might have been true if it had ever occurred to her to actually ask him. It wasn’t their taunts that galled her, but the fact they were dragging an innocent and sweet boy into their evil bullying. That she couldn’t forgive. She felt a tsunami of anger surging up from somewhere deep inside, that kind of tight rage that you could only hold back for so long before it burst out – with terrible consequences. If she lashed out now, if she couldn’t contain it, then Lily knew that she would do something dreadful. She tried to even her breathing, calling n the Powers That Be to help her stay calm, and this time she did get an answer, a cool wave of tranquillity swept over her, bringing her back from the brink. She could handle this.

  Bryony waved a handful of two-inch-long bright pink fingernails at her, almost impaling her right cheek.

  “You should go with him, you’d make a lovely couple, I’ll make sure I take some pics to post up on Facebook. Fats and Goggles, the new Posh and Becks.”

  There was more giggling, fairly hysterical this time.

  “Why don’t you let us give you a make-over?” Brook asked, manhandling Lily’s braid and giving it a tug. Bryony snatched at Lily’s glasses before she could stop her and she made a desperate grab for them, putting them back on.

  “You could get contact lenses, get some decent clothes and you’d look almost normal,” Bryony said, with a malicious smirk.

  “Yeah, it would take about six months, and some serious plastic surgery, but you might pass for human in the end,” put in Brittany. Lily’s hard-earned calm was gone. It shattered into a thousand pieces, like shards of broken mirror, lethal daggers all heading in Brittany’s direction.

  “I’m fine, thanks. I like the way I am,” Lily spat back, her finger just itching to work its most lethal magic.

  “Yeah, a real fairy princess,” was the final parting comment.

  Their mischief completed for the time being, they giggled their way up the road, leaving Lily red faced and furious. She reached up to flatten down her braid and pulled her hand away, sticky.

  Superglue.

  The bitches had put superglue on her plait right at the top, close to her hairline. She’d have to cut the entire thing off before she went to bed tonight – but at least it would grow again by morning. Her hands were covered in glue, but she managed to get most of it off before her fingers stuck together.

  She closed her eyes and drew the magic to her, reaching into that dark place where she only ventured when she was at her most vindictive. Using this kind of magic was always dangerous, because she was reaching into the darkness, calling on powers that could never be classed as benevolent. She’d only used it twice before – once to curse a paedophile who had been plaguing children in the neighbourhood and another time to curse a bag snatcher that had attacked an old lady in the street, leaving her battered and bruised. The former she’d made impotent, and she’d curse the mugger with crippling arthritis in his knees; she’d like to see how fast he could run now. The beings whose power she called on now were the fallen angels, Belphegor, Samadriel, Belial and Lilith. They would aid her, for a price – a portion of her life force, her power. They would drawer energy from her in return for their favour. The greater her request the more power they would syphon from her. The small favours she was begging now would hardly cause a ripple and worth every scrap of power they demanded from her. Those bitches had gone too far this time, and she had been saving this up for years. She counted to ten, and when she opened her eyes, she felt better.

  Come tomorrow the three Bs wouldn’t have anything to giggle about.

  Chapter Two .

  By the time Lily reached her destination she was fractious and in a terrible mood. She pitied anyone that got on her wrong side today. ‘The Wrong Side’ of the fey was a very wrong side indeed.

  Her college – which was really just a glorified addition to the village school, and called a ‘Community College’ to give it delusions of grandeur wasn’t quite in the centre of the village, but off to the other side of it, up by the small rarely used railway station. Children came from the villages around to it, which justified its existence, just about, but it was still small by anybody’s standards. Lily enjoyed the schooling part of school a lot – she found taking in knowledge easy, it just seemed to pour into her like water pouring into a bowl and she could usually retain information just by hearing it once. But only if she enjoyed the subject. When it came to things like maths and science she was a lost cause – put two numbers in front of her and she would become hysterical; add a few more digits and she would go into a state of catatonia. Fey and numbers just didn’t seem to go together. The real problem with school had always been that she could never really hide that she was different – disguise or not, other people could sense her oddness, and her life had been an eternal misery because of it.

  Lily spent most of the day in troubled thought, only half present in any of the classes; her body there, but not her mind or soul. The events of the previous night hung heavy over her, a darkness that seemed to have settled around her shoulders like a kind of malignant cloak. The memory of that dark form pinning her down, that terrible face – and worse, the knowledge that it would be coming back. Her only small comfort was that piece of rusty metal that might well be her only chance of protection against them. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of something so obvious before – except perhaps that most chains these days seemed to be made of alloy and not iron. She might not have even noticed it if her enemy hadn’t tried so hard to protect it. The image of that poor animal, literally ripped apart, brought sharp bursts of bile to her throat every so often. That memory was going to haunt her for many months to come. There was one little niggling doubt, though, at the back of her mind – why would they draw her attention to it? She might never have noticed it, never had done before, if they hadn’t drawn her attention to it in such an outrageous way? She forced the conundrum from her mind and turned her thoughts to other things. The small satisfaction she’d got from laying the various curses on the three Bs, still wasn’t enough to fully drive away her fury and her hurt. She’d given Bryony elf tangles, knotting her hair so badly that she would have no choice but to cut it off close to the roots – come tomorrow she’d have a GI crop if she didn’t want to come into school looking as if she’d spent the night in a thorn bush – poetic justice at its best. Brook she’d given a serious case of the trots – well, it might help her lose a bit of weight if she had to spend a few days on the loo – Lily didn’t make it too serious, just a nice unhealthy dose of the squits. Brittany, who spent more time looking in the mirror than eating or sleeping, now had a face full of zits – her punishment for making fun of Gary. They would clear up in a week or so; Lily wasn’t vindictive enough to make it so bad tha
t it would leave scars. No permanent damage to any of them, and it probably wouldn’t teach them a lesson, but it certainly made Lily feel better – it would also keep them away from her for the last few days of term. With any luck she would never have to see them again.

  Their taunts did hurt, of course they did; she had never been prideful, but she did have some pride. Being forced to wear her primitive equivalent of glamour had never really bothered her before, but for the last little while she had found herself wishing that she didn’t have to hide like this; she was so tired of the scorn and ridicule – or worse, pity.

  A great swell of righteous indignation suddenly welled up inside her and she wanted nothing more than to go to the bathroom, wipe off all of the gunk from her hair and face and come out to show them her true self, just to see the looks on their faces. Would it really be so bad to come out of hiding, to strip off the secret and let the world see her as she really was? Of course it would; it would be the worst idea ever. ‘Hi, I’m a fairy – want to lock me away in a psychiatric hospital, or put me in a lab and experiment on me? Sure, help yourself.’

  So she bit back her misery, remembering that tomorrow morning all three of them would look a hell of a lot worse than she did. She picked up her bag, hoisted it over her shoulder and turned...

  ...to see Gary Wilcox standing just behind her, all three hundred pounds of him, blushing furiously and looking as if he hoped someone would shoot him in the head. He was sweating copiously, his face covered in glistening droplets, and he was panting as if he’d been running hard, blowing out his breath in little gushes.