But as soon as I grabbed the doorknob, I stopped, and pressed my ear to the panel. Heard the barest footfalls in the hallway just outside. Child-light steps, back and forth.
Come out now!
I went to the desk and collected my car keys, then looked around for anything else I could use as a weapon. The twin bed consisted of a mattress and box spring on a metal frame, but I would have needed tools to pull it apart. The dresser and desk were built from wood.
I checked the closet. Instead of being bolted to the wall, the metal clothes pole rested in notches cut into a wooden frame. I pulled out my clothes and tossed them on the bed, then lifted out the pole, which turned out to be hollow but heavy nevertheless. I swung it back and forth, like a batter warming up. Strode to the door and flung it open, stepped into the hallway and saw … no one.
“I’m losing it.” I had strung perfectly normal events together, and spun an impossible tale. Sheryl and Jerry simply hadn’t wanted to talk to me, for whatever reason. So they ran away from me and hid in the woods. And Hawthorn had simply gone for a walk. Was it a crime for an instructor to go for a walk?
But what about me? Explain me, Kincaid. Ashford’s strange lilt, goading me, mocking me.
“I can’t explain you.” I slumped against the wall. “I don’t think I want to.”
But you’ve come this far. Laughing words, bright as coins, sharp and cool as winter. You may as well come outside and learn the rest.
“Maybe you’re right.” I returned to my room for my warm wool coat. My gloves. Muttered a prayer from my childhood, even though I doubted it would do any good. Hefted the clothes pole, dented and rough with rust. “I’m coming.” I knew she heard me. I felt her smile.
Ashford still stood in the middle of the yard, the dim safety lighting encircling her. She laughed when she saw me. “I knew you couldn’t stay away. I knew!” She started toward me, tray in hand.
I swung the clothes pole. “Stay away from me!” I stepped forward and swung it again, struck the tray and sent it flipping through the air, its contents scattering. Thick circles the size of my fist, with holes in their middles.
Then their smell hit me. Toasty. Buttery. Cinnamon and sugar and the yeastiness of fresh bread.
“Bagels? Are these bagels?” I picked up one of the halves that had rolled near my feet, felt the warmth through my glove, and flung it aside. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ashford backed away each time I moved, her eyes on the pole. “They were a present. So you would join my class.”
“I can’t join your class. The add date’s past.”
“I could arrange it.” Ashford’s shiny pebble gaze moved to my face. “I can arrange anything. I have power. I am very powerful.” She picked up one of the bagel halves, brushed off water and bits of leaf. “I can free you from this world. No one will even know you’ve gone.” She held out the bagel. “Take it. Eat it.”
I could see flecks of dirt stuck to the butter, which had already solidified in the cold. I should have been repulsed, but instead, my mouth watered and my stomach rumbled and all I could think of was the saltiness of the butter, the spicy taste of the bread and the softness of the raisins. I reached out—
—then stopped as the clothes pole grew warm. I looked down at it just as bits of rust flaked off and floated to the ground.
“Put it down.” Ashford’s voice rattled against my ears, its bell tones gone flat. “You tried to strike me with it. That was evil of you. Put it down.”
A few more flecks of rust peeled away, revealing shining silver metal beneath. Ashford’s voice sounded harsh now, a spoon banging against a pot, all beauty vanished. “No. No, I think I’ll keep it.”
Ashford straightened quick as a cat and circled me, taking care to stay just out of reach of the pole. “Evil. Evil and cruel.” Her fingers curled like talons. “Put it down. I order you—”
“Ash.”
Ashford and I turned as one toward the voice. It came from the shadows along the side of the building, a sound soft yet firm. The warning growl of a wolf.
“What did I tell you?” Hawthorn walked out into the circle of light. He wore no jacket against the cold, only jeans and a heavy shirt, and the mist had matted his silvery hair into a skullcap. “That’s not how we do things now. We do not lie. We do not trick. This isn’t a fairy tale.”
“From the time of my father and your father, and their fathers before them, and their fathers before them, it was how we did things.” Ashford glared at him. “It is what we are.”
“Not anymore.” Hawthorn looked down at the scattered bread, and sighed. “Are you all right?” He glanced at me, then back at the mess on the ground. “You look a little shaky.”
“Just a little?” I stood aside as he picked up the tray and the cloth that had covered it and stuffed them in a trashcan.
“The animals can have the rest.” Hawthorn joined Ashford in the middle of the lighted circle. “Do you want this one?”
“I don’t know.” Ashford regarded me sidelong. “I thought her quiet, but she doesn’t listen.”
“We want willing students, not slaves.” Hawthorn met my eye. Then his green gaze moved down to the clothes pole. “And she understands. Without being told, she knows. There’s memory there, from the time of her father, and his father before him, and his father before him. That is what we need. The old and the new, together.” He continued to watch the pole as he spoke. It seemed to fascinate him, like tinsel draws a cat. “You’re a Kincaid. Your family came from the old land.”
“You heard her—” I pointed to Ashford, but I didn’t know what to call her. Doctor Ashford? Professor? Your Highness? Ash, like the tree. “You heard her say my name in the coffee shop.” My voice shook. Every time Hawthorn spoke to me, he implied he knew more than he let on. I didn’t like it.
“Kincaid.” The clothes pole didn’t affect his voice as it had Ashford’s. It still came soft, steady, persistent. “It’s your father’s name. You took it back after you and your husband—”
“Yes.”
His head dipped, and maybe it was an apology. Then he turned his attention to Ashford, who stood, arms folded. “Go back to your office, Lady. Leave this one to me.”
Ashford let her arms fall to her sides. The top of her head barely reached Hawthorn’s shoulder, yet at that moment she exuded just as much power. “You dare—”
“Yes, I do.”
Ashford studied him for a time. Then she looked at me, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Very well.” She walked across the circle of light, and vanished into the dark.
Hawthorn finally turned to face me. “If I might have some of your time, Lee Kincaid?”
I looked at the dorm, counted up and across until I picked out my lighted window. Part of me wanted nothing more than to go back inside, burrow under the covers and sleep, forget any of this had ever happened.
Then I looked down at the pole. It had grown almost too hot to hold, the metal free of rust and as silvery as Hawthorn’s hair. “All right.”
“You don’t need that, you know.” For the first time, he sounded the faintest bit nervous.
I gripped the pole harder as again my father’s voice sounded in my head. Always have your keys with you. But this time, I remembered the rest of his warning. Always have some iron in your pocket. He had told me it was for luck, but that had never made sense to me. Now, finally, I understood. “I think I’ll hang onto it, if it’s all the same to you.”
Hawthorn hesitated. Then he gestured for me to join him.
We walked in silence. The chill had worsened, working its way through my coat, my gloves. Hawthorn’s shirt had gone dark with damp and clung to his skin, and I shivered at the sight of him. “Aren’t you cold?”
He shook his head. “It’s refreshing.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and breathed deep. “Like a plunge in a winter stream.”
I waited for more, but he fell silent again, eyes fixed straight ahead. “I get
the feeling I’m supposed to ask questions and you’ll answer, but that’s not really fair, is it? I don’t even know where to start.”
A hint of a smile. “I think you do.”
“No, I really don’t.” A car drifted down a cross street, the driver hunched over the wheel and watching us. What drew his attention, Hawthorn’s soggy appearance or my choice of walking stick? “One of yours?”
Hawthorn shook his head. “We can’t drive.”
I waited. Then I took my phone from my pocket, opened the browser, and keyed in fear of steel iron metal. Paged through the links to websites about steel markets and fears of strikes and commodities pricing until I found the link to a page that I knew to be the right one, even though this was the 21st century and we didn’t believe in such things anymore. “The fae fear iron.” I read for a time, then put my phone away. “Tall fae. Short fae. Light. Dark. Fae, fae everywhere.”
“But yet you don’t believe?”
“When I was in my room, I heard Ashford’s voice in my head. Just as though she stood next to me, even though I knew she was out in the yard. It sounded lovely, until this started to work.” I raised the pole, but when Hawthorn moved away from me, I lowered it. “You’re here at Monckton because it’s an old, out of the way place, all brick and wood and trees.” I pointed to one of the buildings. “But there’s iron in those, too.”
“Not as much.” Hawthorn’s step had slowed to a stroll. “And what iron is there is covered by good wood and stone and plaster. The desks are wood.”
“And the doorknobs are brass.” We turned a corner, and I recognized one of the buildings I had passed earlier. “We’re going to the hill, aren’t we? If we’d turned left instead of right at the corner, we’d have gotten there faster.”
“You seem to like to walk. I like to walk. I didn’t think you’d mind.” Hawthorn whispered, yet every word rang loud and clear.
My cheeks warmed, and I gave thanks for the dark. I quickened my pace, rounded another corner, and saw Sheryl and Jerry standing atop the hill at the street’s end.
“It’s better if you hear it from them.” Hawthorn backed away from me. “Anything I would tell you would just be words. It’s a big decision. You need to be sure.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, Sheryl bounded down the hill toward us.
“Lee!” A grin split her face, and she radiated something I had never sensed in her in all the time I had known her. Confidence. Joy. She hugged me, as bouncy as a five-year-old on her birthday.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile.” I looked past her to Jerry, who approached more slowly. “You finally found her.”
“Yeah.” Jerry shuffled up to us, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “That I did.” He nodded at Hawthorn as if he were anyone else. A colleague. A classmate. A human being. “The rest is a sort of a blur, but I’m adjusting.”
“Please tell me what’s going on.” I herded them down the sidewalk, away from Hawthorn. “Ashford tried to bribe me with bagels.”
“Did you eat one?” Jerry frowned when I shook my head. “Then you’re not committed. That’s how it works. When you accept something from them, they have you. It’s like a contract.”
“You have to come live with us. It’s wonderful.” Sheryl twirled, her skirt billowing around her. “It’s another land. Guinevere and King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake.”
“Folklore major. Minor in anthro.” Jerry jerked his head at her. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
“Oh, shut up.” Sheryl bent close. “Ashford said she’d give us a second chance to do the presentation. But we needed to give something in return.”
I looked back at Hawthorn, who stood some ways off next to an oak tree. He might have even been talking to it. His lips moved. “What exactly are you supposed to give?”
“Time.” For the first time in my memory, Jerry looked thoughtful. “Our knowledge of being human. Some of them—” He laughed. “They’re bored. Looking for something else. Excitement. Purpose. And there are corners in this world where they’ve found they can fit in, like here, and they want to learn how to fit in better. And that’s what they need us for. To help them learn. To learn ourselves.”
Sheryl patted his shoulder. “He’s come so far in just one week.”
“I’m not an idiot—I can see what’s in front of me.” Jerry looked at his watch. “We need to get going. There’s a dinner, and we have to be there. First thing you learn is that they’re picky about their rituals.” As Sheryl ran ahead, he hung back. “Are you coming? It’s not a bad place. Kinda like here, but the light’s a little different.” He lowered his voice. “And right now it’s just her and the guy who runs the candle store in town, and that’s a little too much woo-woo for me.”
“Jerry. You’ve gone to live with the fairies. You couldn’t get much more woo-woo.”
“Yeah, well.” He watched Sheryl pirouette across the hill. “Food’s good. Kinda starchy. They like cheese.” He pondered for a moment. “Rugby. They play something like rugby. They like to have humans around because if there’s a dispute, we can referee. We’re impartial. They’re like Cubs fans versus Sox fans once they get going.” He shrugged. “It’s not your everyday extra credit project. But I think I could get to like it. For a few weeks. Couple of months.” He headed back up the street. “Maybe a year.” He broke into a trot. “Hey, beats the shit out of the old 8 to 5!” He stopped to wave good-bye. Then he joined Sheryl, and together they walked behind the hill.
I saw a flare of light, a reflection on the fog, as though someone opened the door into a brilliantly lit house. Then it went dark, and I waited until I heard footsteps from behind. “You pick the ones who are having trouble here. The ones who don’t belong. Who won’t be missed.”
“The ones who search for something they can’t find here.” Hawthorn drew alongside, bringing with him scents of moss and fresh cut grass. “Who can learn from us, and give something in return.”
I breathed deep, felt the calm spread through me. No one had yet used the word magic, but wasn’t that what this was? Hope, and the promise that there was still some wonder in the world? “They don’t have to solve their problems. You give them a place to run to.”
“We offer respite. Is that a crime?”
I thought for a moment. “Not sure if I consider Ashford respite.”
Hawthorn smiled broadly, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “She spends most of her time here.” His expression softened. “I, on the other hand, return quite often.” He quieted, and a sense of waiting hung between us.
“I need to think about this.” I backed away. Then I turned and walked back up the street, away from promise, and hope, and magic. It took all the strength I had not to run.
By the time I got back to the dorm, animals had cleaned up the bagels. I returned to my room, put the clothes pole back in the closet. The steel had grown cold, smears of corrosion already marring the mirror finish. No more fae to trigger its power. No more wonder.
I sat at my desk, booted up my laptop, began reading the next day’s assignment. Told myself that I would fix my life myself, solve my own problems. That anything I left behind would just be waiting for me when I returned.
Respite.
I called the company’s 24-hour IT line, and got new network passwords. Logged into my work email account. Sixty-four messages since Friday afternoon, half marked URGENT.
Is that a crime?
I read the first message four times before it sank in. It was my turn to chair the monthly managers’ meeting, and there was an agenda change I needed to make immediately. The usual life and death.
The old 8 to 5.
I got up, stretched my legs. Dug my coffeemaker out of the closet. I had just started adding coffee to the basket when I heard the voice drift through my head. Infinitely calm. Patient. And a little sad.
It’s magic for us too, you know.
I went to the window to find Hawthorn standing in the yard
, looking up at my window, hands in his pockets. “Stop reading my mind.”
He shrugged. It’s what we do. You would have to get used to it. He smiled. Or you could learn to block it. Or you could learn to do it, too. The education goes both ways.
The coffeemaker gurgled, and the thick aroma of the brew filled the room. I filled my mug, then wandered to the desk and stared down at my laptop. The display had gone into standby, my latest screensaver drifting in and out of focus. A forest scene, the foliage thick, impenetrable, a thousand shades of green. I thought about Sheryl’s smile and Jerry’s quiet understanding. Had they changed? Or had they rediscovered what they once had been, and found a place where they could be that way again?
I stared at the screensaver as the time ticked away and my coffee grew cold. Then I closed my laptop and shoved it into my shoulder bag. Threw in some makeup and a change of clothes. A couple of books. My coat. The clothes pole, I left behind. I didn’t need protection any more.
I went outside to find Hawthorn waiting for me. He held a plate with a half a cinnamon-raisin bagel, toasted and buttered, and I ate it on the way. There was no great flash of light when I bit into it. No lifetime’s worth of eldritch knowledge tumbled into my head. It was just a step forward, the first of many.
“The bagel of commitment.” I held up the last bite, then popped it into my mouth. “To be followed at some point by the cheese danish of understanding.” And I laughed like Sheryl had.
Hawthorn frowned. “Are you all right?”
“No. Yes.” I quickened my pace. “I’m fine.”
The hill came into view. It looked different now, the colors altered, like Jerry said they would be. Shades of green that I had never seen before, blended with blue and silver and gold. When we circled around to the back, I saw the opening, its faint outlines visible in the grass. Amazing how I could have missed it before. It seemed so obvious now. I started toward it, then stopped when I felt spreading heat in my coat pocket. I took out my car keys, and placed them underneath a rock.
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