by K. C. Lannon
“Well, maybe it’s just because I didn’t grow up with my family,” she offered, feeling like she was grasping at straws. “Maybe that’s why I’m different?”
He didn’t respond but headed to the door. “We’ll go down and eat in about twenty minutes.”
“Right, okay.”
After he shut the door, she stood, trudged over to the bed, and plopped face down on it, suddenly feeling exhausted. Turning her head to one side, she sniffed several times, then opened her eyes.
My hair DOES smell like fish.
Chapter Four
“Deirdre?”
She groaned in response, lifting up her head to blink at the door. She didn’t remember falling asleep, just lying back down after washing her hair out in the large sink in the room.
Pushing her damp hair away from her face, she answered, “What is it, James?”
“We’re going to get something to eat.”
“Okay, good. Coming.”
She yawned and stretched like a cat on the bed before rising up straight, pushing herself to her feet. It was dark outside the window that looked down on the small town below, and she peered out to see the main street was dotted with lit lanterns and lampposts. Few people were out, but several of them were headed to their inn.
It’s been a long time since I ate at a pub, she thought with a smile, thinking of freshly baked potatoes, hot and savory meat, and the appetizing, ever-present scent of beer and ale.
James was waiting for her and Iain out in the hall; he greeted her with a surly smile, a notebook and pen in his hand.
“You’re hungry too?” Deirdre asked him, rubbing her hand, which was a bit sore after quickly opening the iron doorknob.
He grunted in what was probably an affirmative reply.
Iain exited the boys’ room; for the first time, Deirdre realized just how tired he looked. And not I-just-lost-a-bit-of-sleep tired, but boy-I-am-so-tired-I-don’t-want-to-even-brush-my-teeth-before-I-go-to-bed tired—a more serious type of tired. She wondered if he’d slept at all last night.
“Did you manage to get a nap?” Deirdre asked him as they began to head to the stairwell.
He looked a bit surprised. “Um, yeah. Sorta.”
“Good! I got some sleep too.”
“Good. That’s… good.”
He paused. “The beds are really comfortable, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. Yeah, they are.”
Before this deep exchange could continue, they arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, where the innkeeper was waiting for them, looking a bit fearful. But when she spotted Iain, she stood up straight and stepped forward, blocking them from continuing.
“There’s a mad girl here,” she told him.
He frowned and glanced over his shoulder at Deirdre; the innkeeper scoffed and continued, “No, in the dining room! She’s speaking in tongues and defacing property! I don’t know if she’s a faery or insane. Both are bad for business. You lot know how to handle faeries and nutters, right? Come in here and at least make her stop ruining my things!”
“She’s really speaking in tongues?” Deirdre asked, raising her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen that before!”
Everyone else ignored her as Iain asked, “Where is she?”
The innkeeper gestured for him to follow, and even though Iain told James to stay back, he followed right on his brother’s heels to the dining room. Deirdre kept pace with him, holding her breath as they entered the room.
It was a wide room, full of rich and inviting scents, with low ceilings and a nice fireplace, with several wooden tables at opposite sides of the room. They were mostly empty, and the few groups there drinking were notably seated on the side of the room nearest the exit. On the other side, lit by the fireplace, a girl was seated at the table in a wheelchair with a plate of haggis. But she wasn’t eating it right now; instead, she was using the dining knife to deftly carve inscriptions in the table’s surface. And she kept her eyes shut the entire time.
“Why is she eating haggis?” James wondered aloud as if that were the most unusual thing in this situation.
“I’m surprised they provide it here,” Deirdre commented, thinking that she’d never tried it and ought to give it a shot tonight.
Iain steeled himself and walked over to her; the room went silent except for the popping of the fireplace and her incessant scraping of the knife cutting into the table. Deirdre and James stopped following, staying a table away as they watched. The girl ignored Iain, even as he came to stand right across from her.
“You need to stop what you’re doing, Miss,” Iain said firmly.
“What?” She didn’t open her eyes or stop carving.
“You’re defacing the property of this inn. The innkeeper’s sent me over to ask you to stop.”
“I shall, like enough, if people stop ordering me to do things.”
Deirdre couldn’t see Iain’s face, but she guessed he was probably rolling his eyes. That’s what she did when the younger girls back at the orphanage were that sassy.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Alvey.”
“Alvey, is there a reason you’re doing that?” he asked, leaning over and jabbing his finger at the cuts on the table.
“I am making notes of my thoughts so I do not forget anything. Why would I not do so?”
Iain hesitated, and Deirdre drew a bit closer, still staying behind him. Alvey still wasn’t opening her eyes after all this time. It didn’t make any sense.
“Why don’t you open your eyes?” Deirdre blurted.
“They are sealed shut, of course.” Alvey pursed her lips. “I really thought that would be obvious.”
“Do you need any help?” Iain asked after giving Deirdre a warning look.
“Nay, I do not.”
James chuckled beside Deirdre, obviously tickled by Alvey’s archaic choice of words. Almost as if in response, Iain turned around and grabbed his pen and notebook and, ignoring his brother’s outraged protests, proceeded to tear a page out. Then he walked around the table, placing the page down on it and putting the pen right in front of her.
“How about you use this instead?” he asked.
When she didn’t reply, he sighed, and his hands twitched forward as if to take the knife from her by force, but he stopped himself.
“Methinks someone is a bit tense,” Alvey said lightly, grinning.
As James tried to grab his notebook back from Iain before any further damage could be done, Deirdre walked to the other side of Alvey, crouching down so they were eye level, asking in a low voice, “Are you a faery?”
She finally stopped cutting the table. “You are one yourself. Can you not tell what I am?”
Deirdre’s mouth fell open, and she pulled over the closest chair and sat down, asking in the same low voice, “You can tell I’m… a faery?”
“Of course. ’Tis normal to sense such things.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
Alvey placed down the knife and turned her face toward Deirdre. “Have you never met another like yourself ere tonight?”
“Um, no. I mean, sort of… there were these bird faeries, but they kind of… like, all this stuff happened with a faery circle and, James, he’s right there…” She pointed at James, then realized Alvey couldn’t see him, and continued, “He’s standing right behind you. He’s the one turning those notebook pages—he just got the book back from Iain and now he’s looking through it. It’s that noise, of pages turning. He’s doing that.”
“Aye, I knew one other was there,” Alvey drawled, not turning her head toward James at all.
Iain was looking progressively more and more displeased with the turn of events. “Let’s sit somewhere else—James!”
Ignoring his brother, James got in the other chair beside Alvey and quickly asked, “What type of faery are you?”
Alvey considered a moment, and then she smiled in an overly sweet manner as she clasped her hands to her chest, replying, “I am a h
eart faery, and we are a gentle folk, in sooth the most important faeries in the known universe because we give goodness and happiness to all mankind. And we only eat flowers and drink rainbows.”
They all three stared at her until James said hesitantly, “That’s, um… not like anything I’ve read.”
Deirdre was on the fence about whether or not Alvey was messing with them, but what stumped her the most was: “How could you drink rainbows?”
“I think she was being sarcastic,” Iain said.
Alvey sighed, fiddling with the knife in her hands. “Aye, I was making an attempt. Faeries are not wont to be sarcastic; ’tis not part of their nature.”
James laughed nervously. “Well, you’re still pretty funny with those words you keep using!”
She tilted her head toward him, her brow furrowing.
He grew more animated, beginning to talk with his arms. “Sounding all fancy, with ‘’tis’ and ‘wont’ and all that! It’s kind of brilliant!” He let out a small laugh as if to accentuate the point.
Alvey’s expression was stone-like. “This is how everyone speaks. If you think it sounds odd, you probably are just too simple to understand it.”
James was left gaping, his expression a mix of confused anger, probably trying to figure out just how angry he wanted to be at the first faery he’d met in a while.
“So why are you here?” Iain asked a bit shortly, standing right beside his brother’s chair.
“I am going to the caves on the morrow.”
“Are you from the Summer Court?” Deirdre asked, holding her breath as she waited for Alvey’s reply.
“Aye.”
“You are?” James nearly squeaked.
Deirdre barely restrained herself from clapping in excitement, instead settling for clasping her hands together. “I’ve never met someone from there before!” Her smile faded slightly. “But aren’t there lots of faeries there? Why are you traveling alone? Especially with your chair and everything, it doesn’t seem safe.”
Alvey sniffed. “I came all this way, did I not?”
“Well, yes, but…” Her eyes widened and she asked in a lower voice, “So you know the way to get back into the Court?”
“Aye.”
“Oh! Okay, see, this banshee told me my fortune, and she told me I need to go to the Summer Court so I can meet the Summer Prince and find my family.”
Alvey began turning the knife in contemplative circles between her fingers. “So you wish to follow me?”
“Yes! I mean, uh… more like, travel with you? Maybe help you out some when you need it.” She gestured at Alvey’s chair as an explanation but again realized the girl couldn’t see her. “Because it must be hard to get around in your chair. Especially outside of towns.”
“Aye, message received. What did you say your name was?”
“Um, I’m Deirdre.”
Alvey’s brow furrowed. “That is a common human name…?”
“I guess so. I was raised by humans, but—”
“That explains a great deal then. A great deal.” Alvey smiled in a way that wasn’t entirely friendly. “Well, Deirdre, I am fain to accept your offer. If you help me accomplish my own errands, then you may come with me back to the Summer Court.”
Before Deirdre could jump out of her chair and happily shout her agreement, Iain cut in, “What ‘errands’ are you talking about?”
Alvey replied, “I want to investigate the nearby caves, the Forest Caves. I have been studying a particular type of magic, and I believe there is a lot I can find there.”
“What type of magic?” James asked, leaning forward again.
“The magic that is related to the passage of time.”
James’s face lit up in wonder, a smile appearing. “There’s something like that? What can it do? Can you go back in time? How do you use it? Have you ever gone through time yourself? What’s it like?”
Alvey leaned her head back toward him. “I think humans have a phrase… ‘Is it any of your business?’”
James flushed, giving Iain a chance to ask, “After you’ve gone to these caves, how will you find your way back to the Court? You can’t…” He trailed off, looking around a bit awkwardly.
Deirdre finished for him. “You can’t see.”
Iain gave her a look that starkly reminded her of Mother Superior scolding her whenever she had done something very stupid.
Alvey seemed less affected as she replied, “Magic will guide me. I have no need of any other guide than magic and my own senses.”
James was staring at her, awestruck at her words, as if she was his favorite celebrity.
“Well, this is perfect!” Deirdre exclaimed, pumping both her fists. “We’ll go to the caves, and then we’ll go to the realm!”
“The caves will just be a detour,” Iain said, looking at her. “Do you have time to waste? At the Court, they’ll likely help you with your magic. Do you have time for anything else?”
Deirdre flushed. My magic isn’t that out of control… is it?
“I-I’m sure the caves won’t take long. Besides”—she shrugged—“maybe I can figure things out on the way. My family can wait a bit longer, you know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to figure it out on your own? Do you really think you can?”
Looking away, Deirdre folded her arms. He doesn’t even care that I’m looking for my family, does he? All he cares about is my magic. My stupid magic…
In the silence that followed, Iain reached over and swiped the knife from Alvey, who jerked in surprise and made a face but didn’t otherwise comment. He stood to return the knife to the innkeeper but first sidled over to James, who had been staring at Alvey for the past minute or two with his mouth ajar.
“Stop gawking,” he whispered so quietly Deirdre could barely make it out. “It’s rude to stare even if she can’t see you.”
“Oh, I can hear you just fine,” Alvey said, turning with a smile. “And I do not mind his behavior much, as rude as it is. One does not often meet one with elf blood of my caliber.” She stuck her nose in the air.
“You’re an elf?” Deirdre beamed, leaning forward in her chair. “Are you from Iceland?”
“I believe my mother came from Finland.”
“Oh.”
“At any rate, some of the purest Light Elf blood flows through my veins.” Alvey trailed her fingers through her short hair, still grinning. “Some staring and rudeness may be allowed for.”
“I-I wasn’t staring,” James said, his voice unfortunately choosing that moment to break, ending on a high squeak.
Alvey laughed shrilly. “What was that? Are you frightened of a scolding for your gawking?”
“I am not! And I wasn’t—”
She held up a silencing hand. “I am certainly not impressed by the young males of the human species. Imagine, that craven squeak just from being scolded!”
“His voice just cracked, Alvey,” Deirdre explained hastily.
“Aye, it most certainly did.”
Iain rolled his eyes and headed away to return the knife and order their dinners.
As the atmosphere in the room relaxed and the other tables began to chat more (except for theirs, as James had turned away, furiously making notes in his notebook), Deirdre noticed Alvey’s haggis again and thought about rushing over and asking if Iain could get her some. But her hurt spirits balked at the idea of asking him for anything, so she stayed put.
She eyed Alvey’s dish and asked, “Do faeries normally like haggis?”
Alvey shrugged. “’Tis a bit… domesticated for most faeries.” She took a small bite, then placed her fork back down. “It will do, I suppose.”
“Can I try it?”
“Very well. ’Tis not like I was enjoying it that much.”
“Great, thanks!” Deirdre took a bite just as Iain returned, three cups in hand.
Iain eyed her plate warily, setting the cups down on the table in front of them. “Brave of you,” he commende
d her genuinely, grinning.
Deirdre just nodded in reply, shrugging.
Iain sat down, still grinning. “We wouldn’t touch that stuff, would we James?”
James was glowering at the markings Alvey had carved into the table.
Iain’s smile faltered a little. “I’ve heard it’s pretty… offal.” He looked around the table expectantly. When only silence greeted him, he poked his brother in the arm. “D’you get it, James? Offal?”
“Right. Offal, sometimes known as internal organs, sounds like awful, as in a word for bad.” James rolled his eyes. “I get it. You’re just not funny.”
“Well, I’m mostly funny when I’m not trying to be, yeah?” Iain prompted, obviously expecting James to respond.
James just went back to glaring at the table.
Soon the innkeeper came with a tray, setting down three plates of potatoes, some meat, and steamed vegetables on the table.
“I take it there’s no more trouble over here then?” she asked a bit sharply, also handing them napkins with forks rolled up inside.
“No, everything is fine. Right, Alvey?” Iain gave her a pointed look that was ultimately wasted.
“Just as long as you don’t go on yammering in tongues again,” the innkeeper said, narrowing her eyes at the blond girl.
Alvey tilted her head toward the innkeeper, replying in a drawling voice, “Really? Speaking in Scottish Gaelic sounds like speaking in spiritually inspired tongues to you?”
The innkeeper drew herself up, hand on her hip. “It’s hardly my fault if you made it sound like the language of the bleeding devil, now is it?”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” Deirdre said automatically, frowning at the innkeeper, feeling as though she was back at the orphanage with a rude little girl.
She responded by looking at Deirdre as though she was an idiot. “It’s not a nice thing to say?” she repeated in a mocking voice.
James and Iain both seemed to turn to glare at the innkeeper at the same time.
Deirdre felt her blood begin to boil; the familiar sensation of her heart practically pounding in her throat made her go stiff as her hands began to get warm.
No, I can’t do magic! she thought anxiously; the innkeeper and Iain were saying something, but she couldn’t hear them over the sound of her pulse booming in her ears. I can’t let it out. Got to keep it in! Don’t hurt anyone, don’t hurt anyone, don’t hurt anyone…
