by Sean Cullen
He heard a voice whispering his name. The voice was soft, insistent, and hypnotic.
Breandan.
Breandan.
I am waiting.
Breandan.
“Brendan!”
The voice was suddenly loud. Brendan came to his senses to find that he had climbed over the little fence surrounding the black rock and had laid his bare hands on its rough surface.
“Hey, Brendan!” His father stood on the sidewalk looking at him, concern plain on his face. “Are you okay?”
Brendan dropped his hands to his sides, embarrassed and confused. He didn’t remember climbing the fence and approaching the stone.
“Hi, Dad,” he said lamely, stepping back onto the sidewalk. “Where are you coming from?”
“Work. They called me in to cover a shift at the cafe. And I had to pick up some stuff your mother ordered.” He held up a couple of shopping bags. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Brendan again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Brendan said. “I was, uh… I just thought I saw some graffiti tags on that rock. But it wasn’t anything. Just a shadow.” He smiled lamely.
“Oh, okay,” his father said slowly. “That’s good. All right, then, shall we go home and see what’s for dinner?”
“Sure!”
Dinner was sloppy joes and homemade french fries, Brendan’s favourite. There was also a big salad, since his mother always forced him to eat at least one plate of greens as well. He demolished two joes in short order, suddenly famished. He still felt weird after his latest encounter with the Snoring Rock. He guessed he had to call it the Talking Rock now. He pondered the experience while he ate, his mum and dad chatting happily about their days.
Toward the end of the meal, he noticed that Dee was quieter than usual. He kept catching her looking at him.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” she sneered.
“Then stop looking at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Good!”
“Good!”
“Wow,” his father laughed. “Some siblings have trouble communicating, but you two are so in sync. It’s heartwarming.”
“Time to decorate the tree!” His mother was eager to defuse any brother-sister meltdown. “Let’s get to it.”
The next hour was spent re-enacting a ritual that occurred every year. His father would string the lights and mildly curse when he couldn’t find the one bulb that was burnt out and keeping the whole string from shining. Then there was the argument over tinsel placement: throw or drape carefully. Then taking the ornaments out of the boxes, finding which ones had broken and which were just too plain ugly to use this year and should be retired.
Finally, all that was left was the star on the top. His mother climbed the ladder and placed the antique silver star that had been in her family for generations on the spindly top bough of the blue spruce. The star meant a lot to his mother. The year before his grandmother had passed away, she’d handed it down to his mum. His mother and his father had no living parents, so any token that reminded them of those who were gone was special.
His mother was just climbing down the ladder, helped by his father, when the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” she asked.
“Beats me.” His father shrugged. “Are you expecting anyone, Dee?”
“No.” Delia shook her head.
“Brendan?”
Brendan shook his head. The bell rang again.
“Well, I know one way to find out who’s at the door.” Brendan’s father pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to open it. Don’t try and stop me.”
Brendan followed his father down the hall to the front door. After peeking through the curtains that shrouded the tiny window in the top of the door, Brendan’s father grasped the handle and swung it open.
Brendan’s heart sank. Standing on the front porch in the glow of the porch light was Charles. She was the picture of thin teenage waif in ragged jeans and a Clash T-shirt. An oversized leather jacket draped her shoulders. She carried a backpack encrusted with patches and band buttons, held together with safety pins. Seeing Brendan’s father, she grinned shyly, completing the helpless persona.
“Allo,” she said, affecting a heavy Quebecois accent. “Is Brendan at ’ome?”
“You’re in luck. He’s right behind me,” Brendan’s father said. He stepped aside to reveal Brendan, whose face was a mask of shock.
“I ’ope you don’t mind my just coming over but I was passing by,” the girl said shyly.
“Who’s this, Brendan?” said his mother, coming out of the living room.
“She? Uh… ” Brendan stammered. “Uh… ”
The girl laughed prettily. “I can’t believe Brendan ’asn’t mentioned me. My name is Charlie Lutine.”
Getting over his shock, Brendan felt anger bubble up in his stomach. This was way out of bounds! This was breaking all the rules!
Brendan’s mum raised an eyebrow at Brendan. “I’m sure he was working up the courage to introduce us to his new girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Brendan’s dad was beaming. “Well, isn’t this nice?”
Brendan’s jaw dropped. Girlfriend? His heart sank. His conversation with his mum had backfired. He tried to think of a way out but he was stuck.
“You should have called,” Brendan said, trying to hide his fury with a light tone.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly. “My cellphone, she die an hour ago. Like I said, I was ’oping to surprise you.”
“Oh, it’s a surprise all right,” Brendan muttered between gritted teeth.
Delia shouldered her way between her parents. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Charlie,” the girl said with a smile. “You must be Delia. Brendan’s told me a lot about you.”
Delia managed to look disgusted, surprised, and suspicious all at the same time. “He has?”
“Oh, yes!” Charlie assured her. Then she shivered theatrically.
Brendan’s father practically leapt to take her arm and draw her into the house. “Come in out of the cold. We’ll make you some tea.”
Brendan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was stand by helplessly as his parents ushered the girl into his home.
^ 29 Being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan can now be used as a mental disability claim and a legal defence.
HOME INVASION
Half an hour later, the Clairs were sitting around the kitchen table watching their visitor devour leftover sloppy joes.
For such a scrawny little runt, she can sure put it away, Brendan thought bitterly, watching his alleged girlfriend mopping her plate with a piece of thick white bread. He had no idea how he was going to get her out of the house. She was playing the part of the new girlfriend meeting the parents to a T. One sure way to get into his mother’s good books was to show a healthy appreciation for her cooking. Charlie didn’t demur when offered something to eat and even asked for seconds, making her a superstar in his mum’s eyes. Brendan watched, despairing, as his mother made sure the girl didn’t run out of food. His father was conducting a mild interrogation, but Brendan could tell that he was utterly charmed as well. The only one who looked unconvinced was Delia, who leaned in the doorway watching with intense interest, like a hawk examining a mouse in an open field.
“So how did you meet Brendan? At school?” his dad asked.
“Mais oui.” She stopped chewing long enough to grin at Brendan. “I ’ave just moved to the area, and Brendan was kind enough to show me around.”
Brendan glowered back. What a barefaced liar! he wanted to shout in her face, but instead he just smiled, choking back his anger.
“He hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Dad said. “I would’ve thought he’d want to let everyone know he had a girl as pretty as you.”
“Oh, come on,” Charlie said, blushing.
“I had an inkling something was up.” Mum smiled knowingly. “He was
probably just embarrassed.”
Brendan kept a straight face but inside he was seething. He wanted to yell at her, Who are you, really? What are you doing in my family’s house? Get out of here!
Instead, he bit his tongue and listened as his father asked her: “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“Montreal,” she said, finally pushing back her plate. “My father is in banking. ’E was transferred.”
“I’m sure Charlie has to get going,” Brendan said, looking to move her along. He just wanted to get her out of the house before she said something that didn’t ring true for his parents. “I’ll walk you to the streetcar.”
“Brendan.” His mother glared at him. “You’d think you didn’t want us to get to know her. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“So, what are you into?” Brendan’s father asked, offering the girl a chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like music?”
She took a cookie. After popping a piece into her mouth she shrugged. “I like the music, me. I play the guitar and sing. I like busking in the street sometimes.”
“You busk?”^ 30 Brendan’s father’s eyes lit up. He loved performers like himself. “Are you any good?”
“I like to think so.” She grinned at Brendan.
“We have to jam sometime. I’ve tried to interest Brendan in music but it’s really not his thing.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said flatly, annoyed that his father would volunteer personal information.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, with a wink at Brendan. “Brendan ’as a lot of ’idden talents. ’E could surprise you.”
“He already has.” Mum laughed, punching Brendan’s arm lightly. “We had no idea he had a girlfriend.”
“It’s not like that,” Brendan groaned. “We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Then, my son,” Dad said, shaking his head, “that only proves what I’ve thought all along: you’re crazy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said. “I appreciate your support.”
“I’m just saying,” Mr. Clair laughed. “If I had a girl this cute, I’d be bragging to everybody!”
“Edward,” his mother warned.
“I’m just saying!”
“Brendan,” Charlie said, giggling before he could respond, “I never imagined you ’ad such a nice family.” Brendan could tell this act of hers was working on his parents. They’d been so worried about him since they’d told him he was adopted. Finding a girlfriend would be a good sign that he was a “normal” teenage boy and not suffering some secret pain. Whoever this Faerie named Charles actually was, she was playing his parents like a violin. And that accent! She was really laying it on thick. How could anybody be fooled by it? It was up to Brendan to get her out of the house before she could cause any trouble or expose his secret. Every second she stayed was fraught with disaster.
How am I going to get rid of her? Brendan wondered.
While she chatted amiably with his parents, Brendan had time to study her more closely. She was pale of skin, like him. She had dark hair, but he couldn’t tell if her colour was natural or the result of dyes or even Faerie glamours. Her eyes were violet, lustrous, and deep. Brendan found it hard to tear his eyes from hers when she chose to hold his gaze.
If Brendan had to categorize her appearance, he would have put her in the goth/punk genre. Her hair was streaked with green and held up in a spiky mass by gel or mousse, or perhaps by Faerie means. Several silver earrings studded her ears, and her nose had a ring through one nostril. Tattoos of animals chased each other up and down her arms: stylized boars, stags, eagles, peacocks, serpents, and many others Brendan couldn’t identify. A charm bracelet dripping with skulls, pentacles, and various obscure symbols jingled on her wrist. Her eye makeup, thick black liner and green eyeshadow, hovered somewhere between Egyptian goddess and circus clown.
Brendan decided to go on the offensive. “Charlie, I don’t want to rush you, but my parents have a lot of stuff to do tonight and I have to get up early tomorrow so… ”
“Brendan!” his mother scolded. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“I have a social studies project due the end of the week!”
“Brendan… ” his father began, but Charlie interrupted him.
“Brendan is right, certainement. I ’ave also to be going.” She stood up. “I ’ope I ’aven’t imposed?”
“Never!” Brendan’s dad was on his feet in an instant, taking her hand and grasping it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Clair assured her. “But you have to come back for a proper dinner sometime soon. Not leftovers.”
“If this is the leftover, I don’t want to miss a real meal!” Charlie laughed.
“Where do you live?” Delia said suddenly. She’d been quiet the whole time, watching from the doorway as Charlie worked her magic.
“Pardon?”
“I said,” Delia enunciated slowly and clearly as though she were talking to a child or an idiot. “Where… do… you live?”
“Oh… ” Charlie stumbled for the first time. “I don’t know the city so well. It’s um… in the West End… ”
“Trinity Bellwoods.” Brendan found himself jumping to the rescue. He didn’t know why he was bailing out this interloper, but he saw the look in Delia’s eye. He had a sudden fear that allowing Delia to look too deeply might be just as dangerous for him and his secret as letting Charlie outstay her welcome. “They have a townhouse right on the park.”
Delia narrowed her eyes and nodded. “How nice for you,” she said a little snottily. Without another word, she turned and went up the stairs and didn’t look back.
“Don’t mind our Delia,” Dad said apologetically. “She isn’t big on the social graces.”
Brendan took the opportunity to get Charlie out of the house. “I’ll walk you home.”
He had to make a big show of politely taking her arm as they left his parents standing waving on the porch. As soon as they were around the corner and out of sight, he dropped the facade.
“What’s the big idea?” Brendan spat.
“Such a nice family you ’ave. Even if they are Humans.” She sounded sad. Brendan wondered why. “You’re very lucky to ’ave a family. I think they like me, too.”
“Don’t get too attached to them,” Brendan said flatly. “You won’t be seeing them again.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about relationships,” Charlie said. “You should’ve dumped me before I met the parents.”
“Just cut it out, will you?”
“You won’t be getting rid of me so easily.” She grinned.
“I don’t want you coming around again,” Brendan snapped. “You have no business coming to my home. The place is off limits to your kind.”
“My kind? And what are you, mon ami? You are just like me. Are you gonna kick yourself out, aussi?”
Brendan pointed an angry finger at her. “And you can cut out the crappy accent, all right? You’re about as Quebecois as I am.”
Charlie quirked the corner of her mouth in a half smile. When she spoke again, all traces of an accent were gone. “Okay. Have it your way. For your information, I am from la belle province. I’m what the French Canadians call a lutin.^ 31 I really did come here from Montreal. Ever been, mon ami? It’s fun. Not like tight-assed Toronto.”^ 32
“No, I’ve never been to Montreal,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind if you just went back there right now. Besides, Toronto is awesome if you get to know it. But never mind. You can cut the girlfriend crap, okay?”
“That’s your fault. If you had made if easier, I wouldn’t have had to resort to drastic measures,” Charlie said heatedly.
“Fine! Tell me then. What are you really doing here?”
Charlie didn’t speak for a moment. They had just entered the park at the foot of Brendan’s street. She spread her arms and took a deep breath. Exhaling in a frigid cloud, she looked up at the sky. “I don’t really like cities. No
stars!” She waited for a couple of joggers to pass them on the path before addressing Brendan’s question. “I’m here for the Clan Gathering. As for why I am coming to your house, I just wanted to get a look at the strange Faerie Prince who’d rather live with Humans than with his own kind.”
“Well, you’ve seen me, so get lost!”
“Not so fast.” Charlie smiled, watching the runners huff away into the night. “I kind of like it here. It’s nice to see how the other half lives.”
“You aren’t welcome here,” Brendan growled. “I’m warning you: you’d better stay away or… else.” Brendan clenched his fists and took a step toward her.
She laughed her infuriating laugh. “First of all, I really doubt you could make me do anything. Second, if you try, I’ll tell your parents your little secret. Understand?”
“I’m warning you… ”
She stood up so swiftly that Brendan barely saw her move. “NO! I’m warning you!” She raised her arms.
The tattooed animals on her arms stirred and came to life, one by one. The creatures leapt from her skin, swelling in size as they fell to the ground, growing until they ranged before her, dark, shaggy, and steaming in the cold night air. There was a wild boar with wet nostrils and razor-sharp tusks, its massive shoulders hunching as it leaned toward Brendan. Beside the boar stood a stag, its antlers almost tangling in the branches of a tree overhead. Finally, a bear reared up on its muscular haunches, pawing the air with massive claws. All three of the tattoo creatures were an inky, featureless black.
The animals crowded around Brendan, looming over him and forcing him to backpedal until his back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He felt their moist, hot breath gusting in his face. The most terrifying feature of the beasts was their eyes. They had no pupils or corneas. Their entire orbs glowed a fierce ruby red. Brendan stole a look at Charlie and saw her eyes blazing with the same eerie crimson. She saw him looking at her and smiled. In her arms she held a black animal with a long, sinewy body, short legs, and a pointy, quivering nose. Its eyes were as bright and red as blood.
