by Helen Harper
‘Thank you. I know that was difficult for you.’
Vandrake raised baleful eyes. I realised, somewhat belatedly, that they were green in colour. A murkier green than my own irises and certainly less vivid than Morgan’s but still green. Before I could think about that, he spoke again. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Of course.’ Morgan squeezed his shoulder. ‘You take care. And remember I’m always here if you need me.’
Vandrake twisted on his heel and, despite his awkward and tired manner, fled as if the hounds of hell were after him.
Morgan and I watched him go. Once he’d disappeared out of sight, I put my hands in my pockets, ignoring the shiver that was still running across my skin. ‘So I’m a drug dealer, that’s what you’re saying? I’ve been selling this dust stuff to people all over the city. It’s addictive.’
Morgan didn’t look at me. ‘In essence.’
I raised a shoulder. ‘Addiction is bad. But he said himself that the dust made him feel good. Alcohol is addictive and it’s a depressant but people still drink it. Legally. Often.’
‘Maybe they do,’ Morgan answered. ‘But bartenders don’t withhold alcohol until they can manipulate their customers for their nefarious ends.’
Nefarious ends? I almost laughed aloud. Instead, I swivelled on my heel and looked more closely at him. ‘You think I’m evil,’ I said wonderingly.
He faced me, his gaze unwavering. ‘I think you’re a bitch,’ he answered.
‘Well, gee, don’t sugar coat it. How do you know I wasn’t simply trying to help the man? Take away that ache he was talking about?’
‘Because I know you, Madrona.’ Morgan’s answer was quiet but firm. ‘You keep forgetting that part. I know you better than you know yourself.’
I rolled my eyes. Like that was a difficult feat these days. ‘Is that it?’ I asked. ‘Is show and tell over now?’
His expression was grim. ‘Oh no. We’re just getting started.’
Chapter Nine
Yet again, Morgan took off at a tremendous pace. Initially I didn’t bother trying to keep up. My mind was filled with Vandrake. Whether pixie dust was indeed a good or a bad thing, there was no denying the haunted look in the man’s eyes – or the fact that he’d been terrified of me. I shook my head to rid myself of the image. Then another thought occurred to me.
Catching up to Morgan, and brushing my hair out of my eyes for the umpteenth time, I broached the subject. ‘Do all superheroes have green eyes?’
He halted in his tracks. ‘Pardon?’
Maybe it was a stupid question but given the evidence I had to hand, it seemed to fit. ‘I’ve got green eyes. You’ve got green eyes. Vandrake has green eyes. A guy who asked me for dust back at my hotel has green eyes. That librarian woman, Paeonia – which, by the way, is an even more stupid name than Madrona – has green eyes. Are we all superheroes? Do we all have superpowers?’ I considered some more. ‘Is everyone with green eyes a superhero or only some of us?’
He stared at me as if I’d grown two horns and started to belly dance. ‘Madrona…’ His expression was filled with disbelief. ‘Superheroes? Super powers?’
I shrugged, trying to downplay the sudden uneasiness I felt at his incredulous expression. ‘What? Come on. You know I did something to time in your pub. I slowed it down. I did that once before after I woke up. And when I was Tasered, I didn’t feel anything. Plus you put up that weird barrier thing afterwards so I couldn’t get back inside the Metropolitan.’ I held up my finger. ‘And you can’t tell me that everyone in the world gets poisoned by rowan. It’s our kryptonite, right?’
For a long moment Morgan just stared at me.
‘Jeez,’ I said. ‘Keep rolling your eyes. Go on. Maybe sooner or later you’ll find a brain back there.’
If anything, his incredulity only increased. ‘You are something else. You’re not pretty enough to be this stupid.’
I scoffed. Game on. ‘At least I don’t look like a visible fart.’
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. ‘That’s a bit playground, isn’t it? I’d challenge you to a proper game of wits but it wouldn’t be fair when you’re unarmed.’
Oh, he was in for it now. ‘Playground? That suggests you’ve been to school when clearly you’re not burdened by an abundance of education.’
Something passed across Morgan’s face, a shadow that hinted at wistfulness or even longing. I watched him carefully. Nah. I had to be imagining it. His head curved down towards mine until our noses were almost touching. My heart rate picked up and I swear he knew it.
He smiled faintly then stepped back. ‘You seriously expect me to believe that you think you’re a superhero?’ A tiny crease formed in his brow. ‘Is that why you came to my pub dressed in a damned cape and mask?’
‘No,’ I began. Then I grimaced. ‘Okay, yes.’
‘Rather belabouring the amnesia bit, aren’t you?’ he commented. He obviously still believed I was faking my condition. ‘And what’s that about being Tasered anyway?’ His eyes hardened to flinty green chips.
‘Gasbudlikins!’ I exploded. ‘How many ways am I supposed to say the same thing? I’m not lying. I really do have amnesia. And if we’re not freaking superheroes, then what are we?’
Morgan merely looked at me with a deadpan expression. ‘Say that again.’
I screwed up my face and beat the base of my palms against my temples. ‘I’ve got amnesia!’ I yelled in his face. ‘I don’t remember anything!’
He didn’t flinch. ‘Not that part. The first thing you said. The first word.’
‘Huh?’ My anger was still rising and he wasn’t helping it abate in the slightest.
‘First word, Maddy, what was it?’
‘I…’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. Gasbudli—’
Morgan snapped his fingers. ‘There you go. What does that mean?’
I stared at him. ‘What do you think it means? Bloody hell. Shit. Crap. Gadzooks. Fucking…’
‘Enough.’ He watched me. ‘How many other people have you heard say that word?’
‘Gasbudlikins? I don’t know.’ I tried to think past my annoyance. ‘No one. So what?’
‘Humans don’t use that word. It’s ridiculously old-fashioned. Even most of us, at least on this side, don’t use it any more. You always did.’ A fleeting, sad expression crossed his face. ‘Even when you were a kid.’
I scratched my head. ‘I don’t understand anything you’re saying.’
Morgan laughed humourlessly. ‘I have to hand it to you, Madrona. When you choose to create a fiction, you really go all in, don’t you? You cover every single detail. Even this one.’
I’d just about had enough. Yes, the vexing man had provided me with a few answers but no one should have to put with this kind of prevarication. I was ready to throw in the towel and abandon him right there when he twisted and began heading in the opposite direction. ‘You win,’ he said. ‘Again. We’ll go to Castlefield and I’ll show you everything. Where all this,’ he waved expansively, including both of us in the movement, ‘began.’ He reached into his pocket and drew out a sleek phone. ‘It’s me,’ he said tersely into the receiver. ‘I need a car.’
I watched him, my brow still furrowed. My better nature was telling me to skedaddle – and quickly. Even if it seemed that Morgan harboured some buried feelings for me, it was clear that the better part of him hated me. For all I knew, he’d been behind the golf-course attack. And yet, I didn’t think he meant me any real harm.
I had no clue what he was alluding to or what going to Castlefield entailed but I couldn’t back away. I had to know everything.
***
‘You didn’t answer my question, you know,’ I said, when Morgan’s taciturn driver dropped us off next to an old railway bridge. It had several odd structures in front of it and expanse of green. ‘Do we all have green eyes?’
Morgan adjusted his cuffs and murmured something to the driver. ‘We do.’
I pumped the air triumphant
ly. Observation was probably one of my superpowers.
‘We are not, however, superheroes,’ he added caustically.
‘I slowed down time,’ I said importantly.
‘Which is forbidden.’
I growled impatiently. ‘By whom exactly? And why?’
Morgan didn’t answer me, unless you count a tut as an answer. He took off while I trailed after him yet again. This was becoming mighty tiresome. At least this time he didn’t go far but stopped in front of a brick wall less than a hundred feet away. ‘Here,’ he said quietly. ‘Here it is.’
I looked around. ‘Here’s what?’ I couldn’t see anything noteworthy. I supposed it was a pretty area but the wall we were standing beside looked out of place. It didn’t fit any other architecture I’d seen and it appeared to have been randomly plonked in the middle of a field. Hang on. If this was Castlefield… ‘Is this a castle?’ It wasn’t very impressive.
Morgan gave me a look that suggested I was a total idiot. ‘It’s a Roman fort. Or,’ he amended, ‘it’s a replica of a Roman fort.’
I pursed my lips. ‘Morgan, if you’re trying to tell me that we’re time-travelling Romans then…’
‘Shut up, Maddy,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘The Romans were a lot more cultured than history gives them credit for.’
‘Roads,’ I said.
He cast me another glance, imbued with frustration. ‘How can you tell me you have amnesia but know that the Romans built roads?’
‘If I knew that then I probably wouldn’t have amnesia.’
He sighed. ‘Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, they were tuned in to their world. They felt the power of certain places. Places like this.’
I looked around again. In the distance, an ice-cream van trundled up, its kitsch tune playing loudly for all and sundry. ‘Mr Whippy feels that power too.’
Morgan’s hands tightened into fists. I grinned. This was fun.
‘Even with your supposed amnesia,’ he said with barely suppressed irritation, ‘you must be able to feel it.’
I nodded sagely. ‘That overwhelming desire for a chocolate ice cream.’
‘If you’re not going to take this seriously—’
I held up my hands. ‘Okay, okay.’ I paused. ‘I really don’t feel anything.’
Morgan frowned. ‘Rowan,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘It’s affecting you more than I realised.’ He beckoned me over and pointed at a spot on the ground. ‘Stand there.’
I eyed him warily. It was unlikely that there were landmines but, judging by the look on his face, I couldn’t be too sure. He gestured again impatiently and I blew back my hair. ‘Okay, okay.’ I ambled over and stood on the spot he was pointing at. ‘Nope. I don’t feel anything.’
Except all of a sudden I did. It was faint and I had to concentrate but it was definitely there. It was like all the molecules in the air were coalescing into a kind of magnet and pulling me forward. There was nothing to be pulled forward into, however, just empty space.
‘Now you feel it,’ he said softly, although there was an odd light in his eyes that suggested concern rather than triumph.
I raised my hands, stretching them out in front of me. There was a delicious tingle on my bare skin. It wanted me. And I wanted it. Deep longing sprang up inside me, a strange ache that spread along my veins and arteries, hooking into my heart as if it would never let me go.
‘I don’t understand,’ I whispered. ‘What is it?’
Morgan didn’t answer immediately. With great reluctance, I turned my head away from the invisible force and looked at him. He was slack-jawed and staring. ‘You’re telling the truth,’ he said. ‘You really don’t remember.’
‘As I have said over and over again,’ I replied.
‘Unbelievable,’ he murmured. ‘How did it even happen?’ He took a half step towards me as if to embrace me then he seemed to remember himself and his arms fell to his sides.
‘Morgan,’ I said, ‘this is not news. I’ve got amnesia. We know that. What we don’t know, or at least what I don’t know, is what this is. Where are we?’
He drew in a deep breath then blinked rapidly as if to recover from the shock of learning what he already knew. ‘This is a border crossing between this world and the Fey one. We’re not superheroes, Maddy, we’re Fey.’ I must have looked confused because he elaborated. ‘Faeries. We’re what the humans call faeries. The Wee Folk. Ten years ago, or thereabouts, something happened. We don’t know what or how, but the border closed, effectively trapping all the Fey who were on this side. We can’t get back home. We’re stuck here. You, me, Rubus, Vandrake. All of us.’
My mouth fell open. No way. ‘Let me see if I understand this correctly,’ I said. I wondered if I were no longer merely teetering on the brink of insanity but had fallen headlong into the chasm of crazy. ‘I’m a faery.’ He nodded. ‘Like Tinkerbell.’
A look of exasperation crossed his face. ‘Not like Tinkerbell. Do you have wings? Are you the size of a thimble?’
I ignored his sarcasm. ‘You can’t really expect me to believe that I’m a faery. I understand you dislike me intensely but playing around with someone who has a serious brain injury is plain mean.’
‘Mean? Madrona, you may have amnesia but you can’t keep thinking you’re some kind of wondrous superhero. You’re more like an arch villain.’ His eyes met mine; there was nothing but honesty reflecting back at me. ‘You are not a good person. I wouldn’t describe you as mean because it’s far too mild a term. You’re…’ he sighed as if casting around for the right word ‘…evil,’ he finished.
I wasn’t sure what was harder to believe, that I was supposedly a faery or a bad guy. Either way, emotional self-preservation kicked in and I rounded on him, fists clenched. ‘You arsebadger!’ I spat. ‘What? I’m evil because I didn’t play along with your idea of the perfect girlfriend? Because I don’t think you’re a sex god whose feet I should fall at and worship? Forget scorned women, Morgan. Look at you!’
His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘I’m not referring to what happened between us, Madrona, although that would be reason enough to designate you a bitch and be done with you. You deal in pixie dust. You’ve created addicts out of hundreds of our kind. You work for Rubus, of all people. If it were up to me, I’d have locked you up years ago.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I sneered. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘The truce—’ he began stiffly.
‘Truce? Ha! That’s a laugh. When I woke up on that damned golf course, there was the beheaded corpse next to me of someone who’d obviously tried to kill me.’
Morgan stilled. ‘You took someone’s head?’ His voice was low. ‘You killed one of us? But that’s impossible. Was it a human, Madrona? Did you kill an innocent human?’
I threw up my hands. ‘That’s what you’re taking from this? Not how am I, or why was I was targeted for execution, but did I kill someone in self-defence? How the hell should I know what happened? I can’t remember, as I’ve told you far too many times already. I think the fact that three ugly goons appeared moments later and tried to shoot me would prove my innocence – and that they showed up at my hotel this morning, no doubt to try again. But, no, I’m the evil one. I’m the bitch.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘So a serious attempt was made on your life,’ Morgan growled. For the first time since we’d left the library he took hold of me, his hand encircling my forearm in a tight grip. At least it wasn’t my other arm; the pain from the cut on my finger was spreading up that limb, sending tentacles of agony through my veins. ‘Tell me about it.’
I wrenched away from him. ‘Like you care. What the gasbudlikins is the stupid truce anyway?’
He didn’t reach for me again. There was no getting away from his expression, however; he was watching me like a hawk. ‘It was formed not long after we realised we were trapped here and unable to return home. The humans who own this demesne can’t find out that we are here. We all knew that if we didn’t re-open the border
tempers would flare. There is the potential for … catastrophic chaos if violence between us ensues. It is the one thing that is immutable: no Fey is to seriously attack or kill another. None of us has broken the truce since the day it was declared. In truth, we’re physically incapable of it – no Fey can harm another. We all signed on the dotted line and we are all held by it. There are no exceptions.’ His voice hardened. ‘If someone has found a way to get round the truce, things are far worse than I realised. Were your attackers Fey, Maddie?’
I gestured up at the heavens. ‘How on earth am I supposed to know? They were ugly. They didn’t look human. They were probably related to each other.’ And, I added silently to myself, they were probably working for someone else.
‘Usually it’s easy to tell, just as it should be easy to tell when you are near a border crossing. It’s the rowan. The poison in your system is dampening down your natural instincts and understanding.’ His jaw clenched. ‘Are these attackers the ones who did that? Did they poison you?’
Unwilling to tell him that I’d done it myself, I looked away. ‘Does it really matter?’ I said distantly.
‘Of course it matters.’ His response was harsh. ‘If you killed one of us, whether you remember the act or not, then the consequences cannot be changed. If the truce is broken, I will not be able to help you.’ Hatred laced his words. ‘Don’t think Rubus will either, even if you accomplished your … feat under his orders. But if the reverse is true and they attacked you…’
‘Like you would care,’ I said, stepping away from him to give myself some breathing space. ‘You’ve already damned me. How many – Fey are there?’ I wasn’t going to use the word ‘faery’ if I could help it.
‘One thousand four hundred and seventy-two,’ he answered instantly. ‘Most are in the United Kingdom, although some are abroad. The majority of the border points are located here.’ He continued to watch me. ‘Come with me. I’ll get you the nux you need to counteract the rowan’s poison. Together we can investigate what really happened to you.’
