by R. Cooper
He frowned at his phone: Do what?
I’ve been there. He could almost hear Stephanie’s tired sigh. Just get some rest and come see me tomorrow if you want. Today. Fuck I need to sleep.
I don’t understand. Clematis frowned harder, but there was no answer, not even a condescending Oh honey.
He waited, but she was silent. His stomach quivered, almost nervous. He had three unread messages left. All from Flor. All difficult to interpret in any way that could calm him down.
Where r u? Flor demanded, five hours ago.
You’re not coming? Four hours ago.
You can’t just do this. At midnight.
Then nothing.
He didn’t understand that either. He’d thought Flor would want him gone.
Clematis got out of bed and went into the living room. He took his phone with him and sat on the couch. Thinking about a trip home. You around? This is Clematis.
His mom might not answer, but sometimes she did.
He turned on the TV while he waited, and finally fell asleep for an hour just before dawn.
Chapter 8
THE EARLIEST bus to Los Cerros left at five in the morning. The express was intended for commuters and the students who went back and forth between the university in Madera and the college on the coast. Clematis was up and on one of the later buses by eight.
He had a shoulder bag and extra cash and his phone in the pocket of his jeans. He had an old Walkman he was fond of too and kept his headphones on for much of the drive, despite the scorn of some of the younger humans around him. Thrift stores had a lot of old cassettes. He saw no reason not to listen to them.
Without stops, the drive was only about an hour; with stops, closer to two and a half. His ticket took him downtown, past the suburbs and the small houses that made up the district of older, respectable fairies who owned homes. He got off at the fairy village, largely occupied by humans now, but at least usually more liberal-minded humans.
The Spanish influence was still obvious in some of the architecture. Faux-Victorians and sturdy apartment buildings added a mix of whimsical and practical. They gave off a chill at this hour. Despite the summer sun, the fog had taken its time burning off that morning and would return before dark.
Clematis got pastries from the old Mexican bakery near what had been the grade school before that was relocated to a better part of town, and walked through the village toward his mother’s apartment. Guerrero’s was open. Some of the nightclubs that had existed along this street when he was a child were closed. Mami Wata’s was still safely tucked away, almost invisible in the daytime.
After a block, he turned a corner and then another before walking slowly up three flights of stairs covered in damp ribbon and strings of lights to his mother’s apartment.
Anise wasn’t really his mother, but she’d done the best she could for someone who had been only twenty or so when his parents had left him with her. Maybe someone like Frangi or Flor would have been better with a baby, even being so young, but it wasn’t as though Anise had asked for him to be placed on her doorstep. Clematis understood. She tried, when she remembered.
Her door wasn’t locked, but she wasn’t home. He waited for a bit, messaging her again to let her know he’d come by, then slipped out and went back the way he came.
Lis would have lived in this area when he was a baby. She was maybe older than Tulip or about the same age. But she’d had her child by then, so she might have moved away to be with the human man she didn’t talk about.
Tulip would have been here too, which made Clematis shiver. He and Tulip might have seen each other then and not had any idea Tulip would later despise him. But Clematis had grown up and moved to another town, and as if it was meant to be, he had found Tulip and gotten cursed anyway. Maybe it was inevitable, the kind of thing a seer could have told him, if he’d known one.
The light you want, Tulip had said. As if Clematis had asked for this.
He stopped on a street corner and stared blankly at an old stone fountain with a mural on the wall behind it. No one ever spray-painted over the mural. The rule was unspoken but had held true for decades.
Lis was right. He had left Los Cerros and met David, and Flor, and then Tulip. If he came back here, he might be okay for a while. He could go to the clubs where they wanted people like him, and revisit Guerrero’s, and shop at Zucchero when he could afford it. But this wouldn’t go away. He’d still be undeniably broken, and it showed now. Tulip’s magic wasn’t done with him.
He turned down a new street and headed west. He could have headed down and across the city to the beaches, or inland to the center of town. But he walked toward the bluffs, stopping only long enough to buy a large vanilla latte and some chocolate-covered cherries.
The walk took over an hour, and he stuffed his trash in his bag as he went. He had to go uphill for part of the way, through nicer and nicer neighborhoods full of more gates and high fences. But the city had ruled years ago that the view from a certain part of the bluffs had to remain public access, and so far the rich hadn’t been able to keep out all the foot traffic.
Several footpaths led from the streets to the bluffs themselves. Some in better condition than others. Most required some maneuvering to get to since the wealthy didn’t like regular people to park on the streets. Not a single one of the paths had been created intentionally by the Parks Department, although they did maintain several of the signs and low fences near the more dangerous parts of the cliffs. They had also planted vines and trees to reduce erosion and had the added effect of making the top of the bluffs ridiculously scenic.
The view was free and it was beautiful. Cold, even in the summer, but Clematis barely felt the moisture in the air as he curled up on the ground to stare out at the ocean. Some human children were playing several yards away, flying kites in the strong breeze. Tourists took pictures of one another at the fencing along the edge and then took some pictures of him, which was rude, no matter what he looked like.
He closed his eyes and turned his face away and breathed. Next time he came out, he should try to remember a sweatshirt. Something oversized to conceal his wings, with a hood to hide his face.
“All of you, fuck off!” someone snapped from fairly close to him. Clematis swung around and opened his eyes to see an older fairy flipping off the tourists. And by older fairy, Clematis meant older fairy. Not how Flor joked about Clematis’s age, but a fairy who was actually old, with frail, thin fingers and lavender wings so sheer and gossamer that it seemed impossible the breeze didn’t carry him away.
He wore a fairy-knitted scarf and gloves, and a buttoned shirt that was astonishing to see on any fairy, even an old one who probably wanted the warmth. His hair was mostly white, and he had wrinkles—happy creases at his deep green eyes and around his mouth. His glitter was plentiful, a constant shower of light that might have once had color but was now iridescent.
“Our young friend here is admirably photogenic, but I didn’t hear any of you ask to take his picture, so kindly go fuck yourselves,” the older fairy continued. The nearby children immediately began screaming “Go fuck yourselves!” at one another and laughing hysterically. The tourists seemed torn between outrage and embarrassment.
The old fairy looked over and met Clematis’s eyes. “I have such a fondness for the word fuck, but it does upset humans.”
“They do plenty of fucking to be bothered by it,” Clematis answered politely, and didn’t know what to make of it when the old fairy came over and sat on a bench not too far away.
“Hypocrisy has never slowed them down,” the older fairy remarked, but he smiled as he said it. “Although some of them blush quite prettily at that word.”
The tourists started drifting off. Someone in the distance yelled, and the pack of children took off as if summoned. Clematis turned back toward the ocean and shut his eyes again.
“Didn’t used to be so many houses up here.” The old fairy broke the silence with a faraway, wistful com
ment. “And the ones that were here weren’t so tacky. All these new money mansions spoiling the view. Shame. Of all the changes to the city over the decades, this one might bother me the most. High school kids used to drive up here to make out in their cars, you know. That seems far more beneficial to the community than big houses no one is allowed into.”
“Guerrero’s is still open,” Clematis offered. “And Mami’s. There are still fairies in the village.”
“That there are.” The other fairy made a tsk sound, but it wasn’t disapproval. When Clematis looked over, he saw the old man sucking on a small jawbreaker or cinnamon fireball. “Not you, I don’t think, unless you’re new. But you don’t sound new. And yet I don’t think I’ve seen you up here before.”
“I live in Madera now.” Clematis had no reason to tell him anything, or to be warmed when the other fairy smiled brightly and tossed him a candy. It was a fireball. Clematis let it clack between his teeth for a few seconds before he sucked on it. “Thanks.”
“Good school in Madera. Got a solid law program,” the old fairy said as if Clematis was ever going to be able to study law. “I always liked being near the water, but I suppose it’s warmer there.”
Clematis shrugged. “I didn’t move there for the weather.”
“Oh?” the old fairy inquired. “Are you a student? Good for you. That was unheard of when I was young. Of course, when I was young, a lot of people weren’t allowed to be students at schools like that.”
“No, I—” Clematis paused. “I moved there for a different reason.”
“Ah.” The old fairy nodded wisely. “You went there for love? I can’t fault you for that. We’ve all made decisions in seconds that affect the rest of our lives. When I met the love of my life, I knew it in those first few desperate beats of my heart.” He heaved a gorgeous, painful sigh. “I was approaching middle age and thought I’d seen something of the world. Been to war, well, in the Army, had my fair share of lovers. And then in he walked, pink and gray and bursting with light he tried so hard to keep hidden for so long.” His voice fell. “Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a human.”
The old man held tight to the ends of his scarf and stared out over the water. He caught his breath. “Anyway,” he went on in a pleasant, measured voice. “You know right away, don’t you? That anything is worth staying with them and seeing to their happiness. Anything at all, because the goodness in them takes your breath away, steals your common sense, leaves you with nerves and worries and a terrible, terrible feeling that you realize is love.” He laughed a little. “What a wonderful moment to look back on. It devastated me at the time.”
“I’m not—” in love Clematis tried to say, but the old fairy was a talker.
“Utterly devastated. I think my mouth hung open. I have no idea what my wings did.” The old man sighed happily. “This tiny, pretty human with bluebell eyes and thick glasses and sparks of goodness all around him looked at me and blushed and said hello, and I thought, There he is. This is the one I want to keep forever.”
“Oh,” Clematis said quietly, “that.”
“That,” the old man repeated, amused. “Makes you understand why the ancients resorted to kidnapping. Spiriting someone away is so much easier than talking.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem,” Clematis pointed out, and the old fairy’s eyes went wide before he dropped his shoulders and started to laugh.
“Always did love the sound of my own voice,” he admitted. “Fortunately, so did he.” The fairy slowly stopped laughing. “Otherwise, I doubt he would have put up with me and my fumbling attempts to get to know him. Is yours human? Humans can be so tricky. I think I even tried baking once—never again.”
“I’m not keeping anyone,” Clematis answered quickly so he wouldn’t be interrupted.
“Ah, so that’s how it is.” He got another wise nod for his trouble. “I should have seen that.”
“I stayed in Madera a while to see if I liked it there. Then I met some people and decided I should stay.” Clematis blamed the cold for the tremor in his voice. “There was nothing for me here anyway.”
He received yet another knowing nod.
Clematis’s face and neck went as hot as the cinnamon candy in his mouth, and he scratched his fingers into the dirt. “I am not keeping anyone, and I am not being kept. You don’t know anything!” He heaved a breath and then the anxious fire beneath his skin left him.
The old fairy studied him, more carefully now, with that same stillness that Clematis sometimes saw in Flor and Tulip.
“It’s all right,” the old man said gently. “It’s all right. The doubt and the fear and the anger, it’s okay to feel those things, especially when you’re hurt and alone. Is that why you came here today? And instead of peace, you found an old man babbling about bringing his lover up here to make him come in the back seat of his car? I’m sorry.”
Clematis swallowed, but his voice stayed rough and sticky with sugar. “You didn’t say anything about the back seat of his car.”
“I didn’t?” the fairy gasped. “That’s one of the best parts. Although if he had been shy, I would have respected that as much as a fairy is capable of. I would have respected that so much, and thought it only made him lovelier.”
“Private, not shy,” Clematis whispered to himself. He suspected any human who chose a fairy couldn’t be that shy. “Would he be upset about you talking about him like this to me?”
“I assure you he would not,” the old fairy said with confidence, then returned to whatever point he was insisting on making. “But he was afraid. Afraid because of the times we were in. Because he didn’t know fairies. Because he thought I might break his heart. It took so long to convince him, but I don’t regret any of it, and do you know why? Because once he trusted me, I was the happiest fairy in the whole world. Still am, as a matter of fact.”
“You’re very shiny,” Clematis informed him, as congratulations.
The old man was briefly confused but then smiled. “I like to come up here in the summer and fall, before things get too cold and damp. The city changes, but this view does not. It’s the one constant in my life aside from my Walter, but I’d give it up for him in a heartbeat.”
Truth, as a fairy spoke it.
Clematis turned back toward the water. “He wouldn’t ask you to, if he feels that way about you. He wouldn’t expect that. Sometimes being close is enough. That can be happiness too. Epic true-love couples say those things. Shiny ones say those things. The rest just look at the view.”
He heard the other fairy’s quick intake of breath. “It’s all right,” the old fairy said again after a pause. “It’s brave to look for happiness. Walter would be the first to tell you that, and there is no one braver. It’s okay to protect yourself too. If someone loves you, they’ll wait. They’ll understand.”
Clematis stared at the ocean. The wind stung his cheeks.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up into kindly, heartbroken eyes.
“My name is Hyacinth,” the old fairy told him, the name briefly floating in the air. “You can find me in the village if you need me. I’ll be there as long as my Walter is.”
“Clematis,” Clematis returned, because he had manners no matter what people thought. “But I’m not going to trouble you.”
“Young man.” Hyacinth raised himself up grandly. “As someone who has often been asked for advice from confused youths in love, allow me to suggest something—start troubling somebody, and soon. Because I don’t like to see sad, lonely figures sitting on cliff edges, and because I can guarantee you that someone out there will care. Even if it’s me, someone will care. I talk a lot, but I can also listen.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a barley sugar hard candy wrapped in crinkly plastic and handed it to Clematis. “Now, I am late and need to get home to make sure he takes his medicine—humans are so fragile. You promise me, if you ever need to, you’ll come find me?”
“I—” Clematis couldn’t lie so he pre
varicated. “Yes. If I ever need to.”
“Good. Good.” Hyacinth leaned down one more time to pat Clematis’s shoulder, then sighed. “Then I will leave you to your bluffs. And hope—or not hope?—to see you again. Don’t stay out too long, though, kid. I’m sure someone is missing you.”
The older fairy made it two halting steps away before he turned around. “I don’t suppose you’d want to help an old man back down to the street? I could buy you a coffee—one of those fancy ones all you kids drink nowadays. In my day, I just added a truckload of cream and sugar. I admit I’m jealous of all your flavor options.”
He hadn’t actually said he couldn’t make it down to the street by himself, which made sense, since even an old fairy should be able to float over any unstable sections of the paths. Nonetheless, Clematis nodded and got to his feet and accepted the arm Hyacinth offered him.
“I wasn’t going to leap off the cliff.” Clematis kept his gaze on the ground, searching for places that might give Hyacinth trouble. Hyacinth had to be at least a century old, maybe older.
“Of course not.” Hyacinth nodded. “And you are not a confused youth in love. And I am not wearing a shirt simply to bring a smile to Walter’s face.” He bit down suddenly, cracking his jawbreaker with an audible snap and then grinning to find gum in the center. He began to chew and when they reached the street, blew a perfectly round pink bubble before popping it with his tongue. “Takes a while to get to the treat,” he revealed.
They slowly made their way down the sidewalk.
“Why were you really up there?” Hyacinth asked after a couple more feet.
Clematis stared at him in wonder. “I’m cursed.”
“It can feel like that,” Hyacinth said sympathetically and patted his hand.
Chapter 9
CLEMATIS GOT home late and finally folded his laundry. He charged his phone, slept for a few hours, woke up, and made cinnamon rolls from a tube.