by Casey Lane
Shortly after my unforgivable sin, I was ripped from my home in the highlands and chucked like garbage into the dumping ground of the New World. The Americas, a terrible cesspool the humans named New York. I was judged and sentenced as a menace by the Highborn Seelies–the royal fae who've taken it upon themselves to sweep the earth clean of Unseelie fae like me. As well as all other supernatural creatures that bring darkness to the world.
Two hundred and some odd years later, the city and its boroughs have become overrun with gangs of shape shifters, demons, witches and warlocks, to name but a few. Each gang keeps to their own kind. Out of loneliness, I tried joining the other monsters, thinking that at least they would accept me. They didn't. I was too monstrous for even them. No one wanted a one-of-a-kind chameleon faery like me in their gang.
When I was first imprisoned here in the mid 1800's, I shrank from the sharp edged buildings with their roots of steel and glaring windows that antagonized the night sky. For years, I hid below an abandoned warehouse with the rats and spiders, until one day, I discovered a hidden cave in the North Woods of Central Park.
I've made my home here ever since, where I take solace in being surrounded by the trees and woodland creatures. At least here, I'm never without company. Birds rest on my shoulders, squirrels eat nuts from my hands, and rabbits and mice nuzzle in my arms. They do not see the beast. I am their protector.
Despite the comfort my wee companions provide, my heart continues to hurt. Tristan left a gaping hole that will not heal, and the pain of it chains me down.
If I wanted to leave this hellhole, I could. There was a time when that was impossible, back when the Highborns closed us in with the Wall. A magical barrier they built around the entire state of New York–a sizzling, crackling wall comprised of sigils, custom-made to kill anyone foolhardy enough to attempt an escape. But that's gone. Some warlock gathered all the supernatural gangs together and used their combined energy to destroy the Wall once and for all.
Now that the cage door to this prison sits ajar, I've asked myself many times where I would go if I were to leave. Back to my precious forest in the highlands? I have to wonder if those woods even exist anymore. The human infestation has only worsened over time. Even if my forest still remains, I'm sad to say, there's no returning to the simple existence I was born into.
This ever-present pain would only travel with me.
Besides, two centuries of being surrounded by humans changes a faery. I’ve been forced to become like them. It’s the only way I've been able to physically tolerate living amongst their concrete buildings of steel. Some days I’m an old bag lady or a lost child. Other days, I’m a street musician or a mime. I choose the least noticeable and threatening of the mortals.
In the beginning, I used these harmless personas to gain the trust of my victims. But I don't hunt just anyone anymore. You might say I’ve grown soft over the last hundred or so years. How could I not? The air's soaked with human emotions. Waves of hatred, joy, grief, love and fear are forever crashing in on me. They've infected me, these humans. I feel what they feel, and most of the time it hurts. A lot.
I'm no longer able to feed on those I consider innocent. There's so little happiness in the world. Why add to the gloom by taking out the good ones? I've become inclined toward hunting the predators, the purveyors of fear and misery. Fortunately, there's no shortage of them in this city.
Today, I’m a high school girl at a rave. It's been months since I've fed. I'm especially hungry, and every rave is guaranteed to have at least one sleazebag prowling around for some fresh young thing to ruin.
The music pounds through the thin walls of the women's restroom as I check myself in a dirty, smudged mirror. I look like a walking, talking version of Malibu Barbie, only I'm wearing a tutu over a hot pink bikini suit and I've stuffed my long tanned legs into white fluffies. I turn from side to side, making sure my halo of pink daisies is fastened securely to my long blond curls. Shrugging my shoulders to make my angel wings bounce, I stick a pacifier in my mouth and bat my baby blues.
The bait's on the hook. Time to go fishing.
I burst through the door, merging with the mob of dancers, all glowing bright with rainbow colors under black lights. Lasers and strobes reveal flashing glimpses of a psychedelic jungle painted over warehouse walls. Music throbs through the air as bodies jump to the beat, united by one thunderous sound. Raw sexuality floods the cavernous space, an orgy of blissful desire plays out on the dance floor.
I like the energy here. No one's caught up in thinking about his or her problems. They're in the moment, lost in the music, feeling the deep rhythmic bass thumping in their bones.
That's what makes it so easy to detect the predators. All I have to do is skim over these blank, euphoric minds and hone in on the ugly thoughts of the monsters in the room.
There are others similar to me here. A gang of pixies for one. They call themselves the Pink Ladies. Pretty, but extremely vicious little faeries, who blend seamlessly into the rave scene with their iridescent wings and neon hair colors. As long as no one bothers them, they shouldn't pose a threat. They're here for the music.
There's also a gang of Mechs here. To humans they look like punk freaks with fake cybernetics glued to their faces. In actuality, all that metal's drilled into their heads and they're hiding bionic hardware under phat pants. And what they can't hide in plain sight, they hide with glamours. Mechs are not to be messed with. They're phantom sorcerers inhabiting stolen corpses animated by a blend of magic and science. They can cause serious damage when they want to.
I feel around for their intentions. Hmm, they seem to be enjoying the music too. Good. I can go about my business without being bothered by the other supernaturals in the room. I have a bit of a reputation with them. I've made the mistake of interfering a few too many times saving humans who got in their way. I should know better than to rub them the wrong way, but I couldn't help myself. Not that I'm a hero. The fear humans emanate is unbearable, and all I've done is relieve myself of the pain.
At least, that's what I tell myself. It's not like I've become human. I just play one.
I open up even more and continue scanning the crowd for my dinner. I'm ravenous and feeling less discriminating about whom I choose to eat. I close in on a guy slipping a roofie into a girl's drink. Her back is to him and she has no idea what he's intending. It's her first time at a rave. She's younger than most here and trusting of everyone around her. She might as well have a blinking arrow over her head.
I make my way over there, grab the bottle off the table and skip away with it. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure he's following, I take a sip, wanting to vomit from the taste of cheap cherry alcohol. I slow down, shuddering as the carbonation pops and stings my sinuses.
The bad boy catches up to me and says something I can't hear.
I tap my ear and shake my head to let him know the music's too loud. Not that I need to know what he's saying. Lust and greed pours off him in steamy waves. He thinks he's got me. Little does he know, he's caught in my web.
I lick my upper lip and smile drowsily at him, signaling the drug is working.
He smiles, flashing his pearly teeth as he brushes a hand through his expensive haircut. This one's used to having what he wants. Spoiled, entitled and stupid. Stupid, because he's never done this before. He's doing this on a dare.
I grip the neck of the bottle, wanting to crack him over the head with it. He may be a tangled ball of right and wrong, but he hasn't crossed the line yet. If he does though, there's no turning back once he's had a taste of true darkness.
Grabbing him by the hand, I pull him through the crush of undulating bodies toward one of the exits. The big metal door slams behind us. The sounds of the city override the muffled beat of the music pounding behind the thick walls of the building.
I pretend to take another drink of the foul liquid. "This is good stuff," I say, slurring my words. "Want some?" I hold it out for him then let the bottle slip. T
he glass shatters, spraying red cherry fizz all over the white fur of my boots.
He moves in to steady my feigned wobble. "Whoa there," he says, his eyes wide as he stares at what little my bikini top is covering. His mucky energy comes at me, sticking in my throat, hot and black as tar.
My insides turn cold, icing through my veins, pushing frost up through my skin. I feel my soft human form giving way to the beast.
His eyes widen with horror as he lets go and staggers backward. "Wh-what are you?" Turning, he bangs on the metal doors, screaming at the top of his lungs for someone to open it from the inside.
He hasn't seen anything yet. I'm holding back. The beast is only halfway out.
He turns, flattening his back against the door, crying buckets of salt. The fear wafting off him makes my mouth water. I step close, leaning within inches of his face, breathing him in, craving the taste of adrenaline sweetening his blood.
Hunger scrapes at my hollow insides, enticing me to let go and allow the rest of the beast to come out and play. I'm tempted, so very tempted. All it would take is a split second of absolute willingness to let go of the last shred of humanity I'm infected with. A question plays at the back of my mind. Why shouldn't I be the beast I was born to be? I decide one little taste won't hurt. I lick his wet cheek.
Convulsions of fear quake through him. His body rattles against the door uncontrollably. My throat fills with an involuntary growl as I savor the salty deliciousness pouring out of him. I shouldn't have done that. I've gone too far.
The beast rampages to the forefront, when suddenly the boy's soul presses on me, pleading for forgiveness. It's all I can do to hold still and listen. He wants to turn his back on the darkness he's been toying with. He believes he deserves to be punished, but he's begging for a second chance.
None of this comes out in words. He's too terrified to speak. The truth is spilling out in his tears.
But it's too late. The beast is here. My bones crack with the growth of new limbs as what's left of my soft human skin hardens over with bark. The world around me shifts to the color of blood. All I can see are visions of tearing into the meat of his throat, ripping out generous gobbets of flesh.
Something streaks through the night air with a keen whistle, catching the light just before pain slices into my side. The blow knocks me to the ground. I look down and see an arrow sticking out of my ribcage.
The boy scrambles off to one side, thanking his god for saving him.
I don't bother to chase after him. I've lost my appetite in light of this new threat. Grabbing the arrow, I yank on it, howling as steel barbs hook my tender insides and dig into bone. The flesh around the arrowhead burns, weakening me with its poisonous iron.
A dark form materializes from the shadows of the alley. A man in black moves swiftly and silently over the gravel road as he knocks another arrow back and aims it at me. I can't see who he is. The lower half of his face is covered.
For the first time in my long life, I understand what it is to be the hunted. The panic firing through my veins is awful. I'm paralyzed with helplessness. I must say, I much prefer being on the other side of the fence.
The hunter looms over me, his arm straining as he pulls the bow's string taut. Snarling with rage, I lash a tentacle round his ankle and jerk his legs out from under him.
But not before his fingers release the string.
A second arrow stabs deep. Pain explodes through my core in waves. Stars spray across my vision. My blood boils. I’m burning from the inside out. Somehow, through the screaming, flailing pain, I hear the sliding sound of steel against leather as the hunter moves into position. He puts the knife to my neck, the blade sizzles, searing through the tougher layers of my skin.
So this is how I'm to meet my end. I suppose it's fitting. I didn't know it, but I'm exhausted, tired of being conflicted about my place in the world. I stop struggling and surrender my throat to the hunter's blade.
A dark blur careens out of nowhere and slams into the hunter, knocking him off to the side. Turning my head, the world tips sideways as two black figures roll over each other. The other is masked like the hunter. They're well matched. Neither of them appears to be gaining the upper hand.
Too fogged by pain to dwell on what's happening and why, I roll over, crawling with effort across the alley road, up into the foliage. Once I'm in the trees lining the road, I'm able to manage more easily. Keeping to the top branches, I swing from one tree to the next.
Eventually, I come to the last tree at the end of the street. I cradle myself in its branches and break off a twig. I have to get the poison out. Securing my tentacles around the surrounding limbs, I take a deep breath and push the stick into my belly.
Pain shoots through my center, like the stabbing of a thousand needles. Black dots float across my eyes. I hold still, biting down as I probe for the arrowhead. When the branch hits steel, I use the end of the stick to wedge the point outward, dragging its cutting edge past the raw, open nerves.
My chest fills with a terrible snarling, shriek. I bite down, struggling to be quiet, for fear of giving away my location, but pain overrides my ability to keep silent.
After what seems an eternity of torture, I finally wedge the arrowhead from the wound. It falls to the sidewalk below with a loud clank. A trickle of strength returns, but there's still an arrow stuck in my ribs.
Gripping hold, I give the arrow a good yank. Metal grinds against bone, driving me into a whole new level of pain and agony. The shank snaps off in my clawed hand, leaving the arrowhead embedded behind my ribcage. The iron burns, consuming my insides.
I slither down out of the tree and take the form of an elderly woman with a cane. The disguise works since I'm stooped over in agony and in need of support to walk. Not to mention, a taxi is sure to stop for a feeble old woman.
After limping for a half block, a taxi pulls over. Before climbing into the car, I look over my shoulder for the masked hunters. There's been a tingling at the base of my neck since I escaped, alerting me to a shadow. But the pain has me locked up. I'm reduced to my base senses, unable to cast my awareness outward to pinpoint who or what's looking at me. For all I know, it could be an owl. Or is it one of the hunters? Would it be too much to hope they killed each other? Probably.
I shut the door and tell the driver where to go. I breathe a little easier as we leave Hell's Kitchen behind, turn left on 8th Ave and circle round onto Central Park West. When we hit the North Woods at the top of the park, I tell the cabbie to let me off. I give him a fifty-dollar bill, which he'll discover is a leaf after he's about ten city blocks away. As I climb out of the car, he thanks me for the generous tip.
The woods call to me as I hobble along the walkway into the park. Home at last, I feel safe enough to allow my true form to take over and shed the skin of the old woman. I look down at the festering wound and wince. It's worse. Necrotic flesh surrounds the ragged hole.
Panic seizes me. When you've lived as long as I have, you begin to think you're indestructible. I couldn't be more wrong. I'll be dead soon if I can't dig the arrowhead out.
Using the last of my strength, I crawl to the top of a magnolia tree then navigate shakily over a series of maples and elms until I reach the mound, far from the beaten paths, in the very heart of the woods. I drop to the ground, heaving myself up over the mossy rocks, before letting my weight carry me down the slippery slope into the wide mouth of my cave.
I crawl inside, craving the warmth of lit candles and the softness of my bed. Feeling around in the dark, I find the matches and light the nearest candles. Relief sets in as the flickering flames illuminate my cozy surroundings: a bronze chandelier hanging over a table and two chairs, bookcases holding my treasures, oil paintings of Scotland to lessen the roughness of the walls, a Persian carpet of many colors and my feather bed with its layered canopy of gauze curtains.
It took a century of being suffocated by the presence of humans, before I finally gave into the urge to feather my nest the way t
hey do. If I survive this, I need to rethink just how human I can continue to allow myself to be. This barb in my side is painful proof I've grown too complacent and comfortable.
I let my guard down. That must never happen again.
Sickly heat shudders through my limbs, sapping the last of my strength. I fall to the carpet in a helpless heap. I can't move. It's too late. The poison's done me in.
I lie there, listening to my wheezing gasps echoing off the walls. Here I am, surrounded by millions of people, yet not a single one will miss me. There's no one to save me. As always, I'm by myself. I suppose that's been my fate in life. I came into this existence without anyone to welcome me. I will die the same way I was born.
Alone.
My spine suddenly prickles with the feeling of being watched. Was I followed? I shake it off immediately. I've cloaked this cave with veils for over a hundred years. No one can see the entrance.
Unless my weakened condition has caused the veil to thin.
I try pushing my awareness beyond the cave walls to detect the presence of another. But there's no getting past the pain. All I can do is listen.
Then I hear it, the light sound of someone stepping closer and closer.
The entrance fills with the dark form of the masked hunter. He stands there a minute, candlelight catching in his eyes as he searches for me. Then his gaze drops to where I'm lying on the floor. He rushes at me with his dagger drawn.
No matter how close I might be to giving up the ghost, the instinct for survival kicks in and I swipe my claws at him. They drag through the air and flop to the ground. The effort leaves me panting.
He kneels next to me, his blade hovering above my head. The seconds drag out.
Do it. Get it over with.
The knife finds its mark, jabbing into my festering wound, driving the toxic arrowhead deeper. Excruciating pain explodes throughout my body as the hunter twists the blade, cruelly and slowly.
I absorb the pain, feeding it into the tempest inside me–the two hundred years of fury, confusion and grief I've suffered during my imprisonment in this vile city of steel. I use it to help me let go. There's no reason to resist the end. At last I'll be free.
