Elusion (Facets of Feyrie Book 1)

by Zoe Parker

  Why wear the sweatshirt if he’s going to wear pantyhose?

  “Why not? Fish tastes good.”

  “Lady, they’re for looking at, not eating. See the sign?” Oh, shit. He points at a warning sign that’s a few feet from me. In big red letters, “No fishing. Fish are not meant for consumption”.

  Woops.

  Well, since I already broke the law…

  Staring him in the face I take another bite. The fish, still alive, flaps in my hand. “Bit too late to put it back now, right?” Talking with my mouth full is rude I know, but it’s so entertaining.

  When he starts puking in the bushes, my amusement turns sour. What a pussy. Tossing the remnants of the fish back in the pond for his relatives to eat, I dig around in my bag for my wet naps. Those I found tucked in the pocket when I was digging around before I went to sleep. Someone was being thoughtful.

  Wiping off my face and hands I toss it in the bin beside the trail as I walk away. It would be a great idea to vamoose before Law Enforcement gets here. I’ve got to pay more attention to those stupid signs.

  And I need more breakfast.

  My nose leads me to a little café with the picture of a cat on the window. A twin of that cat lounges just below it in living color. The owner really loves cats. Google says cats are popular too. Videos of them doing wonderfully funny stuff is all over the tube.

  I may or may not have watched a few dozen.

  The bell above the door tinkles merrily when I go inside. Mouth-watering smells pull me by my nose to the counter where a bounty of food is laid out behind glass. Bagels, muffins, pastries. This is like a wet dream to me.

  “Good morning welcome to the Cat’s Cradle, what can I get for you?” The woman’s cheery greeting pulls my attention from the delectable bounty that I want to consume all of.

  “Everything?”

  She laughs at my answer, I’m dead serious. The look on my face must convince her because even though her smile remains, the laughter dies.

  “Really?”

  Emphatically I nod. Really. All of it. Every morsel must go in my stomach.

  “You realize this will cost—” I pull out the wad of cash from my pocket and hold it up to stop her “cost a lot” speech.

  This shop is small, and an educated guess is she won’t sell everything if I wasn’t buying it. Hopefully, she’s looking at it that way too.

  “Is this for here or to go?” The look on her face says yes. Can’t hide happy.

  “Here, and I would like some milk, too, please. And coffee.”

  Nodding, she bustles about, pulling everything out and putting it on several trays. A cold, sweating, a glass of milk appears on the counter next. The total is ridiculous but money isn’t an obstacle for me here in this world. Tipping her generously isn’t a problem either. The food, my god, the food.

  “You grab that and this tray,” she gestures, “and I’ll bring the rest and some coffee, alright?”

  Nodding is my only answer—my eyes are all for my food.

  At first, I eat quickly. Basically, inhaling my food, but as the food starts to settle, I slow down and enjoy the taste. Watching the people come in and out.

  Most of the morning I sit there, watching, eating. Drinking coffee. Relaxing and just enjoying the atmosphere. There’s even a place for me to charge my Cell phone. How handy is that?

  At some point, when the afternoon sun turns the windows into colorful flashlights, filling the room with a rainbow—Aleah, introduces herself as she sits down and commences to tell me her entire life story.

  Or so it feels that way. I don’t mind, really. Some of it’s funny, other parts sad, and some of it I envy. Humans live so briefly but so vivaciously. Aleah here lives for the now. Smart of her.

  “And I was like why is your boob on the table? Can you imagine that? This boob, sitting right there on the table for fifteen whole minutes! I was torn between it being funny and embarrassing.”

  Smiling at her story, I stand. It’s time for me to depart.

  “Thank you for the good food and the company. May luck be forever at your door.”

  She holds out her hand.

  Looking at it in puzzlement for second before I realize it’s for more money, which I have no problem giving her. She hands the money back.

  “No, no, hon. You shake it.” Grabbing my hand, she clasps it to hers and shakes it up and down. So, that’s a literal meaning right there for you. Not really liking the touch, I allow it for a few seconds and then pull away.

  I’m weird like that.

  “You know, we’ve talked all afternoon and I don’t know your name.”

  Smiling benignly, I pick up my backpack and head for the door. With a wave, I walk out while she is still talking.

  Yes, I’m a jerk, but I need to go. I’ve already stayed here too long. And I have a feeling if I dally any longer I’ll end up sitting there another 5 hours. Aleah is just friendly that way.

  Forty-Three

  Iza

  My first real problem arises when I try to get a hotel room for the night. A photo ID is required, says the clerk in a nasally tone that makes me want to smack him.

  Where do I get one of those? Phobe did not mention one, and the power of persuasion is not something I’m gifted with. Am I destined to spend every night on a park bench when hot water and cable TV is just 100 dollars away?

  How do I get around this issue? I really need, want, a shower at this point.

  “If I give you an extra hundred will you let me slide this time?” This piqued his interest. Handing over the money was the easy part. He should’ve held out, I would’ve offered more.

  Looking around him all sneaky like he types a few buttons on his computer and hands me a card that looks like my money card.

  “Do you know how to use this?” he asks.

  My cluelessness must be showing on my face. Shaking my head, I look at him for instructions.

  “You stick it down into the slot on the door reader, when the light turns green you can go inside. There are instructions on the card if you need them for reference.”

  Well, money makes his attitude more pleasant.

  “How long will you be staying?” Good question.

  “A night or two. Where is a food place?”

  “There’s a gas station across the road and a fast food place further up. Anything else?” And the bad attitude is back.

  Don’t smack the human. Don’t smack the human.

  “Nope, thanks.”

  The card in my hand has the number of my room on it. Twenty minutes later, I find it, on the third floor at the very end of the hallway.

  After a few attempts, I conquer the door reader and get inside the room. Given how many people are in and out of them the smell is surprisingly clean. Checking out the big bed in the center of the room, I sling off the comforter—which does not smell clean—onto the chair at the desk I won’t use.

  This will do nicely. The bathroom sparkles in its whiteness. Bleach fumes are almost overpowering. In this case, that’s okay. A small fridge sits underneath the stand that the TV is on, and a box-like machine sits beside of it.

  Curious, I investigate the machine. The first thing I notice is a button that says “cook”. Oh, this is a small stove, maybe? How does it open? A larger blank button at the bottom draws my attention; I push it and the door pops open. Ta-da.

  Inside is a glass plate. I’ve never seen a stove like this before. Huh. I close the door. The desire to figure it out drives me across the street to the gas station.

  They, too, have small ovens on their counters.

  “Are you going to sit there all day opening and closing it or use it?”

  Smile dropping, I turn to the owner of the voice.

  “I’ve never used a small oven before.”

  The smile that appears on his face makes me kind of want to hit him. So smug. Is it that strange that I can’t work one?

  “It’s a microwave. You put in the food, press the numbers for
the time to cook and then hit start.” Okay, that sounds easy enough. Catchy name too.

  “Any food?”

  “Technically, but it's best to use one of those things in the cooler.”

  Those things? Turning around I see the cooler he is pointing out.

  Ah! Food! Excited to try more human food, I start grabbing it by the handfuls. By the time I fill my arms up, they’re numb from the cold. Opening the microwave’s door, I cram as much of the frozen food as I can into it.

  Pushing the door shut I hit several numbers and push “start”.

  Now drinks. So many choices. Shit, a month ago water was a luxury—now I can have anything I want. So, I grab everything that looks appealing. Blue bottles, red bottles. A bright pink bottle joins the pile. When I turn to take it all to the cashier I see the god of all drinks. A Slurpee machine.

  Now this, I must have this. Dropping all the bottles in my arms on the counter, I almost run to it in glee. Blue drink, Smurfberry they call it. Sounds good gotta have one. Fruit punch, red. Sounds better, gotta have one of these too!

  Taking a long, quick drink of the blue one, makes me immediately regret my choices. An awful pain shoots through my head. What the hell? Did they poison it? Dropping the cup, I grasp my head until the pain subsides.

  Right that second, the smell of something burning grows intense. Looking behind me at the microwave, I regret even more of my choices. Oh, shit. It’s on fire. Flames are literally coming out of it.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. I dump the red Slurpee on it, the fire gets bigger.

  Grabbing some of the drinks and the food I didn’t cram in the microwave I run to the counter. Tossing a fifty to him I run out of there as quick as I can while still looking human.

  The echo of a shrill alarm sounds behind me, I run faster.

  Well, microwaves suck.

  Forty-Four

  Iza

  Two weeks later, I find myself in the oddest place—the Mall. On a Saturday, which is apparently their busy day. Where it seems like the large, packs of teenagers trolling the center of it are going to mob and then eat you.

  Clothing is the only reason I stopped at this place. The smells, the sounds, it’s all borderline overwhelming but the clothes…so many clothes. That’s an enticement that I can’t resist.

  Also, I want a tablet. The Google God says that it’s a good way to read and watch TV shows. These two things have become my new hobbies. The electronic store in this hormone infested place has a sale on the model I want.

  If I can get to it without getting eaten by the hyena teenagers.

  First, clothing. So many stores to choose from. Aimlessly I walk around waiting for something to catch my eye. With effort, I avoid anything that is shiny and useless to me, currently. My pack is only so big.

  Not a surprise, I’m part dragon. As cliché as it is, we do in fact hoard. It does explain my fascination with the blanket and books at the hell-hole.

  One store has a huge archway leading to this golden counter of goodness. Okay, I’m just going to peek at stuff. Not buy it. Nothing I can do with jewelry, for the moment. Right?

  Three steps from the glorious counter, my face is wetly smothered in the taste and smell of the foulest thing I’ve ever encountered. Spitting and coughing I wipe at my face to get the offensive liquid off.

  What is this hell?

  Opening my burning eyes, I look into the smiling face of a Barbie doll. No, not a Barbie doll. Wow. She just has so much makeup on she looks plastic. And her teeth, her hair…eerily perfect.

  That’s just creepy.

  “What did you spray in my face? Pee? Because that smells like pee.” I snatch the tissue she is holding out for me. Oh, how generous; she tries to kill me and then offers me a tissue.

  “This is our latest scent from Paraga. All of our high-end clients wear it.” That smile is freaking me out. Her lips haven’t wavered from it, not even while she talks. Taking a step back from her I finish wiping off my face. I’ll even let the insult about high-end pass.

  “It stinks. So bad.” Still smiling she picks up another spray bottle. “If you spray me with that I’ll feed it to you.”

  Threatening her should scare her. A little. I’m an intimidating monster. Wet kitten monster, whatever.

  The creepy smile stays and she turns to greet the next victim.

  Sighing with relief I make my escape while she’s distracted. Humans in the wild are totally weird. There should be warning labels attached to them.

  Distracted by all the pretty colors, I start browsing the shirts and then the jeans. Picking out three pairs of jeans I move onto the shirts. It’s spring here. Mid-May so the weather’s starting to warm up, and sweatshirts get hot. Especially black ones. Since I can’t shower frequently, which is a bother, I can’t be sweating a gallon daily.

  I need to resolve the identification issue.

  “What is that awful smell?” Serg—Dad says, popping in beside me.

  “Compliments of the plastic human over at the golden counter.”

  Putting his arm around my shoulders—he does this often—he starts giving commentary on my clothing choices.

  A grown woman wearing a kid’s cartoon shirt is not acceptable. I hang it over my arm anyhow. No harm in rebelling in the little ways, right?

  “What is this about an ID card? You were thinking it so hard I heard you in Deathville.”

  “I can’t get into hotels or anything without one. I was able to bribe a guy once, but it’s been a no-go ever since.” I talk while I browse. Aha, Batman. This one I am getting for sure! Dad takes the cartoon one and switches it out for one with a horse on it thinking he is being sneaky about it.

  Seriously, Dad?

  When he turns to look at another rack I switch it back out. Horse shirts are for a 12-year-old. I’m not a fan of horses either; they eat them where I’m from.

  “Don’t make that face, Dove. You’re a bit old to wear a shirt with an idiot yellow sponge on it.” Grabbing it he yanks it away from me and throws it behind him somewhere. “I can fix your ID problem, Dove. Here.” Out of nowhere, he produces a shiny card with my picture on it. How does he and Phobe do this shit? Is there like a giant invisible box somewhere with all this stuff in it?

  Looking at the ID, I make a face. When he took the picture, I have no idea but one of my eyes is closed.

  “How in the world did you get this?”

  “Magiks, my dear! Plus, an incubus who feeds on pain works at the department of motor vehicles.” With a flourish, he bows and hands me it and a shiny black credit card. “This has no limit. Use it as you see fit. It will pay for lots of nice hotel rooms so you can get your shower fix.”

  “Dad, I have plenty of money.” I do, that’s not a lie. The last balance I saw on the ATM machine was in the 8-digit category.

  “I would appreciate you taking it. It is my way of helping. Nisha loved her shiny things too.” When he says her name a micro-flash of pain crosses his face. Awkwardly, I one arm hug him. I’m still learning how to do the affection thing.

  For several heartbeats, we just stand here hugging. Sometimes it just feels nice. No matter how awkward I am at it.

  Something tugs in the area of my chest. Frowning, I straighten away from my Dad. Feels like someone is pulling on a thread from the inside of me. What the hell?

  “Dove?” Dad asks in concern but I’m too busy following that invisible string to answer.

  Left turn, tug. Up the escalator, tug. Every time I try to stop it pulls harder. Until I find myself at the back of the store looking at this sad, all alone, goblin.

  He is working at the packaging counter and there isn’t a soul in sight. Misery is written all over his face. A human face that’s hiding his real one under a carefully constructed glamour. He’s good.

  That face blanks in surprise when he looks up and meets my eyes. Vivid red eyes light up in fear.

  “Oh, no, no. It’s okay!” Holding my hands out in front of me in a placating gesture, I slowly walk t
owards him. My Magiks is awake and he is the reason why.

  Listening to the murmur of information that my Magiks are feeding me I realize two things simultaneously. One, from a touch of my Magiks to his I know everything pertinent about him. Two, the Magiks are somewhat controlling me.

  I hate when Phobe is right.

  “Rubi, I won’t hurt you. You can feel me, can’t you?”

  I know he can. Rubi is over 300 years old and 150% loyal to the Dark. Rubi has been treated awful, he snuck through a hole in the dimensions and has lived here since.

  All because the Schoth killed his family. Poor Rubi. Magiks weave through the connection between us and embrace him. Bringing the dark mark behind his ear to life with a flash of purple light.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  “My la—”

  “Nu-uh, no calling me that.” There won’t be any of that my lady business. Not if I can help it. Unzipping my bag, I dig through it for the pen and paper. Writing down the address, I don’t like admitting I memorized, I hand him the paper. “Tell them Iza sent you. You’ll be safe there.”

  Rubi latches onto my hand, clasping with both of his. Bowing over them he softly kisses my fingertips and takes the paper. I can feel his happiness.

  Poof, he vanishes right in front of me. That must be handy.

  “Making friends, Dove?”

  “Oh yeah, Dad. I charmed him so hard he vanished.” I roll my eyes as I answer.

  “This is just the beginning.” Yeah, I get that now. Usually when things start out this way the worse is yet to come.

  “So Dad…how come Mom never used a microwave?”

  Part II

  Forty-Five

  Iza

  My stomach growls loudly as the exhausted looking waitress puts the plate in front of me. A big greasy burger sits there beckoning me like a long-lost lover.

  “Will there be anything else?” she asks, fatigue thickening her voice.