It had been foolish of her not to see this coming. But how had they even arrived at the idea in the first place? Younglings should not be so involved with fae politics. Youth was a time of play and growth and learning.
The wind shifted; Hestia snapped out of her reverie and stared down at the street below. It wasn’t a scent, precisely, but she suddenly knew that the pack of younglings was nearby.
She stepped out of the shadows to peer more closely at the world below. Her keen fairy eyes picked up movement, a small group … not four, but five. Her inner senses confirmed what she saw. They had captured another one.
“By the Tree,” Hestia whispered, before slipping over the low wall that separated Coit Tower’s observation platform from the shrubbery on the hill below.
It had been so easy for them to find and glamour the poor unfortunate. She had no idea she had magical powers of her own, so she fell under the influence of the fairies without a murmur. Iannon held her arm anyway as they walked down the darkened street; Rex and Gardenia kept the streetlights and stores obscured, at least while they passed. A careful human observer might wonder at the small moving cloud of darkness, though it was more likely the misdirection would turn their attention away as well.
“Where are we going?” the changeling girl murmured, at last finding some semblance of her voice and reason though she was still lulled by the fae presence that surrounded her.
“A nice quiet place to talk,” Iannon said, patting her arm gently. “We want to tell you a story.”
“I like stories.” Her voice was dreamy and unconcerned.
“Excellent.” Iannon drew her a bit closer. The girl breathed deeply and sighed. Probably the biggest hit of fae pheromones she’s ever received, Iannon thought, smiling to himself. At least since she was an infant, anyway.
He led his little band to the shelter they had been using this trip, at the base of Telegraph Hill, on the bay side. It had once been a corner grocery store, now long vacant. As they approached the door, Gardenia stepped forward and, with a few murmured words, brushed aside the wards that guarded the entrance. The door swung open and the five went in.
Iannon led the party to a room in the back, where the fairies had set up their camp. Glamour lay heavy in here, infusing the space with light and loveliness: comfortable sofas and mattresses in the corners; a few small tables laden with dishes of grapes and strawberries, perfectly fresh; and low tinkling music coming from everywhere and nowhere.
The girl sighed again, with obvious pleasure. Iannon took her to a bright red sofa and sat her down. She leaned against a thick pillow and grinned up at him.
“Are you hungry?” Iannon asked her. She might well be fae, but she surely had human habits of eating at regular times. He had learned this the hard way the first time they’d come over to help the stolen ones return home.
“Oh, yes, please,” she said, but did not move.
“I’ll do it.” Rex brought her a dish of fruit.
She blinked a few times and then slowly reached for it. After another pause, she began feeding herself the grapes, one at a time, chewing each one thoroughly and swallowing before taking another.
Gardenia started to giggle, but Iannon silenced him with a quick glare. It was cruel to mock them. They didn’t know any better.
“Let her eat her fill, then we shall get started,” he whispered to his friends.
“Of course,” Gardenia said, nodding impatiently. “We know.”
Iannon shook his head and stepped over to the window, staring out into the night. He could, he supposed, have chosen a more reliable crew of assistants, but these were his friends. Nothing had ever gone seriously awry. Nothing they couldn’t fix, anyway.
He was about to turn back to the room and see how the girl was doing when a small movement outside caught his eye. Iannon sharpened his vision and peered out. It wasn’t a cat, or some other night creature; it wasn’t a human either. The movement was too familiar. And a minute later, his magical senses told him what he had already suspected: she was out there.
She had found them.
Loretta sat on the most comfortable couch imaginable, eating the most delicious fruit she had ever tasted in her entire life. No food would ever again taste so good, not for the rest of her days. She already ached with the sadness of the time when she knew she would have to stop eating, when she would have to put the bowl down, when her belly would be full or when the grapes would run out; but the sadness was washed away anew with every new bite.
A vague and infinitesimal part of her awareness understood that there were other beings in the room with her, and that she had some confusion as to what this was all about. That concern fluttered at the very edge of her senses and was easy enough to ignore. So she did, instead putting another grape in her mouth.
All too soon the grapes were gone. Loretta wanted to sob at the loss, but her hand found a huge, red, luscious strawberry instead. She put it to her mouth.
At once, the memory of the grapes vanished. The strawberry! She had never before tasted anything so delightful. Her life would now be devoted to eating these strawberries. She had achieved nirvana, perfect happiness, utter satisfaction.
After a sweet and formless time, Loretta understood that someone was sitting beside her on the sofa. It was the odd but very beautiful young man who had come to her in the first place. She gazed over at him, the memory of his gentle hand over her mouth now filling her. Loretta put a finger to her mouth, feeling the sticky-sweetness of the strawberries still there.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked.
“I …” She started to answer but had no words, so she glanced down at the bowl in her lap. It was empty. Again, the despair of loss and abandonment threatened to overtake her, but it quickly faded into a sense of fullness, of happiness. Of, yes, satisfaction. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes.”
The man, boy, whatever he was, smiled. “Wonderful. Now we shall tell stories.”
Oh yes, stories. Loretta liked stories. She had forgotten all about that part. How funny! She had forgotten so much, so quickly. It was still like a dream. A really, really wonderful dream.
“I am Iannon.” The boy put his hand out formally.
She took it. It was cool, and soft. “I am Loretta.”
“I know.” He grinned at her. His beauty was breathtaking. She fell in love with him, pell-mell, in that moment. She would love him forever; she would bear his children; she would hold his hand from this day forward, never letting go.
Then he let go. “And this is Rex, Lucas, and Gardenia,” he said, pointing to other people in the room. There were other people in the room! Loretta had forgotten all about them! She gasped and looked at them all as Iannon introduced them. Each one was so gorgeous, it was as though they radiated light from their very pores. Her head almost ached, to hold such beauty, but then the pleasure of it was so strong, there was no aching.
How did they live with themselves, being so lovely?
“… will grow less overwhelming soon,” Iannon was saying. She blinked and tried to understand him, to hear him. “You will get used to it before long, and be able to put the sensation aside as needed.”
“I don’t want to,” she murmured, even as a part of her knew this was not true. She knew she could barely think, could not reason. Yet it felt so good … why would she ever want it to stop?
Now Iannon leaned forward and took her hand once more, and the bliss enfolded her. “You are one of us.” The words made no sense, except that they did, she knew it was true, she had never felt so loved, so at home… .
Hestia approached the building cautiously. Iannon had spotted her; she’d seen him through the gap in the boarded-up window. She always found them sooner or later, and he knew that.
So what was his game this time?
The maddening thing was, they weren’t even fundamentally at cross-purposes. Iannon and his band were capturing changelings and returning them to Faerie; Hestia believed that infants should not be switched in the
first place. The difference was that Hestia, as former Queen of all the Westernmost Fae, was respecting the authority of the current king and queen, however she might feel about them personally. She was trying to convince them to change fae policy. It was foolhardy and dangerous to return the changelings ahead of their appointed time.
Iannon was ignoring all this, simply taking matters into his own hands. And the ruler of his rogue family—his be-damned Lady—refused to stop him. If Iannon and his gang were not brought under control, the entire delicate balance of power in Faerie could be toppled, disastrously.
Hestia paused a block away from the shuttered storefront. She slipped into deeper shadow, giving herself time to think. Powerful as she was, with four of the younglings there, she would be hard-pressed to overcome them all and wrest their captive from them. And the captive would be helpless, drowning in glamour and confusion.
It was cruel, what they were doing, immersing the poor creatures like this. Yes, Hestia agreed that all changelings should be returned from whence they came. But slowly, gently, with explanation and preparation and plenty of time to adjust to the dramatically different world. As commanded by King Goren.
The Lady had to be behind this, and not for the first time. No youngling, however rebellious, would persist in such blatant disobedience to the authority of the king and queen unless he had the support of his clan mother. Which meant that the Lady was even more two-faced than Hestia already knew her to be. She had stood before the rulers of Faerie and told them her pretty lies, smiling all the while. There was no other explanation.
But this was a larger problem, one that was not Hestia’s to solve. Not that she could.
Not today, at least.
The storefront door opened. Iannon slipped out.
So he comes to me, Hestia thought, and stepped from hiding. “Youngling, I am here,” she said in a low voice, pitched for fae ears.
Iannon walked toward her, the moonlight casting shadows on his pale face. He had let his glamour slip away almost entirely, but even if a human saw him now, they would only see a far-too-pretty young man. Not for the first time, Hestia wondered how much human blood the youngling carried. He blended in altogether too well here to be pure fae.
“You cannot have her,” he said without preamble as he reached Hestia.
“You cannot, either. It is wrong for you to take her thus. Return her at once.”
“Too late,” he laughed, and Hestia started.
She knew at once what he had done, even before she sensed his confederates darting out the back way. Towards Buena Vista and the doorway under the Hill.
Iannon ran off after his partners in crime. Hestia gave chase even as she knew she would not catch them before they crossed over. They had had too much of a head start, and she was hindered here in the heavy, unmagical air.
Not a problem, though. She’d snare them easily in Faerie. Then she’d drag the entire sorry bunch before the king and queen, red-handed with their new captive. Enough diplomacy: she was fed up and ready to spend some of her own political capital before the problem became even worse.
Thus reassuring herself, Hestia covered the distance to Buena Vista in a few minutes and almost dove blindly into the doorway before she realized it had been shut to her.
“By the Tree!” she shrieked, and flung a counter-charm.
The passage home did not budge.
She paused, looking at it more closely. “Why, the little worms …” she muttered.
They had somehow gotten hold of a time-charm. The Lady’s work again, no doubt; none of the younglings had this kind of power.
But it meant that there was nothing Hestia could do until it wore off on its own. Which would be in seven days’ time, by the shape and scent of the charm.
Stuck in the human realm for seven days!
Hestia stood in the dreary woods of Buena Vista Park and slowly shook her head.
Iannon brought everyone through in a jumbled rush of laughter and bruised elbows. Lucas was carrying the changeling; she was worthless now, but not for long. Iannon would begin her reeducation at once. Her powers would grow with every breath of Faerie air she took in, every bite of magical food she ate.
And thus their strength would grow, for she would be grateful to her rescuers.
It could not be soon enough before the Ferrishyns became ascendant in Faerie. Far too long had the weak, peace-loving factions ruled here, endangering all of the fae with their tactics of appeasement, their willful ignorance of the dangers of humankind.
King Goren and his foolish new queen would be taken down.
When he thought about it, Iannon could almost be glad for the changelings. Full-blooded fairies, raised by the enemy, returned home. What more valuable allies could there be?
For now, however, the girl had to be nourished, cared for. Then she could be introduced to the others. After that, she could be told of her rightful place in the world.
“Bring her along gently,” Iannon said, leading his group to the Lady. He could see that Loretta was dazed by her surroundings. She tasted the air, savoring it; he smiled to imagine her first breaths here. She would never again be satisfied in the human realm.
This was his favorite part of their reclamation project: the changelings’ earliest impressions of Faerie. Here was light and warmth and a golden-green meadow. A large, gleaming house—nearly a palace—was nestled into the trees at the far edge. And her new companions … Iannon could see Loretta realizing that they no longer looked quite so human. Gardenia’s ears took their proper shape, and Lucas became feral, though still lovely, his own ears tufted with a golden fur.
“You are one of us,” Iannon whispered to her once more. He’d told her several times that she was a fairy, a magical creature, who belonged here, with them. The humans who had raised her were no relation. He knew the knowledge would soak in over time.
Iannon looked down to give her a gentle smile. Loretta gazed at him wide-eyed, and smiled back, clearly in the first stages of overwhelming infatuation.
Ah well. She would learn.
“Welcome home,” he told her.
* * *
Hestia roamed the night streets of San Francisco, brooding. Her anger had flashed and then dissipated; she was not one to waste energy on worthless emotions. The time-charm was set, and that was that. She was going to spend the next week on the human side.
She could go a week without eating or sleeping, of course, though she’d be far more comfortable if she found a decent resting spot, one where she could release the glamour and be as she was. For a brief moment she considered the now-abandoned store the Ferrishyn younglings had used, but quickly discarded that idea. She wouldn’t taint herself with their indecency, their evil energies.
They were boys. No telling how nasty the place must be.
She needn’t push herself to hunger, either. She had brought a few morsels of fae food with her, enough to remind her of home if need be.
Her feet grew tired in their odd and confining human shoes as she walked through the night. As the dim light of dawn grew in the east, Hestia boarded a bus, flashing a colorful ribbon at the driver in lieu of fare, and rode where it ventured. The grumbling vehicle carried her to where the edge of the land met the edge of the ocean: a liminal space, a boundary line, a place of great power, though not one the fae generally worked with.
Hestia took this happenstance for its inner meaning and departed the bus. She was not the ordinary sort of fae; she would gladly work with unusual power.
Dropping the shoes by the side of the road, she walked across the damp sand in her proper bare feet. Her confining skirt refused to blow and move in the wind, as skirts should; she shed that as well, and then her foolish blouse after that. The bitter salt-fogged air embraced her unclad body. The morning had dawned cold and gray, and no humans walked the beach, so Hestia did not need to cloak herself in any glamour. She let it all go now, following the uncomfortable human clothes, and became a fae creature of terrible beauty: shar
p teeth, twisting hair that flowed to her ankles, pointed ears, golden eyes.
She ran at the edge of the water, chill waves lapping at her ankles, as she let her mind loose to worry at the problem without conscious intent. Hestia passed the end of the sandy beach and onto rocks, barely noticing. Her nimble feet chose her path here as easily as they had done on the softer surface. Soon it was sand again; she noted this with a tiny corner of her mind.
When this stretch of sand ended as well, Hestia stopped. “I have been going about this all wrong,” she said aloud, to the gulls and the sand clams and the great gray sky.
One week later, Hestia sat in a small, brightly lit room in the Castro. The beautiful young man across the formica dinette from her sipped his tea and frowned. “Why do you have to go?” The tone could have sounded unpleasant, whiny; yet he was so lovely that it was charming instead.
She reached over and patted his hand, making him smile. “This is only for a short time, my sweet. Trust me.”
He lifted his bright green eyes to meet hers. “I do trust you.”
“Finish your biscuit, dear.”
The boy picked up the last of the fae-made cookie and put it in his mouth. “These are so good.”
“Now, remember what to do when they arrive …”
Nodding, he said, “Yes, of course: I am surprised, confused, befuddled; I have no idea why they have come for me. I resist, but then relent the moment they glamour me.”
“Yes. And when they take you through?”
“I pretend to fall for the Lady’s charms. And I wait for you.” He beamed at her, like a good student.
“Perfect.” She glanced at the window, at the ray of morning sun. “They should arrive soon, and they must not find me here.” She briefly considered obscuring his memory just a bit, to help him in his role, but decided to leave him as he was. No sense complicating things further than they needed to be.
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