Chapter 8 In Which I Have an Enchanting Encounter
In Which I Have an Enchanting Encounter
I watched the Gray Knight leave, her silver hair flying behind her like a pennant, and then finally let myself look at my bed. Gaheris lay at the foot of the bed, one leg bent at an awkward angle. Lene and Doctor Kitten sprawled in the middle, taking up the bulk of the space.
Lene had considerately left a triangle of free space the size of my torso at the top right-hand corner, closest to me.
My room was trashed. Gaheris appeared to have opened at least four different portals and closed none of them.
A hole in the floor near the foot of the bed was spouting periodic gouts of ash, and the two initial portals near the door kept flickering between the appearance of flames and thin slivers of roots and decaying leaves.
None of this made me excited about the idea of stepping through a portal Gaheris created.
He hadn’t yet made it to the window, so the outside-facing wall was at least still unscathed.
Something glooped through the fourth portal, but it didn’t seem imminently harmful. I glanced at the bed again; Doctor Kitten was safely ensconced between the two faeries.
This chaos was not mine to deal with, I decided. I was going to go for a walk instead.
I checked once more for any emails, grabbed my cell, and left through the door, closing it gently behind me. Lene seemed like she’d take good care of Doctor Kitten, and I had reconnaissance to perform. For the first time since I’d gotten to Faerie, I was both fully composed and fully unsupervised.
This time, I turned right down the hallway, heading in the direction we’d come from the first night.
I counted doors and came to twenty-seven before the light changed.
Most had numbers on them, but a few had titles or names.
I came across Sun Guardian, Charlene, Pogo the Proud, and my personal favorites: King of Thieves Who Do Not Steal Material Goods and his next-door neighbor, Lord of Omission.
There were a few corridors off the main hall, too, like the one that led to the cafeteria. I decided against exploring those for the moment. I kept my right hand on the wall, which felt like packed dirt but didn’t crumble away against my fingertips.
Seven doors later, I came to the archway that led into the Court. It was as I remembered it: as tall as the corridor, open to the sky outside, and hewn into the dirt side of the mountain. I wondered how it stayed up—whatever it was made of didn’t seem sturdy enough to survive centuries.
But I didn’t wonder for long, because then I was outside, standing in an opening a little way up the hill, staring down at the clearing where we’d had our client dinner only two days previously. The sight made my stomach churn, but it was nice to have fresh air.
I hadn’t anticipated so many people outside.
A small family was using the side of the hill to teach a child to fly—their black raven’s wings glittered as the two older ones jumped, showing the little one how to flap to get airborne.
Beyond them, some sort of circle dance had sprung up, and a cadre of laughing Fae spun in whirls of unbound hair and fluttering cloth; loose feathers drifted in their wake.
Nearest the entrance, a trio of tall, slender faeries with willow bark skin stared at me. I stared back: They had long branches sweeping from their scalps and shoulders, covered in thin oval leaves.
No one moved to usher me indoors. I surveyed the landscape for a few moments, trying to understand how—or if—it related to the human world.
Most of the nearby area was open, a series of low hillocks and wide plains full of grass and wildflowers. It was cut with stony paths and bare gray outcroppings of rock. It stretched out into the middle distance, where the edge of a wide forest encircled us for as far as I could see.
I stepped out onto the path and came upon another group of faeries—five people lying in the grass together, sans blanket, with their heads on each other’s stomachs.
They looked like the contented aftermath of a game of Jenga.
One of them was reading, but for the most part they appeared happy to lie beneath the sky and do nothing.
I glanced overhead for the sun; I’d begun to suspect that Faerie didn’t have one.
“My lady,” one of the faeries in the grass said.
He disentangled himself from his companions and stood.
It was the faerie from the cafeteria who’d served me cake last night and looked like a twenty-seven-year-old actor portraying a heartthrob in a teen movie.
He came across the lawn to me and stopped a respectful distance away, bare feet in the grass.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. ”
I touched my own stomach, realizing how hungry I actually was. “I woke up too late,” I said.
He inclined his head. “Are you hungry now?”
I nodded. I found myself looking for something Fae or inhuman about him.
He was taller than the average human man and had perfectly symmetrical features, like a butterfly’s wings.
Even his light hair parted evenly right down the middle.
Beyond that and the sun-maddened blue of his eyes, he felt comfortingly familiar.
He bent down to a brown picnic basket that I hadn’t noticed and pulled out a sandwich.
I didn’t see what kind of sandwich, because I was too busy gazing at the picnic basket.
It lay fetchingly on the grass, one inviting flap open to reveal a blue gingham blanket and artfully arranged rows of sandwiches.
The corner of the blanket hanging over the wicker side winked into a suggestive triangle for a moment before unfolding.
I gaped at the basket. The basket—there was no other word for it—smoldered back at me, even without eyes.
Every strand in the wicker gleamed, a voluptuous weave that mesmerized me.
I wanted to reach into it, to feel the soft fabric of the blanket, to help myself to all the delightful comforts within—
“Woah,” the faerie said, as he kicked the flap closed. I blinked and looked down, realizing I was midstep, hand outstretched. “Sorry, she’ll seduce anyone.”
“She?” I repeated, jerking my arm back.
He held the sandwich up between us, and I took it from him. He started walking and I followed without thinking. “Been a few close encounters, if you know what I mean. It’s hard with enchanted objects. You just have to remember, they don’t mean any harm.”
“Close encounters,” I repeated, lifting the sandwich toward my face. I stopped, remembering the extremely close encounter with the toilet the night before. “Is this… poisoned?” I asked.
He frowned at me. “No. Do you want a poisoned sandwich?”
“What? No!” I said. “Did you poison my food last night?”
He looked even more confused. “No,” he said again. “Was your food poisoned?”
Faeries couldn’t lie. Satisfied that he wasn’t the culprit, I took a bite. It was delicious, with the signature creamy purple spread, and neat rows of crunchy green vegetables on top. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I was really sick after dinner last night. But more importantly, are you saying—”
“That I’ve had a close encounter with the picnic basket?
” He laughed, though there was still a line between his brows.
“I’m saying it’s quite an enchantment, my lady, and you shouldn’t feel bad for being susceptible.
” He’d put his hands behind his back and strolled along with an easy grace, his chest puffed.
He wore a simple white T-shirt and gray leggings.
Behind him, several rows of people lay on the grass, bodies absolutely bare. “There are sunbathers,” I said, trying not to look too closely. “But there’s—”
“No sun,” he finished. “They probably like it better that way.”
I looked at him.
“Vampires,” he explained.
“Vampires can live in Faerie?”
“They often do. It’s easier for them here than on the mortal side. No sun to burn them, and no—er, less—prejudice.”
Fascinating.
“Thank you for the sandwich.” I raised it up for emphasis and took another bite.
He nodded, a little smile on his lips. Good—it was nice to feel like some of the faeries were already on my side, especially when I’d be seeing him three times a day for the foreseeable future.
“I don’t know what to call you,” I said. “Is there a title you prefer?”
He laughed again. He had such an easy laugh. “You can call me Milo, my lady.”
“And you can call me Miri,” I replied.
“Where are you walking, Miri?” he asked. “I’d like to escort you, if you wish.”
I looked along the path. We’d almost reached the ill-fated dinner table.
“Can we—” I broke off, not sure how to ask.
He nodded. “Yes.” He led me to the flat, packed-dirt tableau, the long wooden table and three-legged stools still there. At the other end of the expanse rose a shimmering column of slightly distorted air.
“Is that—” I started.
“The portal back to the mortal realm?” He crossed to the portal so quickly that I nearly tripped keeping up with him.
As we approached, I saw a tiny circle of toadstools in the grass. I stopped abruptly. “Milo, I’m—”
“Not ready to see it,” he interrupted. He turned on his heel and walked back toward me, his bulk blocking the shimmering air from view.
I wasn’t sure if Milo was a mind reader or just incredibly irritating.
“Where would you like to go instead?”
“I’m not sure.”
Milo held his arm out for me. “Then let me lead you.”
In the strange sunless light of the Faerie sky, the golden hairs on his arm glinted like metal. I felt a flash of discomfort—but he was being kind to me.
I put my arm in his. “All right, then.”
He turned us back up the path. “You should know the Court,” he explained, as we walked past the sunbathers to the Court’s entranceway. “So you can navigate it.”
It was a good idea, and so of course no one else had suggested it. I nodded at him.