by Mary Dublin
"Sorry. You okay, Sylvia?" He shifted her to the palm of one hand, using the other to gingerly try and help her to her previous position.
"N-no," Sylvia answered bluntly, trying to settle herself with the least amount of help from Jon. Despite his strange kindness, she couldn't allow herself to invest trust in him. Just the sight of either human made her want to hide.
The jostling movement of the vehicle's sharp turn had jarred her wing. She shot an accusing glare at Cliff even though he wasn't looking. Taking a deep breath, she craned her neck to the side to see the injury that had taken her flight away. She grimaced, chilled by the sight of the circular hole in the wing's membrane. How had that even happened? By what Jon said at the house, it was Cliff who had done it. He shot her, though she didn't know how or with what.
"Damn, that's not good," she muttered, but it couldn't be more of an understatement. Her light was blocked when Jon leaned over her, sharp eyes scanning the affected area.
"You've really done it this time." Jon sighed and sat back, loading his hands to his lap for the remainder of the ride. It put her at a lower vantage point, forcing her world into an even more intimidating perspective. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cliff glancing over at her several times, his expression unreadable.
After what felt like an endless time stuck in the metal machine with her captors, a change was signaled when the constant rumbling quieted down. Finally, it cut off altogether when the keys were pulled out. Sylvia ducked her head this way and that, trying to get a look beyond Jon's huge fingers. The buildings were strict-looking, all harsh lines and plain colors. They were dark enough to blend into the night sky, with only occasional windows aglow from within.
"Dusty's nosing around on the floor below us. You better hide her good," Cliff warned after giving the towering complex a brief scan. He gathered his bag before he got out of the machine.
Jon exited after him and headed upstairs with his hand—and Sylvia—crammed into his soft jacket pocket.
Three
For most of the dark ride, Sylvia remained slumped dejectedly, surrounded by thick fabric and giant fingers. It must have been the shock of the whole situation that kept her from being overwrought with tears. She wanted to protest about being hidden, but she doubted any of it would be listened to. Either way, she wasn't keen on being spotted by even more humans.
Unable to hold still despite her best efforts, she squirmed uncomfortably in the darkness of the pocket, irritated that she had no say in what happened to her. Her wings stayed folded loosely at her back, and she tried to keep the injured one from making contact with anything. Jon's hand took up more room than she did in the small space, making it impossible to avoid contact with the huge fingers no matter how far she huddled in the corner. The rocking movement of the human's walk was a frightening sensation, and though she wasn't one to be prone to motion sickness, she felt her stomach churn.
A door closed, footsteps shuffled, and then the enveloping hand clasped her more securely to pull her out of the stifling pocket. The warm lighting revealed both giants in a new way, but she was too busy taking in the enormous room to notice, blinking hard as her eyes adjusted.
Cliff raised his eyebrows. "She doesn't look happy."
"Can't say I blame her," Jon said, walking further into the apartment.
Cliff tossed his bag into a room down the hall. He took out a strange "L" shaped hunk of metal from his waistband and set it on the low living room table before sitting down in the old armchair and leaning back deeply, eyes never straying from Sylvia.
"I thought fairies were an urban legend. Just myth." He looked at Sylvia dubiously as Jon set her on the other end of the table.
"There's plenty of folklore to back it up," Jon mused in reply. "I guess it makes sense."
"It would be oh-so nice if you didn't question my existence while I'm in the room," Sylvia said icily, daring to raise her eyes to the humans.
The full sight of the men made her scoot away with fresh caution. They were even bigger out of the shadows. She stopped when she reached the far edge of the table. Glancing between the two men warily, she took a deep breath to steel herself. No torturing yet. That was a good sign.
"Just some questions, right?" Her harsh tone was replaced by a note of pleading. "Then you'll let me go, right?"
Sylvia watched with confusion as the two humans exchanged a long look, a silent conversation seeming to pass right over her head.
"Yeah, definitely," Jon replied in a rushed voice. "But first things first…" He took off his jacket and knelt down by the table. "I want to see what I can do about your wing."
Even with his jacket off, he didn't look any less immense. He filled out his shirt like warrior fairies did, with none of the battle runes that came with such finesse. Sylvia leaned away, eyes widening with alarm as he focused on her. Her wings folded gingerly against her back until they were out of plain view.
"N-no!" She shook her head vigorously. Instinct ordered her to not allow those huge, dangerous hands near her wings. "Wings get torn. It happens. I don't know how to heal it myself, but the hole will close itself over time if it's left alone. You don't need to do anything."
He hesitated, eyeing the injured wing that jutted out slightly from around her arm. "Are you sure? I can at least put some Neosporin on it or something." His hand remained tentatively extended toward her, very slowly still reaching.
Her eyes darted to Cliff for a moment, but she hastily looked away when she realized he was still staring. She brought her nervous gaze back to Jon, confused. Why was he so insistent to help? Whatever his reasons were, a spark of hope latched itself to her. It could be a ruse… or it could be genuine. Maybe she could make it out of this alive yet.
"W-what's Neosporin?" She glanced at his hand, worrying every second that it would jump forward and trap her. She shifted slightly, wings shuffling. The injury flared up again, and she clenched her teeth. "If you think it'll help, I guess…"
"It's kind of like a balm or ointment, if you know what those are." Jon gave her a sheepish smile, seeming to struggle with comparing it to something she would understand. He stood, towering over her so abruptly that she almost tumbled backward. "I'm just gonna go grab it. Stay there."
"On my dresser!" Cliff called after him. He returned his gaze to the fairy and pursed his lips. "Any chance I get a wish outta this? Catching a fairy and all…"
She gave an offended scoff. "Even if your human myths were true, you seem to have forgotten you put a hole in my wing. You'd be the last person I grant a wish to." She opened her wings carefully, preparing herself for the balm and feeling a great deal more nervous with Jon out of the room.
"Aw, don't be like that." A brief smile flickered over Cliff's face. "I'm sure we can work things out between us." He sat back in the chair when approaching footsteps marked his roommate's return.
Jon knelt down by the table and squeezed a thin stream of ointment on his fingertip. "I need you to turn around so I can put this on your wing," he explained. When she didn't move, he gave her a surprisingly gentle look. "I'm not going to hurt you. No tricks."
Sylvia hesitated, glancing between the two humans again. She refrained from arguing that she could put it on the wing herself. Jon would know more about applying the balm than she did. Reluctant to comply nonetheless, she stood and turned around, leaving her wings open to where he could reach the throbbing wound. Crossing her arms and gripping her elbows, she took a rigid stance, nervously anticipating the human's touch. "A-alright. I'm ready. Do it."
His breath hit her shoulder blades, revealing how close he was. Despite her mental preparation, she flinched when the large fingertip touched her sore wing. Utterly aware of his presence behind her, Sylvia closed her eyes and bit her lip. A sharp sting from the contact made her grit her teeth, but it was followed by a cooling sensation from the balm. It was a far cry from the instant relief of a healing spell, but she couldn't complain.
"Is it really painful?" Jon asked.
"I mean… how sensitive are the nerves in your wings?"
"Wings are tougher than flesh. Strong enough to fly through most light weather." She looked over her shoulder coldly. "Something ripping through the membrane, however, is a lot more shocking than snow flurries beating around the outside. So yes, it's painful."
Jon frowned thoughtfully at her. He was finished applying the balm, but his hand rested near her.
"I'm guessing that puts you out of commission for flying, too?" He traced his fingertip ever so lightly along the outer edge of her healthy wing.
Sylvia gasped, a shiver running through her body at his touch. Discomforted by the feeling, she turned on her heel to face him. She had half a mind to scold him for his nerve, but the words died in her throat when she was met with the full view of how close his hand was. She folded her wings to hide them from sight.
"Yes," she replied, casting her gaze down. "Even if the pain goes away, I can't even fly straight with air passing through a hole that big. I'll have to rely on my legs until the wound is at least healed enough to keep me in the air."
Jon pulled back a bit, but their faces were still less than a foot away. His brown eyes peered sadly into hers. Out of sight, Cliff chuckled under his breath. Jon immediately shot him a reproachful look, and Cliff tried to convince him with a smile.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just the thought of her running around like a tiny little chipmunk…"
Recapping the antibiotic ointment with a sigh, Jon stood up. "Dial it back, would you? She's nearly scared out of her skin as it is."
Sylvia leaned away anxiously as Jon's legs replaced his torso past the table's edge. Did he even know how greatly he towered over her at full height? She pursed her lips, annoyed by the humans' back and forth. Even more irritating was that she had a slim chance of finding her way home without them taking her back, and she would somehow have to do that without revealing the location of her village. She ran her fingers through her hair and groaned.
"What were you two even doing out there?" she blurted, louder than intended.
Both men simultaneously dropped their conversation to look at her. Her eyes widened. Given the situation, she decided it wasn't wise to raise her voice.
"I could ask you the same question." Cliff sat up straighter.
Sylvia paled, eying his hands nervously. Being trapped in his fist was still far too vivid a memory, and there was no telling whether he would snatch her up again.
"We were investigating a missing person's report," Jon answered, taking a seat on the sofa. "Three, actually. They all went missing shortly after visiting that old house."
Narrowing her eyes at the humans, she knew she had no obligation to explain why she had been there. They had been the ones who injured and kidnapped her when she had done nothing wrong, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
"You think I have something to do with this?" She scoffed in disbelief, looking over at Cliff. At least he hadn't injured her out of pure malevolence. Still, there was a damn hole in her wing, and it would likely never be the same again unless she made it back to the village and had it healed as soon as possible. "Who attacks something before they even know what or who they're attacking?" She took a few bold steps closer. "And in case you're wondering, no, I'm not going to let that go."
"Well you certainly weren't the landlord," Cliff retorted, scowling.
"He just doesn't want to admit you freaked him out," Jon said under his breath, smirking faintly at his lap.
Sylvia pressed her lips into a thin line, almost chuckling at his comment. Given how terrifying the humans were, it was amusing to think she had initially scared at least one of them.
Then it occurred to her that perhaps getting home wouldn't be so difficult after all.
"So, since you haven't found this—whatever's making those people disappear, you'll be going back to the house?" she asked, trying to hide her eagerness but unable to help but sound hopeful.
"Yeah." Cliff stood up, taking the metal "L" shaped thing with him. "Tomorrow." He looked at Jon. "Fairy or no fairy, I'm headed to bed. It's past two in the morning."
Jon nodded, looking tired himself. Cliff lingered a moment in the doorway, no doubt wondering what Jon was going to do with Sylvia for sleeping arrangements.
"You haven't seen anything odd around there? Anything that might be a threat to people?" Jon asked, but his posture and tone showed he was ready to wrap up this little interrogation.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," she replied, her heart sinking. Jon looked skeptical of her answer, and Cliff was no better staring her down from the armchair. There was no chance of getting home tonight. As much as she didn't want to cooperate with her attackers, she begrudgingly accepted that tomorrow was her best bet. She focused on Jon, raising a hand to fiddle with the tips of her short hair, almost afraid to ask, "What now?"
"Well," he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, letting out a puff of air. "We need to sleep."
"Damn right we do," Cliff muttered, massaging his eyes. He waved a hand at the coffee table without looking up. "Just put her in a shoebox for the night. No sense in trying to go back to Dottage tonight."
Sylvia paled. It was like those awful legends come to life again.
Humans. Hunters. They'll cage you up and do as they please until you wither away like a flower forbidden sunlight.
"A box?" she squeaked, images of boxes and cages and huge, looming faces racing through her mind.
To her shock, Jon wrinkled his nose much as she did. "We're not putting her in a box. She needs to breathe."
"A drawer, then." Cliff was serious. "The fairy's our best lead, we can't let her run off."
"I won't run!" Sylvia waved her arms to get their attention. "I… I won't. If you lock me up, I'll scream all night. I promise I will. So please… don't."
"Sorry, short stuff," Cliff said, folding his arms. "But there's no way I'm letting you have free range. Wings or no, you'll find a way—"
"She can bunk with me," Jon interrupted.
And just like that, the room went quiet.
Cliff was the first to round on him. "You want to share your bed with a fairy? That's insane."
"It's not like she takes up much room, and Leanna's certainly not coming home anytime soon. And I can keep an eye on her if she tries to run."
Cliff raised an eyebrow steeply, his expression so distasteful she wanted to turn invisible. Still, she nodded eagerly at the prospect of sleeping out in the open, and looked between them hopefully. To her relief, Jon seemed to win their silent stare-off.
"It'll be fine, Cliff." Jon bent down to reach for her, then paused. "I'm going to pick you up now, okay?"
She took a few instinctive steps back, staring up at him with suspicion. It was strange that he asked permission when he could do it even if she didn't want him to. "Alright," she conceded. Without her wings, she was practically immobile. "Just… be careful, please?"
Jon gave a patient sigh. "Of course."
It was the strangest thing to watch the long, sturdy fingers surround her. Sylvia opened her wings before he grasped her, so they could hang freely over the side of his hand. The injury had cooled down to a dull throb since the balm had been applied. She bit her lip as her feet left the sturdy surface of the table, but she managed to keep her outward composure as he effortlessly picked her up.
"I can keep telling you I'm not going to hurt you, but if I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn't trust me either." He aimed a humorous smile in her direction.
Despite her worry, she felt some relief when he sympathized with her. Or at least he tried to. She had a hard time believing it was possible for someone like him to understand how she felt.
"It's not easy," she admitted, a wry smile finding its way to her lips. She hoped he couldn't feel her racing heart give away how anxious she was to be put down. "But considering I'm still alive… well, it could be worse, I guess."
The bedroom he entered was a half the size of massive living room
prior. There were two full-sized beds, a large desk, and matching wooden dressers with clothes sticking out of a few drawers. Maps, charts, images, and lists covered two and half walls, some layered atop each other. Jon walked over to the bed nearest the window and lowered his hand to the pillow. The bathroom door was shut, the sound of a toothbrush and water running wafting through.
Sylvia looked around in fascination, intrigued by the human things surrounding her as she stepped away from Jon's hand. Her village only had simple dwellings. It was unusual to see a bedroom adorned with such personality. She scanned the walls, curious about the images and wondering if they coincided with the humans' occupation.
"Wow," she breathed. "Looks like you've got plenty to keep you busy."
"We're no good at spring cleaning." Jon flashed her a smile over his shoulder. He crossed the distance to the dresser and knelt down to rummage through the bottom drawer for some softer pants. "Stuff just piles up over time, I guess."
"What exactly do you do?" she asked, unfamiliar with everything she could see on the walls. When she tried to take a step closer, she lost her balance on the plush surface of the pillow and fell into a seated position. Deciding she would sleep on that spot, she sat cross-legged and let her wings unfurl naturally. "Do you just look for people when they go missing?"
Jon sat on the side of the bed with his pajamas in his lap, waiting for the bathroom to be vacant. "We're…" He rubbed his eyes wearily. "We're kind of like freelance investigators."
Sylvia glanced away from the wall and caught him looking at her over his shoulder. She froze for a moment and then looked away self-consciously as she fiddled with her hands.
"I guess you've never seen a fairy before, huh?" she said. "I'd probably stare too."
"Yesterday I would have said they don't exist," Jon replied, not looking quite at her but at her wings.
A doorknob jiggled, followed by the bathroom door swinging open. Sylvia promptly looked back at the walls when Cliff walked in, feeling color rush to her cheeks at his sudden appearance in underclothes. These men were terrifying giants in her eyes, but she couldn't deny that in another life she would find them attractive. Whatever "freelance investigating" was, it certainly kept them fit.