Zydeco Queen and the Creole Fairy Courts

by Cutter, Leah

  “Let’s see if we can get them to move,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. His extra-nimble fingers ran up and down the strings, plucking random notes.

  Francine laughed and pulled out her own instrument.

  “You’re on,” she said as she tuned up.

  Pierre started the melody—a sweet and easy waltz.

  Francine followed after he played through the verse and chorus once, the tune simple enough to understand. They stepped to the side as a tall thin man with the beak of a pelican took Yvette’s hand and led her in a courtly two-step. The others joined in, coasting in polite circles around the intersection of the roads. Trees murmured to themselves in the distance, as if discussing the dancers. The air shone with silver dust motes, with more rising as the dancers’ feet kicked them up.

  “Now that we’ve got the warmed up,” Pierre murmured at the end of the song, picking up the pace, heading directly into the next song.

  Francine recognized the tune and took the lead, leaping up an octave and making it double-time.

  Pierre looked surprised but followed, laughing and stealing the melody back.

  They played well together, instantly gelling.

  The heat of the music wasn’t all that warmed Francine’s belly, her eyes lingering over Pierre’s face, watching his hands.

  They divided their attention between each other and the dancers, prodding them this way and that, provoking them to extra flourishes and kicks.

  Magic spilled out over the dancers like parade confetti. More than one couple took to the air, leaping with inhuman grace. Joy wrapped around Francine, making her fingers dance as well. Pierre sparred with her, flinging and catching notes; they chased each other up and down runs. They whirled around each other, adding to each other’s work. She’d never played like this before, so in tune with another musician. It was the best music she’d ever made.

  And it was only the first time she’d played with Pierre.

  One song flowed into another. The dancers gave back everything Francine offered to them, and more. She proudly partnered with Pierre, surprising him as often as he surprised her with technique and tricks. Francine felt as though she could play all night.

  A hard hand landed on Francine’s shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Papa?”

  Francine blinked the fairy dust out of her eyes. Shadows swallowed the dancers as they scattered. Exhaustion slammed into Francine. Her legs trembled, as did her arms. She stiffly flexed her fingers, aware of her body for the first time in hours.

  “What did I tell you about them?” Papa asked, arms crossed over his chest. He looked furious.

  He also looked different.

  Moonlight frosted Papa’s hair, making it as pale as Yvette’s. His eyes changed from steady gray to black and liquid, and his ears sharpened, almost growing to points. Papa had always been tall; now he loomed over Francine. His nose took on a beak-like shape, making him even more fierce.

  “Charles,” Yvette drawled, the word a lazy caress. She came and stood next to Francine.

  “How lovely to see you again. It’s been a pleasure getting acquainted with your daughter. You should have brought her to court.”

  “Her mama’s human,” Papa said, transferring his glare to Yvette.

  “She’s more us than you,” Yvette said smugly.

  Francine looked at her hands. Was she? She didn’t look any different in the moonlight. When she looked up, Papa stared at her as well—like she was a stranger, someone to be afraid of—no longer kin.

  “That’s not true,” Papa said hotly.

  Even Francine could hear the lie in his voice.

  “Why did you keep me from them?” she asked, shivering. They were as much her flesh and blood as her human cousins. Maybe more so.

  “They’re not what you think,” Papa said. “It isn’t always dancing and magic.”

  “It isn’t always what he thinks, either,” Yvette chimed in. “All bickering and infighting, polite smiles while someone stabs you in the back.”

  They held identical poses of anger, glaring at each other in the center of the crossroads.

  Francine wondered how closely they were related.

  “We’re going home,” Papa announced, taking Francine by the elbow.

  “You know, you always have a place with us in the Féerie realm,” Yvette said. “I’d love for you to play for my court. Both of you.”

  She turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  Francine stood alone with her papa in the middle of the crossroads.

  “You’re not to seek them out again. Ever.” Papa stood with his arms akimbo, glaring at Francine.

  Francine mutely picked up her case and started putting her fiddle away. All the magic of the night had faded, gone more completely than any dream. Francine trembled inside, the changes buffeting her.

  “Do you hate them that much?” she asked quietly.

  When she looked at herself, she didn’t seem changed. But she’d also seen how Papa had looked at her.

  She was different, now, in his eyes.

  For the first time, Papa lost his rigid stance, bowing his head and putting his hands in his pockets.

  “It isn’t that easy,” he said. “It isn’t just love or hate.”

  “I don’t understand.” It sure seemed like he hated them.

  “The cliques at the court—they’re worse than at your high school. Trust me,” Papa said. “There’s backstabbing and infighting. Yes, sometimes there’s dancing, magic, and amazing music. But it’s like life. It isn’t always some grand ball. Most of the time they’re inhuman. Cruel and uncaring.”

  Francine flinched. Was Papa accusing her of that as well, with her mixed blood?

  Papa continued. “The longer you’re in the Féerie court, the more you forgive their hard ways. You’ll lose yourself and your humanity.”

  They walked in silence all the way home. Francine swallowed down her words several times. How could she ask if Papa still loved her? What if he didn’t?

  On the front porch, Papa finally said, “You’re grounded until Christmas.”

  “But I have a gig—”

  “You’re not playing at any bar between now and then, and that’s final!”

  “I can’t let down the band,” Francine said stubbornly. “They’re depending on me.”

  “Find another fiddler,” Papa said. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Stung, Francine fumbled with the lock. Papa really thought that little of her playing?

  Of course he did.

  Francine wasn’t fully human, not like Mama.

  Papa hated Francine’s mixed blood, hated who and what she reminded him of. No wonder he was never home anymore.

  Maybe Francine would just have to leave, too.

  * * *

  “Can I see you after class for a few minutes?” Mr. Frazier asked as he handed Francine her paper.

  Francine dumbly nodded, still staring at the A emblazoned across the top of her latest paper. Despite her best efforts, Mr. Frazier had consistently been giving her Cs.

  She knew the change couldn’t be good, not given her luck.

  “I just wanted to congratulate you on your effort,” Mr. Frazier said, staring intently at Francine as the other students all shuffled out. “I knew you had it in you to do this level of work.”

  “Thank you?” Francine said, still puzzled by his change of heart.

  “With your continued effort, you should finish the year with an A,” Mr. Frazier stated boldly. “If you’re still interested in attending that music college, I’d be happy to write you a recommendation.”

  Francine swallowed around the lump in her throat.

  “Thank you,” she said more strongly. She’d never thought to approach Mr. Frazier before about a letter—one or more coming from teachers outside of her music class would be really helpful.

  Maybe she did have a chance of playing music all the time, doing what she loved.

&
nbsp; “Now, about the next assignment—” Mr. Frazier rattled off a few more details. He looked so earnest, as if he really wanted her to succeed.

  Francine nodded and promised she’d remember before walking out, dazed. She had no idea what had just happened. She quickly calculated her GPA.

  Maybe it would be high enough.

  Finally, Francine realized that the noise levels in the hallway were dimming and she needed to hurry if she was going to make it to English on time.

  After changing books at her locker, carefully folding away the precious paper, Francine paused. She always took the front staircase. It was wider and better patrolled by teachers.

  But she was late, the back staircase was closer to both her locker and her next class, and it had been safer for her since the start of the year.

  She decided to risk it.

  Heart pounding, Francine took the stairs two at a time. She was thinking of excuses to give to Mrs. Anthony, watching her feet so she didn’t slip. She didn’t look up until she was directly in front of Billy.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” he said angrily, pushing her.

  Francine, already off balance, grabbed for the handrail, catching herself after only stumbling down a few steps.

  “Do what? Try to get to class on time? Moron,” Francine gathered herself together, ready to run past Billy if necessary.

  “No. Tell the principal I’d bought my last paper.”

  “What?” Francine asked, confused. She quickly recovered. “Now you know what it feels like to be accused of something you didn’t do.”

  A look of guilt crossed Billy’s face.

  “What, so you did buy a paper? Idiot. You deserved to get caught.”

  “You’re gonna pay,” Billy hissed at Francine.

  “I didn’t do it,” Francine said, taking first one step, then another. Though she was still one step below Billy, she could almost look him in the eye.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Billy muttered. “It’s only what you deserve. Swamp slut.”

  Francine kept walking, brushing past Billy. When she finally reached the top step, she looked back.

  Billy was gone but his threat remained.

  With heavy feet, Francine made her way to her English class, already dreading whatever was coming.

  * * *

  Francine threw her backpack onto the couch when she came home, a habit she’d gotten into since Mama had died. Though Papa had grounded her, she still thought about walking down the road to talk with Uncle Rene.

  Papa appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Is that where that belongs?”

  “No, sir,” Francine said, surprised. Papa hadn’t been home when she’d gotten back from school since Mama had gotten sick. She slowly picked her pack back up.

  “Is everything okay?”

  A look of guilt flashed across Papa’s face.

  “Everything’s fine. You should go to your room, start your homework. Dinner will be in an hour or so.”

  Francine nodded, now catching the scent of some kind of soup reheating on the stove. “Okay,” she said, not quite trusting this disruption, though it was nice that Papa was home, that she wasn’t all alone.

  “I got an A on my history paper today,” she told him as he turned back toward the kitchen.

  “That’s wonderful, darling,” Papa said. He actually paused and smiled at her.

  “Mr. Frazier said if I keep doing well, he’ll write me a letter of recommendation.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Francine wanted to take them back.

  Papa’s expression went from gentle happiness to stony coldness.

  “Now, Francine, you know how I feel about you continuing with a music career.”

  “Yes,” Francine hissed, her temper rising fast. “And I don’t care.”

  “Well, music isn’t going to feed you, and I’m not, either,” Papa declared. “Go to your room.”

  “I hate it here; I hate you!” Francine said. “Someday, I’m not going to my room. I’m walking out that door, and you’re going to regret it,” she added as she stomped down the hallway. She slammed the door to her bedroom after her, seething with rage.

  Her violin sat on her bed, her only solace and escape.

  It could be an escape, too, Francine realized. If not the music college, then the fairy court.

  Francine sat down on her desk chair as the thought fully sank in.

  She did have an out. Finally. She could escape. Pierre would welcome her. As would Yvette. She shivered, remembering how wonderful playing for the fairies had been, how the music, magic, and moonlight had all spun together, shining with potential.

  Did Francine really want to go? That was the question.

  Though Papa had grounded her, and had now sent her to her room, he hadn’t taken her phone. Francine slid her violin case to one side of the bed and flopped down on her back, calling Uncle Rene.

  “Yeah?” Uncle Rene always sounded as if he were in a hurry on the phone, so different than his usual way of talking.

  “I saw them,” Francine told him with no preamble.

  “Ah,” Uncle Rene said. He took a deep audible breath and let it out.

  “Beautiful, yes?”

  “Yes,” Francine said. “And magical, and wonderful, and musical, and—”

  “Dangerous,” Uncle Rene added.

  Francine shook her head, though she didn’t say anything. The potential for danger was there—she wouldn’t deny that. But she hadn’t seen anything threatening. Just a feeling of peril.

  “Papa was so mad,” Francine told Uncle Rene, without bothering to tell him she’d been playing for the court.

  “Do you blame him?” Uncle Rene asked gently. “He doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “I…I don’t know,” Francine replied. “He saw me. Under the moonlight. He didn’t like what he saw.”

  It hurt to admit it out loud.

  “Darling, your papa just doesn’t like to see you all grown up. He still wants to see you as just his little girl.”

  “No, that wasn’t it,” Francine said. “The moonlight, it changed them. So I could see they weren’t really human. Changed me as well.”

  Francine found her voice growing smaller and smaller. She traced the lines of stitching on the quilt under her, not taking any comfort in the familiar patterns.

  “Your Papa loves you. All of you.”

  No, he doesn’t.

  “Then how come he won’t let me make music? Or gets so mad when I talk about the music college?” she asked instead.

  “He just wants what’s best for you.”

  “He wants what he thinks is best for me,” Francine pointed out.

  “And what do you think is best for you?” Uncle Rene asked. He sounded as if he really wanted to know.

  Francine’s searching fingers tapped the edges of her violin case, then splayed possessively across the top of it.

  “To make music,” she said. It really was all she ever wanted to do.

  “Then go make music,” Uncle Rene replied.

  Francine paused a moment, feeling as though Uncle Rene had just given her his blessing.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “Anytime, darling,” Uncle Rene said. “And I’ll have a talk with your papa the next time he comes over, all right?”

  “Okay,” Francine said. “Bye.”

  “Love you. Bye.”

  Francine hung up and continued to stare at the ceiling.

  She knew Uncle Rene hadn’t meant that it was okay for her to run away to the fairy court. But still—it seemed like he might understand if she did.

  * * *

  Two girls Francine didn’t know took one look at her when she walked into school the next day, then started giggling, turning away. Their laughter haunted her. Everyone stared. She knew she didn’t have anything painted, drawn, or spilled on her, but she still went to the bathroom to double check.

  Francine made her way to her first period, stoni
ly refusing to even look at the boys who made grunting sounds at her as she passed.

  When Mrs. Beaumont, the principal’s secretary, pulled her out of class, Francine felt both relief and dread. At least Papa wasn’t waiting for her in the principal’s office.

  Principal Martin sat behind his desk, looking more nervous than usual. He didn’t meet her eye, but kept watching his twitching fingers.

  “Were you aware of this site?” he asked, turning his computer monitor toward her.

  Someone had done a Photoshop job on a video, pasting her head on the body of a porn star’s.

  Francine felt all the color drain from her face. She shook her head mutely. This was Billy’s final revenge.

  “We became aware of this when we realized someone had hacked your school email account. The link to this video was sent to everyone in your contact list.”

  “Everyone?” Francine squeaked. That included the director of the Louisiana Music College, Papa, all her cousins—everyone.

  Francine threw herself out of the chair but only made it to the outer office before losing her breakfast in the closest wastebasket.

  When Francine finished, Mrs. Delacroix handed her a tissue and a glass of water. Mrs. Beaumont and Principal Martin stood back, both looking unsettled.

  “I know that was a shock. Now, if we can find the perpetrators—” Principal Martin started.

  “You know who did it,” Francine hissed.

  “We can’t prove it,” Mrs. Beaumont said flatly. “It was very cleverly done. For today—”

  “I want to go home,” Francine interrupted. “Now.”

  “I’ll call your father,” Mrs. Delacroix assured her.

  Mrs. Beaumont and Principal Martin didn’t look happy, but they nodded in agreement.

  Francine walked back into the office to collect her books. She shivered as the moans from the fake website washed over her.

  God, what was she going to say to her relatives?

  Francine followed Mrs. Delacroix down the hallway to her office. Around the corner, Laura and Karyn stood. Karyn rocked her hips suggestively when she saw Francine, and Laura just laughed.

  If Francine had anything left to lose in her stomach, she might have had to make another run. As it was, she felt numbness overtake her. She made it safely to Mrs. Delacroix’s beige office and sat with her back to the door, looking out the window, ignoring the students in the hallway as well as Mrs. Delacroix’s offer to talk.