The_Seelie_King_Kindle_Nook_Edition

by Heather Killough-Walden

  A few seconds later, she let the breath out with a whoosh and tried to inhale once more, desperate for just one breath of fresh air. She managed part of one before she passed by an alley, and the stench of something rotting hit her in the face like a warm, wet gym sock.

  She coughed, covered her mouth, and walked faster. Beads of sweat erupted on her brow. There goes the sunblock, she thought. She’d never been good with extreme temperatures, hot or cold. If she wasn’t settling in at around sixty to sixty-five degrees, she just wasn’t comfortable.

  She realized her train of thoughts was riding a negative track just then. She was behind on several of her contract works, two Kickstarter projects, a few personal paintings she’d agreed to for patients at a hospital in Minnesota, a full spectrum of images for an acquaintance creating a Dungeons and Dragons book, an author friend in need of an eye-catching cover, and a colorful portrait for another friend’s daughter’s birthday.

  She just couldn’t paint fast enough to keep up with them all. She’d dug herself a hole with her kindness, agreeing to take on too much for fear of disappointing people. No good deed, she thought bitterly.

  And the one relatively good deed she really did want to do, she simply couldn’t. Her father’s health was deteriorating, and yet her mother both refused to agree to move them back to the US, nor would she accept the help of an in-home caretaker.

  “You work too hard as it is, Selene. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were pushing yourself even more so that you could afford something like that,” her mother would tell her. “Besides, I’m in perfect health, and I can handle my husband just fine.”

  Selene’s father was going on year four of advancing Alzheimer’s, and these days, he was forgetting when he’d eaten. Selene and her sister were having a hard time keeping up with the food buying, as he would eat breakfast three times in the morning, and manage no fewer than four dinners at night – then sneak down from his room to raid the fridge in the long hours of the evening. How he kept it all down – and kept as thin as he was – was utterly beyond her. Some men were graced with inhuman metabolisms.

  Now Selene was on day four of almost no sleep, and it was beginning to hurt.

  This particular day, and its date on the calendar… didn’t make things easier on Selene.

  She shouldn’t be here, taking this break. It wasn’t like it was pleasant or rejuvenating. But some things were more important than work and deadlines. Perhaps even more important than grocery shopping for dad. Not many. Just a few.

  Selene roughly shoved her thoughts away and tried to concentrate on the sound of her boots on the pavement. They were ankle boots made by Freebird, wrapped in buckles, lace and leather, and perfect for the filmy skirt and cap-sleeved top she was wearing. The temperature was truly too hot for anything else.

  The leather soles of the boots on the pavement made a comforting sound, solid and real, steady and rhythmic. She never bought boots without soles that made that sound. She was an artist; everything was aesthetic to her.

  Right, left, right, left. She listened and tried to ease the headache away.

  Right, left, right – squish.

  Oh God, what now?

  She looked down, saw the remnants of something orange and white and mucousy around the edges of her left boot, and realized she’d either stepped in puke or discarded spaghetti.

  Her mind cried hysterically, but outwardly, she remained calm. You can wipe it off in the grass. Just get to the meadows.

  Her cell phone rang. Selene pulled herself over on the sidewalk, like a car getting out of traffic, and pulled the phone out of her cross-body purse. It was Minerva.

  “Minnie?”

  “Selene, you’re not gonna believe this.”

  “Oh god, is it dad? What happened?”

  “No, no. Dad’s fine. Well, as fine as he ever is, anyway.”

  Selene experienced a double-shot of emotions, one positive, one negative. She was glad her sister wasn’t calling with any bad news about their parents, but she knew she had to brace herself for whatever was coming. She never had good luck in England.

  “Okay, then what is it?”

  “We just got a bill for seven thousand pounds from the apartment people. Something about an advance rent?”

  “Selene’s eyes widened, her stomach turned to lead, and she inhaled sharply. Unfortunately, a smoker was passing by as she did, and she wound up coughing.

  “Selene? You okay?”

  Selene got the last of it out and nodded, as if her sister could see her. “I’m fine…. That’s bullshit though, Minnie. We don’t owe anything. We paid up for the six months in full, remember? We have the receipts to prove it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Minerva softly. She was not as willing to get angry as Selene was. She was definitely the quieter twin. Plus, making sure she never yelled kept Minerva’s singing voice in good shape. “I hope it isn’t an advance payment for the rest of the year. After that council tax and then the TV tax and then the insurance, I really don’t think I can scrape anymore money out of my debt pool for this place.”

  Tell me about it, Selene thought as she squinted her eyes and looked around. Her expression was not a pretty one, and she knew it. “We have got to talk mom and dad into coming back home with us.” Selene couldn’t figure out why her parents had wanted to stay here, of all places. If they wanted England, why not London? Selene and Minerva both adored London. People were more open-minded there! It was cleaner there! Stores were open later there! There was so much more to do there! The Natural History Museum, alone, was a two-day venture, never mind Hamleys. And there was a Chipotle there!

  Their parents’ insistence upon Oxford was a shake-the-head mystery to the both of them. Selene had to admit that the church yards were lovely, but so were many in Scotland, Ireland, and other places in England. And though the University of Oxford was quite lovely, at a distance, only those with credentials and permission were allowed into the colleges or on their grounds. So most people just had to stand outside and wonder.

  Selene was doing a lot of that lately.

  The two hung up simultaneously, and Selene continued on her way, as pissed off and uncomfortable as ever. She passed the eclectic Goth shop with the skulls, ravens, and spiked leather bracelets in the window, squeezed past four more groups of people smoking cigarettes, and crossed another alley. A coffee shop spat out warm air that condensed in the atmosphere, forming a cloud of steam at her feet. It was scented like burned bacon or sausage.

  Selene kept moving, resisting the urge to cover her hair with her hands in order to keep it from absorbing the smoke and smells. She walked past the much famed Alice Shop without giving it a second glance. Ages ago, when she’d first helped her parents relocate to Oxford, she’d stopped into the shop out of curiosity. When she saw that an artist’s silver pendant was priced at over seven hundred pounds – to her, more than a thousand bucks – she tried to high-tail it out of the store. The tiny, cramped shop was so packed with other equally curious individuals, however, Selene very quickly came understand the full definition of the term “tourist trap.” She hadn’t seen a reason to return since.

  Further past the Alice Shop on St. Aldates street came Café Loco, where they served a “Mad Hatter’s Tea,” which was actually pretty good – just not in the summer. The café lacked air conditioning, as did almost every shop in Oxford, so when the temperatures reached 85 to 95 outside, the only things suitable to drink were iced sodas. Unfortunately, almost none of the restaurants that served sodas also served ice, so it was a drinking conundrum. She’d grown accustomed to dragging very heavy and bulky bags of ice back to her flat every other day.

  Selene was a vegetarian, so the “bangers and mash” meal of so many Englanders was generally a no-go for her. However, she loved Café Loco’s whole meal bagels and cream cheese. It was her go-to snack when she was out of groceries or just too tired to cook. The people in the cafe knew her and her sister by now, and the moment e
ither of them walked in, they would get their orders going.

  Minerva also chose whole meal bagels, but with peanut butter. She just had such a hard time remembering the café’s name in conversation, she inadvertently almost always referred to it as Coco Lopez. But at this point, Selene knew what she was talking about.

  Right now, Minerva was with their parents.

  Selene needed some alone time.

  Beyond Café Loco, the shops died down and the apartment complexes and business buildings took up residence. Selene ducked into the small Sainsbury’s on the corner, purchased four bags of fifty-pence whole meal bread, and slipped back out again. But not before taking a few deep breaths of semi-clean air.

  Directly across the street from the store was the main gate for Christ Church and Christ Church Meadows. There were approximately two hundred people between her and the second gate that would lead her into the meadows. Their summer clothes, tanned bodies, and mega-short shorts made up a discordantly contrasting menagerie with the very old and weathered vine-covered buildings around them.

  Selene had actually counted the people one day out of curiosity, and landed at one hundred and eighty-three. Some days it was a little more crowded, some a little less, but always packed body to body with tourists. It wasn’t that there was any kind of a special event taking place; this was simply the line to get in to see Christ Church. And most of these people had paid reservations.

  The crowd in Oxford City Centre would remain more or less the same every single day during the Spring and Summer, and then every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for the rest of the year, rain, wind, snow, or shine. It didn’t matter. Selene had been all over the world, and she had never been in a more crowded, tourist-driven location than Oxford, England. She was flummoxed as to how they had managed to film any of the Harry Potter scenes in this location. She guessed it had to do with producing clout.

  Selene stood at the sidewalk’s edge and looked left and right, waiting for an opening or break in the traffic. Double-decker buses whizzed by at less than a foot from her face. Bicyclists dinged their bells in chaotic harmony and barely missed sidewalks, cars, buses, and pedestrians. Groups of people from Italy, China, and the US huddled, planning their tourism strategy. Oxford City Centre flowed slowly with humanity, like a river sludge.

  Selene picked her opening, ran across the street, and began winding through the bodies of those around her. As she did, she inhaled so much second-hand cigarette smoke, she began to feel as if she were suffocating.

  Her anger rose. Her patience with the constant clouds of toxicity was growing thin. She had never visited a single city on the face of the planet where the people smoked as proliferously as they did in Oxford, England. How they could do it in this heat struck her as downright derailed.

  Finally, she made it to the entrance to the long “hallway” of trees that would lead to the Thames beyond. This was less crowded. The people who walked in this area were here for either peace or exercise, or because they’d gotten lost on their way to some other tourist attraction.

  The “hallway” was a dirt and gravel path the size of a road. It was slightly uneven due to recent rains and puddles that had gathered, but it was still easy footing. On Selene’s right was a stretch of well manicured green dotted with willow trees of all sizes. They were quite lovely.

  To her left were the more naturally grassed fields upon which the Christ Church Cattle roamed and fed. They were sweet animals, imminently gentle for their massive size. Selene would always rush to Christ Church Meadows after a good wind storm in order to feed the fresh leaves from wind-fallen branches to the cattle. They were always patient, willing eaters.

  Selene admired the willow trees that dotted the meadows, enjoyed the rich green of the grass, the mild-natured Christ Church cattle, and most of all, she loved what waited at the end of the walk, when she would at last move up alongside the Thames river and pull out her bags of bread.

  Selene sighed in preemptive contentment as she reached the dirt road that ran alongside the river. Narrow boats were tied up along the river’s edges, rowing teams belted out orders to each other as they sliced their studious way down stream, and students bustled by or huddled under the oak trees with their books and philosophical discussions.

  Selene moved further down along the water’s edge until she stood alone on the bank, two bags of bread in each hand. The sun glinted off the mini-waves and ripples left by rowers. The air was heavy with impending storm. A trickle of sweat dripped down the back of her neck.

  She ignored it all and looked up.

  White shapes circled above, swooping progressively lower toward her. Selene smiled.

  Fowl of all sorts of different species inhabited the waters of the Thames. Here, in Christ Church Meadows, everything from swans to seagulls had become generationally accustomed to being fed by humans.

  This became patently obvious as the ducks that had been idly floating several hundred yards away suddenly took to the skies and then skidded to a water-skiing landing in front of Selene. The geese came next, their wing spans slightly wider and more impressive, their honking mixing with the wild quacking of the ducks. The next to come were the swans.

  It was more like watching white feathered dragons take to flight where swans were concerned. Their unfolding was an epic event, like angels being born out of floating white eggs. They flapped once, twice, their massive wings beating out ripples and waves on the river. On the third flap, they achieved lift-off, the sun hit their wings, and something grand took to the skies.

  With an awe that never waned, Selene watched the winged beasts fly in until they landed much as the ducks and geese had before them, then once more folded their glorious wings behind them.

  Next to come in were the ravens. Very, very smart birds, ravens never missed out on the opportunities that human habitation afforded. They were Selene’s second-favorite birds.

  Her first, however, were not the swans.

  Selene looked away from the ravens, who waited on the outskirts of the feathered crowd, like lurkers in the shadows, gauging and careful. She again looked up.

  The gulls were almost at eye-level now, circling, waiting, and ready. They made eye contact with her at every pass, and Selene untied the first bag of bread. She extracted a piece, tore it into quarters, and watched the next gull swoop in. She tossed it at just the right time.

  The gull caught the piece of bread in his mouth and flew on past. “That’s the way! Good job!” Another diver came in right behind him. Selene tossed the second piece up, and again it was caught in the gull’s beak. “Nicely done!” The third did the same – as did the fourth, whom Selene somehow felt was a female. “Beautiful catch, angel!” Selene exclaimed. She could have sworn the seagull’s eye twinkled at her as she soared by, rising up once again for a second pass.

  Selene found herself laughing. She hurriedly dug out a handful of bread slices, tore them into small, swallow-able pieces, and divided them as evenly as she could between the ducks, geese, and swans. Then she took several more pieces, squeezed them into slightly tighter balls, and threw them to the ravens on the outskirts. The ravens either caught them in their beaks or picked them up straight away and hopped on down the dirt path to safety.

  Once she’d tended to the grounded fowl, she returned to the seagulls, repeating her pattern of aimed throws and perfect catches followed by congratulatory praises. Every now and then, a tourist with a camera stopped and took pictures of her in action. She was used to this by now; she’d been coming here ever since her parents had relocated to Oxford four years ago. The birds knew her now… or their offspring did. It was almost as if they were her family.

  Selene’s smile slipped just a little at the thought of family. She felt a bump against her right leg and looked down. The seagull she’d been preparing to throw bread to let out an irritated squawk, but Selene’s attention was on the duck at her side.

  It was a small female duck, a runt perhaps, and unimpressive in color. But her eyes
looked directly into Selene’s, intelligent and deep. “You know all about it, don’t you Poppy?” Selene whispered. She knelt down and offered the duck her bread. “You understand.” Poppy gently took the bread from her fingers, swallowed it whole, and then bumped her head softly against Selene’s leg once more.

  Poppy had lost every one of her children to unleashed dogs the year before.

  And three years ago on this very day, unbeknownst to everyone but her and her sister, Selene Trystaine had miscarried her unborn daughter… a little girl she would have named “Moon.”

  Chapter Four

  His spirit was being ripped in two, the seams splitting one after another with each passing second. The parts of him that had been sewn together through his sovereign’s magic were coming apart.

  He’d only just arrived – stepped through the portal mere seconds ago. And yet, it was too much too soon. The fragment of his king that had been sacrificed to make him shone bright inside, pulsed heavily with power, and burned with unimaginable desire.

  This was his queen. It was most absolutely her.

  Her soul matched his own.

  This woman here, this raven-haired creature so unknowing, so unassuming and so deeply forlorn, was the woman meant to take the Seelie throne. And that knowledge was so strong, it was doing things to him that had never before been done to a knight.

  She was enormously beautiful. The occasional student who passed her by would experience a spike in their own auras; as a fae, he could see them. They all tried to look again, but without being detected by her. And if they felt they could get away with it, they watched her continuously from where they huddled with books under the trees or crouched on window seats inside their boats on the Thames.

  Her form exuded a kind of confidence and grace that was unnatural. Her hair was the same color as the wings of the dark birds that waited nearby, and its thick, layered locks shimmered as they moved around her face and down her back. She was fair, the color of porcelain or alabaster. Her eyes were more fair still, a very pale blue the shade of an arctic sea.