You Let Me In

by Camilla Bruce

  None of that meant anything to me. Smelled like a lie—it still does. It’s just another one of those things you ought to have in order to build your life right. It’s a screen to hide behind.

  If you have a husband, you cannot truly be that bad.

  If your husband is handsome and capable too, more glitter falls on you. If you don’t have it, you are deemed unworthy, different and possibly wrong. Without the love of a good man—any man—you are spoiled fruit, lacking an essential stamp of approval. Never mind if you are ill suited for it and would’ve been much better off alone. Never mind if your inclinations are such that living with another human being is difficult and even harmful. Live with another you must, or face eternal shame and disgrace. Forever be second-class. No stamp of approval for you.

  I didn’t think much about such things when I met Tommy Tipp though, and started sleeping with him in the woods. I figured we would move in together when autumn arrived and the forest floor became cold and wet. It was best suited for summer nights; soft moss and scented air.

  The faeries gathered all around us; laughing, pointing, and whispering.

  I didn’t care if they saw. My heart was a mess. I was unaccustomed to that as well; that flutter and that ache, the honey that poured forth whenever he was near, sticky and golden, coating everything in sweetness.

  Pepper-Man said that I even tasted like honey, spicy and warm, in those early Tommy-days.

  XI

  And now, my young friends, it’s finally time to talk about Tommy Tipp and what happened to him in those woods.

  * * *

  That summer we met, Tommy, though twenty-four, was still living with his parents. Things had been a bit hard for him after the release from prison, and he had problems moving on. His mother was a gray and bitter woman who sold buttons and ribbons and threads for a living. His father repaired cars.

  I was eighteen when I met him, working part-time at the library, trying to find my footing in a world that hadn’t treated me kindly. I was contemplating college; sipped tea from mason jars and wrote every night, with Pepper-Man reading over my shoulder. Mother and Dr. Martin were feeding me pills: an array of blue, white, and purple dots. I always spit them out; flushed them down the toilet. Pepper-Man said they weren’t good for me; incompatible with faerie food. I, of course, was living at home too, my white room filled with dead greenery feeling smaller and more oppressive by the day.

  * * *

  Tommy thought I was peculiar, different. That was what drew him to me. I wasn’t like the other women swooning at his feet. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of men much at all at that point. I had Pepper-Man, Mara, and my friends in the woods, how could there be room for more? I also knew that I was broken. I knew that the life I led set me apart, and that there would never, ever, be a bridging of that gap—but Tommy was different too. He was living on the fringe of things, just as I did, only on another fringe. He would never wholly be part of the establishment in S—, his past would always be with him, his reputation would always condemn him—he too was broken in the eyes of the world. That, I think, was why I let him in.

  We all know now that it was a mistake.

  He had approached me at work when he came in to read the newspapers and scan the job ads, or pretend to, anyway. I think the lack of attention I paid him, pushing my trolley, sorting through books, annoyed him no end. He was used to being looked at, his self-esteem depended on it. He knew all about me, of course. Knew I was Olivia Thorn’s half-mad sister who used to walk alone in the woods, talk to invisible people, and sometimes even throw things in anger. That didn’t faze him at all.

  One day he came over while I was at the desk and leaned in on the wooden counter:

  “Are you as crazy as they say?” His blue gaze burrowed into mine.

  “Yes.” I stifled a smile. “Crazier,” I said.

  “Good,” he replied, combed through his hair with his hand. Seemed a little nervous. “Do you want to go for a walk when you’re done? Have an ice cream?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it’s a hot day, and ice cream is better with company.” He tried to dazzle me with a smile, but it fell a little flat. I was puzzled more than anything else. I didn’t understand what he wanted.

  “Why?” I asked again.

  “Because sweetness is better shared,” he replied and added a wink. I didn’t get it. Shook my head in confusion.

  He sighed. Fidgeted. “Look, I just want to get to know you, that’s all. I see you all the time in here, pushing that trolley around … I just thought you seemed lonely, that’s all. Wondered if you’d like some company.”

  I swallowed hard. No one had approached in that way before, and he did seem sincere. Old warnings about going with strange men flashed through my mind, but of course I didn’t heed them. I was never afraid of the same things that other girls were afraid of. Had no reason to be. I was always well protected from strangers.

  “All right,” I said at last, and watched his shoulders relax as he let out his breath. He rarely had to work for a yes, so my reluctance must have been hard to swallow.

  He waited for me then, when I got off work; leather jacket thrown over his shoulder, to show off his abs no doubt, and the sculpted chest under his shirt, but I didn’t care about things like that. We slowly made our way down to the pier, where the ice cream parlors lay scattered like colorful beads, sporting small tables under plastic parasols. I remember a gentle breeze spinning candy wrappers and newspaper pages on the ground, the unfamiliar sensation of walking side by side with a man. Remember that I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to act, and how that bothered me.

  Tommy Tipp wasn’t tied for words, though.

  “Who are you talking to?” he asked, when we sat by a white plastic table licking at our ice cream cones. “When you are talking to yourself,” he clarified. The sun was really blazing that day, licking his hair with gold. The pink ice cream melted faster than I could eat it, fat droplets ran down the sides, curling across my fingers, aiming for my wrist.

  “My invisible friends,” I said, not really trying to be coy. Flirting was a foreign language to me, in which he was fluent, of course.

  “Oh, really.” His eyes twinkled. “What do they have to say that is so interesting?”

  “They tell me things,” I replied, still honest. Found no reason to lie, even if I knew Mother wanted me to.

  “What do they say, then?” He urged me on; he had an expression on his face that I didn’t understand, a little teasing, a little taunting.

  “All kinds of things.” I shrugged.

  “Do they tell you about hidden treasures, or who is kissing who?”

  “No.” Sometimes they did, but that was hardly the point.

  “What do they tell you, then?”

  “Normal things. Everyday things. Although it is mostly just one. A ‘he.’” I didn’t mention Mara then, she was precious to me and secret, even more so than Pepper-Man.

  “Really?” Tommy seemed intrigued by the mention of my faerie companion. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is he a ghost?”

  “Perhaps…”

  “Would he be jealous if you found yourself a real man?”

  “Maybe,” I replied honestly. I really didn’t know how Pepper-Man would react. “He does think of me as his.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Tommy grinned widely behind the remains of his ice cream, a droplet of pink on his chin.

  I shrugged, finally falling into that soft playfulness, that sweet, sweet prelude to love.

  Tommy looked at me, still smiling. “Challenge accepted,” he laughed, and winked.

  “It might not be pretty,” I warned him, having caught sight of Gwen, a golden furred faerie I knew, by the ice cream parlor’s counter. She was looking straight at me, shaking her head while her white-tipped tail swept the floor behind her.

  “I am used to hard bargains,” said Tommy Tipp, crumpling the pape
r napkin in his hand. “No doubt you know all about me already.”

  “Only what they say, and they do say a lot of things.”

  He laughed at that, tussled his hair with strong fingers. “They don’t know the half of it, and what they do know, they got wrong.”

  “Tell me, then,” I urged him, found myself increasingly taken with his eyes. They were the bluest blue I had ever seen. All kinds of light lived in there.

  Gwen was approaching me while we spoke. When she was close enough, she bent down and whispered in my ear, “Don’t be a fool, little Cassie. Your husband will not stand for it.” I felt confused then, for a moment. Pepper-Man was not my husband, was he? I decided to ignore Gwen, although it was hard; she smelt like the fox she fed from, a rank odor of fur and wilderness, mixed with a hint of old blood.

  “I wanted a different life, you know,” Tommy Tipp told me across the table. “I just wanted adventure, a life that was a little more unpredictable than the one my parents had.”

  “Crime can certainly be exciting,” I agreed. “Or so I suspect, anyway.”

  “You have never done anything wrong, have you, Cassie?”

  “Oh, God, I can’t do anything right.”

  “Wrong in the eyes of the law, I mean.”

  “No, no … I don’t think so.”

  Gwen placed a paw at the nape of my neck, pressed hard enough that I could feel her black claws digging into my skin. “What about your treasure at the mound, Cassie? What about your family?”

  I pulled away from her hand, but my head snapped toward the faerie. “He won’t mind,” I told her. “He won’t mind at all. He only wants what is best for me.” I had forgotten to speak silently in my head. I forgot that all the time, but wished I hadn’t done it then.

  “What? Did you speak to your invisible friend?” Tommy was amused, his eyes were wide with wonder. “Did you do that just now? Did you speak to him?”

  “It isn’t him, it’s a she,” I admitted. “And she doesn’t want me to talk to you.” I shot Gwen a furious look. Go away, I told her silently. Go away.

  “Why?” Tommy’s gaze searched the air where Gwen was standing.

  “She thinks he’ll be upset—but he won’t.” At least I hoped he wouldn’t. Pepper-Man didn’t always do what I thought he would.

  “You don’t seem so sure.” A smile tugged at Tommy’s lips. “What do you think he’d do if I kissed you?”

  “Nothing, probably. But he can be unpleasant.” I flinched as Gwen pinched me.

  “You should not talk of him like that,” she said, and I shivered a little, because Gwen was usually so nice to me.

  “Unpleasant how?” asked Tommy Tipp.

  “It doesn’t matter, because he won’t be,” I decided. Surely, Pepper-Man would only be thrilled if I found a nice young man to keep me company. He was my best friend, after all—my only champion in this world.

  “We ought to find out,” said Tommy.

  When we left the ice cream parlor that day, Tommy Tipp held my hand in his as we walked down the pier. There was a flutter in my heart that I’d never known before. His skin was so soft and so warm, his crooked smile, which had seemed so ordinary just hours before, was as if enchanted. Suddenly I could see its dazzling qualities just as clearly as any of his housewives. He truly was magnificent, I thought, stealing glimpses of him from the crook of my eyes. Truly, very handsome.

  And he hadn’t laughed at me at all—not like that, cruel and mocking. His peals of laughter had been soft and carefree, and he really did seem to want to know about the faeries, kept asking me about them as we approached the town center.

  “How often do you see your invisible friends?”

  “Not very often,” I lied. “A few times a week, perhaps.” I didn’t want to overwhelm him. It felt too fragile, that tender bond we were forging. That’s why I didn’t tell him that Gwen was still with us, just a few steps behind his back, and that other faeries had joined with her, forming a ribbon of ragged bodies, horns and claws, walking in our tracks. I didn’t want Tommy to notice, so I didn’t look back much, but I could tell that Hawking was there, a tall faerie Pepper-Man’s size, with hair just as black as Pepper-Man’s was white, and Francis too, a young-looking faerie I always suspected of being a changeling. Some of the smaller ones were cheeky and nipped at my skirt as I walked. Esteban, with the giant bat wings folded on his back, came up beside me, gave me a smirk:

  “I would eat your friend if you were mine.” His dark gaze bore into mine.

  “Pepper-Man won’t do any such thing.” I was clever this time, and spoke silently in my head.

  “He will not stand for it,” Esteban warned, just as Gwen had done.

  We all walked up the main street, between store windows displaying dresses and candy. Tommy Tipp still held my hand in his—was telling me about prison; about his cellmate who also saw invisible things. Ghosts, he said. His cellmate saw ghosts.

  “Every night at 3 a.m., he woke up with a start. That’s when the guy who died in our cell came back, banging with a spoon on a pan. He used to be a cook, I think, before he went in for murder. I never saw or heard him myself, but my cellmate swore it was the truth.”

  “My visitors aren’t like that. They don’t follow the clock.”

  “But it’s basically the same, isn’t it?” The faeries sniggered behind us.

  “Well,” said I, “they are dead.” Someone kicked my leg.

  “I just want you to know that I am open to all kinds of stuff. Maybe you were born a medium?”

  “Maybe.” I felt faint. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m walking you home, the long route.” Another one of those dashing smiles. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No.” How could I resist having his hand in mine as long as I possibly could?

  We were almost through the street, up by the church, when he suddenly pulled my hand. “Come,” he said. “Let’s tempt fate.” A line he had used a lot, I’m sure. We went in through the gate, and walked into the cemetery. Cleverest move he could make, although he didn’t know that, of course. Faeries do not like graves and crosses. It reminds them of what they are—what they were. That their natural state is rotting bones. They all remained at the gate.

  “Come,” Tommy Tipp said again, and pulled me with him in among the yews. There, beneath the poisonous needles, he closed his arms around me, held me to his warm, living body, and kissed me softly on the lips. Once, twice. Then the kiss turned fierce and hungry, left me a warm and shivering mess. His hands kneaded my back through my dress, and my hands tangled in his hair while we kissed.

  I saw him then, over Tommy’s shoulder: a lone figure close to the gate. Pepper-Man was staring right at me across the tombstones, hands clenched at his side, hair lifting in a breeze only he could feel. But he was smiling, yes, he was smiling. I relaxed then, and gave in to the moment, enjoying every kiss I got. Not even worrying for another second that Pepper-Man would eat the man that I already loved.

  * * *

  I fell for him like a fool. No reservations, no caution. In Tommy, I thought I had found someone who could shoulder me, carry me and accept me.

  I never thought I’d have that.

  To him, I was a mystery, I think. A new adventure to embark on—something he couldn’t quite figure out. He did love a challenge, Tommy Tipp.

  We were both very happy at first.

  XII

  Tommy was not a man to share his feelings, but he seemed to like me well enough. He used to wait for me outside the library and would wrap his warm hand around mine as we headed for the woods. I asked him once what he saw in me that the rest of the world failed to see.

  “You think more than you look,” he replied, lying on his side, completely naked, teasing my cheek with a straw.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, you don’t wear any lipstick, and you read a lot of books.”

  “So I am not pretty, then?”

  “You are,” he said, and th
en: “In a peculiar way.”

  “But aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with me in town?”

  “Why?” His eyebrows rose. “We are doing them a favor, giving them something to talk about.”

  “What about your parents, then, what do they say?”

  He shrugged. “They stopped telling me what to do a long time ago. But what about you, Cassie, aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with a no-good criminal like me?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.” I was surprised by this shift in perspective. I was so used to being the embarrassing one that it felt strangely thrilling to be on the other side. “I am not embarrassed. I think I am mostly in love.”

  Tommy didn’t reply to that, but his cheeks looked flushed and he smiled. He picked up a straw from the ground and gently tickled my face with it. “You’re a strange one, Cassie,” he said.

  We were a good match like that, Tommy and I, both of us stains on our mothers’ Sunday bests. Maybe it was only natural that we gravitated toward each other. Where else could we find acceptance like that? Who was better suited to understand the other one’s plight than a fellow outcast?

  Pepper-Man was supportive of my plan to move out of the white room, but he had little patience with me swooning over Tommy.

  “It is an affliction, this hunger and craving. It will pass soon enough, you ought to know that.” We were in the white room, in the white bed, beneath the white sheets.

  “Why?” I asked, heady on love.

  “Because it is easy to make promises you would rather not keep later on. True companionship, like ours, it lasts, it is sealed by blood and magic. This other companionship, the one you have with him, it is fleeting as a shooting star—magnificent in the moment, but then it is gone. You ought to prepare for that day.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you must know what to do when he no longer suits you.”

  “I will never tire of Tommy Tipp.”

  He sighed and rolled over, away from me. “Of course you will. You will not have time to visit the mound if you build your life with him.”