by Kimbra Swain
Die had two candidates: Dylan and Jeremiah.
Live had multiple candidates: all the ones still alive, maybe Dylan.
Expose had two candidates: Jeremiah gave me my memories back and Dylan told me about the dream.
Mithe meant to conceal or disassemble: I had to consider this one for Dylan as well. If he were turned to ash, then he was most definitely disassembled, and Levi was concealed or hidden from me at the moment.
“Whatcha doin’?” Jenny asked over my shoulder. I jumped out of my skin, and my belly shot a pain in protest.
“Oh, crap, Jenny!” I yelled at her, clutching my stomach.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Grace,” she said still eyeing the papers. “Trying to figure out the pooka?”
“Yes,” I said. “Surely his prophecy is fulfilled, but it still doesn’t make sense.”
She held a cup from the diner. Taking a long sip, she stared at the papers. “Oh, you are missing one here,” she said, pointing to the “die” paper.
“What?” I asked.
“Levi. You have to admit it, Grace. He might not be alive,” she said.
“No, Levi is alive. I would have felt his disconnect,” I said.
“Did you feel Dylan disconnect?” she asked.
“No, Dylan wasn’t my servant. I always looked at him as an equal,” I said.
She sat down pondering the pieces. Her other hand held a brown bag, rolled over at the top. She set it on the table next to her. Her eyes turned to the window, watching the crowd gathering at the Food Mart. “You aren’t going,” she muttered.
“No,” I said, returning my attention to the papers.
“You have two consistent answers,” Jenny said.
“Jeremiah and Dylan. Oh, do it like this,” she said, sitting down the milkshake. I eyed it suddenly craving the milky goodness. She giggled when she saw me eyeing it but then quickly rearranged the papers. She moved the “Die” and “Expose” papers to one side and the “Live” and “Mithe” papers to the other. “What if your punctuation is wrong?”
“What, are you an editor?” I asked.
“I could do it,” she said confidently. “One to die and one to live. One to expose and one to mithe. It’s only two people. One that died and exposed, and the other that lived but mithed. Is mithed a word?”
“You are the editor. You tell me,” I said, looking at her arrangement. “So, Jeremiah died and exposed his secrets by restoring my memories.” I jumped up from the chair, grabbed her shoulders and hugged her. She grunted under the force. “And Dylan lived, but is concealed and disassembled!”
“Make sense to me,” she said, sipping on the milkshake to taunt me.
“I hate you,” I said.
“I hate you too. Especially since you are moving out,” she smirked.
“Levi is all over that room. I can’t breathe in there!” I admitted.
She laughed. “He smells good,” she replied.
“Shut up,” I laughed.
“Since Dylan is alive, that means I can have Levi,” she said, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’ll trade you Levi for the milkshake,” I teased. Suddenly, I felt like myself.
She handed me the milkshake, but I refused. “I admit it. I’m keeping him for myself,” I said.
“We all knew that anyway,” she teased back.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” I said.
“No, but green does,” she smiled. A long tentacle hugged her milkshake where her hand once was. My eyes widened in surprise. She winked at me as she headed to the door. “You are welcome, by the way.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ve always wanted to go to a memorial for someone who wasn’t dead,” she said.
“Been there. Done that,” I replied.
“How was it?” she asked,
“Horrible,” I said, remembering Dylan’s last memorial.
“You think this town would learn,” she smiled as she opened the door.
“Go with me to Summer,” I blurted out. She froze in her tracks.
Lowering her head, she mumbled, “Is that an order, my Queen?”
“No, but Father said you were one of his favorites. That you have special skills,” I said. “I need someone with special skills. Someone I trust.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t trust me,” she mumbled keeping her eyes on the ground.
I walked over to her, lifting her chin with my fingers. “His word is good enough for me,” I said.
She grimaced. “Can we talk about it when I get back?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, releasing her chin. She shuddered as if my touch gave her goosebumps. It probably did. I’d never claimed Jenny as a servant, nor had she offered. Perhaps whatever was there, belonged to my father, thus transferring to me. She slipped out the door without another word.
When the door clicked shut, I added, “Just as long as she doesn’t come with a new fuck toy.”
When I turned back to the table, I saw the brown paper bag that she had left. My instinct was not to pry in whatever she had, but she did leave it behind. I opened it up to see several vape liquids with a small mod the size of an ink pen. There was also a note.
* * *
I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist it. Mike sent you some liquids for your trip to the Otherworld. He said you would need it. It won’t hurt the baby. -Jenny
* * *
I laughed because she could have just given it to me, but instead she played me. It was hilarious. The liquids were of the magical variety, except for one. The non-magical liquid said peppermint. I opened it up to take a whiff. It reminded me of Dylan, and my eyes welled up with tears. But I also noticed that the nauseated feeling I’d had for several days subsided. There were four magical liquids: pussy killer, dense fog, insta-portal, and blue quartz. I twirled the mod around my finger watching the magic dance around the liquids. I wondered why these specific liquids. Could Solomonars tell the future, or did Mike just have a knack for certain things? I wasn’t sure, but I’d take them with me. Mike had proven himself with the liquid for Dylan’s dream. My father also spoke highly of Solomonars. It was enough for me.
I flicked off the lights, staring at the crowd as it moved toward Trailer Swamp. I decided that would be its official name. Tears flowed freely down my face. Even if he wasn’t gone, he wasn’t here, so it was just the same. I needed him here. His son needed him here. The last thing I wanted was to go lay down in a bed that smelled like Levi, so I skipped to Hot Tin. The room was dark except for a steaming cup of coffee on the bar top.
“Bless your heart, Nestor Gwinn,” I said as I sat down at it. Taking a long sip, I let it wash away my sadness. It was still there, but it didn’t consume me as it did before. I took several more sips when my phone rang in my pocket. “Hello.”
“Good evening, Grace,” Tennyson Schuyler said.
“Tennyson,” I replied.
“I figured you wouldn’t be at the memorial. The motorhome will be delivered in the morning, as well as two guards from my personal staff. They will accompany you into the Otherworld. They are at your command,” he said.
“Thank you for your quick work,” I said with as much heart as I had. I was appreciative.
“Grace, I have many years of evil to make up for. You are giving me an outlet to do it. I thank you for it,” he said. “I would like you to consider allowing me to speak to my brother. Not now, but at some point.”
“Now is as good a time as any,” I said, drinking the rest of the coffee. I felt him appear in the room behind me.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, spinning around on the stool. His blue eyes glowed in the dark bar. “But you have to tell me how mad he will be at me for it.”
“You should probably warn him that I am coming,” he said.
“Meh. I’ve never been one for hiding things. Let’s go,” I said offering my hand.
He took it. I felt the bitter cold of Winter sink into my
skin. I sighed, missing my old coldness.
“Wow. You are warm,” he said.
“Firebird baby,” I said. He smiled. “Ready?”
He nodded, and I shifted us to the stone circle. The stone flashed to life, and my father appeared. He already knew that Tennyson was with me. To my surprise, Tennyson dropped to his knees, shedding his expensive suitcoat. He pulled at the center of his button up shirt shedding it as well. His chest and arms were covered in tattoos. He buried his face in the grass as the whole circle frosted over and snow fell from the early summer sky.
“My King,” he murmured.
My father’s eyes flared the brightest blue with his fists clenched. “You have no right to be here and present yourself to me this way,” Oberon growled. I slowly backed up away from the two men, but my father’s gaze caused me to stop in my tracks.
“You are correct, my King. I failed you,” he said.
“Failed! No, you betrayed me. I cannot stand the sight of you,” Oberon said as the ground shook with his power.
“I am yours to do with as you wish. If I can no longer serve you, my King, I choose death,” Tennyson said with no emotion.
“Whoa! Wait a minute, now,” I started to interject, but the stern look from my father quickly changed my mind about speaking in this fight. Tennyson Schuyler had promises to keep to me. There would be no dying here.
My father tilted his head up to the sky and roared in anguish. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. Never such emotion from him. Even more startling was when he sank to his knees in front of Tennyson. His form became almost solid, as he put his palms on Tennyson’s cheeks, he tilted his head up so that they would be eye to eye.
“Not of my blood, but my brother all the same. You were my greatest and most trusted, why did you take her from me?” Oberon asked.
Tennyson shook with refusal to answer the question. “My King, we have rehashed this too many times. I’ve lived my penance. As has she. Please, I only seek your forgiveness,” the great man asked. For the first time, I saw the scars on Tennyson Schuyler’s back. Long whip marks from an age-old beating still marred his skin. Both arms and his chest were covered in bright tattoos. From the side, I could see the knotwork lining his arms with various symbols intertwined. I saw my father’s crest with the stag skull. They were beautifully done. I couldn’t see the other side, but I assumed it was a continuation of the artwork.
“We have, Tennyson. You are right,” Oberon said.
Watching two men, broken over each other intrigued me. Their brotherhood at one time was deep, but father had referred to him as not of my blood.
“I swear my fealty to you once again,” Tennyson said unsheathing a dagger. He dragged the dagger across his palm. Deep red droplets of blood dripped from the cut. He offered his bleeding hand to my father who shook his head.
“I cannot in this form, but if you want to honor me, then serve her,” Father said, nodding to me.
“What?” I asked as if I weren’t paying attention.
“Come here, Gloriana,” my father called to me.
Stepping toward him, his ghostly hand reached for mine. He guided my hand to Tennyson’s. I flinched in protest. “This is not what he asked for,” I said.
“It is exactly what he is asking for,” Father assured me. Tennyson kept his eyes down. Father pulled out a ghostly dagger matching the one that my uncle had. He dragged it lightly across my skin creating a shallow cut. The sight of blood made me unsteady, but father placed my palm in Tennyson’s.
“My blood is your blood. I swear my fealty to you,” Tennyson muttered.
I shook my head not knowing what to say. My father’s voice laced through my thoughts as I spoke to Tennyson by his control, “Your blood is my blood. I accept your service from this day forward.”
Then my uncle placed his lips on the top of my hand with a tender kiss. “He wants me to serve you. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I want you to know that if he chose you, then I was utterly wrong and you are worthy.”
“One wrong step, my brother, and she will strike you down. Do not betray her as you did me,” Oberon said. “Gloriana, have no mercy on him. He’s always been a traitor.”
“Why should I trust him now?” I asked.
“Because you are going to need the help,” Oberon said. “If you want my advice in the future, take care not to bring another traitor into my midst.”
“Yes, Father,” I said. Something about the moment told me that my normal sass was inappropriate. I wanted to remind him that this was my well of power, but I refrained.
“Until we meet again, Lachlan,” Oberon said, then faded into a fine blue mist which evaporated.
Tennyson sighed, holding his kneeling position. “Thank you, Gloriana. I was afraid he would punish you for breaking protocol and bringing me here.”
“I’ll pay for it at some point. I’m sure.”
“I hope that you do not. Despite our differences, I love your father,” he said. “I would have gladly taken his place had I been able to do so.”
“It seems you have a great loyalty to him, but somewhere along the line you fucked it up,” I said.
He pushed his huge frame off the ground, standing to full height. He towered over me with hulking tattooed arms and a broad chest.
“When we were living in this world, before he was King of the Otherworld, he was a king here. I was his knight. His most loyal, but I fell in love, taking what was offered to me, but not mine to have,” he said.
“A woman,” I said.
“His wife here on earth,” he said.
“He’s got a ton of wives. My mother, for instance,” I said.
“This was before that,” he explained but gave no more information.
“So, what you both left earth to go into the Otherworld?” I asked.
He walked over to the center stone, sitting down while wringing his hands.
“Gloriana, you are blissfully unaware of what came before this world,” he said. “I know you’ve read Taliesin’s stories.”
“I have. He followed many kings. Not just my father,” I replied. “But the stories are all different.”
“They are, and they have to be. Sometimes the truth has to be protected. I am surprised however that Oberon would give you his power without explaining it fully. He did not choose to rule the Otherworld by leaving this world for that one,” Tennyson said.
“Did he rule in both?” I asked.
He looked down at the stone as if it were speaking to him. I wondered if my father had an open line to his head now. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he said.
“I’m staying with Jenny, and she’s got a new boyfriend, daily,” I said. “I’d rather not go there.”
“I’d rather not see Jenny. We can go back to the bar. It’s closed, correct?” he asked.
“Yes, it is,” I replied, but I liked being away from the memorial that was going on in town. Perhaps it was over by this time and I could safely return. “Why don’t you want to see Jenny?”
“We have a past,” he said.
“Don’t we all?” I replied, taking his hand.
We skipped back to the bar, which was still dark and seemingly abandoned. He went behind the counter, pouring a glass of whiskey. He sat one down for me, but I shook my head. “Baby,” I replied. My mouth watered for the burn.
“Yes, you are right. Although, I don’t think fairy babies are affected by alcohol,” he said.
“Not taking any chances,” I replied.
“Understandable,” he said. His eyes darkened, then he threw back the one he’d poured for me.
I perched myself up on a stool, wanting him to tell me more of the things that I didn’t know.
“When your father left this world, I did not go with him. Even when the time came for me to join him, I chose a path that would keep me on this earth instead of under it. I’m not proud of my decisions over the years, but it wasn’t easy for a long time. Even now with my broad influence, it’s
not easy. I hope that one day you will come to trust me. We are blood now,” he said as he took one of Nestor’s towels. He started tearing it into strips.
His words sank into me. He was my uncle. Wasn’t he blood before? The blood oath made him my servant by choice. Literally, his blood was mine to do with as I pleased.
“Lachlan?” I asked. “I like it better than Tennyson Schuyler.”
“Only your father calls me Lachlan. It means ‘from the land of the lakes.’ He calls me this because I lived near a lake before he and I met,” he said, as his eyes drifted into the past. His facial features lightened thinking about those days. He almost smiled. Almost. “You may call me that as well, or whatever you wish.” He took one of the strips, wet it in the sink, then pulled my palm to him. He brushed the blood from the shallow cut away. Then took two other strips from his collection. Tying the ends into a knot, he wrapped my wound with the makeshift bandage. It was like a wartime fix. I was sure from the marks on Tennyson’s body that he had been to war with my father. Perhaps against him.
“You flirted with me the first time you saw me. Yet you knew I was your niece,” I said.
“No. You are my brother’s daughter. It isn’t the same,” he chuckled. “Is he in your head?”
“Sometimes,” I smiled.
“He’s telling me that I have loose lips,” he huffed. “To get him out of my head, we will talk more at a later time. But may I give you some advice?”
“You might as well,” I said, trying to sound disinterested, but I really wanted to know what he was going to say.
“Your father has always tried to rule the world. He’s failed. Twice now. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t a good king. The first time, failure was always the end game, however, in the Otherworld, he should have ruled forever. Gloriana, you have your chance to rule. Do it as you see fit. Not how I would do it. Or how he would do it. I suspect you will have no problem with that because you are headstrong and stubborn,” he said.
“Thanks. I think,” I replied.
“It is most definitely a compliment, my Queen,” he smiled, as he tossed back another shot of whiskey.
