Chapter Thirteen
“Jesus Christ!” I jolted awake, heart leaping into my throat until I practically choked on it. I scrambled backward so quickly that I nearly tumbled from the bed.
Fauna winked from where she’d been staring at me, waiting for me to open my eyes. “Not quite, but you’re getting closer. Cool guy. He put his clairsentience to way better use than your dumb ass. Hate his fan club, though.”
“What are you doing in here?” I sputtered. The sun wasn’t even up. The gentle gradient of dawn set my room into a lavender glow. The purples reflected off her hair, showcasing her outline as she leaned forward enthusiastically.
“I’m hungry. Let’s get coffee.”
“I have a French press…” I stammered.
“No, I want doughnuts. Or muffins. Let’s go out.”
I stared at her for several long moments. “How can you go out?”
“Quite easily,” she said. “Wanna see?” She procured a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses as if she’d been clutching them to preempt this question. “I’ll just be a very pretty human.”
“But why would you want to?” Coursing with adrenaline, I crawled out of bed and sidestepped toward my dresser, as I wasn’t confident it would be wise to turn my back on her. “Aren’t you people—things—normally…invisible? And why muffins?”
She looked at me as if everything I said gave her further confirmation that I was born yesterday. “Because muffins are delicious. Come on, mythologist. Your second Pantheon book was all about your Greeks and Romans, right? Tell me: how often did nymphs interact with the humans?”
“Often, I guess. But…”
She pushed past me and helped herself to my drawers, rummaging around until she wrapped her fingers around a thong and an athletic bra. She shoved them into my hand and headed for my closet.
“I can dress myself,” I said.
“Yes, but you’re not being very quick about it, and I want to see the city. I never get to go out with a friend. Plus, I have so many theories to share with you. Your sigil? The Prince? You being a dipshit with a death wish? Let’s go be gals on the town.”
“Gals on the town?” I copied each word woodenly, certain I’d misheard her. My inability to articulate a single thought probably wasn’t doing me any favors. “Fauna, I know you’re trying to get my brain on board with all this, but—”
“Yeah, that’s part of it, Crazy Pants. I’m going to talk to the barista and place our orders while you wait off to the side so you can see me interacting. And we’re going now before the world is awake because it’s a Saturday, and no one gets out of bed this early, so it’ll be dead inside. We’ll be able to talk.” She’d selected a pair of black leggings and a slim-cut athletic top. Her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Unlike you, I’m very clever.”
“You’re dressing me like we’re coming from yoga,” I said.
She beamed. “Now your outfit matches my pants. Bohemian suits me. And lots of city ladies get up early to go to exercise classes. No one will bat an eyelash. Now, we’re wasting daylight and it’s going to be a beautiful, summer day.”
“We’re not wasting daylight. The sun isn’t even—”
“Can’t hear you!” she sang as she danced from the room, voice trailing down the hall.
I grabbed my phone and saw sixteen notifications. I grimaced as I unlocked the screen.
(Nia) Let me know when you get home
(Nia) You did go home, right?
(Nia) Don’t make me regret giving you that address
(Nia) Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if you went to a murderer’s house, so help me god, I will be the next face on the news next for being the one who ENDS YOU MYSELF
Two missed calls
(Nia) Please pick up your phone. I gave you an address from a serial killer report and now you’re not answering.
(Nia) Pick up your goddamn phone
Missed call
(Nia) I’m telling Kirby. We’re going to kick your ass.
(Nia) You’d better not be dead or I’m going to regret my last text being mean to you
Missed call
(Nia) At what point do I call the police? Is it now? Do I call them now?
Two missed calls
(Nia) Three things. One, your doorman should be fired because they never should have confirmed that you’re home. That’s dangerous. I could be anyone, I shouldn’t be privy to that information. Two, I’m glad they did, because now I know you made it back. Three, get ready for an ass whooping.
My thumbs moved quickly as I messaged her back that I’d run into an old friend and she’d stayed over. I apologized, gave a half-assed promise to never make her worry again, and closed the thread. Fauna and I had just parked after a twenty-minute drive—one where she’d pressed every button, flipped through twenty radio stations, rolled down the window, and been a conduit for chaos for every waking second—when my phone went off again.
I put the car in park.
(Nia) Liar. We both know you don’t have friends.
My grumble was somewhere between a huff and a sigh. I turned to Fauna. “Take a photo with me?”
She glowed at the request, lit from some secret, inner sun as she said, “The great artists of yore used to paint and sculpt me, but sure, I guess I can snap a picture.”
I held the phone out for a selfie, then immediately frowned down at the resulting image. She looked like a celebrity smiling next to a gremlin.
(Nia) Oh, it’s ahotfriend. Okay, I take back everything I said. Go be happy.
(Nia) I take backhalfof what I said. You’re not forgiven for making Kirbs and me worry.
(Nia) Still, I hope your night was fun. And I want explicit details later
“Give me your card,” Fauna said, holding out her hand as we stopped outside of the hippest coffee shop I could find in the city. I was such a shut-in that I’d had to search cool cafés near me before guiding my Mercedes into the sunrise as if I knew what I was doing. The morning light made her glitter with fairy-like qualities. The separate blocks of her copper-and-silver hair caught against the gold of the early morning light that bathed the sidewalk. A light, summery breeze ruffled her strands and brushed me with the same gentle fingers of sea spray, salt, and freshly cut pine I’d noticed on her before.
I frowned at the card. “Do you know how to use it?”
She sank her weight into one hip. “I watch the people-monkeys dance for me on your human television. That makes me an expert. Now, give it. Go in and take a seat.”
I had to admit she was right. If I had stood beside her, I would have been able to convince myself that I’d been communicating on her behalf while in yet another in a long string of episodes. That said, I was very curious as to how the next few minutes would go. I was utterly ready to sit in despondent, caffeine-free quiet in the corner of the room until I realized no hot drinks were arriving.
Instead, I watched the barista fumble with the tongs, stumble over their words, and ogle like they’d seen a ghost when Fauna flashed them her brightest smile. She thanked the barista with a wave and sauntered as if she were walking the catwalk from the counter to the table before sliding into the seat across from me. She planted a blueberry scone in front of me and dug into a small mountain of honey-sweet treats in front of her.
Living in a converted warehouse hadn’t stopped me from appreciating exposed brick, the shiny metal of ceiling duct work, or the industrial piping that could so easily be flipped into an artistic space. Enormous, arched windows made me wonder if this had once been a church before the era of gentrification. Now, canvases from local artists covered the cream bricks. Perky peonies dotted every table. The air was rich with freshly brewed coffee, warm bread, and the glow of early morning light.
It would have been aesthetic as hell even if I hadn’t been eating with a goddess.
“Um, your majesties?” the barista called from behind the counter. The few patrons on the mostly vacant shop dared curious glances. All eyes lingered on Fauna.
From behind the sunglasses, Fauna winked. She clicked her tongue and shot a finger gun as she popped up to fetch the drinks.
“Never give out your real name,” she said moments later as she returned to the space across from me. “Speaking of which, have I told you that you’re a dumbass?”
I wrapped my fingers around the deliciously warm cup. I’d begun to thank her before remembering that I’d technically paid for it. “You may have mentioned,” I said. I took a sip and made a face. My tongue barely made it back into my mouth for me to demand, “What is this?”
“Six pumps of sugar. And caramel. And vanilla. Other nice things too. All the goodies. You’re welcome.”
I popped off the lid to ensure the liquid was still dark. I could barely spot the brownish hints of coffee amid the pale swirl of liquid toothaches. I looked up at Fauna, intent on scowling, but struggled to muster the expression against her frustrating beauty.
Fauna’s ball cap and sunglasses only added an air of mystery. Instead of camouflaging her, they seemed to confirm the suspicions of workers and patrons alike that she was, in fact, someone worth hiding. I chewed on my lip as I considered the implications. Perhaps that was part of its charm. Her poor attempt at a disguise acknowledged their deeply rooted intuition that she was something other while giving them the excuse of believing she was a famous actress or singer who happened to be getting coffee with a tired hag.
She was clever. I’d give her that.
I slid the sugary drink toward her.
“More sweets for me.” She positively twinkled as she accepted the offering. “Okay, you pick the topic. What should we cover first? Your sigil, or—”
“I want to know how you know me. I want to know what you have to do with any of this. Why would you intervene? Why—”
“Yikes, I got it.” Her eyes flared dramatically. She wiped her hands on her pants, then drained the last sugary dredges of her coffee before switching to my still-full cup. “Go get yourself a new drink first. You’re unpleasant. I hope it’s just morning grumpies and caffeine deprivation. I’m going to be really bummed if I swooped in to save a wet blanket.”
I bottled the irritated quips as I stood, extending my hand for the return of my credit card. If I hadn’t already felt the blooming headache of sleeplessness and caffeine withdrawal, I would have fought her on the issue. When I ordered a black coffee with a side of honey, the barista quietly asked me who my friend was, and I told her that I was on a breakfast date. She blinked in disbelief, which offended me. I was half-tempted to give her my pen name when she asked for a name for the order, if only to give myself a sprinkle of credibility. Instead, I offered her something in a moment of bitterness. I waited impatiently by the counter until she slid a coffee over, saying, “Divine One?”
“That’s me.” I lifted a finger.
I slid across from Fauna just as she finished the last of her goodies.
“Spit it out, nymph,” I said.
She snorted. “Maybe you do have some of your great-grandmother in you. Honestly, it would be better for all of us. Let that inner warrior shine. I saw the picture of her. The one on your fridge?”
I scalded the roof of my mouth with the far-more-acceptable coffee while my mind flashed to a black-and-white photo in a small magnet frame on my refrigerator. It was one of the few images of my grandmother before she’d left Norway. It was grainy, but I loved that they’d been in the traditional woolen dresses worn only on special occasions. The heirloom had been passed down my maternal line, though I hadn’t seen it in years. The red-and-blue bunad was probably still in a cedar chest somewhere in my mother’s storage.
I expected I wouldn’t see the heirlooms again unless my mother died or stopped being a bitch long enough to apologize.
The former was more likely.
In the image, my great-grandmother Aloisa held the tiny bundle that would grow up to be Grandma Dagny, the sweet, agoraphobic, first-generation immigrant on North American soil. The fjords behind her had always been my favorite part of the image. It looked like it had been taken from something written by Hans Christian Andersen.
My memories faded into the present as the black-and-white picture dissolved into the bricks, the coffee shop, and the nonhuman in front of me. “You met both of them?”
She glowed, apple-round cheeks alit as she said, “Aloisa’s a spitfire. We all understood why Geir fell for her. He loved her and his kid—your grandmother, that is.”
“Geir?” I repeated the name quietly. Was that supposed to be my great-grandfather?
“Do you want to meet him?”
My heart dropped, then bobbed somewhere in my entrails. I looked over my shoulder as if she were surprising me with a setup on this coffee date. The lost organ continued anxiously beating somewhere between my intestines, keeping me alive while sending me into surefire sickness. Suddenly the coffee smell was overpowering. The morning light hurt my eyes. Was it just me, or was there less oxygen than there’d been a minute ago?
Fighting anxiety-induced nausea, I asked, “Why did they leave?”
Fauna leaned back in her chair. Mouth downturned, she said, “Salem wasn’t the only place that had witch hunts, you know. Aloisa may have been human, but a lot of Europe was going through some religious shit pretty much side by side in the timeline. Ask Silas and his asshole of a master if you want more details. Aloisa thought it would be best to keep Dagny safe by leaving the country. This is supposed to be the land of religious freedom, right?” She gave a dark, humorless chuckle. “The angels fucking love it here.”
I drank deeply from my cup, then asked, “Why are you here?”
“Oh.” Fauna blinked. “In this country? I am and I’m not. We can go anywhere. We just generally…don’t. Most of us spend our time in our respective realms because they’re objectively better. You have some fun things here, don’t get me wrong. I really like your croissants, and your ridiculous shows are worth the visit alone. The Nordes don’t make sour gummy worms. Plus, mortal sensations are extra tingly. I’ll explain that later. But, thrill seekers love coming to the human realm.”
“So you’re a thrill-seeking fae.”
She swirled her cup. “Listen, I have no incentive to be on dead land. Your so-called angels and demons just use the mortal realm as a neutral battleground so they don’t fuck up their own kingdoms. It’s kind of brilliant, in an evil-genius sort of way.”
I stared at her in horror.
“Come on,” she pushed. “You write fantasy and have spent years fucking a demon, right? Shouldn’t this be an easy pill for you to swallow?”
Fauna was just a smudge as my vision blurred. I tried to repeat the word, but my mouth had dried. It came out as little more than wind over dust. “Caliban…you said…demon…”
“Oh,” she mumbled into the second cup of molasses she’d attempted to pass off as coffee. “Let’s tackle that later.”
The ground opened up beneath me. My body felt weightless as my soul plunged into the pits of hell. The church I’d spent my life running from, the world I’d denied tooth and nail, was at my door. A high-pitched ringing forced me into a memory. My mother’s panicked words hung heavy in the house as she insisted that my imaginary friend was not of the Lord. It had been so cruel, so heartless, to take my only friend from me, and had planted within me the first seeds of doubt in my mother’s wisdom. She’d accused something so good, something so kind and gentle and beautiful, of being evil. It was the seed of distrust that grew roots over the years so I could see her fanaticism for what it was.
Except she’d been right.
“Are you okay?” Fauna said the words, but they were muffled as the ringing continued.
Sweat prickled over my forehead. My mother was right. Angels and demons. An imaginary friend from hell itself. It couldn’t be true. It had to—
Pain. Sharp, shooting, acute. “Ow!” My hand flew to my bicep. My eyes bulged as I looked in Fauna in horror. She’d pinched me with bruising strength. “God damnit!”
“Did it help?” she asked. At my blank expression, she said, “You looked like you were in the middle of an existential crisis. I’m happy to pinch you as many times as you need. Or even if you don’t need.”
It was the tenth time in twenty-four hours that I’d forgotten how to breathe. I struggled to speak. “It’s a little difficult to hear things that tear a hole in your understanding of the world.”
“Marlow…” She chewed on my name.
My heart skipped an anxious beat as I watched the nymph, my eyes wide. “What now?”
She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t a question. I was just tasting your name. It didn’t make sense at first, but I think I get it now.”
Heart still stuttering, I focused on my breathing while waiting with a quizzical brow.
“Driftwood—the meaning of your name. It seemed irrelevant. But now I see you in our waters, bobbing amid realms. It’s quite poetic, actually. Human parents so rarely consider the implications of things when they name their children, do they? Yet here you are, floating between kingdoms.”
“Call the kingdoms what they are. It’s heaven and hell. That’s what you’re telling me. Oh my god, my mom was right.”
Fauna made a face. “She was barely right. You’re just leaving me and the other pantheons out? Rude.” Then to herself, she muttered, “The narcissism of pretending they’re the only two realms in the universe.”
She probably had a few other choice words under her breath, but I was hung up on repeating a single word to myself over, and over, and over again.
Demon.
She spoke again, breaking my fixation. “Are we here for a history lesson, or should we go see Geir?”
I did, in fact, want a history lesson.
I wanted to talk about mundane things and bury my nose in books and ground myself in literature. I was almost positive that I did not want to meet a centuries-old Nordic creature of lore who’d sired Grandma Dagny. There wouldn’t be enough room on any of my credit cards for the therapy I’d need to recover from such an experience. “No. Right now, all I want is to survive this coffee date. Then maybe I’ll go back home, nap—since it’s still too early for even the birds—and when I wake up this will all have been a dream.”
“Shoot me straight,” she said.
I sipped my coffee and used it as a grounding exercise. When having a panic attack, you were supposed to use the five senses. I tasted a well-brewed pour-over with honey. I smelled ground beans. I heard the clinking of cups and the espresso machine whir. I felt the warm cup. Everything was familiar, everything was anchoring, save for what I saw. Fauna was not of this world, and yet, here she was.
She parted what looked like petal-soft lips and asked, “Are you fighting this because you genuinely think you’re crazy? Or are you pushing back because you don’t want to deal with the consequences of accepting that there is so much more to life than you knew?”
She waited expectantly. My silence procured a smug look on her end before she took a satisfied slurp of her drink.
My eyes narrowed.
“Well, I know when I’m not wanted,” she said brightly. She stood and headed for the door.
“Wait!” My still-inconsistent heart refused to pick a pattern as it slammed into my ribs at the fear that she was leaving. I panicked as I glanced around the coffee shop, realizing she was about to leave me completely and utterly alone. “How will you get home? I drove.”
Her giggle was pointed, and I knew the laugh was an answer in and of itself. She was only present because she chose to be. She’d stayed with me because she’d wanted to. All she needed to do was step into the alleyway, away from prying eyes, and she could disappear.
“Will you come back?”
Fauna flashed a smile brighter than the moon as she said, “Are you kidding? With an angel sniffing around? You can’t be left alone for more than ten minutes. You’re stuck with us now.”