So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction

by Christopher Barzak

  "What the hell is going on?" Tully kept his voice down, aware of the men on the porch above him, and grateful for the shotgun still half hidden in the front seat. It wasn't much--he'd bet money most of these guys were packing heat--but it would give him the advantage of surprise.

  "So this is Joe's prodigy."

  Tully looked up quickly, to see a man standing at the edge of the porch, both hands braced on the rail. He was tall, and slim despite his pure white hair; his dinner jacket fit just right, and he stood like a man who owned the world.

  "Mr. Seeley."

  "Tully Swann. Come on in, son. You earned it, as good a job as you've done."

  "It was a favor to Joe," Tully said, stubborn, but walked up the steps like a man in a dream. Mr. Seeley put an arm around his shoulder, smiling broadly. Tully smelled tobacco and aftershave and whiskey, and pulled off his cap as Mr. Seeley walked him into the ballroom.

  It wasn't really a ballroom, of course--or maybe it was, he didn't have anything to compare it with except the movies. There were easily a hundred people there, all in evening dress, plus dozens of waiters and a band on a little platform tucked in one corner. There was even a cigarette girl in short skirts and a perky cap, and Tully stuffed his cap in his pocket, repressing the urge to rub his shoes on the backs of his legs to shine them. Mr. Seeley's arm was heavy on his shoulders, and people glanced their way, curiosity turning to smiles that had something knowing in them. Tully shivered suddenly, a memory, something, nagging at him, and Mr. Seeley smiled.

  "Someone's walking on your grave." He released Tully, beckoned to a passing waiter, who twirled like a dancer and presented a tray of cocktails. "Better drink up, son."

  "Thank you." Tully took the glass carefully, the stem fragile between his fingers. "Is Joe still here?"

  "Of course. But y'all don't want to leave yet, the party's just starting. Have something to eat, too." There was a note in the voice that brooked no disobedience.

  "Thank you," Tully said again.

  "Erasmus." Mr. Seeley lifted his hand, beckoned to an old, straight-backed black man who wore a silver key on a ribbon around his neck. "Make sure Mr. Swann has everything he needs."

  "Yessir." The old man bowed, and Mr. Seeley turned away. "May I get you something to eat, Mr. Swann? Or perhaps something else to drink?"

  Tully shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Thanks."

  The old man nodded once, and backed away. Tully glanced around the room, searching, thought he saw Joe's familiar figure by the doors at the far end of the room. He started toward him just as the band ended its song, and the white-jacketed clarinetist announced a break. The crowd swirled away from the dance floor, blocking his view, and when he could see again, Joe was gone. He scowled, frustrated, and lifted the glass to his mouth. Before he could drink, someone bumped him, spilling the whiskey. He swore, and the young mulatto caught his arm, apologizing.

  "I'm so sorry, sir, it's all my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

  He was one of the musicians, a slim boy with marcelled hair and café-au-lait skin in a white shiny jacket with the bandleader's initial embroidered in gold on the lapels. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed expertly at the damp sleeve of Tully's jacket, standing so close in the crowd that Tully could smell his sweat.

  "Don't drink nothing," the boy said, a fierce hiss. "And don't eat nothing neither."

  Tully opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the boy had already stepped back, tucking away the crumpled handkerchief. "There you are, sir, all fine. My apologies, sir."

  "'S all right," Tully said, not knowing what else to say, and the boy slipped away, lost instantly in the crowd. Tully looked after him anyway, and saw Joe Farr at last, standing alone at the edge of the room, just outside the spill of light from the chandeliers. Tully breathed a sigh of relief and started toward him, ditching the empty glass on the first table he passed. Joe would know what was going on--and in any case, Tully wasn't fool enough to ignore that kind of warning.

  "Hey, Joe."

  "Tully." Joe Farr frowned, unhappy lines etching his smooth face. He looked older than was reasonable, and his usually perfect hair was mussed. "I'm sorry I got you into this."

  "That's all right," Tully said. "You don't want to disoblige Judge Seeley."

  To his surprise, Joe smiled at that, though the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "That's the truth."

  Tully risked a quick glance over his shoulder, lowered his voice even though the nearest figures were out of earshot. "What the hell's going on, Sister? I get home from making deliveries, and there's this weird hunchback colored boy waiting for me with a car like I ain't never seen, and a note from you--"

  Joe lifted his hand. "Not here."

  Tully bit his lip and waited. Joe's eyes darted from side to side, obviously looking for someone, and it was all Tully could do to keep from turning to look himself, though for what he didn't know. Instead he watched Joe Farr, the smooth-cheeked face that saw the barber more than twice a week, the clean, neat-nailed hands that were as soft as the summer wool suit, and wondered if that was fear he saw in the older man's eyes.

  "Outside," Joe said abruptly, and Tully followed him through the French doors onto the porch.

  One step to the left took them into shadow, away from the lights that spilled out of Mr. Seeley's house. The people who had been on the porch before seemed to have found other amusement. They were alone except for a man in a tuxedo slumped in a chair with his head back and his legs stretched out, asleep or dead drunk.

  "So what's going on?" Tully asked again, and wondered if he really wanted to know.

  Joe clasped his hands at the small of his back, leaned gingerly against the rough shingles. "I told you, I owed Judge Seeley a favor."

  "It's a hell of a favor," Tully said.

  Joe's eyes dropped. "Yes. It was."

  There was a little silence. It was clear Joe wasn't going to say more, and that meant trouble. Joe'd spent time in Memphis, or so the ladies said, come home in a hurry. . . . A morals charge was the kind of scandal that could drive Joe out of Troytown, and there'd never be a better place for Joe to live than among the folks who'd known him since he was a child, and knew he was a good and harmless man. And I don't want to leave Troytown either, Tully thought, and only then wondered if Joe would want him to come along. He licked his lips, said in a voice that came out only a little wrong,

  "Well, anyway, you done your favor. I got him his liquor. Cain't we go home now?"

  Joe shook his head, still not meeting the younger man's eyes. "It's not that easy."

  "I know he's a judge, or used to be," Tully said. "And I know he likes his liquor. But, hell, we're not the folks to be providing for him. Place like this, it'd take Big Jake to handle what he needs, and it'd be cheaper buying from him directly."

  "That's not what he wants."

  "You better tell me," Tully said, and hesitated. "Please, Joe."

  Joe took a breath, pushed himself almost upright. "My mother said--she said Mr. Seeley was one of the Fair Folk, said her family knew their kind when they saw them, looked right through the glamour and saw what was really there, and she told me to stay well clear of him. But then, when I had my trouble in Memphis, he took care of it, found witnesses for me, and all because he liked knowing that we were under an obligation to him even though we knew who--what--he really was. After Mother died, he called occasionally, made me find him some fancy brandy, French wines, things like that--something that made me sweat but not something I couldn't handle. But now . . ." He shook his head. "Now he's heard about you."

  "What do you mean, he's heard about me?"

  "You're the best driver in the county," Joe said simply. He dredged a smile from somewhere. "I still remember when you were sixteen, the first job you did for me, the way you just drove around Billy Cahill. I'm plain lucky you're still willing to work for me." The smile vanished. "Judge Seeley could use a man like you. They all could, all of the Fair Folk. You could bring them--an
ything."

  Tully stared at the other man for a long moment. The one thing was true, he was a good driver, probably the best in the county and maybe in the state, but the rest of it....

  "The Fair Folk," he said, slowly, and Joe scowled, flopped back against the wall.

  "I know, you don't believe me. Well, you don't have to, I'll figure something out."

  "I didn't say that," Tully said. There were stories--hell, everybody'd heard them, tall tales and ghost stories, saved from long ago, but they fit what he saw on Irish Mountain. More than that, they fit the feel of it, the haughty women and the knife-blade men, Mr. Tamlin with his almost-English accent, Auberon Seeley playing king of creation, and the walls of fog that separated them from the rest of Nolan County. They fit the test he'd been set that he hadn't even known was there, fit the look Cal had given him when he asked after Joe. They fit the boy who'd told him not to drink or eat, and the chill he'd felt when Mr. Seeley laid a hand on him. He shook his head. "I didn't say that at all."

  Joe looked up, momentarily alert, but then he shook his head in turn. "I'm sorry, Tully. I never meant to get you into my troubles."

  "Why can't we just walk out of here?" Tully asked. He was trying to remember the stories, but came up with a muddle of disjointed pieces, and shoved that thought aside. "OK, not walk, but, hell, the car I came in's right over there. We get in it, drive down the Mountain--what the hell can he do to stop us? Tell the sheriff we didn't fulfill a liquor contract?"

  "You don't know," Joe murmured. He was looking past Tully, at something only he could see, and Tully clenched his fists in frustration. We can't just give up, he wanted to say, can't just sit here and do nothing and let Judge Seeley roll doom over on us. The words wouldn't come, stopped by the tired, dead look in Joe's eyes.

  "Damn it, Joe," he said, and leaned forward, kissed the other man full on the lips. They'd made love before, twice, up in Joe's spare room with all the curtains drawn and no word said after, but their mouths had never met. Joe twitched, eyes flying wide open, startled and afraid and then utterly astounded. Tully pressed him back against the shingles, forgetting everything in the touch of bodies, and Joe shook his head, pushed him away.

  "Wait."

  Tully caught himself, heard his breathing ragged, knowing Joe was right.

  "Wait," Joe said again, and straightened his jacket. "Do you mean it?"

  "Would I do that, here and now and under Auberon Seeley's eyes, if I didn't?"

  Joe made a noise that was almost a giggle. "Probably not." He straightened fully, smoothing his hair to its usual sleekness. "Is the car still there?"

  Tully glanced along the line of the porch, saw the grille and the headlights looming in the dim light. "Yeah. We got to try it, Joe."

  "Let's go."

  They walked the length of the house, skirting the parked cars, the light from the porch splashing at their feet. Inside, the music started up again, and Tully hoped that meant everyone's attention would be elsewhere. The man on the porch shifted in his sleep, sliding down further in his chair, but there was no other movement. The car loomed, sleek and black and ready, and Tully set his hand on the door.

  Cal was sitting in the driver's seat. He'd been sleeping, but woke instantly, and Tully froze, all the clever lies gone from his head. Cal looked at him, and then at Joe, and Joe said, "We're leaving, Cal."

  "Mr. Seeley know?"

  Tully shook his head. "Come with us," he said. It was a weird feeling, like he'd just skipped over a whole page of conversation--Cal protesting, them arguing, bargaining, offering--and even weirder when Cal nodded, like he'd heard every word of it.

  "Thank you, sir." He slid across the seat, and Tully frowned, intending to order him into the back seat, but Joe touched his sleeve.

  "I'll ride in back."

  There was no point in arguing, and no time, anyway. Tully slid behind the wheel, closing the door as softly as he could, and pushed the starter. The car rumbled to life, and he backed it away. There was no movement from the house, and he swung the car around, keeping it in first as he threaded his way between the rows of cars. Time for speed later, he told himself; slip away quiet now, and maybe they won't notice you're gone. The opening loomed in the trees, the turn onto the track that was the back way up the Mountain, and in the narrow mirror he saw someone silhouetted against the lights of the house.

  He hit the accelerator, and the car leaped forward, sliding down the rutted path. From the porch, he hoped it would be barely visible, just the flash of taillights and the dark body vanishing into the trees; and there would be confusion, too, or at least he hoped there would be, Mr. Seeley not believing they'd gone, and time wasted looking. He put the car in second, let it skid around the first turn. A flatter section ahead, and he took third gear, heart thumping as the wheels slid and caught and slid again. The trees seemed to reach for him, branches scraping the hood, clattering against the roof. There were rocks he didn't remember, boulders popping up out of the ground. A huge oak loomed in the middle of the road; he jammed on the brakes, swearing, then realized the track swerved around it and then down a steep incline. He barely got it into second, cursed again, and looked in the mirrors.

  Mr. Seeley's house was out of sight, but he could see headlights now at the top of the hill: someone, several someones, were coming after them. "You got that shotgun loaded, Cal?" he asked, and barely heard the murmur of agreement. "Joe--"

  He looked in the mirror again, not daring to take his eyes off the road, caught a glimpse of a white, seamed face, an old man's face, tired and sick and hurting. "Joe?"

  "Don't look back," Cal said, swiftly. "Whatever you do, don't look back."

  That was another warning, another test. Tully caught his breath, concentrating on the driving. A tree leaped into the path; he twitched the wheel, felt a rear tire wobble on the edge of nothing as the loose dirt crumbled away. He knew better than to gun the motor, time stretching so that he could feel each separate movement: the car starting to dip back to the left, the right wheel pushing, his own hands turning the wheel half an inch to the right, and then at last the left wheel rolling up onto solid ground and the whole car jumping forward. All over in a heartbeat, but he looked in the mirrors to see the headlights coming closer.

  He could still see Joe's face in the mirror, too, quick, nightmare flashes: an old man, a sick man, white-lipped like a TB patient, bruised blue like a drowned man. There were coins on his eyes, and stitches holding his mouth shut; great red patches of fever flush on unshaven cheeks, then skin like paper curling on a grinning skull. He looked toward Cal, wanting to know what, why, and a monster looked at him out of the dark, fangs gleaming in a grinning drool-wet mouth, clawed hands curled around the barrel of the gun. In the mirror the headlights flashed again, great bright wedges sweeping through the trees.

  There was nothing left but driving, left hand locked on the wheel, feet dancing on the pedals, the engine telling him when to shift, where to throw the power to the wheels and when to hold it back. Maybe Joe was dead, dying, lost, maybe Cal was something not human, never been human, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered but to get down the Mountain. The following cars were closer now, impossibly so--but then, a voice whispered, Auberon Seeley wouldn't have anything but the best, and he wouldn't give that best to a white trash bootlegger's boy. The road swung hard right; in the headlights' beams, Tully saw a second track, barely a break in the trees. He took it, knowing instantly where it had to go; the car lurched, swayed drunkenly on the stiff springs--in the mirror, a dead man wept tears of blood--and cut straight down the hill. Beside him, a monster swore in terror; the road loomed again, and he hit clutch and wheel, skidded back onto the smooth track. He'd gained a thousand yards by cutting off the switchback, and scared them, too, seeing him disappear over the edge. They'd figure it out quick enough, but it'd slow them down. He clung to the thought even while his heart mourned what he feared to see in the mirror, and put his foot down as though the engine roar would save them all.
>
  And then they were at the stream, the fog more like a wall than a curtain. The river sound was louder, too, as though the water had risen, but it was too late to stop. He could see the headlights starting to close in again, and he let the car plunge into the stream.

  The water was deeper, up to the running boards. A cylinder faltered; he swore, feathered the throttle, and felt stones rolling under the wheels. But the fog was parting, reluctantly, and the ground was easier, rising almost gently out of the water. Tully gunned the motor, knowing Mr. Seeley was close now, and swung the wheel over hard, pulling the handbrake to fling the car around to face the way they'd come.

  "Gimme the gun, Cal."

  "Take these."

  He almost didn't dare look, but the hand that met his, fumbling hand-wrapped shells into his palm, was normal again. He flung the door wide, stepped out to face the oncoming lights. He closed his eyes, and fired both barrels into the invisible sky. The blast split the darkness, brighter than lightning; even behind his eyelids he saw red and yellow streaks, and struggled to reload.

  "What's in the shells, Cal?" That was Joe's voice, mercifully normal, but Tully couldn't spare even an instant to look at him.

  "Iron, sir," Cal answered, and his voice rang loud even in the foggy air. "Cold iron."

  The fog closed in again, and Tully braced himself. The first car that came over, he'd blast it right through the windshield--

  "Mr. Swann." That was unmistakably Mr. Seeley's voice, but he sounded more amused than angry. Headlights swam behind the fog, turning it gold streaked with thicker gray and white. Out of that curtain walked Mr. Seeley, white hair gleaming even in the murky air. "I trust you won't shoot."

  He stopped at the edge of the stream, glanced down, and stepped fastidiously away from the muddy patch where Tully's car had gone into the water.

  "Not unless you make me," Tully called back. "Now listen here. I did what you wanted, and we're going home now. You can send one of your boys for the car in the morning."

  Mr. Seeley laughed aloud. "You can keep the car, Mr. Swann. I don't have any more need of it."