by Cutter, Leah
Francine had told Papa once that she was never coming back to this school. This time, she wasn’t going to bother fighting with him. She was never coming back.
She was running away to the realm of Féerie instead.
* * *
It wasn’t hard playing sick the last couple of days of the semester. Francine’s body hurt as if she’d been hit, and she couldn’t keep any food down. The stillness of the house suited her. She spent hours in the living room on the sad old couch, looking out over the road. It grew quiet enough that she could hear the clock ticking away the time in the kitchen. The sunlight came briefly in the afternoons, but it didn’t warm her.
Francine practiced her fiddle when she could, in between napping and anticipating.
What would it be like? Uncle Rene had said they didn’t cook, but what did they eat? Would she be able to see her change more after she went with them, becoming less human looking, more animal, or something else? What kind of magical powers did they have, could she have?
What would Francine do if they didn’t want her to come with them the next time she played?
Francine spent time secretly saying goodbye. She walked in the woods behind the house, leaves crunching under her feet, certain the trees would be different on the other side, in Féerie. The old creek where she’d loved to play as a child, catching crawfish for her Papa, nearly made her cry with its babbling water and cool, still pools. She sat in the fern house, but the rustling of the leaves made her restless.
Midwinter’s Night finally arrived. Francine made a small bundle to carry with her—just the things she could wrap in an old scarf of Mama’s: her best earrings; the music from her favorite symphony; an extra shirt and a second pair of boots. Francine snuck out the window from her room. Papa hadn’t shown up that night for dinner. She didn’t know when he’d be home or when he’d notice she was gone. She imagined it might be a few days, which made her both angry and sad beyond reckoning.
The first person Francine saw when she stepped into Slim’s was her Aunt Lavine. Grimacing, Francine stepped forward, prepared to fight for her right to play that night.
“Hi, honey!” Aunt Lavine said, turning her face up for kisses. She wore one of the shirts she sold at her boutique, which proudly proclaimed American by birth. Southern by the Grace of God. Large gold hoop earrings and a matching necklace bedecked her. She was too dressed up for a casual night at the bar. Francine wondered what her aunt was up to, but she didn’t look guilty.
When Aunt Lavine saw Francine’s fiddle case, she loudly exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were playing tonight! Why didn’t you let us know?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Francine said, reaching out to close Aunt Lavine’s purse when she started searching for her phone. “It’s kind of a charity gig,” she lied.
“I understand,” Aunt Lavine said quietly. “Since you’re playing, though, the music won’t be too bad, right?”
Francine winked at her aunt. “Promise. It’ll be good enough to dance to.”
“That’s all I’m looking for,” Aunt Lavine promised. She winked back. “And maybe someone to dance with. Uncle Gilroy won’t set foot in this place. Not since last time.”
“It wasn’t that much of a fight,” Francine scoffed. Uncle Gilroy had been banned from the bar only for a month, not a whole year, unlike her cousin Walter.
“See, that’s what I told him,” Aunt Lavine said. “I said, ’Gilroy—’“
“I’m sorry,” Francine said, interrupting the latest version of a story she’d heard too many times before. “I have to go set up.” Muriel stood on the stage beckoning to her.
“All right, dear. Knock our boots off,” Aunt Lavine said, smiling up at her.
“I will. I promise,” Francine said. She paused for a moment before swiftly giving Aunt Lavine another kiss on her cheek.
“Bye. Love you. Be good.”
Then Francine wrenched herself away, making herself leave before she said something more.
* * *
Fear made Francine shake before she went onto stage. She lied, saying it was nerves, but she knew better. She didn’t know if Aunt Lavine had broken her word, if Papa would be sitting, disapproving, in the front row of tables.
Francine honestly couldn’t say if she’d prefer he found her or if he didn’t.
However, none of Francine’s other relatives waited for her.
Aunt Lavine sat with a man Francine had never seen before.
No wonder her aunt hadn’t called anyone.
The first set went quickly, the notes whirling away. Francine danced on the stage with Muriel, tossing the melody back and forth with Layton on the guitar. It was a shame, really. This band was the best human band Francine had ever played with. She told herself that she could change her mind before the end of the evening.
Pierre showed up midway through the second set. The lights hid his differences well, though Francine could see them better now that she knew what to look for. She didn’t see any of the others, though. Pierre danced once with Aunt Lavine, whirling her around the floor, winking at Francine as they passed.
“Is that your young man?” Aunt Lavine asked during the break, fanning herself and pointing toward Pierre with her chin.
“No, we…we just met,” Francine said truthfully.
“Charity gig, hmm?”
Francine looked down at her feet.
“Don’t worry about me telling anyone, sugar,” Aunt Lavine assured Francine. “Long as you’re careful. He looks like a wild one.”
“Might be that,” Francine admitted to her aunt before going over to Pierre’s table.
“Enjoying the music?” she asked, trying for casual but failing, sounding breathless instead.
“I love listening to you play,” Pierre said, smiling up at her.
“Just you tonight?”
“Yes. But we’re meeting later.” Pierre paused, then added, “Beyond the crossroads.”
“I understand,” Francine said. Beyond the human roads and in the realm of Féerie.
“Would you like to come with me?”
Francine barely heard the question she’d been anticipating for more than a week. The moment rushed up to her, the final choice upon her. She looked at Aunt Lavine, laughing with the man Francine had never met, her bright lips flashing. Her aunt had a life, a vitality, like Mama had.
But Mama was gone.
All that Francine had left was her cold and angry Papa, a school full of bullies, a life without music.
“Yes,” Francine said.
Though she whispered the word, she felt it take wings and fly out of the bar, straight into the woods.
“I’ll be waiting outside, after you finish,” Pierre said. “Take your time.”
“Thank you,” Francine said, appreciating his consideration and patience.
The rest of the evening passed faster than a turn around the dance floor. Francine played her heart out, wanting people to remember her last performance. Everyone stood up and applauded when they finished. Their tip bucket was full. More than one person asked for a CD, assuming the band had been together for a long time.
Muriel agreed to play more gigs at Slim’s before Francine could tell her not to. She felt bad leaving her friend in a lurch. She couldn’t stay any longer, though. The night called to her.
After a last set of goodbyes, wishing everyone Merry Christmas, Francine slipped out the door. A mere sliver of the moon shone down, making the night dark and the shadows thicker. She felt, rather than heard, Pierre arrive beside her.
“Are you ready?”
Francine nodded, not trusting her voice. Papa would be ashamed of her, leaving as she did, not finishing school, not trying for a different life.
But she couldn’t live her life for Papa anymore.
“This way.” Pierre walked them back toward the crossroads.
The shadows seemed heavier, thicker, making it more difficult to walk through them. The trees were strangely still, not talking to the
mselves or Francine.
In the center of the joined roads, Pierre stopped. He used both hands to sketch out a door, like a mime Francine had once seen on TV.
Only instead of a wooden door or a frame, a curtain of ivy sprang up. The leaves shone silver and green, lush against the dirt of the road.
“This isn’t the only entrance,” Pierre murmured in Francine’s ear. “But it’s the fastest, for us, tonight.”
Francine shivered at the warmth of his breath.
The way the leaves moved reminded Francine of the kudzu in Uncle Rene’s backyard. Was that a way into Féerie as well?
“After you,” Pierre said, bowing slightly.
Francine squared her shoulders. She told herself she could come back anytime, that she wouldn’t get lost in Féerie, like the stories of the other travelers there. This was what she wanted.
With a deep breath, Francine took a step forward, lifting her hands to push the leaves apart. They felt cool against her hands and moved easily out of the way.
Darkness lay before Francine. Without another word, she stepped into it.
Suddenly, Francine stood on a crossroads of small, dirt trails instead of roads. The woods crowded up close to the edges, and the clean smell of pine and juniper washed over her. Like in the human realm, only a sliver of the moon shone down on her, but its light was as bright as when the moon was full.
Francine took another deep breath. Her shoulders relaxed, though she hadn’t realized they’d been tight. It felt so right to be here, like a home she’d never seen before. She would have sworn she heard the trees whisper, “Welcome.” Cool breezes tickled her cheeks and hands.
Pierre appeared beside Francine. He’d grown taller, thin and twiggy. His hands took on a sheen like oak saplings. The extra joints in his fingers looked like knots of wood.
Francine looked at her own hands, but she didn’t see any difference.
“It’s mainly your face that changes,” Pierre told her with an amused smile. “Your eyes glow now, with your spirit. Golden and bright. And your face is longer, thinner, and more pale. I don’t see wings, but maybe your legs are longer, too. Like a crane’s.”
Francine wished for a mirror that would let her see the changes more than anything else in the world.
Pierre indicated the path they should go down, letting Francine go first, into the forest. She’d been right—the trees were different here. They grew closer together, supporting each other’s limbs. Taller, too, looking like they reached high enough to scrape the moon. They seemed both more friendly and more distant. Francine didn’t see a way to pass between the trunks, except on the path: The undergrowth sprouted too thick, and thorns the length of her palm dotted the branches.
Still, they didn’t frighten her. If the trees wanted her to pass, they’d make a path for her.
Even though everything was new, it was all familiar as well. Francine knew the woods around her house well enough to recognize the fern house, though here, it towered over her head, looking like an empty mansion instead of a shack. Despite its size, it still seemed warm and inviting to her, a place she could escape into.
When they came to the little creek, Pierre crossed first, then turned back, holding out his hands to Francine. She firmly beat down the foolish tripping of her heart as he warmly gripped her and helped her across.
Finally, they walked over a rise that Francine didn’t remember. From the ridge, they looked down onto a clearing. Music rose to greet them. Soft lights twinkled along the edges. Many figures gathered in the space between the trees. It took Francine a moment to notice that the clearing was higher than the ground around it.
If the area flooded, the clearing might be high enough ground to keep people dry.
“Would you like to meet the court?” Pierre asked. His voice had grown deeper the longer they’d been there.
“Yes,” Francine said, smiling up at him. “Please.”
Pierre offered his arm. Francine took it, marveling at how warm he felt, as well as at the smoothness of his skin. She tried not to be nervous, pushing down hard on the butterflies that had captured her stomach.
What if they didn’t like her? Would they kick her out, even though she was their blood?
As they approached, Francine got the impression that it wasn’t merely a clearing. Tall trees formed both pillars and walls, as if lining a great hall. Kudzu covered the branches, creeping down to mingle with the soft moss, steeping everything in green. Twisted bushes squatted here and there, with sparkling flowers twined through their branches, adding light to the moon shining down on them. Music streamed through the air, as thick and heavy as morning fog.
Pierre climbed the stairs to the wide, clear space, then paused beneath the arch of two trees, waiting for the music to slow and the dancers to take a break.
Francine squeezed his arm in gratitude. She needed a minute to get her bearings.
The creatures—her relatives, Francine reminded herself sternly—wore gowns stretched out with hoops and coats with long tails, like an old-fashioned royal court. Gloved hands carried fans used for flirting. Top hats extended flourished bows. Gems and glitter adorned skin, fur, and clothes, giving them an extra glow.
Francine had never felt so out of place, not even the day she’d worn a sleeveless shirt and Karyn had called her birthmark a swamp stamp.
“It’s okay, ma chérie,” Pierre whispered, covering her hand with his. “They do not expect musicians to follow the same style as they do.”
Francine bit her lip. Pierre wasn’t dressed like the rest of the court, either. His clothes still resembled what he’d worn earlier that night. Though his jeans had transformed into fitted black pants, and his sneakers into boots, his T-shirt remained the same.
Finally, she straightened her back and nodded. She did have other gifts.
Pierre smiled at Francine. At the next break in the music, he started walking forward. The moss covering the ground felt as springy as Uncle Leroy’s new shag carpeting. Dancers moved to the edges, giving them a corridor to walk through. The music started up again, but softer this time; not a dance, but a quiet conversation.
Francine could finally see the throne at the end of the hall, carved out of the stump of a tree. The back arched up on either side like giant butterfly wings, trimmed with red flowers and strings of silver beads. Braided branches made up the arms, covered in moss.
A dark African American woman dressed in all white and shining like new frost rose to greet them. Francine recognized her from her golden gator eyes.
“Queen Yvette,” Pierre said, bowing low.
Queen Yvette? Francine curtsied, very low, bowing her head to hide her shock.
“Welcome, cousin,” Queen Yvette said.
“Welcome to my realm.”
Chapter Five
When Francine looked up from the ground, Queen Yvette gave her a predatory smile, her teeth shining as whitely as her gown. All of the warnings about how perilous the Fée were came rushing back at Francine.
The creature before her was not human; none of them were.
But then again, neither was Francine, not completely.
She pulled herself up to her full height and smiled back at the queen. She’d called Francine cousin. Did that mean Francine and her papa were some type of royalty? Did Francine have some sort of position of power here?
Queen Yvette seemed pleased with Francine’s reaction.
“Pierre. You will make the introductions,” she instructed.
“Thank you, my lady,” Pierre said. He took Francine’s elbow and turned her, leading her to the side, toward the column of trees that made up the long edge of the court.
“Just follow my lead,” he whispered. “The queen has called you cousin, and put you in the care of the Master Fiddler for the court. This means you have enough potential position to matter to the court. Everyone will want to meet you.”
Pierre directed Francine to stand under the bow of a tree.
People immediately began t
o drift from the dance floor and form a line to the right of them.
Francine wondered at the jostling as ladies and gentlemen laughed and tried to cut in, stealing each other’s place.
Pierre just rolled his eyes.
“They’re all trying to pull rank, to see who gets introduced to you first.”
A spur of embarrassment went through Francine. These gorgeous ladies and gentlemen were fighting to see who talked with her? Nothing like that had ever happened to her. She’d dreamed about it: forming a famous band, writing killer songs, and starring in videos. But that would have been based on skill, talent, and hard work. Not on who she was or who her relations were.
Finally, the first lady stepped forward. She wore a gown of the brightest robin’s-egg blue. Intricate silver lacework decorated the sleeves and hem. The plunging neckline showed off her ample breasts, while the dress clung tightly to her womanly curves. She appeared mostly human, except when the light caught her skin just right, making it appear a curious gray color.
“Lady Melisandra, this is Francine Adelaide Giscard, daughter of Charles Guiscard.”
“Charmed,” Lady Melisandra said, holding out her hand.
Francine took the lady’s hand, surprised at how hotly it burned. The lady caught her eye. Something gleamed there, ancient, powerful, and alien.
Pierre nudged Francine subtly, then cast his eyes toward the ground.
Francine gave a low curtsy.
“Absolutely charmed,” Lady Melisandra repeated, smiling at Pierre. “I will be inviting y’all for some sweet tea later.”
Pierre smiled. “It would be an honor to attend your table, ma’am.”
After she moved on, Pierre leaned over to speak in Francine’s ear. “That went exactly as planned,” he murmured. “Stay on her good side.”
Francine bit back her sigh. Had Papa been right? About the politics and the cliques? Only this would be worse than high school, because she had no cousins or family to escape to.
Pierre gave Francine clues for how to treat everyone who came up. Some received a curtsy, while others got only a brief nod.
