Chapter Twelve
When she found the two of them sitting side by side in the meadow making daisy-chains, all the swearwords Hamish had ever taught her exploded from her lips.
They only giggled, and Antony tried to hand her a lapful of daisies.
‘Come on, do you want to help?’
‘No,’ she moaned, grabbing their arms to pull them up. ‘We’re leaving, right now.’
‘Killjoy,’ Hamish muttered out of the side of their mouth, although they patted her hand fondly. ‘Just like when she tries to stop us going on the rollercoaster.’
She was going to kill them. Literally kill them if the fairy didn’t get there first. ‘That rollercoaster will be the death of you,’ she said through gritted teeth. The Kraken’s Rift was on Melody’s pier, and it consistently failed its safety checks.
But then her eyes lifted, and she drew in a sharp breath.
‘Oh my god,’ she whispered, as all other thoughts whooshed out of her.
Everything Lucky said was true. The Coffin was shattered.
The Hawthorn, her mum’s beloved Hawthorn, looked dead!
The tree’s burnt canopy lay in ragged pieces as if it had been attacked with an axe and set on fire.
A chill seized her spine, and suddenly she couldn’t stop shaking.
Unconsciously she raised a hand to her head.
For the first time, she really understood that she’d been hit by lightning too.
As she stared at the brutal crack down the centre of the Hawthorn’s trunk, she felt like she was right back in the raging storm, thunder and lightning shattering her all over again.
She couldn’t see any green-haired fairies, but the smoky stench of scorched firewood was overwhelming.
The air felt as if it was sizzling, tight with the uncanny scent of spaces between the stars.
An odd, silvery sort of glitter that left pink shadows on the backs of Frida’s eyelids danced just outside of her vision.
She blinked a few times. The tree was hard to look at for too long.
It was like looking at someone’s innards. And yet, she couldn’t look away.
‘Are you seeing this?’ she said under her breath.
But when she turned, her friends were singing a little song together, laughing as if someone was about to whip out a picnic basket filled with waffles. She was in a nightmare.
She turned back to the tree, unaware that she’d been moving towards it.
As if in a dream, she tried the radio, but once more all that came back was static.
She raised her hands, and that strange glitter streamed through her fingers. It twinkled in the air, sparkled in the leaves of the trees, and danced along her palms.
Magic.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Lucky say the word, his sweet high-pitched chirp, and suddenly it felt as if she was back in the mist, golden smoke rippling around her, a chasm threating to open beneath her feet.
Magic. Nobody spoke of magic anymore. It had gone out of fashion as the most magical creatures faded out of the world.
‘Frida?’
Frida jumped, giving a little shriek as her hand flew to her mouth.
She hadn’t realised she was almost at the centre of the meadow.
Someone was propped against the ravaged stump of the Hawthorn, nestled amongst the listing, lightning-scorched canopy.
‘Frida Rose?’ they whispered. ‘Is it you?’
Frida couldn’t move. She wanted to turn and run as fast as she could, but she clamped her hand down firmly on her DO NOT RUN mantra.
The person seemed twisted at a painful angle, a faint silverish liquid seeping from the unnatural position of their left elbow.
The rise and fall of their chest was shallow, a faint raspy sound emerging from their lips.
She fell to her knees beside them, not thinking about anything other than the fact that they were hurt. Not monstrous or menacing. Just – hurt. ‘Are you ok?’ she gasped, trying to look for something she could do to help.
They let out a hoarse laugh, as if that was the strangest thing they’d ever heard. But the way they were looking up at her, as if she was a pool of fresh water and they hadn’t drunk in half a lifetime, sent an unexpected jolt of heat through her.
‘Not really, Frida,’ they rasped. ‘No, I don’t think I am ok.’
She caught her breath. ‘You know my name.’
Ribbons of glitter moved around them like water.
Even curled up as they were, she could tell they were tall.
Probably taller than Cliff, and Cliff was the tallest person she knew.
Not male, not female, somewhere that was both and in between.
Fairies, according to the history books, had been gender-shifters.
But they’d also had horns and dripping fangs, and occasionally sculpted six-packs, which this fairy had none of.
They looked . . . kind of normal. Which was strange.
Or, as normal as someone struck by lightning, surrounded by glitter, with matted green hair, six-fingered hands and skin like marbled forest silk could be.
Normal in the way that it felt like she recognised them.
Was this really the kind of creature who would eviscerate her? Use her friends’ bones as sparring knives. Take out their eyeballs and snack on them.
The sound of Hamish’s singing drifted over the meadow.
‘You enchanted my friends!’ she reminded herself as she reeled away.
They gave a weak laugh, trying to prop themselves up and wincing when they caught their wounded arm. They were too thin around their bones, their entire body sharp, all angles, like a broken tree. God, she needed to wrap that wound, or something.
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I wanted to see you.’ Their voice was like the rustle of old leaves, a reedy whisper crackling through her skull. Suddenly, they descended into a painful fit of coughing.
Frida didn’t understand. Instinctively she wanted to help them, but she was too afraid to get any closer.
She studied them as they cradled their arm, trying to get control of their breathing.
They had an oval face with a strong jaw, an aquiline nose, and deep furrows of pain between their dark brows.
An unruly crown of hawthorn leaves was woven through their hair, listing awkwardly to one side.
Their lips, which might once have been full and dappled, were cracked and dry.
A small pale thorn of wood pierced their lower lip, an unexpected detail which surprised her for some reason.
Their delicately pointed ears poked out from beneath their hair. And their eyes . . .
Damn.
Their eyes were the strangest things. Hooded and dark, it looked as if they were all pupil.
Except, when she looked closer, she saw they were the deepest shade of bistre, and held a depth that made her dizzy, framed by the lustrous curve of emerald lashes.
Trying to focus on something else, she tried to guess their age, but it was impossible.
They could have been her age, or a thousand years old.
Weathered lines carved from what seemed like centuries of pain fanned out from the incongruously upturned corners of their lips.
Shadows hung under their eyes, and a sick pallor clung to their skin, which beneath the colours of a dappled wood, were betrayed by bruised and sallow cheeks.
Their hair, green as a deep forest night, hung in clumps, and she noticed strands of silver woven through the green.
They really didn’t look like they were going to eviscerate anyone.
They looked ruined.
They looked, in that moment, just like the shattered Hawthorn.
A sheer spider-silk body suit, that might once have dazzled on a fairy runway, hung ragged and loose over their body.
When their coughing eventually subsided, they peered back up at her through lowered lashes.
She watched their right-hand twitch – as if trying to reach for the tree – but then their fingers fell back, listless, and devastation made their black eyes sparkle with tears.
Finally, they whispered, ‘Your eyes are different.’
Frida blinked. What was the deal with people and her eyes today?
The fairy was struggling to sit up again, and a wry twist of pain touched their mouth. ‘But it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Seas and skies. You don’t even know me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, utterly lost. ‘I don’t think I’m who you think I am.’
They looked at her for a long moment. Then they shook their head slowly, their expression clouded. ‘I suppose that’s what we’re going to find out, isn’t it?’
Frida’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
‘Please, listen to me,’ they breathed suddenly.
The drifting flecks of glitter reflected in their dark pupils.
‘It’s going to start soon. I’ll be gone I think, with everyone else, we can’t stay to see it, but I – don’t be scared, ok?
This was the only way.’ Lifting a shaking hand, they touched her cheek ever so gently.
Frida jerked. She hadn’t realised she’d moved so close. ‘I trust you.’
‘You trust me?’ Frida repeated stupidly. The touch of their fingers burned right through to her bones. She didn’t know how long passed in that moment – a minute? A second? An age? – before they lowered their hand.
‘I’m so tired,’ they whispered, gazing up at her with regret. ‘So very tired. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s ok,’ Frida reassured, her voice steadier than she felt.
She knew she needed to find some way to call for help, but something in their shattered expression held her there – a pull she couldn’t explain.
Quickly, she started patting down the grass around them, ridiculous as it was, to try to make them comfortable. ‘It’s safe here. You can sleep.’
But their face remained etched with anguish.
Her heart ached for them. ‘It’s ok,’ she repeated.
Bright impossible silver hung through the fallen boughs of the Hawthorn, like strands of tinsel, occasional flashes of pink dancing before her eyes.
Far, far away it seemed, she could just see Antony and Hamish’s heads, bowed towards each other through the grass.
‘Is it?’ they murmured. ‘Is it ok?’
She jerked her head back.
Their eyes sparkled with unshed tears. ‘You’re going to be really angry with me, I think.
’ Her heart flipped over as they ran their unfathomable gaze over her face, over her tattoos where her sleeves had been rolled up, over her braid, wrestled as always into submission.
Then down, across the chest of her uniform where the LEZ’s Leaping Unicorn logo was embroidered.
She thought she saw a flicker of distaste.
When they sank back into the ashen grass, their cheeks had flushed a faint plum colour, almost as if they were annoyed.
At her. ‘Even though this was your idea,’ they grumbled.
The glitter seemed to be growing, buzzing in her ears. ‘I don’t understand!’ she exclaimed again.
‘You don’t, do you?’ They gave a low, gut-wrenching laugh. ‘How strange.’
She scanned their face in desperation, trying to find any clue as to what on earth they meant. ‘What is this?’ she begged. ‘What’s going on?’
But they just shook their head tiredly and sagged deeper. Was she imagining it, or was the grass around them growing? They gazed up at her with those deep, dark eyes that she imagined she might fall into. They were like forest pools, twinkling with bright stars. ‘Will you trust me?’
‘Trust you?’ she whispered.
‘I trust you.’ They laughed again, and this time it was like a thousand leaves swishing in the face of a coming storm.
‘Despite everything. Time’s funny like that, it seems. But you truly haven’t the faintest idea, do you?
’ With one final anguished sigh, their head fell back against the shattered tree stump, and their eyelids fluttered closed.
Just as something unearthly started to rumble, deep below Frida’s feet.