by Jenna Grey
“Br... Br...Bryony said that you wanted me t-t-to go with you to the end of year dance on Friday.” He was hardly able to get the words out he was stammering and wheezing so badly. Lily felt desperately sorry for him. His glasses had steamed up and his face was so red, Lily was certain that his galaxy of spots were going to explode like supernovas – worse, that he was going to have a coronary.
She put on her best smile and said:
“Oh, I did, I was going to ask you, but then I realised that’s the day I’ve got to move into my new flat...” She saw the look of dreadful disappointment on his face and quickly added, “Did you really want to go to the dance, though? I mean, if you didn’t, it would be great if you could help me move my stuff. We could go and grab a coffee after at the teashop in the village. I think the dance is going to be rubbish anyway – I’d much rather go and have a nice quiet cup of coffee with you.”
He looked so pleased Lily thought he was going to burst into tears. It brought her a bright buzz of pleasure to see his reaction. He really was very sweet.
“No, I never really wanted to go. I’d love to help you. That would be great.”
The stammer had miraculously gone and a look of something close to joy had replaced the dreadful look of consternation. Lily grinned back at him.
“Cool. You know where I live, don’t you? If you could get there by about six, that would be terrific. There’s not much to move anyway, we could do it all in a couple of trips, and I’ll treat you to the coffee.”
Gary wandered off, looking as if he’d just got a date with Miley Cyrus, dazed but sublimely happy, and Lily added just a little bit more malice to the curses she’d put on her three nemeses.
Once out of purgatory, Lily headed straight for the tiny village library, her second favourite place in the world, and settled down to work on the very last piece of her GCSE coursework – British Folklore, a subject created by the gods, just for her; she knew practically everything there was to know about the myths and legends of the British Isles – although of course most of them weren’t actually myths and legends at all and she had a subheading all of her own. She didn’t really need to do this extra bit of work, because she’d already submitted the project and knew that she’d got really good marks for it, but she just wanted to add a little more to round it off to her own satisfaction. She’d taken three A levels, art, music and English literature, and another four GCSEs just for the sake of keeping her ever-active mind occupied. All of her teachers had implored her to think about going to university – she had more than enough qualifications, but they just didn’t understand – how could they? The thought of going to university left her cold – school had been a nightmare, why add to her misery by re-enrolling for another few years of psychological torture?
The moment she walked into the library she felt a wonderful calm settle over her. She loved the peace and quiet here, the tranquillity and comfort of the place. She knew both of the librarians well, Judith and Kit, and liked them both, and they would often do her little favours; she gladly did them back. Last year, Judith’s dog had developed a tumour on its leg, and Lily had taken it away – all she had to do was hug the dog and wish it better and the tumour had disappeared in a matter of days. Kit’s sister had been told she could never have children, but she came into the library for tea one day and Lily only had to touch her arm to make her fertile. She had a beautiful little girl now; Kit had brought photos in of her, and Lily had been so happy for her.
Lily settled herself at one of the computers and caught a glimpse of the headlines on Yahoo:
Cattle blight strikes South of England.
That was the third outbreak in the last couple of weeks; Scotland and the Midlands had already been hit, and scientists were desperately trying to find out what was causing it. The word was that it was a new strain of anthrax, and the government were panicking, desperately trying to control it. She could only feel sorry for the poor farmers and the animals that were being put down and burnt by their thousands. It wasn’t only Great Britain that was suffering, to all accounts there had been escalating plagues and blights all over the world in the last few months, ranging from a new strain of virus that was killing sheep out in New Zealand, to a crop blight that was wiping out wheat crops in Kansas. World health organisations were going ballistic trying to find out what was going on, and placard waving ‘The End is Nigh’, devotees were proselytising on every street corner.
Lily did suspect that there was something unnatural about this avalanche of curses, but hadn’t really felt any arcane involvement in them – at least not yet.
She put her memory stick into the slot, pulling up her project, idly sorting out files, but found it hard to concentrate. She suddenly realised why: someone was reading out loud – a very simplified version of the Wind in the Willows by the sound of it. She glanced across to the rather bony woman perched on the too-small children’s chair, reading to the cross-legged group in front of her. So much for getting some work done.
It was only after a few moments that she realised that the group being read to were from the local residential home for people with learning difficulties and behavioural problems, mostly Down’s Syndrome or autism. It had only been open for a couple of weeks. These all seemed to be quite young, boys and girls in their late teens. She supposed that was just coincidence, unless they had deliberately filled the new home with people of the same age, so that they would feel more at home. She’d seen them around the village, just about a dozen of them; it was a very small home, but she been impressed by the way the carers treated them, with kindness and respect, and she’d often wave to them and send them her best goodwill magic. That kind of magic was just a general good luck charm, to make their day a little brighter, hopefully bring something good to them, a little gift or blessing – the equivalent of the American ‘Have a nice day’, but with magic to back it up.
In some ways she could relate to these youngsters far better than she could to the rest of humanity – she could certainly relate to them a hell of a lot more than she could the three Bs: being something out of the norm was never going to be easy.
Lily found her mind wandering and suddenly realised that she was picking up impressions from the young people across the room, not thoughts exactly, but images and feelings, just random patterns emanating from each of them. She tried to focus on what they were thinking. With most people all she could pick up was a chaos of jumbled miscellany, shopping, kids, petrol, dinner – a detritus of thoughts that meant nothing – the useless mundanities of everyday life, but she was getting very clear impressions from these young people. What she was picking up was definitely not thoughts as such, but certainly feelings. They were enjoying the story. In many cultures those who had learning difficulties were called blessed, and perhaps she could see why now; their innocence and way of seeing reality was so much better than the cynical and jaundiced view the rest of humanity had.
And then she realised that one of them was staring hard at her.
It was one of the young men, perhaps in his late teens. The Wind in the Willows suddenly seemed to have lost its charm and Lily was getting his full attention. He kept turning to stare at her, then looking away again, as if he were not quite certain of where he wanted his attention to be focused. She watched him cautiously, and as she looked more closely she felt a tremble run through her, not fear exactly, but a shiver of something; it tingled through her, making her shudder.
He was fey.
It wasn’t possible, of course – it had to be her imagination, but he turned towards her again, a slow deliberate motion and then stood, just staring at her, statue still, as if he was hoping that if he stood still enough no-one would notice him. The young woman who had been reading, stopped and told him to sit down, a polite request, which he totally ignored. He began to move forwards, ignoring the protest of the two carers, urging him to come back, and moved towards Lily, still staring hard at her. He seemed nervous, not to say terrified, edging towards her as if sh
e were some kind of alien creature that he wanted to investigate, without getting too close. One of the carers, a slight woman, with a pinched, but pleasant face, came and tried to drag him back, but he shrugged her off easily, making incoherent noises and protests of ‘No’ and kept moving inexorably towards Lily.
“Connor, love, you need to come back with the others,” the slip of a woman said, dragging on his arm. She was half his size and had no chance of restraining him.
“No,” he said again, pushing her away, but not too roughly, just a nudge to get her to back off, the way one would ease back a child or animal that was getting too boisterous. One thing was certain, this boy was determined that nothing was going to stop him from getting to Lily.
“Come on now, Connor, back to your seat,” the carer said again, coaxing him gently. Lily looked down at the name tag: Minnie Crumb – and a more apt name couldn’t have been found for her. She reminded Lily of a startled bird. “I’ve never seen him react like that to anyone, he’s usually very placid. That was very bad, Connor. Say sorry.” Connor turned to her as if only just seeing her, confused, then he looked back at Lily.
Lily looked into his soft green eyes and she knew, just knew that he really was like her – Seelie Shee. It wasn’t possible, couldn’t be possible... but he was fey, the only other of her kind she had ever seen. He was on the cusp of his teens and twenties, tall and slender, typically fey. He was wearing a faded Star Wars tee shirt, Chewbacca little more than a fuzzy blob, and Han Solo with more wrinkles than Yoda. His frayed jeans hung like an army surplus tent around his legs; from his shoulder dangled a rather mutilated Toy Story carry bag. He was hiding, just as she was, but Lily didn’t even think he knew he was doing it, his glamour some kind of instinctive survival response. She tried to see him as they saw him, and got a vague impression of another him, but it was too elusive to grab a hold of the image. She saw very dark spiky hair, a hedgehog cut, his face innocent and pure, green eyes that held her captivated. More than that she felt an instant kinship with him – a feeling so strong that it overwhelmed her every thought and feeling. She suddenly understood how a mother felt when she saw her new born baby for the first time, a daughter finally reunited with a parent after years apart. And she knew that this boy felt the same.
Lily, seeing that this was quickly going to get out of control, stood up and moved towards the boy, staring at him, still hardly able to believe what she was seeing. The carer was more insistent now, calling her friend over to help.
Connor tried to move forwards again, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. This time it was the other carer, and she meant business. She was a squat, square woman, with a face like a rabid bulldog, large boned and formidable, who would have looked more at home patrolling a prison yard than working in a care home.
“Do as your told, Connor, or you won’t get any TV tonight. Come back to your seat.”
Lily thought that even if the programme in question was a 3D, all singing, all dancing, naked beauty pageant, Connor would have still found Lily the better deal.
He looked down at the hand on his arm as if it had personally offended him and shrugged it off. Lily sent out a desperate thought to him to stay back, not to cause trouble, and his expression suddenly changed. He had heard her, she was certain he had. He just stared at her, and she got the distinct impression back that he understood and backed off a little.
“My name’s Lily.” she said. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
The other residents from the home had taken an interest now and were crowding around, which was probably a blessing as it took the heat off of Lily’s new admirer a bit. Lily smiled and said ‘hello’ to them, a bit overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Story Time seemed nothing but a distant memory, totally supplanted by this new and wondrous curiosity; they all seemed fascinated by her. Her braid was gently tugged, her face explored, her glasses threatened, but it was all done with gentle fingers. Could they see what she was? She had the firm conviction that they could see that she was somehow different, at least.
Connor reached out with gentle fingers and touched Lily’s glasses, trying to take them off. She put her hand over his to stop him and just the touch of her hand seemed to be enough for him. He gazed at her in wonderment, and Lily knew that he could see her for what she was. She reached out to him, and could feel his thoughts, not words exactly, but a kind of impression of words, warning him to be careful.
“Well, you certainly seem to be popular,” Bulldog Face said, and did Lily imagine it or was there just the hint of bitterness in her voice? She looked down at her name tag – Mavis Crichter. A hard name for a hard woman. Connor moved forwards and took Lily’s hand, slipping his fingers into hers and holding on with a firm, ‘I’m not letting go of you any time soon’ grip.
“I think it’s the glasses,” Lily said, flushing a little, but laughing. “They seem to like me, perhaps I could come to the home and visit some time?”
As if anything could keep her away.
There was a moment’s hesitation from the squat woman, and for an instant, just an instant, Lily got a very strange and very disturbing glimpse at this woman’s deeper thoughts. What she saw there she didn’t like, not in the least. There was a definite shadow in this woman’s soul and although Lily couldn’t exactly understand or recognise what it was, she knew that it was something she didn’t like very much.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Crichter said. “We have a very strict routine and most of the kids don’t like anything different being introduced into the mix – it unsettles them.”
Lily was pretty certain they did have a great many visitors, family, health workers, doctors, delivery men, and Lily knew, with absolute certainty that this woman had some hidden agenda in refusing her a visit. Unfortunately, the fact that the kids were all still manhandling Lily with great enthusiasm, did a great deal to bolster this woman’s case. Crichter’s resistance made Lily all the more determined.
“I don’t mind, really, they aren’t doing any harm. They seem to like me. I could read to everyone, or bring my recorder and play for you all – I think you’d all enjoy it.”
The woman’s square shoulders went back, her jaw setting in determined resistance.
“Well, write in and we’ll see if we can arrange something, but I don’t think it’s going to be possible. It’s obvious that you’re unsettling them.”
This was said with unmistakable disdain. This woman had one serious chip on her shoulder – scrub that – she had a whole stone quarry. Lily felt her hackles rising, even though Crichter did have a point. She tried to dig deeper into her mind to see if she could fathom why this woman was being so obstructive, but there was a steel wall up now, behind her eyes, that Lily just couldn’t penetrate. This woman was hiding something. The smaller woman was already marshalling the other kids away and back to their seats; most of them compliantly obeyed without making any fuss.
“Why don’t you go back to your seat, Connor. We can see each other another time,” Lily said.
And this time she thought he understood, sensing on some level that they needed to be cautious. I promise, we’ll see each other again soon, but you must trust me. Do as they say for now. Lily thought to him.
Connor just stared at Lily for another long moment and then said:
“Sorry.” and went back to his seat, his movements uncertain, as if half of him were resisting, still looking back over his shoulder at her every couple of seconds until he was firmly back in his seat.
Lily smiled at him and waved, packing up her bag, but as she stood to leave, she sent a final thought out to him:
“We are both the same. We are both fey. I’ll come to you soon. Stay strong.”
Connor turned, smiled and gave the tiniest of nods. He understood.
Chapter Three .
Lily left the library, elated, so excited she could hardly keep it contained.
She had found another like her. After all of these years of exile, of dreadful loneliness, she h
ad found not just another of her kind, but one who had to be her kin, a member of the Summer Court, and stranded here just as she was. That had to be more than a coincidence. It was almost too good to bear; she skipped along the road almost yelling out her joy, lost in promises of things to come. Her head was buzzing with thoughts and feelings that vied for her attention like needy children. She would have given anything to find out more, to stay with him and try to find out where he had come from, who he was. One thing was certain, they were alike in almost every way – their hair and eye colour, their complexion. Was it mad of her to think that he might be her brother? They looked enough alike. And did he actually know what he was? There was no doubt that Connor seemed to recognise her as one of his kind as well, but how was it that he was so lost? What could have happened to make him lose his sense of true self so completely? She had sensed so much confusion in him, so much sadness and... fear. She had no doubt that whatever was going on at Hawthorn Lodge wasn’t good, and it made it all the more urgent that she get in there somehow to see him and find out what was going on. If they wouldn’t let her visit legitimately, then she would bloody well break in. One thing was certain that woman Crichter was hiding something and whatever it was Lily was determined to uncover it.
But that was for the future – all that really mattered now was that after all these years she was no longer alone.
Lily had known for years that she was different, of course, not a changeling exactly, because she was never swapped for a human infant, just left on someone’s doorstep, wrapped in just a shawl, like some erstwhile Harry Potter or bottle of milk, although thankfully to a wonderful woman, Maggie Mckenzie, that she was pleased to call ‘Mother’ for the first eight years of her life. Maggie had always known, though, known what Lily was, but had loved her all the more for it...
