The Maker, the Teacher, and the Monster

by Leah Cutter

  “Glad to be graduated?” Betty asked as she slit open the box and started removing the crinkled newspaper.

  “Can’t even tell you how happy I am to be out of there,” Dale said seriously.

  “When are you heading out?” Betty asked as she pulled up the most ugly waving cat that Dale had ever seen. Its head wasn’t on straight, it looked blotchy, as if it had been painted by a child—even its paw seemed deformed.

  “End of the summer,” Dale said breezily. “Same as Nora.”

  Nora had said she didn’t know who the creature was, and not to give away any of her plans. It couldn’t be Betty, Dale was certain, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  After Betty had oohed and awwed over half the contents in the box, Dale finally worked up the courage to ask, “So, where’s Leslie today?”

  “I knew there was a reason you finished that clock so quickly!” Betty said, looking up at Dale. “She works Tuesdays and Thursdays. So she won’t be here until tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Dale said, trying not to feel disappointed. He had gotten paid generously, after all.

  “Here,” Betty said, pushing the ugly cat towards Dale. “Fix this by Thursday.”

  “I can’t fix this,” Dale said seriously. “It’s too ugly. Even if I could, once it catches a glance of itself in the mirror, it’ll just break again.”

  Betty laughed and laughed. “No. Seriously. There’s something wrong with the arm mechanism there. You should fix it. Bring it back on Thursday.”

  Dale looked at the ugly thing in his hands and slowly nodded. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  “Of course you will. I never expect anything less,” Betty said. “Now, help me move these other treasures.”

  Dale rolled his eyes but complied, carrying broken bowls, dolls missing arms, even a bag full of beads from a broken necklace. “You don’t have to keep all this junk, you know,” he pointed out. The workbenches in the back were already overflowing with things that just needed, as Betty put it, “a little fixing and a lot of love.”

  “What’s one person’s junk is another person’s treasure,” Betty instructed him, as she always did. “And how are you going to know the difference?”

  Dale sighed and shook his head. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Just as he couldn’t know who the creature was, the one taking Nora’s teachers.

  * * *

  Adele screeched her joy to the starlit sky as she spiraled upwards, darting in between the warriors and their mock battle, racing the students to the top of the column the folding her wings and diving back toward the forest floor, pulling up much later than most of the rest who didn’t know the limits of their power.

  This was what she’d been looking for in all those years in her court up north. This heady, glorious mix of dance and flying, not just warriors but all the castes, enjoying the night and the moonbeams on their wings.

  If only Adele could have gotten Cornelius to see. Her people needed to be outside, away from the stifling atmosphere of the underground world. Yes, it was safe there.

  Fairies weren’t supposed to be safe, as they were now told about in fairy tales.

  Adele flew up again, her heart racing. She was at least as strong as the strongest warrior with her clockwork support, the gears turning smoothly.

  One of the forest warriors turned midair and yelled a wordless challenge at her. Adele dove directly at him, not bothering to respond with her own challenge. They struck with a vigor that took her breath away, arms grappling as they tried to force the other down. Adele got a good handful of hair and pulled the warrior’s head back. If they’d been truly battling, he would have either let go or died—she would have happily torn out his jugular.

  Instead, the warrior screamed and folded his wings, dropping his weight so Adele would have to let go.

  She still gave him a nice scratch with her nail across his throat before she released him, so he’d remember her power over him, their lovely dance. She shouted again and danced higher, arms outstretched as wide as her wings, then spiraling down.

  This time, Adele swooped into the far clearing. A ready pot of blessed full moon wine sat there. However, instead of the traditional glass, it was contained in an earthenware vessel. Adele glanced around for cups or glasses—surely they had to be somewhere?

  Then two warriors joined her, racing to the large bowl. Greedily, they thrust their hands into the wine, then licked it off their fists.

  Adele had memories of doing the same as a girl. She’d been born in the country, where she’d nightly danced in the clearings, screeching at the moon and grappling with the other warriors. She’d been barefoot all the time, her clothes merely rags and paint.

  With a shock, Adele realized that after their dance tonight, there would be no warm bed to go to, no clean stream to bathe in. These people lived as she had as a child, like barbarians.

  While Adele warmed to their passion, she despised the poverty she saw. Ramit’s people weren’t starving, but they had no fancy dresses, suit coats, or shoes. Their children would be prey to the larger animals in the woods, as well as to any snap cold front. They would stay in the trees all night, never knowing a soft feather bed again.

  While Adele had wanted her people to leave the kingdom, to regain their fierce fairy hearts, she had never wanted to lead them back into this level of scarcity.

  Was one possible without the other?

  Adele scoffed at the warriors who’d finished their drink and had taken off again. Of course it was. She’d just have to be clever about how her people traveled and battled.

  Just as she was an amalgamation of mechanical and fairy, so could her people be both fierce and pampered.

  * * *

  Nora looked up every time the bell over the door rang, her heart beating faster. Was this the monster? Damn it. She couldn’t live her life scared this way.

  But she couldn’t help it. Someone had been stopping her teachers from getting through to her. Killing them. Was it Mr. Glendal, the owner of the craft shop? Somehow, she doubted that he could do anything other than swish someone to death, maybe drown them in glitter. He and his partner Bill weren’t the only gay couple in their small town, but they were the most prominent. They always talked about “making a pilgrimage to Mecca” every year—going to the Castro district in San Francisco for Pride.

  Nora couldn’t imagine any of the parents she regularly saw would have some sort of magical ability. If they had, they would have done something about their kids: Drown them at birth, or made them mute, or something.

  Working with kids had made Nora seriously question having any children of her own. Particularly since she didn’t know if she’d pass along her magical abilities or not, or if it would skip a generation. She also had no way of teaching the youngster, since she’d never had a teacher.

  Had this monster actually killed her grandparents? If so, she was doubly pissed at it. Not only had it hindered her training—what if she could never learn everything she needed to learn, because she needed to start at a younger age? But it had killed two of the people she loved most in the world, right when she needed them most; after discovering just what a pig her biodad was.

  That was how Nora thought about Chris these days. He’d passed along some genetic material, but that was about it. She’d never call him “dad” again.

  The next time the bell rang, Nora looked up, startled. This time, though, her heart kept racing a little. It was Brett, and he held a bouquet.

  “Hi, beautiful,” Brett said with his graceful smile as he walked across the craft shop, easily negotiating the table full of ten-year-olds who were busily making a mess of the clay Nora had gotten out for them.

  “Hi,” Nora said. She looked at Mr. Glendal, who nodded and said, “Ten minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Nora said. He really was the best.

  She was going to feel bad about leaving him shorthanded, but she couldn’t take the chance that maybe he knew something. Or that he’d men
tion her leaving to someone who really couldn’t know.

  Nora led Brett to the back storage room. Boxes of paint kits, puzzle kits, stamps, and construction paper lined two of the walls, while bags of wool and an odd collection of holiday supplies filled the third. The overhead light buzzed annoyingly. Nora could never get it to stop. Mr. Glendal said it was the transformer, and she hadn’t been able to blackmail Dale into coming into the shop sometime after hours to fix it.

  With a quick glance back out into the store, Nora gave Brett a hug. “Hi there,” she whispered into his ear, kissing the warm skin there. Brett always smelled amazing, like the spicy aftershave he used and his own musk.

  “Hi there,” Brett said. He also glanced over his shoulder, lifting one eyebrow.

  Nora shook her head. “If I close the door, Mr. Glendal will be back here in three minutes. If I leave it open, he’ll leave us alone for closer to seven, maybe ten.”

  “Ah, okay,” Brett said. He pulled back a little and presented Nora with the flowers. “For my best girl,” he said. “Also, as an apology.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Nora told Brett, taking the flowers and sniffing the bouquet deeply. Yellow roses and red astoria, with two sprigs of rosemary tucked in among the greenery to sweeten the bunch.

  “I didn’t mean to push you about the ring,” Brett said. “Though I’d still really like for you to have it.”

  Nora pulled back from her half embrace of Brett and looked into the bouquet. There, nestled at the top of the paper, was the blue velvet box.

  “I can’t take it,” Nora said firmly. She gave the bouquet back to Brett, pushing him to arm’s length away. “I thought you understood.”

  “See, that’s the problem. I really don’t,” Brett said. “You said it’s because it belonged to Eli, my grandfather. Why won’t you take something that belonged to him? I mean, it was in my family.”

  Was he serious? Nora’s heart sank.

  She’d said no. That was all she needed to say. Ever. To any guy. The word “no” all by itself should have been enough.

  Nora glared at Brett. “You know? I don’t have to tell you anything more. I told you no. That should have been good enough.” When Nora realized her hands were shaking she folded them into fists and pushed them against her waist, to hide how angry she was.

  How dare he?

  Brett took one look at Nora’s face. “Wow. I really overstepped, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. You should just go,” Nora told him. “Now.” She couldn’t talk with him, not after that.

  “How about I come over tonight?” Brett offered. “No ring. Just talk.”

  Nora hesitated, then told him, “Call first.” She’d been pissed when Mom had insisted that none of her friends could just drop by—that they all had to call or text first, to make sure it was okay.

  Now, she was glad of the policy.

  It would be easy enough to tell Brett he couldn’t come over. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to see him the next couple of days.

  On the one hand, she wanted to spend every minute she could with him.

  On the other hand, she knew she couldn’t do that. She’d end up telling him, or dropping a hint or something, that she was leaving.

  And she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t tell him either.

  It wasn’t until an hour after Brett left that Nora realized that he’d left the flowers on the back table in the storeroom.

  With the ring still inside.

  * * *

  Kostya chuckled as he walked away from the mother’s house. She hadn’t offended him by slamming the door behind him. On the contrary. She’d just acknowledged his power. That was always a compliment as far as he was concerned.

  Oh yes, his plans of enspelling the twins’ mother had fallen by the wayside. Kostya reminded himself of the first rule of war: no matter how good the plan, it always failed when it met reality.

  The best generals were flexible. And Kostya had learned flexibility as well as patience these last five years. Along with finely manipulating the politics of the dwarven king.

  The twins already knew of his existence. Which meant they were still in touch with the fairy kingdom. But what had changed in the last week? The mother hadn’t been wearing anything of Nora’s earlier, Kostya was certain.

  Something had spooked the girl, spooked them both.

  As strong as Nora had become, Kostya knew something wasn’t right. She hadn’t been taught, led in the usual directions. She was still expanding, finding her own way.

  Why hadn’t any of the other human Makers come and found her? Any of the teachers? They still existed.

  It had been a pure shot in the dark that the humans assumed a single creature was keeping away her teachers. No one was powerful enough to do that.

  Unless…

  Kostya had always been aware of another creature, older than the fairies and the dwarves, who’d been there before them. Who didn’t have a kingdom per se, but still looked after this area as his own. Now that Kostya thought about it, this area had never had as many humans who could do magic as other parts of the world.

  Of course, Kostya had no idea who this creature was. But that there was one, he had no doubt.

  And perhaps this creature wanted to keep Nora for his own.

  Should he include his speculations in his next report to the dwarven king?

  Kostya tottered off through the tall white-tufted grass, his boots making no sound on the path. The grass held no knots, no tests or traps.

  Foolish fairies. Had they turned their back on the human world these past few years? It wouldn’t surprise him. Since coming to the New World they’d isolated themselves, turned inward.

  At the end of the trail sat the still-abandoned house, the human entrance to the fairy kingdom below. Red paint bubbled like a disease on the walls. Scraps of paper, fast food wrappers, and dirty plastic bags littered the bottom edge of the house, like a modern moat. The roof was flat, black, and gathered in all the light to itself.

  The door had been changed. Instead of a great clockwork doorknob, now it was boarded over with graffiti-stained plywood that still looked like new wood, despite its age.

  Kostya recognized it for the illusion it was: Nothing human or otherwise could pass through that door without setting off alarms in the kingdom below.

  Luckily, there were other tunnels, other ways into the kingdom that weren’t as well guarded.

  * * *

  Brett watched from across the street as Nora left the shop. She hunched in on herself as she looked up and down the street, before stepping into the fading afternoon sunlight. She kept herself upright, not catching the eye of any of the tourists on the sidewalk. The day was sunny and nice, people were being friendly and smiling, and Nora wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

  Not good.

  Something had scared Nora. Instead of a warm hearthfire, which was what Brett normally saw when he looked through the flimsy human walls to the hearts inside, he saw that cooler fire still, but now it was tinged with blue steel.

  What was Nora protecting herself from? Who or what had scared her? It hadn’t been the fairies, had it? He’d kill them all if they had. Brett wasn’t aware of any other creature who’d crossed the borders into his territory.

  At least she carried the boutique with her, and, as far as he could tell, the ring. Its magic would work on her.

  All she had to do was put it on. Brett had thought he had more time before the next mating season started, as much as a year or two, but it was on him before he’d even begun the process.

  He had to have Nora bound to him. Before the full moon waxed. Or else it would be another long, cold cycle of one hundred and thirty-three years before he could find another mother for his ravenous children.

  Had some teacher finally gotten a message through to the Maker? Brett didn’t see how. They would never commit such a message to any kind of electronic media: Too easily spoofed, stolen, or transmuted even,
something Nora would learn to do, eventually.

  If she survived childbirth.

  Brett let Nora go for the time being instead of calling out to her and escorting her to her truck. He’d phone her later, solicitous as always. Maybe stop by the house, if she’d let him.

  For now, Brett had some searching to do. He sniffed the air, looking for a trail of something that didn’t belong, for someone who he hadn’t granted permission to. It had to be a tourist—they were the most difficult to control. As a general rule, he made it difficult for all but the most ardent of practitioners to stay. The old stories of a weird vortex on the coast always helped, how sensitives got sick if they stayed too long in the small tourist town.

  There had to be a trail, somewhere. That led from Nora and the store. To this person. Nora hadn’t been like this the day before. They couldn’t have approached her home. So the contact had to have happened here, possibly on the sidewalk in front of where Nora worked.

  Brett sauntered across the street to start his hunting. When he found whoever it was, he’d make sure they regretted it.

  * * *

  Garung woke in the trees, precariously balanced on a pine tree branch, his wings wrapped around him. He opened his mouth wide, stretching out his jaw. The muscles in his face hurt from all the screeching he’d done the previous night, from stretching his mouth wide enough for his howls.

  Garung steadied himself and looked around. Below, the floor of the forest was blanketed with soft pine needles. It wasn’t even midday, the sun filtering through the tree branches above Garung’s head. Birds called to one another, defending their territory or gathering their flock. Crickets and flies buzzed lazily in the still air. Off in the distance, Garung heard the waves of the ocean, and caught a faint trace of the salt overlaying the sweet pine scent.

  Scattered in trees below Garung were the rest of the troop. None of them was properly wrapped up either, though their wings brilliantly camouflaged them.

  Except Adele. Interesting. He would have thought she’d take most to this natural state. Maybe she wouldn’t be staying here, but would continue with them.

  Because Garung was determined that his troop would continue on to the northern kingdom. This forest kingdom had nothing they needed. They not only had let the traditional crafts go, they’d let all manners and everything they deemed “modern tradition” fall to the wayside.