by P. R. Frost
“You have violated our fundamental laws of hospitality!” a feminine voice screeches.
I creep closer to the knot of winged creatures gathering about the sacred oak tree in the center of Faery. Half male, half female. All wearing flowing draperies in lovely jewel tones sprinkled tastefully with diamonds and emeralds and rubies and sapphires and freshwater pearls. They all sparkle in the watery sunlight without ostentation. It is too easy to go overboard with precious gems when they are plentiful, or you are incredibly rich. Not these guys. They know when to quit. Makes them even more elegant. Even their delicate wings glisten with just a hint of sparkly Faery dust.
“I had no choice. Those women violated every cosmic law of hospitality, good manners, and trust,” a male in ruby trews and tunic replied. He wears a princely circlet.
“That is for others to judge. Now we are accused of criminal behavior,” the female in white and diamonds says with her delicate, long-fingered hands bunched onto her slender hips. Her circlet is platinum and set with diamonds. She outranks him.
The bunches of lesser faeries shift and form up, taking sides.
“I stand by my ruling. The human women are exiled,” Prince insists. His folks nod their heads in agreement. So do some of Queenie’s faeries.
“You aren’t king yet,” Queenie says. Her eyes narrow as she calculates her next move. “You have done nothing about the predators kidnapping our citizens. You aren’t a decent prince, how can you expect to be an adequate king?”
“Thinking about seizing the crown yourself?” Prince flits one pace forward.
Have I mentioned that faeries rarely let their feet touch the ground? Well, they don’t. Like insects, their wings are in constant motion, wafting a gentle perfumed breeze throughout Faery. If you ever catch a whiff of flowers out of season or climate, a faery probably just flew by.
“I will make a better ruler than you,” Queenie says. “I’m older, more experienced. More concerned about my people. Wiser than you by a long shot.”
This time she commands the nodding heads.
I might also take the opportunity to let you know that most faeries don’t have the longest attention span. Nor are they great at making decisions. That’s why they rely so heavily on their king— or queen—to think for them.
“You carry not any royal blood. You only married it,” Prince snarls.
“Considering how you have mucked up,” Queenie points to the raging, muddy torrent behind her. “Royal blood doesn’t guarantee a gift for ruling.”
“The disruption is only temporary. As soon as I state my case to the Powers That Be . . .”
“We have never had to state our case to them.” Queenie almost spat. She looked angry enough to strangle her opponent on the spot. “Now we are out of balance. Our doors are open to thieves, criminals, and predators.”
Uh-oh. Faeries don’t fight. They live in peace and plenty. They are truly the paradise of the universes.
“Hey!” I shout at them. “Time to step back and think.”
They all turn their heads to me. Questions and haughty disdain shine in their eyes.
“This all goes back to WindScribe and her coven, doesn’t it?”
They continue staring at me in silence.
“Well, doesn’t it? Who else could violate enough cosmic rules to get thrown out of paradise and into an Orculli prison? Now, if you tell me what they did and how they did it, maybe I can help set things right. Before you resort to violence and upset the balance even further.”
Things must be really out of whack if I’m advocating peace and compromise. I’m an imp. I am the Celestial Blade of Tess Noncoiré. I thrive on blood and battle. How else do you think I survived the wars with my siblings? They didn’t all come through unscathed. Some didn’t come through at all. But that’s the nature of imps.
Sometimes.
Okay, maybe we don’t all kill our own siblings in battles over Mum’s love and her lovely home. But we do fight each other for supremacy and the right to be claimed by the next Warrior of the Celestial Blade.
I’m wondering if I should regret some of my actions.
Nah, that’s just Faery. Peace and justice permeate the air and seep into you through your pores. Whether you want it or not.
WindScribe is really screwed up if she managed to violate that peace.
They turn on me en masse and blast me with negative psychic energy. I could have withstood it. Imps are pretty good at setting up mind blocks. But I decide to retreat. If they don’t want my help, it’s their loss. Let ’em live with chaos for a bit. Then they’ll welcome my advice.
Time to check back with Tess. I should be able to return about one heartbeat after I left. She’ll never know I was gone.
The coven really can’t come back to Faery.
I called Gollum and MoonFeather in to help sort this out.
“Still running away from reality?” MoonFeather asked mildly. She had forsaken her crutches and leaned on one of my long staffs. This one had a brass dragon as a finial. One of my favorites. It suited her better than me.
“That isn’t fair, MoonFeather,” FireHind defended herself. “You have had decades to adjust to all these changes gradually. We have to face and accept them all at once. It’s too much.”
“What about WindScribe?” I asked. “She seemed to be adapting. She’s criminally insane in my opinion, but she accepted that life does not stagnate, nor do people.”
According to Allie’s phone call this morning—at an even more ungodly hour than this invasion—the district attorney was willing to forgo the expense and trouble of a trial if the state would take the raving lunatic off his hands. WindScribe’s story of being kidnapped into Faery for nearly thirty years, and then releasing demons into the world for an armed rebellion had convinced everyone, including the FBI, that she was not competent to stand trial, nor was she the woman who had disappeared twenty-eight years ago. She showed no remorse over killing Darren. In the eyes of the legal authorities that made her a sociopath.
No easy solution to that cold case.
Apparently, the FBI hadn’t yet heard about the other eleven escapees.
"WindScribe is no longer one of us,” Dragonfly said, almost proudly. “We banished her.”
“Evicting a member from the coven is a serious matter, ” MoonFeather said. She assumed the captain’s chair at the head of the table.
For once FireHind acceded the place of authority to her maturity, and (I hoped) wisdom.
"WindScribe acted in complete opposition to our goals, our ideals, our faith,” FireHind said. Her voice was quiet, neutral, stating facts. Still, there was a crack in her posture, a shadow in her eyes that shouted how deeply WindScribe had wounded her personally and the coven as a whole by her violence and betrayal.
“Granted.” MoonFeather nodded her head once.
“I want to go back,” Dragonfly sobbed. “It’s always warm there, the flowers bloom, the land never pricks our bare feet. We can be ourselves there.”
That’s what she thinks! Scrap chortled. Lots of chaos and political power struggles in Faery. There’s power leaking out into the chat room. Upsetting the balance.
“Civilization does have rules of conformity to keep things running smoothly for the majority,” I admitted. “Free spirits have trouble fitting in.” I had experienced that as much as anyone. But I still tried to make my life look normal on the outside. I liked my life just the way it was.
Most of the time. In retrospect, now that I knew I had lived through it, I even liked the adrenaline rush of this never ending crisis-weekend-going-on-week.
“Can you send us back, MoonFeather?” FireHind asked, eyes open wide and trusting.
“What about the new king of Faery?” I asked. “Didn’t I hear that he wasn’t too pleased with you ladies?”
All eleven ladies shuddered.
“Didn’t he kick you out as accomplices?”
“We didn’t help her,” Dragonfly protested. “We just didn’t tell a
nyone what she was up to.”
“Complicity in my book,” I mumbled.
“Now that WindScribe has been locked up in a mental ward, we hope that the faeries will take us back. We made friends there quite easily until WindScribe . . . until she abused their hospitality in her misguided need to free all captive people,” FireHind said. She, like MoonFeather, seemed deeply motivated to speak only positively about people. We were all having trouble finding positive things to say about WindScribe.
“I don’t know,” MoonFeather mused. She rubbed her chin with one hand and drummed the table with the fingers of the other hand. “The moon is in the wrong quarter. The season is wrong.”
I could do it easily if it were All Hallows Eve, Scrap chimed in.
I ignored him for the moment. Halloween was still seven months away.
“What are we going to do?” FireHind asked, almost wailed.
“I need some time to think about this, do some research. Gollum, do you have any books that might help?” MoonFeather looked brightly at the scholar in our midst.
“Most of them are in storage in Seattle,” he admitted glumly. “I can ask around, see if some of my colleagues have copies or better texts. The trouble is we have no documented cases of anyone actually succeeding in this type of dimensional travel. Only hearsay. Our best chance would be to try to re-create the original ritual and adjust it to the season and the moon. Or wait for Halloween.”
Eleven frowns met that statement.
Scrap hooted with laughter and whipped around the room. Told you so! he chortled. I noticed how far away from me he stayed. He wasn’t willing to risk having to say no to me again.
“There is an alternative,” King Scazzy popped into view on the counter that separated the breakfast nook from the kitchen proper.
As one, the coven ducked and made a curious warding gesture, crossed wrists and flapping hands. MoonFeather grabbed the staff and took a defensive position.
Scrap turned bright scarlet and landed on my hand; resident evil more powerful than a little tiff with me.
Gollum reached for his PDA and began taking notes.
Chapter 49
"EASY, LADIES,” the prison warden of the universe said. He held up both of his stubby hands, palms out. His nose and chin almost met as he frowned. “I come in peace, and I come alone.”
Scrap and I relaxed a bit, though he remained red and stretched taller than normal. The coven all pressed themselves against walls, as far from the little man as possible.
Gollum kept taking notes.
“What do you want, King Scazzamurieddu?” I asked.
“I may be of service to your friends,” he nodded his head a fraction toward me. “I can escort all eleven ladies with safe passage back to the land of Faery, with a letter of introduction to the new queen.”
Oh-ho! Queenie prevailed over the young princeling. I knew she would. That lady has tougher balls than all the rest of Faery combined. If I liked women, I could go for her. Scrap bounced on my hand in his glee. Did she get the stream running clear and soft again?
“Partly. There are still disgruntled factions in Faery. Power leaking,” Scazzy nodded at Scrap. “The portal gapes.”
The coven all looked bewildered and uncertain, not being privy to the exchange.
Gollum kept taking notes.
“You’ll take these women back to Faery in return for what?” The fine hairs on my nape rose straight up. I’d read enough folklore to know that fair trade across the dimensions was elusive. Bartering of favors was common, but getting the better end of the deal was tricky. Coming out of the bargain with your soul and your life intact were rare.
That’s why Scrap had called me a Faery giver when I snatched the moldy jam away from him.
“I do this in exchange for your word as a Warrior of the Celestial Blade that WindScribe will never again leave the custody of your state mental hospital. And that someone honorable, like Madame MoonFeather will raise the baby she carries. We don’t want the father to have full undivided influence over it.”
“I can’t promise that. She’s not my responsibility anymore. ” I had an uneasy feeling in my gut. This was too easy.
“Security in that facility seems more rigorous than what I could provide in my own prison,” King Scazzy chuckled. “The employees are less subject to bribes of shiny baubles. She has less chance of escape from there.”
“So? Why my promise? I can’t guarantee she’ll stay there, or that the courts will give her baby to MoonFeather. ”
“You are the Warrior of the Celestial Blade. Should she ever leave her current prison, you must slay her. Should the child go to the Fallen One, you must get her back.”
Oh-ho! The baby was a girl. Not the boy Donovan presumed.
“No. I don’t kill humans. Even if they are homicidal maniacs. All I can promise is that if she is ever released, or escapes, I will notify you. Then she becomes your problem. If the authorities don’t recapture her first. As for the baby? I can do my best to persuade Donovan to drop his custody suit. That’s it.”
“Granted.” Scazzy bowed his head again. The gilded feather in his red cap bobbed with him, the only overt sign that he was a king and in absolute authority over his realm.
How far did his boundaries stretch into this dimension?
“And you will really take us back?” FireHind asked anxiously. She held her arms tight against her sides and her shoulders hunched, not quite daring to hope.
“You have my word.”
“Give me your cap and repeat that,” Gollum demanded, coming out of his intense record keeping.
I suspected he had his cell phone camera running and audio recording as well.
“I beg your pardon,” King Scazzy replied, seriously affronted.
“Among the Orculli, an oath is not binding unless the opposite party holds your cap,” Gollum returned. He fixed a fierce gaze upon Scazzy over the tops of his glasses.
A staring contest ensued.
The coven got restless, wiggling in their chairs or shifting from foot to foot where they stood. Their murmurs of discontent became an insistent hum.
“Enough!” MoonFeather finally broke the tension. “Do it, Your Majesty, or we’ll be here all day. We have other obligations.”
“A king does not remove his cap in the presence of lower life-forms.” Scazzy levitated from the counter to the table to stand in front of her.
“Oh, yeah?” My aunt snatched the cap and held it above her head where he could not reach. “Now swear to safe passage for my friends, and Tess will swear to inform you if WindScribe ever escapes from the loony bin. And I swear that if I can legally gain custody of WindScribe’s daughter, I will raise her with honor.”
“Blood oath,” Scazzy snarled. “Only way to make humans keep their word.”
I shivered and looked to Gollum for confirmation.
“An oath signed in your blood will burst into flames if you break your oath. The flames will ignite the blood in your veins as well,” he said as if reciting from a text.
I had a vision of Donovan signing numerous documents to refinance his casino in Half Moon Lake after it imploded. His bankers had dubious connections to the otherworlds and the ink looked thick and dark with reddish undertones like blood. No wonder he was so excited to make the big gaming software deal and take control of Darren’s trust fund. If he paid off the note, then his blood no longer bound the deal.
