by K. C. Lannon
However, the brothers had matured at the same rate when it came to their bedtime stories. When they were children, Iain had always been infatuated with tales of brave knights who took oaths to serve and help people, and he would read Arthurian stories like he needed them to breathe. But as James and Iain grew older, they began to ask less and less for fictional stories and more for personal ones.
“I want to hear a true story,” Iain had whined one night.
“Who is to say these stories aren’t true?” Kallista had asked, clutching their usual book of Arthurian tales to her chest. Then she’d chuckled at Iain. “And I thought you loved this book, Iain. You used to play knights with your brother all the time.”
“Yeah, well, a Rom could never be anything like a knight anyway, right?” Iain asked with a shrug.
Kallista looked severe. “Who told you that?”
Iain was tightlipped. James had wanted to speak for him and tell their mother it was the Prance brothers who had said it, but he knew Iain would be cross with him if he did.
“That’s ridiculous.” Kallista shook her head. “Us Roma can be whatever we want, just like anyone else. We have been everything. Plenty of Roma have been soldiers and served a king or government.”
“Even in the Iron Infantry?”
She smiled. “If not, I bet you’ll be the first.”
“I knew it was rubbish,” Iain stated, settling back down with a grin. “Anyone can help people, can’t they? That’s what I wanna do.”
After a moment, Kallista had conceded to tell the boys a true story instead. When she asked what they would like to hear about, James had piped up, “Faeries.”
Kallista had gotten up and closed the bedroom door, as if afraid someone might hear what she was about to say. “My parents used to tell Delphina and me scary stories of the Fae. It was their way of making sure we stayed inside at night like good girls. But I’ve heard just as many pleasant stories.”
James had leaned in close to hear his mother’s story. She told them of how, in her vitsa in Ukraine, a young Kalderash boy had gotten lost outside overnight in the winter and how when they’d found him the next morning, he said strange magic lights had guided him to a warm place to sleep, where little faeries had watched over him.
Iain had grimaced.
James had shivered. Magic and Fae were two nearly forbidden subjects in their home due to their father’s dislike of the faeries and their mother’s insistence that magic was evil and contaminated.
“But isn’t magic bad?” James had asked.
Kallista had thought for a long moment. “Not in all cases, with Fae magic. It depends on their motivation, I suppose. If the motivation was good, like saving that boy, then I don’t think it was wrong. His parents were certainly grateful their prayers had been answered.”
“But have you met a faery?” James had asked impatiently.
“Yes. A few,” Kallista had admitted slowly. “The most recent was a goblin woman. And I believe… she was trying to help me. Yes. I think she was,” she murmured softly, her words fading as if lost in thought but looked as if she wanted to say more.
When James and Iain had both demanded more information, Kallista had said it was a tale for another night, perhaps, and that it was time for them to say their prayers and go to bed. But she never did tell them about her own encounter with the goblin. She left a week later.
James wished he had been more observant as a child so he might have noticed if something was wrong. Nothing stood out to him as abnormal about the day she left—nothing that explained six years without contact.
The first week had passed slowly. With their mother gone and their father working odd hours, Iain had taken it upon himself to care for James and the house. Iain had to learn quickly to prepare meals without help. It had been fun for a while with more freedom. Then one week had turned into two, and James missed his mother so much that his chest ached. Iain had become perpetually anxious, shedding his carefree nature like a snakeskin.
Whenever the boys dared to ask their father if he’d heard from their mother yet, he would reply that she must have decided to stay longer. Weeks of waiting had morphed into months and then into insidious routine and complacency. Life without Mum had become normalized to everyone except James.
James had always thought that Iain had been serious when they would stay awake planning to leave the city one day, travel the countryside, and find their mother. They would explore the country and new cultures, encountering wild nature and Fae. Now that James was older, he suspected that his brother only said those things to ease his mind. But even when Iain no longer entertained conversations of adventure, James kept planning.
This morning, James woke up far before the sun rose, hoping to finish his morning chores in time to visit the bookshop before school.
He had only been scrubbing the kitchen counters with bleach for a few minutes, grumbling the whole time, before deciding that he deserved a break.
As James sat on the sofa in the living room with a book in his hands, he soon forgot all about his chores, getting lost in the words. It was only when he heard the click of the front door unlocking that he realized he’d been reading a while. Iain was coming in the door from his overnight shift.
James scrambled upright, tossed the book on the couch, and covered it with a throw pillow before Iain trudged into the room.
“You look awful,” James blurted out.
His older brother’s dark brown eyes were half-closed from staying awake all night, and there was a bruise over his right eyebrow that was swelling.
Iain merely shrugged in response, not seeming to care, and threw himself down on the couch beside James. He sat up after a moment in confusion and reached behind his back, pulling out the book and squinting at it.
“What’re you doing with this?”
“Reading it. What else would I be doing with it?” James asked sarcastically.
“Unless you’re going to use the book to beat dirt from the rugs, I suggest you put it back until later, yeah?” When James sighed, Iain suggested, “Or I could beat you with the book, if that’s what it’ll take for you to do your chores.”
“I was doing chores,” James protested. “I’ve cleaned most of the kitchen.”
“What about your laundry?” Iain nodded toward the back garden out the window where the clothesline outside was clearly bare.
James groaned. Laundry was always an arduous task. He had thought it was the same level of tedium for everyone—it was only when he had complained about the task at school that he learned differently. Most of his peers didn’t even wash their own laundry (their mothers did it for them), and no one ever told them they were supposed to separate the upper body clothing from the trousers or wash everyone’s clothing separately.
James wondered if Iain knew that he sounded like a mother hen. “You know, I think you just like to order me around. It’s not like the house is that dirty anyway.”
Iain wandered into the kitchen as he said, “You think I get a kick out of this or something? This old place would collapse if we didn’t keep it neat. We’ve got to bleach the hell out of everything, or the mold will come back. And you can’t be going to school in unwashed clothes, can you?”
James huffed but knew Iain was right. Iain was always repairing things in the home haphazardly. Sometimes James wondered if Iain didn’t tend to the house or buy groceries, if he or Dad would even notice if the house caved in, or if either of them would eat at all without Iain to take care of them. Luckily for them, Iain seemed to enjoy cooking a great deal even if he did not enjoy cleaning.
Iain returned a moment later with a dish towel with a few ice cubes in it and pressed it against his face. It was a surprisingly common sight.
“What happened?” James asked, leaning in with interest. “Did it involve a faery?”
Although Dad was always going on about how dangerous faeries were, how they were all the same, James knew better. He’d learned a lot more from books he’
d collected than anything anyone taught him in school, and he grew more fascinated by faeries with every book he read. The banned books were the most informative, which was why James thought they were banned in the first place.
“A faery wouldn’t conk you,” Iain said with a wry smile. “They’d just use their magic. Much sneakier.” He tossed the dish towel onto the table. “Anyway, it was some drunken idiot that clocked me when I was trying to break up a row. He’s worse off for it.”
“That sounds really urgent.” James slumped in his seat. “Good thing we have the Iron Wardens for that.”
“The entire city would be doomed without us, yeah?” Iain chuckled. “Listen, it’s not the most interesting job, but it pays well enough.”
It made little sense that Iain had decided to join the Iron Wardens when he had always yammered on about joining the Iron Infantry and facing real dangers. The Iron Infantry was reserved for combat, various missions all over England, and protecting the king while stationed in the city. On the other hand, the Wardens were more like police than anything else, and while they were in the same group as the Iron Infantry recruits during basic training, they did not have to train as long. The most they were equipped to handle was riot control and a few scuffles. Mostly they made sure no one was out past curfew. Iain had always mockingly called them glorified senior prefects.
“The Iron Infantry pays well too,” James pointed out. “And they at least help protect people from monsters, and they protect the king.”
Iain smiled tiredly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me gone, you’d have no one to tell you to do your chores.”
When James did not respond, Iain whacked him playfully in the back of the head with the book. James swore and rubbed at the back of his skull furiously, even though it hadn’t stung too badly.
“Oh, come on,” Iain said. “It can’t have hurt that bad.”
“Is that what they teach you in the Iron Wardens, to be a bully?”
“That, and to clean the barracks every day.” Iain exhaled softly, turning the book over in his hands. “I know you’ve got a grudge against them, but the Iron Wardens have done good in this city. Things aren’t how they were before.”
James scoffed under his breath but refrained from commenting about how sorely mistaken he thought his brother to be.
“Besides,” Iain added with a yawn, “Dad recommended me for the job, and he wanted me close to home. How could I refuse?”
Very easily.
James couldn’t understand why Iain would just drop his near lifelong aspiration just because their father suggested he join the Iron Wardens instead, but he supposed there were lots of aspects of his brother that he would never understand. He did not understand why Iain still sought their father’s approval.
“You start school today, yeah?” Iain asked after a pause. James nodded. “Are you prepared?”
“Of course I’m prepared,” James said, gesturing to his pajamas. “And I’m sure smelling of bleach will, uh, make a good impression.”
“Good,” Iain said, clearly not noticing James’s sarcasm or lack of proper clothing. “I’m completely knackered.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to sleep.”
James perked up. He might be able to leave in time to visit the bookshop after all.
Iain held up the book threateningly, though his eyes glinted with teasing. “Finish those chores. I mean it.” He grinned before tossing the book to James, who barely managed to catch it against his chest.
“All right. Fine.” He had no intention of doing that.
At the age of fourteen, James knew the city well enough to get around on his own. He found that he could maneuver through a crowd of people without being noticed if he wanted to. He walked along the busy pavement, passed people without even brushing their clothing, darted expertly across streets and past cars, and taking little-known shortcuts through various buildings. People didn’t pay him much mind usually.
Today being overlooked was an advantage; he knew what he was doing could get him in serious trouble if he was caught.
A secondhand bookshop was located in the more urban part of the city, crammed between two convenience stores. It was one of the only buildings on the street that was not guarded by an iron fence to keep out Fae, which had intrigued James enough to venture inside the first time last year. By this point, James was a regular customer, and the shop owner gave him a little nod whenever he came by.
The bell over the door chimed as James peered inside the shop. There was one room up front that was completely crammed with books—on shelves, stacked on the floor, piled in bins—and a smaller employee room that was roped off.
James covered his nose briefly with the brightly colored, dizzyingly patterned scarf around his neck. The air was musty, smelling of mildew and yellowed paper and the flowery air freshener the owner used to mask the scent of smoke.
“Morning, lad.” The shopkeeper grunted at him from behind the register. He rolled his eyes at James covering his nose before stamping out his cigarette hastily on the counter. He squinted at James. “You aren’t bunking off, are you?”
James shook his head. “School’s not for another half hour.”
The man raised an eyebrow at him but then shrugged. He waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the back room. “Got some new ones that might interest you. Just don’t go making a mess.”
How could I possibly make this place more of a wreck? James wondered incredulously, but he bit his tongue.
An elderly woman entered the shop and asked the owner to point her in the direction of gardening books. When she spotted James, her eyes narrowed and she frowned. James wilted shyly under her gaze and, not knowing what else to do, gave her a little wave, hoping she’d stop staring.
The woman leaned over the counter toward the owner and said loudly enough for James to hear, “If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on that one.”
James’s throat tightened. He tried his best to ignore the ignorant and unfounded claims about the Roma—that they were inherently tied to magic and faeries, that they were thieves—and he tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. He rarely sought out the darker intentions in people—that was his brother’s recent undertaking.
But there were other reasons besides his heritage that caused people to whisper and gawk.
James was not oblivious to the unkind whispers surrounding his mother and her absence, no matter how hard Iain fought to protect him from them. He had overheard a number of theories from his peers as to why she never came back, the most absurd being that she joined a group of faery cultists to connect to her nonexistent magical roots.
Wordlessly, James ducked into the back room where he found an unmarked cardboard box on the floor. The owner sometimes saved books for James to dig through that he would have discarded otherwise—books that were too ramshackle and decayed, books that were taboo, or books that were banned. Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, James got to work.
Foraging through his bag, he pushed past books on plants, animals, wilderness survival, and a thick volume of maps—Britain, Neo-London, the old city of London before it was bombed in the Cataclysm—and produced a heavily used notebook. He flipped past pages of notes on the countryside and patrol times of the Iron Guard and found the section on magic. Years of research would finally be put to use soon.
James rummaged gingerly through the box at his feet. Some of the book spines were brittle as bones, while others were gossamer as a cobweb and seemed they would be reduced to dust if he grabbed them too eagerly. One book caught his eye. The script was mostly faded on the blue woven cover, save for the faint shimmering shape of a winged faery that was once outlined in brilliant silver. He grinned, tracing the indentation with his fingers.
The worn, spiraling lettering read: Servants of The Winter Court: Unseelie Faeries and Their Ilk.
Snickering at the rather dramatic title, James began flipping through the first few pages. The inside was in good condition, with no
t a single torn or missing page. He leaned down and took a huge whiff of the book, breathing in the smell of old paper. He coughed once and then began to read.
James knew a little about the Winter Court already; he knew that a king and queen ruled over it but that they were much less organized than the Summer Court. They were supposedly located in Shetland, north of Scotland and the Summer Court. Both Unseelie faeries and monsters of all sorts were allied with the Winter Court, the monsters roaming throughout the island unchecked and untethered by their Court. There had been more and more monster sightings down south with each passing year.
Pen and ink illustrations flitted through his vision as James opened the book and flipped through the pages. Sharp, high-contrast images of dark elves, nymphs, red caps, wolflike spirits, trolls, and other creatures, gaunt faces and hollowed eyes shadowed deeply in black ink. One creature in particular caught James’s eye (besides the rather risqué nymph illustration): an odd type of giant known to terrorize Scotland. It had only one leg, one arm, and one eye. According to the text, it had slaughtered whole villages in the past.
“The Fachan,” James murmured with a disbelieving grin, running his thumb over the image. “Aren’t you a big ugly chap?”
There was more: the curses, spells, and hexes cast by these creatures. How some spells could cause a burst of magic, and some curses could blot it out. How some magic was sealed for years, only awoken by the touch of a powerful or skilled faery of either Court.
The minutes were eaten away, and before James new it, it was time for him to head to school. He decided to buy the book as he barely had time to copy down any useful information into his notebook. As he made his way to the counter, he smiled at the elderly woman from before as she gave him a once-over.
“It’s free, lad,” the shopkeeper insisted when James began opening his wallet. “I’d have to throw it out otherwise.”