The Modern Faerie Tales

by Holly Black

  Ellen raised her eyebrows. “Fine, sleep it off. Just don’t make it a habit,” she said finally. “And if either of you puke, you clean it up.”

  “Okay,” Kaye yawned, closing the door. Considering the sheer volume of vomit she’d cleaned up over the last sixteen years—most of it belonging to her mother—she thought that was a pretty uncharitable comment, but she was too tired to dwell on it.

  A few moments later, Kaye was curled up on the boxspring again, dropping easily back into sleep.

  The third time that Kaye woke, it was dark outside the window. She stretched lazily, and her stomach tightened in knots. She reached out to the lamp on the end table and switched it on, bathing the room in dim yellow light.

  Roiben was gone.

  The pink comforter was crumpled at the foot of the mattress, two pillows beside it. The sheet covering the mattress was pulled off the corner, as though he had slept restlessly. Nothing to suggest where he’d gone; nothing to say good-bye.

  She had only asked him to stay for the day. When darkness had come, he had been free to go.

  Frantically, she pulled the faerie dress over her head, tossing it on the floor with all the other laundry, tugging on the first clothes she found—a plain white T-shirt and plaid pants with zippers all down the sides. She unbraided her hair and hand-combed it roughly. She had to find him . . . She would find him. . . .

  Kaye stopped with one hand still dragging through tangled hair. He didn’t want her to follow him. If he’d wanted anything more to do with her, he would have at least said good-bye. She’d apologized and he’d listened. He’d even forgiven her, sort of. That was that. There was no reason to go after him, unless you could count the odd, soft touch of his hand on her cheek or the gentle acceptance of yet another kiss. And what did those things mean anyway? Less than nothing.

  But when she went down the stairs, Roiben was there, right there, sitting on her grandmother’s flowery couch, with Ellen beside him. Kaye’s mother was wearing a red dress and had two sequin devil horns sticking out of her hair.

  Kaye stopped on the stairwell, stunned as the utter impossibility of the scene crashed up against the utter normalcy of it. The television was on, and its flickering blue light sharpened Roiben’s features until she couldn’t tell whether he still wore his glamour.

  He was drizzling pieces of plain, white bread with honey from the jar, thick amber puddles of it that he as much poured into his mouth as ate.

  “I am grateful,” he said. “It’s very good.”

  Kaye’s mother snorted at his politeness. “I don’t know how you can eat that. Ugh.” Ellen made a face. “Too sweet.”

  “It’s perfect.” He grinned and licked his fingers. His smile was so honest and unguarded that it looked out of place on his face. She wondered if that was what he had looked like before he’d come to the Unseelie Court.

  “You’re one twisted young man,” Ellen said, and that only made his grin widen.

  Kaye walked down a few more steps, and Ellen looked up. Roiben turned to her as well, but she could read nothing in those ashen eyes.

  “Morning,” Roiben said, and his voice was as warm and slow as the honey he’d been eating.

  “You still look like shit, kiddo,” her mother said. “Drink some water and take an aspirin. Liquor makes you dehydrated.”

  Kaye nodded and walked down the rest of the stairs.

  On the television, a cartoon Batman chased the Joker through a spooky old warehouse. It reminded her of the old merry-go-round building.

  “You guys are watching cartoons?” Kaye asked.

  “The news is on in ten minutes. I want to see the weather. I’m going up to New York for the parade. Oh, honey, when I saw Liz the other day, I told her how you were doing and everything. She said she had something for you.”

  “You saw Liz? I thought you were mad at her.”

  “Nah. Water under the bridge.” Ellen was always happier when she was in a band.

  “So she sent me an album?”

  “No. It’s a bag of old clothes. She was going to get rid of them. She can’t fit in any of that stuff anymore. It’s in the dining room. The gray bag.”

  Kaye went and opened the plastic bag. It was full of glittering fabrics, leather and shiny vinyl. And yes, there it was, as shimmeringly purple as in her memories, the catsuit. She pulled it out reverently.

  “How come you didn’t tell me the real reason you didn’t want to move to New York?” Ellen glanced meaningfully in Roiben’s direction.

  Roiben’s face was carefully expressionless.

  Kaye could not seem to marshal her thoughts well enough to find a reply. “Do you guys want some coffee or something?”

  Her mother shrugged. “There’s some in the kitchen. I think it’s left over from the morning—I could make some new.”

  “No, I’ll get it,” Kaye said.

  She went out into the kitchen and poured some of the black stuff into a cup. Adding milk only turned it a dark, sickly gray. She added several liberal spoonfuls of sugar and drank it like penitence.

  Roiben hadn’t looked angry at all; to the contrary, he looked absurdly comfortable sprawled on the couch. She should have felt better, but instead it seemed as though the knots in her stomach were tightening.

  It was evening already, and soon he would be gone. She wanted him, wanted him to want her more than she had any right or reason to expect from him, and that knowledge was as bitter as the day-old coffee.

  “Kaye?” It was Roiben, a nearly empty jar of honey in one hand, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, stupidly, holding up the cup. “This is really bad. I’ll make some new.”

  “I’ve been . . . I wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For explaining what happened. For making me stay here last night.”

  She took the old coffee and dumped it in the sink, hiding the embarrassed smile that was playing over her lips. She filled the pot with hot water and swirled a few times before dumping that too.

  His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. “For not being afraid of me.”

  She snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m terrified of you.”

  He smiled at Kaye, one of his quicksilver smiles, dazzling and brief. “Thank you for hiding it, then. Quite realistic.”

  She grinned back at him. “No problem. I mean, if I’d known you liked it this much and all . . .”

  He rolled his eyes, and it was so good to stand there smiling shyly at each other. All the silly words she had wanted to say to him suddenly began clawing up her throat, desperate to be spoken.

  “I’m just glad it’s over,” she said, breaking the spell while she turned to spoon coffee grounds into a filter.

  He looked at her incredulously. “Over?”

  She stopped in midmotion. “Yeah, over. We’re here and safe and it’s over.”

  “Not to distress you,” he said, “but I very much doubt—”

  “Kaye!” Ellen called from the other room. “Come see this. There’s a bear loose.”

  “Just a minute, Mom,” Kaye called back. She turned to Roiben. “What do you mean not over?”

  “Kaye, Faerie is a place governed by a set of customs both severe and binding. What you have done has consequences.”

  “Everything has consequences,” she said, “and the consequence of this is that the solitary fey are free again, you’re free, and the bad Queen is dead. That seems pretty over to me.”

  “Kaye, it’s going to be off by the time you get here,” Ellen called.

  Kaye took a deep breath and walked out into the other room.

  Ellen was pointing to the screen “Will you look at this?”

  On the screen, a newsman was standing in the middle of Allaire State Park announcing that a man had been murdered and partially devoured. The announcer reported that, judging by the claw marks, authorities were speculating that it was a bear.

  “Now I’m hungry,” Kaye sa
id.

  The announcer went on, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back so that it did not move, his voice overly dramatic. “The man’s dog was found attached to the body by a wrist leash and was apparently unharmed. The dog has been taken into custody by the West Long Branch chapter of the SPCA, which is awaiting relatives to come and claim it.”

  “I wonder what kind of dog it was,” Kaye said as Roiben came back into the living room.

  Ellen made a face. “I’m going to finish my makeup. Can you just find out for me if it’s going to rain? The weather should be on soon.”

  “Sure,” Kaye said, sprawling on the couch.

  On the television, the same announcer came back on, with another warning about the animal, reporting that there were several unconfirmed reports about missing infants and children. In some of the more unlikely reports, children were stolen from their beds, out of strollers, off swings in playgrounds. No one had seen anything, however, let alone a bear.

  A Popcorn Park Zoo representative was speaking at a press conference. The white-haired man was polishing his glasses methodically, nearly in tears as he explained how it was difficult to tell what animal had escaped, since this morning all the animals had been found in the wrong cages. The tigers had eaten several of the llamas before they could be separated. The deer had been in a bird enclosure, panicking in the small space. He suspected PETA. He didn’t understand how this could have happened in such a well-run, tidy zoo.

  “In other news, a young girl on her way back from classes at Monmouth University was kidnapped this morning by an unidentified assailant. She was released tonight after a harrowing day in which she was forced to answer riddles to avoid torture. She is currently being held at Monmouth Medical Center and is in stable condition.”

  Kaye sat bolt upright. “Riddles?!”

  Roiben looked at Kaye across the dim living room. “What do you think of the first day of the next seven years?”

  Kaye shook her head, not understanding.

  The screen showed men and women being strapped to stretchers in Thompson Park. They had been found naked, dancing in a circle, and had to be forcibly restrained by police to make them stop. Their clothes were found nearby, and the available identification showed no common link. They were being treated for dehydration and blistered feet.

  Behind the cameras, Kaye could easily see the fat toadstools growing in a thick circle.

  Kaye rubbed a hand over her face. “But why? I don’t understand.”

  Roiben spoke as he began to pace the room. “Everything is always easier when considered black and white, isn’t it? Your friends are, after all, good and wise, so all solitary fey must be good and wise. Your friends have some respect and fear and knowledge of humans, so all the solitary fey will follow in that example.”

  The phone rang, startling her. She got up and answered it. “Hello?”

  It was Janet. She sounded subdued. “Hi, Kaye.”

  “Um, hi.” Janet was the last person she expected to call.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.”

  “What?” Kaye said.

  “No, seriously. All of us guys are going to a rave tonight. You want to come?”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “No, why?”

  Kaye fumbled for an explanation. “There’s supposed to be a bear on the loose.”

  “We’re going to the Pier. Don’t be weird. So are you coming?”

  “No one should go. Janet, it really isn’t safe.”

  “So don’t go,” Janet said. “By the way, have you seen my brother?”

  Kaye’s insides suddenly turned to ice. “Corny’s gone?”

  “Yeah,” Janet answered. “Since yesterday.”

  Kaye shouldn’t have assumed that Nephamael would only keep him for the night, the way he had the last time. Corny was still under the damn hill. She knew it. She looked desperately at Roiben, but he regarded her blankly. He couldn’t hear Janet. He’d never even met Corny.

  “I’ll see you, okay?” Kaye said.

  “Sure. Whatever. ’Bye.”

  She hung up.

  “Who was that?” Roiben asked.

  “Janet’s brother is still under the hill . . . with Nephamael.”

  Nephamael’s name made Roiben stop in his place. “More secrets?”

  She winced. “Corny. He was with me that night . . . when I was a pixie.”

  “You are a pixie.”

  “He was there that night—the one when you didn’t know it was me—and when I left, he . . . met . . . Nephamael.”

  Roiben’s eyebrows shot up at that.

  “Corny was totally out of his head. Nephamael hurt him, and he . . . liked it. He wanted to go back.”

  “You left a friend—a mortal—under the hill . . . alone?” He sounded incredulous. “Are you completely heartless? You saw what you were leaving him to.”

  “You made me leave! I couldn’t get back in. I tried. And he got out on his own that time.”

  “I thought we were going to be honest with each other. What manner of honesty is this?”

  She felt completely miserable.

  “Do you know who Nephamael is?”

  She shook her head, dread creeping over limbs, making her feel heavy, making her want to sink to the floor. “He . . . he’s the one that put the enchantment on me and who took it off.”

  “He was once the best knight in the Unseelie Court—that is, before he was sent to the Seelie Court as part of the price for a truce. He was sent there, and I was sent to Nicnevin.”

  Kaye just stood, stunned, thinking about the conversation she had overheard between Nicnevin and Nephamael. Why hadn’t she deduced that? What other meaning could there have been? “So Nephamael still serves Nicnevin?”

  “Perhaps. It seems more likely that he serves only himself. Kaye, do you know who concocted the plan to sabotage the Tithe?”

  “You think it was Nephamael?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me, how did your friends become aware you were a pixie when not even the Queen of the Unseelie Court could see through your glamour?”

  “The Thistlewitch said she remembered when I got switched. She was at the Seelie Court then.”

  “Now, how is it that they know Nephamael?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We lack some piece of information, Kaye.”

  “Why would Nephamael want to make trouble for Nicnevin?”

  “Perhaps he sought revenge for being sent away. I doubt he found the Seelie Court to his taste.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have to get Corny.”

  “Kaye, if what you say is true, you know that he may well no longer be alive.”

  She took a sharp, shallow breath. “He’s fine,” she said.

  12

  And for those masks who linger on

  To feast at night upon the pure sea!

  —ARTHUR RIMBAUD, “DOES SHE DANCE”

  She’d only ever brought one other person to the Glass Swamp. The summer when she was nine and Janet had taken to constantly teasing her about her imaginary friends, Kaye had decided that she was going to prove they were real once and for all. Janet had stepped on a half moon of bottle glass, cutting through her sneaker and jabbing into her foot on the way to the swamp. They’d never even made it down the ridge.

  It had not occurred to her until now to suspect that Lutie or Spike or even poor, dead Gristle had something to do with that.

  Darting lights were easily visible from the street, and shouts carried through the still air. She couldn’t hear the voices well enough to discern whether they were about to stumble down into a bunch of kids drinking beer or into something else.

  Roiben was all in black—jeans and T-shirt and long coat that all must have been conjured up from moonbeams and cobwebs because she was sure they didn’t come from any of the closets in her grandmother’s house. He had pulled the top part of his hair back, but the shock of white somehow made him seem even more inhuman
when he was dressed in modern clothes.

  She wondered if she looked inhuman too. Was there something about her that warned people off? Kaye had always assumed that she was just weird, no more explanation necessary. Looking at him, she wondered.

  He glanced toward her without turning his head and raised his eyebrows in a silent query.

  “Just looking at you,” she said.

  “Looking at me?”

  “I . . . I was wondering how you did that—the clothes.”

  “Oh.” He looked down, as though he’d only then given a thought to what he was wearing. “It’s glamour.”

  “So what are you really wearing?” The words left her mouth before she could consider them. She winced.

  He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he flashed her one of his brief smiles. “And if I said nothing at all?”

  “Then I would point out that sometimes, if you look at something out of the corner of your eye, you can see right through glamour,” she returned.

  That brought surprised laughter. “What a relief to us both then that I am actually wearing exactly what you saw me in this afternoon. Although one might point out that in that outfit, your last concern should be my modesty.”

  “You don’t like it?” She looked down at the purple vinyl catsuit. There had been no reason for her not to put it on immediately. After all, it was still Halloween.

  “Now, that’s the sort of question I begin to expect from you. One to which there is no good answer.”

  Kaye grinned, and she could tell that the grin was likely to stay on her face for a long time. They could do this. They could figure this out. Everything was going to be fine.

  “Down here?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “Indiscreet,” was all he said before he hooked his boots in the muddy ledge and carefully walked down the ridge.

  Kaye followed him, stumbling along at more or less her own pace.

  Green women and men were half immersed in the deeper parts of the stream, androgynous forms rough with bark and shimmery lights.

  A few of the creatures saw Roiben and slithered into the pool or back up the bank. There was some whispering.

  “Kaye,” a voice rasped, and she spun around.

  It was the Thistlewitch, sitting on a log. She patted the place beside her. “Things did not go well under the hill.”