Prisoner of Fae

by Abbie Lyons

  It’s not that my parents and I had an awful relationship. Not that I’d necessarily call it good either. We were very different people. They’re the more conservative type and lived about as mundane a life as magical beings possibly could. If it were up to them, I’d spend my whole life at home with them as a perfect little family.

  Because here’s the thing: some Fae never grow up. Almost a third of us stay in a state of blissful, perpetual childhood. Others become adults, and though none of us—except the truly, truly elderly—ever look super old, there’s a marked difference between those who continue to age and those who don’t. And there’s no predicting which aging curve any given Fae will end up with.

  My parents never said it, but I was pretty sure they would’ve much preferred I stayed a kid forever. Instead their little girl grew up and developed a bit of a rebellious streak. I couldn’t help but think they resented me for that. They hadn’t even shown the teeniest bit of support and shown up for my trial.

  But I owed them a conversation.

  “Well then,” said the troll, “go ahead and put your hands on the crystal.”

  I hadn’t used one of these in a while, but the process was simple enough. Think of the person you want to connect with and, if they accept, their face will appear in the crystal.

  And yet, I wasn’t having much luck. Imagining the faces of my parents proved more difficult than I’d thought. It’d been a few years since I’d seen them and the little details I once knew so well were lost.

  And how fucking embarrassing would it be if I couldn’t even picture them clearly enough to have one last conversation with them?

  Of course, there was another possibility—maybe my parents didn’t want to talk with me at all. And as strained as our relationship was, I hoped against hope that wasn’t the case. As meager as it was, they were really all I had now.

  “What’s the holdup?” the troll asked. “You don’t got all day.”

  “I’m trying!” I insisted. I promised myself I’d do my best not to cry because I so didn’t want to be seen as weak. That might put a target on me. But I could feel the tears coming on, and I feared the troll was going to have to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and look at me with pity while I broke down into sobs.

  But then, there they were. Mom and Dad. They looked a bit like me, though their hair was silver rather than pink. Like I said: conservative. I’d never been more happy to see two pissed-off looking faces in my life.

  “You owe us an explanation for what you did,” my father immediately demanded.

  Did they think I actually killed April? Were we really that far gone?

  “I didn’t do anything,” I fired back.

  “Then what happened?” my mother jumped in.

  I was almost at a loss for words, which wasn’t really what you wanted to be when you were talking to the ones who raised you for the last time in ten years. “I don’t know! I’m just as clueless as anybody else. One minute April was there, and the next...”

  My father shook his head. “Regardless. None of this would’ve ever happened if you didn’t leave home.”

  He was probably right. If April and I had never run off, she’d probably be alive and I’d be a free lady. Miserable maybe, but free.

  Because I don’t think I ever could’ve been truly happy in the Invisible Cities of Fae. You might expect a huge city full of magical types to be fun, but for the most part you’d be wrong. Despite all the glamor and enchantment—along with some of the most colorful architecture you’ve ever seen—Fae culture is extraordinarily snobby, and the discrimination against the Lesser Fae was enough to make you sick. I didn’t want any part of it.

  The Invisible Cities were located smack dab in the wide open spaces of the American state of Wyoming. As you’d probably expect given the highly original name, humans couldn’t see them. To them, it just looked like a bunch of empty land. It drove me crazy that we were in the middle of a country with cities that I’d way rather live in. New York? Chicago? San Francisco? All much better options. But Los Angeles was the one April and I chose to make our home.

  So yeah, none of this would’ve happened if I was still in the Invisible Cities. But I can’t say I regretted it. That place sucked.

  “I just can’t believe you dragged yourself into this trouble at such a terrible time,” my mom said with a sigh.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. I was genuinely stumped by what “terrible time” she was referring to.

  “The new king. So much turmoil within the royal family! It’s tragic!”

  So, yeah, there was another part of Fae culture I could do without. We could call humans backward all we wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that Fae were ruled over by an old fashioned monarchy, complete with the problems you might expect from that. Sometimes, though rarely, there would be bloody fights for the throne. Give me democracy over that bullshit any day, please.

  “The new king?” I asked. “Have things gotten bad?”

  “You haven’t heard?” My dad took a deep breath. I guess they thought I would’ve still been reading the Fae papers and such. The truth was that I hadn’t followed any Fae news—aside from that of my own arrest—in a long, long time. “I’ve never seen things so out of control here. We already have enough to be worrying about, Emerald. And you doing...whatever it is you did. It’s not what we need right now. I hope you’re sorry.”

  I rolled my eyes. My parents were impossible. “I told you. I didn’t do anything. There’s nothing for me to be sorry about!”

  A single tear rolled down my mother’s face, like something out of some totally melodramatic movie. “Maybe you didn’t... you know...” Clearly, she didn’t want to mention the grisly crime I’d been accused of. “...But there’s something you’re not telling us. You’ve made a huge mistake of some kind. And I don’t know if we can ever forgive you for all that you’ve put us through.”

  Way harsh.

  “I don’t deserve this,” I said with conviction. Because it was true. And I could be just as harsh. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted. But I’m even more sorry that you couldn’t be the parents I needed.”

  And with that, their images disappeared from the crystal. Neither I nor them were getting anything out of the conversation. For better or worse, I truly was on my own.

  The troll was looking down at the floor. I’d completely forgotten he was even in the room. Listening to awkward discussions like that was probably routine, but he looked genuinely uncomfortable.

  “Maybe it don’t mean much,” he said, looking back up into my eyes. “But I believe ya. Guilty folk don’t talk like you just did.”

  Like I said—trolls have hearts of gold.

  “Can you help me?” I asked. I already knew the answer.

  He looked back down. “Wish I could...wish I could.”

  Without saying another word, he motioned me toward the next room, where I was greeted by a group of three Fae men with serious looks on their faces that so didn’t match the bright neon colors of their hair. Again, this is one of the things I hated about Fae culture—it usually didn’t match the style! Fae should be fun! Vibrant! Creative! Certainly not grim and mean.

  They were all dressed in the boring navy blue uniforms of the Azelorian Guard, which was one of the main branches of the Fae military. The most elite, selective, and hardass.

  “You can get changed,” one of them told me.

  In the corner of the room was a privacy curtain that I wasn’t sure I could trust. I stood behind it and changed from my normal clothes—just cozy sweats, nothing too fancy—into my standard issue orange bottoms and white tank top, making sure to go as quickly as possible lest one of those pervs try and sneak a peek.

  When I emerged, they silently put a pair of magic shackles back around my wrists.

  “Time to get you to your cell,” one of them said with a stupid smirk on his face that made me want to punch his lights out, if only I could.

  Home sweet home,
here I come.

  Chapter Four

  THE FIRST THING I NOTICED as I was escorted into the halls of the prison was the smell. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it reminded me of. Burning hair with a hint of blue cheese? A wet dog in a moldy basement? A literal garbage fire?

  “You’ll get used to that,” said one of the guards, noticing the look on my face.

  Another one of them laughed. “Yeah,” he joked, “give it a year or five, and you won’t even notice it.”

  Central booking had looked a bit more like your traditional bureaucratic nightmare. But as I walked through the final doorway into the halls of the penitentiary, everything changed. Nothing but concrete, a strange chilliness, and the aforementioned awful stench.

  I’d expected Fae prison to be at least a little less aesthetically dreary than human prison. Sure, being here was supposed to be a punishment, but even still they probably could’ve spruced the place up a little more, you know?

  Ugh, I really am a brat sometimes.

  The walls were lined with cells protected by thick iron bars. Pretty typical of what you’d expect if you pictured any other prison. Although these cells didn’t even have doors. This was almost definitely a magic thing. A little wave of the hand by a guard with the proper authority could make the bars disappear or reappear at any time.

  I’d always been jealous of those human girls who got to join sororities, but the whole hazing thing had always weirded me out. And as I was escorted through the halls of the penitentiary, I was getting a hazing worse than any girl at Chi Omega or whatever had ever received. This shit was bananas.

  “Hey, we got a new girl!” one deep male voice from up above yelled.

  “Fresh meat!” screamed a woman from a direction I couldn’t even determine. “And she looks awfully tasty!”

  “Whore!” another female called out. I didn’t take any offense seeing as she didn’t know me at all and probably yelled that kind of crap at everybody, but still, not the most fun thing to be called as you’re transported through the single most depressing place you’ve ever been.

  After what felt like fifteen minutes—this place was even bigger than I’d imagined—my escorts came to an abrupt stop. We stood facing an unoccupied cell.

  At least I don’t have any roommates. Thank goddess for small mercies.

  “Go ahead,” one of them said, placing his hands on my waist a little more aggressively than I would’ve preferred and pushing me forward.

  Creeps, all of them.

  “Guess none of you fellas want to join me, huh?” I mocked.

  The dude with his hands on me didn’t take kindly to that. He shoved me into the cell and immediately the trademark iron bars appeared. It was as simple as that.

  Somehow I was always figuring out the perfect way to turn myself into my own worst enemy. Note to self: maybe don’t piss off anybody who could easily turn your life into even more of a living hell than it already is.

  “Good luck,” one of the Azelorians called as they marched away. “You’re sure as shit going to need it.”

  Go to hell, I thought to myself, finally exercising a little bit of self-restraint.

  And just like that, I was alone.

  Well, maybe that depended on your definition of “alone” seeing as I was surrounded by hundreds of convicted criminals. I wondered how many of them were innocent, too. I couldn’t be the only one, right?

  I looked across the hall over at my neighbors—as ridiculous as it was to think of them as just “neighbors.” Sure, some of them looked like hardened criminals with shaved heads and bodies covered with enchantment tattoos, but others looked a lot more like me. Young men and women in standard-issue uniforms who looked like any average Fae you might see in the Invisible Cities. By and large, they mostly seemed bored. Whatever commotion the arrival of a new prisoner caused had died down by now. I was old news—I hoped. If human movies had taught me anything about making it through prison in one piece, it was to keep a low profile and try to blend in as much as possible.

  Some of them were mumbling gibberish to themselves, as if there was somebody else in the cell with them. But the fact of the matter was that—despite how fucked up this place was—every prisoner had a place of their own.

  That could be me in a few years. The girl sitting alone on her bed talking to herself about how nobody would ever believe that she’s innocent.

  But I’d potentially have years to mope. If I was really going to be here for ten years, then there’d be plenty of time to feel sorry for myself. Maybe I could find some sort of silver lining. Sure, my cell was about as sad a space as I’d ever found myself in, but surely there was something I could do to make it my own.

  I looked around to see what I was working with. For one thing, the bed could’ve been worse. Sure it was basically just a cot complete with a single pillow and a blanket that I’d wager to guess was itchy as hell, but it was better than a bed of nails or some sort of weird metal slab. So that was a minor victory.

  The penitentiary had even been so kind as to provide me with a toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink tucked into a small bureau against the wall. But, of course, it wasn’t a Sonicare or some other fancy-schmancy electric brush. Just a plain old wooden one that looked like it could probably give me a splinter if I held it the wrong way. The tube of toothpaste was plain white with the word MINT printed on it in black lettering.

  No way it has any whitening. Hope my teeth don’t turn yellow, I thought to myself before once again remembering that the color of my teeth was the least of my worries.

  The toilet certainly wasn’t anything to write home about either. Only time would tell how well the plumbing worked. The shower wasn’t much more than a hose coming out of the wall, with small bottles of soap and shampoo—again, no name brands here—sitting on a small rack. I figured—or maybe “hoped” was a better word—that some sort of privacy magic would activate whenever I was taking care of any, you know, personal business.

  And then there was the crown jewel of the room, the height of luxury: a small wooden desk complete with a metal chair that was guaranteed to make my ass sore after only five minutes. But beggars can’t be chooser, and a table to sit at was practically a goddessend. Maybe someday I’d even get a pen and paper or—gasp—a book.

  Because I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do to pass my time in the Enchanted Penitentiary. Like, yeah, I get that prison isn’t supposed to be a vacation. It’s a punishment. And yet they couldn’t expect us to just spend countless hours every day wasting away in our cells with nothing to do? Could they?

  They probably could.

  “Back to your cell!” a guard yelled from outside. “You’re not getting any special treatment from me!”

  I turned my head fast enough to see a tall guy with ocean-blue hair jogging down the hallway. He looked a little more put together than the average inmate, even though he was wearing the same thing as the rest of us. There was just something about him that seemed different. He didn’t have that same look of defeat on his face that the others did. It probably didn’t hurt that he was pretty damn hot in the first place.

  I hope he’s not here for doing anything too terrible.

  Hot on his tail was an Azelorian guardsman, seemingly out of breath, who couldn’t quite catch up to him. A smattering of applause broke out as they ran by, and I could’ve sworn—though maybe I was just hungry and a little delirious—that the guy on the run made eye contact with me and cracked a grin. For the first time in days, I laughed.

  If this place was going to be as boring as I thought it might be, I was going to take any entertainment I could get.

  But the joy of the moment quickly faded, and I once again found myself with nothing to do. I lied down on the bed and closed my eyes, hoping I could at least get a little sleep. Not like I had anything better to do, and I sure as hell needed the rest.

  “Attention all inmates,” a disembodied voice echoed throughout the prison, waking me up from my shor
t-lived nap. “This is the warden speaking. Stop whatever you are doing and listen, lest you’d prefer to suffer disciplinary action .”

  To call the voice “booming” would be an understatement. It wasn’t only deep, but super loud. I could feel my bed vibrating as he spoke.

  “As always,” he continued, “you’d do well to listen very closely to what I say. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care about your position in society. Here, you’re all nothing. You have no value. Those who think they’re worth more than any other inmate will quickly be corrected. Never forget these three words: know your place.”

  The dude sure had a flair for the dramatic. If it wasn’t already obvious that the title “warden” meant he was in charge, then his words definitely made it clear.

  “Today I’d like to announce the arrival of a new inmate. Emerald Jones.”

  Well shit, that’s me. Did he have a habit of announcing the arrival of every prisoner?

  “I trust you all to give Inmate Jones a warm Enchanted Penitentiary welcome. She’ll be spending the next ten years with us for the murder of her best friend.” He paused. “That’ll be all for now.”

  Well, so much for not having my spot blown up. Something told me the best friend murderer wasn’t going to have an easy time making friends. Best case scenario: maybe my “crime” would make me intimidating enough to scare off any trouble. Worst case scenario: I’d be an easy target.

  I closed my eyes again. Why waste time worrying when I could just get back to my beauty sleep?

  “Emerald?” came a voice, waking me up what must’ve only been a few minutes later. Not like there was any easy way to tell with the total lack of sunlight. Maybe one of the ways they tortured you around here was making sure you didn’t get any decent rest for more than five minutes at a time.

  I looked up to see the last thing in the world I expected—a familiar face standing in front of my cell.