by Emma Newman
“I hoped we wouldn’t run into any. It recognised you.”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“If we see any others, remember what I said. They are spiteful little gits, and all they want to do is make our lives hell.”
“Hello!”
They both jumped at the tiny voice. Another faerie, this one more feminine and dressed in poppy petals, zipped around in front of them.
“Oh, bugger,” Cathy groaned.
“I’m so glad I found you!”
“Go away.”
It looked genuinely hurt. “But I’m here to help you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I already have, I tricked the Rose faerie into thinking you went another way. He’s very angry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why?”
“Duh! I know what you’re like.”
“How can you? We’ve never met before. And I was so excited.” It sniffed.
“Don’t be mean,” Sam said, holding out a hand for the faerie to land on.
“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?” snapped Cathy, scowling.
The faerie waved at Sam, who grinned and waved back with one finger, then stuffed his hand in his pocket, embarrassed. “You’re looking for Lord Poppy, aren’t you? I can help you!”
Cathy peered at the creature, confused. How could it behave so differently? It looked the same, but it was probably a trick. “Prove it,” she said, folding her arms.
The faerie leapt off Sam’s hand and flew towards a gentle hill. “Follow me!”
Sam started off and Cathy looked skywards, wondering what appalling things she must have done in a previous life to deserve this. She decided to go as far as the crest of the hill, and then its trickery would be exposed.
They climbed. Cathy’s stomach rumbled and her ribs ached. Sam seemed happy just to watch their pseudo-guide flutter about ahead of them.
Just like the time she was brought in before, a copse of trees could be seen from the crest of the hill. She could even see a red poppy bobbing at the edge of the trees.
“See!” The faerie zinged back to her, looking hopeful.
“Mmm,” Cathy said, not feeling any different towards the thing. “That’s the place, Sam. Just stay quiet, OK? And he’s a little different, so try not to react like a…tourist.”
“OK.” He offered his arm but she declined, not wanting Lord Poppy to see them arrive that way.
“Just stay close.”
“When this is done,” Sam said as they trudged down the hill, “we should go out for a beer.”
“You don’t know how much I would like that,” Cathy said, giving him a sad smile. “But I doubt it will happen.”
They reached the trees and she breathed as slowly and steadily as she could to get her nerves under control. Lord Poppy was in sight soon enough, looking just as he had before, as if he hadn’t moved in the days since she spoke with him.
His smile was predatory, his gaze sweeping over her and then staring at Sam with open curiosity.
“Ah, my favourite returns, what a delight! A surprise visit and a gift, how thoughtful!”
She realised he meant Sam. “Oh, um, he’s not a gift–” Lord Poppy’s smile transmuted into something thunderous “–in the sense that you may think, Lord Poppy. Rather, something trapped in his mind is a gift far more interesting than he is. He’s just a boring mundane, no gifts or talents whatsoever, I wouldn’t dream of bringing you anyone less than spectacular.”
Her quick words smoothed the scowl into an intrigued smile. “How interesting. But first, my soft little petal, come here so that I may admire you.”
She took a few steps closer, glancing nervously at the faerie as it flitted over to sit on his shoulder, smiling happily.
“You look so much better than the last time I saw you. What a delightful sparkle there is in your eye.”
“It’s difficult to hide my delight at seeing you again, my Lord,” she said, amazed at how much easier it was to spout rubbish after being in the Nether for a few days.
“And I see you’ve met this one.” His black eyes glanced at the faerie.
“She doesn’t like me,” the faerie said quietly.
Lord Poppy frowned. “What’s this? Why don’t you like her?”
Cathy shuffled. “She was less than helpful when I had the three wishes to think of, my Lord.”
“Impossible! That wasn’t her. How could you think such a thing? She looks completely different!”
Cathy peered at the faerie. It was identical to the one who’d ruined Josh’s life. But Lord Poppy was staring at her, waiting for a reaction. She raised her eyebrows. “I must be mistaken. Please accept my apologies.”
The little thing clapped its hands, dived off Poppy’s shoulder and pressed a kiss on the end of her nose.
“You mistook her for the one I’ve locked in a box,” Lord Poppy said casually. “That was the one who upset you. Sour little creature that it was, this one is much nicer, wouldn’t you agree?”
Cathy just nodded, not really caring, just wanting to navigate the fastest path through the conversational labyrinth.
“Now, what little nugget is trapped in this mundane’s mind? Why is it interesting?”
Cathy had been considering what to say since they set off down the hill, and had decided upon a risky strategy. “I believe it’s something that could get Lady Rose into a little bit of trouble.”
“Only a little bit?” Lord Poppy said, disappointed.
“I’ve been told I have a gift for understatement, my Lord. Of course, it also isn’t my place to decide how much trouble she could be in; it requires your knowledge and brilliance to make such a judgement.”
Lord Poppy beckoned Sam over with a long finger, tilting his head as he looked at him. When he was close enough, Lord Poppy curled his hand around the back of Sam’s neck and drew his face towards him. Cathy shivered as the Fae lord licked Sam’s forehead, remembering when he’d done the same to her wrist at the Emporium.
“Oi!” Sam rubbed his face as he was released. “Did you just lick my forehead?”
Cathy pulled him back to stand next to her. Lord Poppy was looking up at the sky, smacking his lips together like a sommelier trying to identify a vintage.
“A Fool’s Charm, definitely a Rose, very strong too. How interesting. What have they locked inside you, little mundane?”
“We’d like to find out,” Cathy said. “Would you be so kind as to lift the Charm for us, my Lord?”
“Would I?” he mused, still staring at Sam. “Would I…. yes, I believe I would be so kind.”
Cathy breathed out in relief.
“If you give me another memory in return,” Lord Poppy added.
“Eh?” Sam looked at her. “Does he mean–”
“Only one?” Cathy asked, frantically trying to think of a way to limit it.
“Only one,” Poppy confirmed. “Of my choice. He won’t miss it, I’m certain.”
“Agreed,” Cathy said as Sam took another breath. It was probably the best deal they could get, and the longer they spoke to the Fae lord, the higher the probability of screwing something up.
“Marvellous.” Poppy’s smile was terrifying. “Come here,” he said to Sam. “This will hurt and may drive you mad.”
“What? Then I don’t want to do it.”
“But it’s been agreed,” Poppy said calmly, unconcerned by the way Sam looked like he was about to bolt. He lifted his cane off the ground and pointed it at him. The poppies near Sam’s feet twisted around his ankles.
“Hey!” Sam yelled as Cathy covered her mouth, trapping the objection she’d almost blurted out.
“It’s for your own safety,” Poppy said gently and thrust his cane into the ground to free both hands.
“Cathy!” Sam said desperately, trying to twist around, but the poppies grew higher, now creeping past his knees and holding him tighter.
“Stay calm,” she sa
id, trying her best to look confident, hoping he’d get through it.
As Lord Poppy stooped to pluck a seed pod from amongst the blooms, Sam tried to peel off some of those wrapped around his legs, only to have his hands snared also. The Fae tipped a single seed onto his palm and discarded the pod.
“Open your mouth,” he said, amused by Sam’s panicked struggling.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Sam said.
“Do it, Sam,” Cathy said. “Please, don’t make it any worse.”
“No bloody way!”
Lord Poppy yawned and flicked a finger at the flowers. Two shoots raced upwards, prising Sam’s mouth open as he tried to protest. Cathy tasted blood on her tongue as she bit her lip, gripping the fabric of her skirts tightly, feeling terrible for Sam.
The Fae lord dropped the seed in Sam’s mouth; the poppy stems then shut his mouth and held it closed by pressing against his jaw. The poor man sucked frantic lungfuls of air through his nostrils, blinking rapidly, and then squeezed his eyes shut as a terrible screeching sound rose up from his throat.
Cathy reached for him but Lord Poppy caught her hand before she could lay it on Sam’s shoulder, shaking his head, a broad smile on his face.
A sheen burst out on Sam’s forehead, then Cathy realised it wasn’t sweat, but instead something that sparkled in the dappled sunlight. It coalesced into the shape of chain links, growing in intensity as Sam fought his bonds. Then it evaporated, rising as sparkling steam, and Sam collapsed onto his knees, snapping some of the flower stalks twisted around his legs.
The stems holding his mouth shut receded as Poppy returned to him, lifting his chin with a finger. “Still in there, are we?”
“I remember,” Sam gasped. “I remember all of it.”
“Good,” Poppy grasped his hair. “Then I will judge its worth and take my payment.”
Without warning, he tipped Sam’s head to the side and bent over him, his long, horribly pointed tongue darting into Sam’s ear like a hummingbird’s beak into a flower. “Hmmm,” he said, his tongue withdrawing after a couple of seconds.
“Oh, God, did he just lick the inside of my ear?” Sam rubbed his head frantically, the flowers that had imprisoned him now falling away. He struggled back onto his feet, backing away from the Fae. “That’s disgusting!”
“Shush,” Cathy said, taking hold of his hands and trying to calm him. “Later, we talk later.”
He nodded, shivering. She pushed him behind her.
“Lady Rose has been busy,” Lord Poppy said, extracting his cane from its resting place.
“Which memory did you take?” Sam asked and Cathy shushed him again.
“One that is gold and green and tastes of nothing at all. You won’t miss it,” Poppy said.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Cathy said, curtsying deeply. She grabbed Sam’s hand and took a step to leave.
“Oh!” Lord Poppy said, in such a tone that Cathy started to shake again. “I almost forgot. We haven’t discussed my compensation.”
“Compensation, my Lord?” Cathy tried not to squeak.
“Yes, for taking the mundane away with you and not leaving him here for me to use as I see fit.”
“But–” Sam shut up when she squeezed his hand as tight as she could.
“I understand,” Cathy said, hating him, hating all of them, Fae and Great Families alike. There was no point in arguing; this was Lord Poppy’s domain.
“I will be satisfied if you promise to give me a painting that is the best of your generation.”
She goggled at him. “I haven’t even had a chance to buy the canvases yet!”
“Oh, sweetest child, you’re my favourite.” Lord Poppy swept towards her and stroked her cheek. “That’s why I haven’t given you a deadline. I can wait.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” she forced herself to say.
“Run along now,” Poppy said. “I have a party to attend, one I believe may prove more entertaining than I previously thought. I’ll be sure to make it last as long as possible. Do come again, Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver, your visits never fail to be surprising. And don’t worry about anyone else interfering – I’ll send this one,” he waved the faerie over, “with you to see you on your way safely.”
Cathy curtsied again, trying not to flinch as the faerie came and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“And Catherine,” he said. “Don’t trust the Rosas.”
26
Sam pulled the doorknob out of his pocket once Lord Poppy’s domain was out of sight. Cathy had sent the faerie away and he’d never wanted a beer so much in his life. Now he knew what happened that night he could tell Ekstrand, go home and do his best to try to forget it all over again.
“Before we go through, Sam, can I talk to you about something?”
“Shoot.”
“I need your help. I ran away from my family and made a life in your world but the one that stuck his tongue in your ear found me and sent me back to them.”
“Why did you run away?”
“A zillion reasons,” she sighed. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”
He could see she was trembling. “I promise.”
“My father…is violent when people aren’t as accomplished as he wants them to be. I’ve never been very accomplished.”
“He hits you?”
She undid the jacket and let it fall from her shoulders, revealing bruises in startling shades of purple and green.
“Shit. Can’t you go to the police?”
“There aren’t any police in the Nether.” She did her jacket back up again. “And they want to marry me off to a man I hardly know, and they don’t care that I don’t want to.”
“Can’t you run away again?”
“If I could, I would, but they keep me locked in my room and even if I could get away from them, there’s nowhere to hide from the magic they’ve got.”
“Holy crap, that sucks.”
“Reckon. Look, I know we don’t know each other very well, and I wouldn’t normally ask for help, but–”
There was no way he could ignore it. “What can I do?”
She breathed out in relief. “The Sorcerer is the only chance I have. I need his help, but he hates anyone from the Great Families.”
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “This time, leave the talking to me, OK?”
“Deal. Thanks, Sam.”
“If you need somewhere to go in Mundanus when you first get away,” Sam added, “call me. Are you good at remembering phone numbers? I don’t have a pen.”
She nodded. “I have a phone too. I’m going to get it back as soon as I can so I’ll give you my number in case you need me.”
They exchanged mobile numbers and repeated them back to each other until confident they would be remembered.
“I’m sorry it was so horrible when he removed the Charm,” Cathy said. “I had no idea what it would be like.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Now let’s get the hell out of here. You need to hold my left hand,” he said and she did so.
There was a metal bolt sticking out of the back of the doorknob, like one that would normally go through a door to connect with the handle on the other side. He knelt down, pulling her with him, and thrust the bolt into the ground. He felt the earth beneath their knees vibrate.
“Quick,” she said. “I bet everything in Exilium can feel that.”
“Open,” he said, recalling the Sorcerer’s instructions, and turned the doorknob.
The outline of a door burnt into the grass around them and Cathy pulled him up and outside the rectangular shape. Before he could complain, the grassy door swung inwards, revealing the room below. The doorway appeared to have opened in the wall of the room.
“Oh, man, that breaks my brain.”
“It’s like Portal,” Cathy said.
They knelt down at the edge to peep in. It was dark in the empty ballroom they’d left, apart from a single lantern next to the wooden chair Cathy
had been sitting in when he’d first been brought into the room. The sunlight in Exilium didn’t penetrate the gloom. He could see the Sorcerer was being cautious again, knowing that she wouldn’t be blindfolded when they came back.
“You know Portal, the Xbox game?” Cathy said.
“Never played it,” he replied. “How do we not break our necks?”
“We slide over this side.” She pointed at the edge that met the floor of the room. “When we’re through, gravity will sort out the rest. Come on.”
“You go first,” he said, unconvinced, and worried the Sorcerer would just abandon her in Exilium if he went first.
Cathy did as she’d described, for a moment looking like she was going to fall into the space, but instead landing on the ballroom floor, which, from Sam’s viewpoint, looked like a wall. A second after she’d landed Axon stepped out of the darkness with another strip of fabric.
“Sorry, Miss.” She must have recognised the butler’s voice, for she just sat there as it was tied.
Sam came through inelegantly and he heard a gentle whump behind him, which he assumed was the Way closing. Once the nausea had passed, he opened his mouth to ask whether the doorknob would be left in Exilium but decided against it; they wouldn’t answer anyway. He was sure the Sorcerer had thought of that.
Cathy was helped to her feet. Axon kept his hands on her upper arms.
“Was it a success?” Ekstrand asked, still dressed in his suit and cloak, reminding Sam of a stage magician.
“We’re fine, thanks for asking.”
“I can see that. Did the parasite lift the Charm?”
“Yeah.”
“Excellent. Send his puppet back to the Censor. Tell her she cooperated.”
“Wait, let her stay,” Sam said and put his hand on her shoulder. “She’s not like you said she would be.”
“This is exactly what I feared,” the Sorcerer rumbled.
“Check me out with your magnifying glass if you don’t believe me. She didn’t do anything to make me fall in love or any of that other guff.”
Ekstrand did as he suggested. “You do seem to be free of anything obvious. Why do you want her to stay?”
