by Nico Jaye
Weariness settled into him, penetrating right to his bones. The prospect of schlepping a thousand blocks to his shithole apartment made him want to cry. The weeks he spent at Redden and Sons seemed to be getting longer and longer.
His phone chirped in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw he had received a text message from Jasper.
Need you in tomorrow. 7 a.m.
That was it.
“Fuck me,” Trick muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he dodged a dozen gray puddles on his way down Seventh Avenue.
It happened in an instant, but the scene played out in slow motion as Trick saw the man next to him step into the street. He was looking up at something, an expression of awe lighting up his face, and he was obviously unaware of the taxi barreling toward him. Trick barely had time to process what was happening, and without thinking, he leapt forward, wrapping both arms around the man’s waist and pulling him back as hard as he could.
They both toppled to the ground, the man landing on top of him, knocking the air from Trick’s lungs. His head fell back, smacking against the cold pavement of the sidewalk as the man rolled off him. Dazed, Trick took a moment to orient himself, and he realized the man was standing over him, wide blue eyes looking down at him.
“Are you all right?” the man asked, his eyebrows knit together in heavy concern. He held his hand out to help Trick to his feet.
“What the fuck were you thinking, stepping out into the street like that?” Trick spat, grabbing the man’s hand and hoisting himself up. Everything felt fuzzy, and there was a distinct throbbing in Trick’s elbow, not to mention the sudden splitting headache.
The man didn’t say a word, just looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face. It was as though he was looking through Trick. It made him uneasy.
“Fucking tourists,” Trick muttered and pulled his hand away. “Be more careful. You could have been killed.”
The man nodded, and Trick turned and walked away, more miserable than ever.
His pants were soaked from the dirty rainwater he’d fallen in, and glancing down, he noticed his jacket had been torn as well. Fan-fucking-tastic. November in New York City without a jacket would be an absolute picnic. There was no way he could afford a new one—not if he wanted to eat, anyway.
Shivering against the cold and contemplating spending the rest of the season perpetually freezing, he made his way down the litter-strewn steps to the platform of the B train and waited. That guy had been such a weirdo. Trick was ordinarily used to the strange people in the city. Most days he couldn’t get to work without walking past someone who seemed more than a little… off… but the way he’d looked at Trick was unsettling.
He couldn’t shake the strange feeling as he stepped onto the train and lowered himself into a hard, plastic orange seat, sandwiched between a woman wearing a rainbow Santa hat and a man in what appeared to be a very expensive suit.
After he’d changed trains at Columbus Circle, Trick leaned back, closing his eyes while the train sped through the tunnel, stopping every few minutes. For sixty blocks, he relaxed, relatively safe and mostly warm.
THE APARTMENT where Trick slept—because all his waking hours were spent at the office or out in the city—was little more than a closet, tucked away in one of the oldest buildings in the neighborhood. Old, in this instance, did not equate with a level of charm or character. In the case of Trick’s residence, old translated to falling apart and fit to be condemned.
But it was what Trick could afford, and at least it was a roof over his head. The walls were peeling, the radiator did not work, and it was impossible to shut the bathroom door and use the toilet at the same time without sitting sideways. Only one burner on the stove was functional. The ceiling had more water spots than actual paint, and Trick was certain the sketchy electrical system was likely to catch fire at any moment.
He closed the door behind him and locked it—three dead bolts and one reasonably sturdy-looking chain—then leaned against it as he toed off his boots, careful to keep the water contained on the tiny doormat.
What a fucking day.
But every day was like this. One shitpile after another was dumped on him. Every night when he arrived home from work, he thought about quitting. Hell, he thought about quitting almost every moment he was there. But then he thought of his father, of the business he’d built, and how he’d worked so hard to give Trick everything he ever wanted. He thought about how disappointed he would be if Trick gave up. It gave him pause, and in the end, Trick just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
His efforts and sacrifice would pay off eventually. They had to. The world wasn’t that cruel. Karma was a thing, right? People talked about it often enough. Trick had to believe that somehow the universe would even things out. Someday.
He pushed off the door and crossed the small space to the bed that was tucked in the corner. It was little more than a mattress and box spring on the floor, but it was soft, and the flannel sheets Trick had splurged on the month before had been worth it. It was a small slice of heaven in his otherwise dreary existence.
The walls were thin, and he could hear the couple next door fighting, angry words flung at one another in a language Trick had never been able to pinpoint. It was the same every night, and he often wondered why they stayed together. He mentally calculated his wages. Adding it to the total he already had, Trick determined that if he kept going, kept squirreling away what he could, one day he would have enough to buy in as partner. That was worth everything.
Chapter Two
THE LIGHTS were brilliant.
Glittering, colorful, all-consuming illumination, and it went as far as the eye could see.
Edwin walked up Broadway and looked around him. There was nothing he could do but gape at the array of brilliant lights—so many of them—and all without the aid of fairy magic.
Sure, back home in Paravale there were lights. Such magic was one of the things fairies grew up with and learned at an early age. It was simple stuff, really, that involved ensuring one would be able to see in the dark. However, an overabundance of light was usually seen as wasteful of magical resources and somewhat boastful. Really, only the castle he called his home, Felicent Palace, was the one thing lit up to this magnitude, and that was only done for fetes and celebrations.
The lights here? They were overwhelming. They were everywhere.
After a thirty-hour bus ride, Edwin had arrived yesterday with nary a clue as to what to expect.
Yes, he’d taken a bus.
It had been his first time using nonfairy transport, and it hadn’t been the most comfortable experience. With his inability to port, though, he’d had limited options. His mother had provided him with a bus ticket and given him a small piece of plastic that said “Kansas” and “Identification Card” and had his name and photo on it. Her magic was powerful—this card had allowed him passage on the bus, and he’d been on his way. She’d seen him off two days ago at a huge facility with noise and numerous mortals.
Their numbers and size, though, were nothing compared to New York City.
With little more than the name of another fairy—Frederick Inkblot, his mother had said—and a key, he’d arrived at Port Authority Bus Terminal late in the evening. Frederick was a fairy godfather Elder specializing in the New York City area. He’d done his practicum training there and had been in and out of the city as a full-fledged fairy godfather to a succession of charges for seventeen years already. Edwin would be staying with him during his visit to the mortal realm.
After meeting Frederick at the authority for ports and taking a yellow car—a taxi, according to the sign printed on its side—he and Frederick had gone to Frederick’s spacious apartment at the Pointe on West 36th Street. Edwin knew the address because it was written in the folder of information he had received earlier. Frederick’s current charge, Abigail, was in need, though, and Frederick hadn’t been able to chat long before he’d had to rescue her.
Edwin slept till
midday and caught up on his rest. Afterward, he’d awoken to an empty apartment and seen dustings of white outside. He’d read about this in Humanology.
Snow. Real snow.
Unlike Paravale, which was always temperate, the mortal realm had different temperatures and things called seasons. He’d gone outside to look and immediately had run back into the building.
Snow was cold!
Up in the apartment, Edwin prepared himself for the chilly weather, bundling up in the long gray coat his mother had insisted he wear when he’d left for New York City. Once he went outside, he saw the bright lights down the street and began to walk toward them.
He kept walking and saw carts where the aroma of food carried on the tendrils of steam that rose above them. Food being sold on the street! Edwin lost track of time as he took in the incredible sights that surrounded him and explored the fascinating city. There were shops with brightly lit displays and terrifyingly tall buildings. People of all colors and shapes were dressed in layers against the cold, and Edwin felt like he fit in wearing his own long coat.
The people. There were so many people and so many lights, Edwin was overwhelmed with the sheer brilliance of them.
He checked the street corner and saw a sign. 42nd Street. The crowds had grown denser and the lights brighter, until suddenly he was in a swarm of people. On the corner was a man elevating himself on a box, and he was entirely bronze colored. He was nearly reflective, from his bronze-colored shoes to his bronze skin, and he was as still as a statue. Edwin stared for a moment, then gasped when the man made a mechanical noise and moved.
“Magic?” he whispered.
After tossing a last look over his shoulder at the bronze man, Edwin crossed the street and made his way toward the lit-up pictures. They looked like the television set Frederick had shown him in the apartment, but they were gigantic. The size of whole buildings! Edwin drifted toward them, and his gaze caught on a moving scroll. The words raced by his eyes and he tried to keep up: “Holiday Spending Expected to Rise This Year…. Canada Next Stop on President’s Goodwill Tour….”
He took a step closer and—
“Oomph!”
Someone grabbed him from behind, strong arms encircling him in warmth, and Edwin fell backward with a shout of surprise, landing on firm muscles and a soft coat.
Blinking off the shock, Edwin shook his head rapidly and rolled to the side. He stood, intercepting the swarm of pedestrians who were sidestepping them as they blocked the sidewalk. Looking down, Edwin saw a young man with a stunned expression in his brown eyes. He was almost the same height as Edwin, but slimmer and very attractive. The water on the ground was soaking into his black coat.
“Are you all right?” Edwin asked, offering his hand to help him up.
Icy cold fingers gripped his.
With that touch came the first of Edwin’s impressions in the mortal realm.
As the stranger got to his feet, he said something, but Edwin only heard the anger in his words and not the message itself. He heard the hurt, the frustration, the dissatisfaction.
Patrick Grigsby. He hated the name, preferred to be called Trick. He was twenty-eight years old. An architect. He harbored a yearning for a man who exuded power and strength, but felt himself to be undeserving of any attention from such a man.
“This man,” a voice whispered to him. “This man is worthy.”
The impressions came fast and furious, impressions of Trick’s hard work, his drive, his passion, his desire to be more than he was now.
“Be more careful. You could have been killed.”
Edwin gave the stranger an appraising look and nodded. With a last glance, Trick turned and walked away.
The man had saved his life. In the maelstrom of ill treatment and frustration he faced in his life, Trick had nonetheless saved a stranger from certain injury.
A vehicle took the corner recklessly, almost as though to prove his point, and Edwin looked down at the curb where he had stepped into the street moments earlier.
A spot of blue against the wet sidewalk caught his eye. Edwin bent to pick it up and knew that Trick must have dropped it in the fall. Edwin bit his lip. The fall he’d caused.
With a thoughtful look at the woolen surface, Edwin decided to pocket the glove. He’d find a way to return it to the kind stranger.
And who knows? Perhaps he’d find a way to give him back so much more.
Edwin glanced around him, but the blinking lights and bustling people no longer held quite the fascination they had before—before he’d run into the stranger. He had so many questions, so many thoughts about Trick and his circumstances. Turning slowly, Edwin looked both ways before crossing back in the direction of the Pointe.
He had questions about a mortal, and with a specialist of the mortal realm at his fingertips, he might as well ask them.
WHEN EDWIN arrived back at the Pointe, he was grateful to see Frederick had returned. He was sitting in the living space with a magazine in one hand and an apple in the other, and a mug of something steamy was by his elbow on the table.
“How was your day?” Edwin asked as he shrugged out of his coat.
“Good! There were some dramatics with Abigail because she had a large presentation in her Speech class. Some fairy handholding was in order,” Frederick said with a matter-of-fact shrug.
Edwin murmured his response, feeling a pang of longing in his belly. He hoped he could one day reach that level of casualness with his fairy godfather duties.
After sitting down on the couch with a drink of his own, Edwin could no longer hold back his questions.
“How do you know, Frederick?”
Frederick set his magazine aside and looked up, chewing slowly. He swallowed a bite of his apple before asking, “Know what?”
“Know… just know. How do you know about the mortals and what they need? Or how much guidance to give them as opposed to stepping back and letting them go forward on their own?” Edwin hesitated a moment before tacking on the information he truly wanted. “How do you know which mortal to choose?”
Frederick shot a look his way, his piercing gray eyes shrewd and at odds with the languid position in which he sat in his leather recliner. “Is there something you need to know now? You’ve been here but a day.”
Edwin settled into the plush couch cushions and watched Frederick reach for his cup of tea. Grasping his own mug with both hands, Edwin let the warmth of the fragrant brew heat his palms. The flavor, Earl Grey, was floral and aromatic, reminding him of the scent that filled the air when entering Mr. Wigglesworth’s apothecary in Paravale.
After taking a sip of his tea, Frederick set his cup back down and clasped his hands together. “Edwin? What’s on your mind?”
Edwin’s thoughts flashed back to his impressions earlier that evening. Trick was young and so deserving. Despite his trying situation, Trick’s good deed toward a stranger had shown he was pure at heart.
“This evening I went outside and explored the area. I slept later than usual and did not go out till it was quite late,” Edwin confessed, a guilty smile on his face.
Frederick’s answering look was kind. “Understandable, given your arrival in the middle of the night and the less than restful mode of transportation by which you traveled.”
With a tilt of his head that acknowledged Frederick’s explanation, Edwin continued. “Well, in my wanderings, I crossed paths with a young man.”
Frederick nodded slowly. “Okay… and?”
“I’ve experienced my first impression.” The words left Edwin in a rush.
Frederick’s brows shot up. “Already?” he said, his eyes wide.
“Yes, and it was nothing like I ever imagined.”
“I’m surprised you’ve already encountered someone who’s made an impression. Surprised, but in a good way, I believe….” Frederick’s voice trailed off, leading Edwin to nod in agreement.
“A good way, yes. I think.” Edwin remembered Trick’s kindness to him, a complete
stranger, and recalled the difficulties in his life that Trick had impressed upon Edwin in that brief moment of contact. Impressions were delicate things, and not everyone who touched a fairy godparent would impress upon them. Those that did were mortals of whom said fairy godparent should take notice.
“What gives you pause, Edwin?”
“I just… is it too soon?” Edwin bit his lip, unsure of himself and his skills, limited as they were. “I’ve just arrived, and it’s not as though I know what mortals need or want. Or how to fulfill one’s every desire.”
Frederick inclined his head. “Too soon is only a matter of opinion. You’ve arrived for this purpose—to gain practical experience. Your mission here is to acquire that knowledge beyond simple theory. If this mortal is worthy, then perhaps the universe has sent him your way for a reason.”
“He is worthy,” Edwin said firmly. “But am I? Am I worthy of the task?”
“Only you can know what you’re capable of, Edwin,” Frederick said. “But also know that your limitations aren’t always as limited as you believe. You could surprise yourself.”
Could it be so? Edwin thought his shortcomings were widely known and rather well established at that point, but perhaps in this mortal realm his abilities would shine through. Maybe, even without a full set of fairy skills, he could help Trick achieve his goals.
After a moment’s deliberation, Edwin spoke. “I believe he’s the one. Trick is the mortal who will be my first charge,” Edwin said with a nod of finality. His own insecurities shouldn’t impede his desire to better Trick’s life. With his good heart and his unappreciated talents, Trick deserved someone who would support him.
“Trick?” The look on Frederick’s face was unreadable. “That’s an… unusual name.”
