Indebted to Faerie

by WB McKay

  I'd had a lot of moments of dazedly looking at my life and noticing it was changing, but I hadn't really seen the full scope until this moment. I had to stop and lean against a tree; I was too overwhelmed to keep walking.

  With everything I had now, and all the things I'd done, I probably was someone other fae would consider a worthwhile target. I wasn't nobody anymore. I was Sophie Morrigan… and that meant something different than it used to.

  That didn't have to be a bad thing. There definitely were bad things, but… faces flashed through my mind, so many I would have had to stop to count them on my fingers. The old Sophie never would have been able to understand the way the bad things ceased to matter in light of all those faces. The building anxiety quieted. My heart felt full. I was going to be okay.

  Facing the problem head on, the calmness in my heart diminishing the scale of the problem, I pushed off from the tree and resumed my walk to the portal as I thought over the sequence of events once more. I'd gone through a portal, and found an Orani who wanted to kill me. That was unusual, only in that I'd stumbled into them. The Orani wanting me dead was to be expected. And at this point, I really had no way of knowing how big of an issue that really was. The more immediate problem was that I'd run into that Orani at all.

  I couldn't really believe it was a coincidence the portal had just happened to deliver me in the middle of that mob. They'd been surprised to see me, so they hadn't known I was coming. But The Morrigan had. She'd sent me there. She didn't want me killed, so she'd sent me there… to make them angrier? To get me to kill more people? There was no guessing her motives, really, but it meant I needed to be more careful trusting her. I should have been on alert traveling through Faerie anyway, but definitely when The Morrigan sent me somewhere. Trusting The Morrigan was a bad idea, obviously. Complacency would get me killed. Whether that was due to The Morrigan, the Orani, or just the everyday dangers of Faerie itself, there was no telling.

  The anxiety came back, a quiet buzzing now. Things were just so… messy. But I could handle this. Hell, the fact that I'd been successfully handling big things was why I was there. I was a person who could handle things like this. Realistically, the Orani weren't likely to leave Faerie en masse to get me. This was only an issue because I was there and now they knew it. Once I finished up the job for The Morrigan and got back home, things would blow over in time. And if they didn't, I'd deal with that then. Apparently, that was what I did.

  Shaking off the heaviness of all that thinking, I refocused on my present surroundings. Things were quiet. That wouldn't last. Best to get a move on. I approached the portal carefully, not wanting a repeat performance. I couldn't see what was on the other side, so staring at it did no good. I took a deep breath and stepped through.

  A scooter zipped by me close enough to ruffle my feathers. I stepped back and twisted my ankle in a hole in the sidewalk large enough to lose a small cat in. The stench of horse manure and urine blasted me in the face. People brushed by me at a frantic pace, on their way to stalls of fruits and vegetables..

  "What the hell?" I asked, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

  Two seconds later, there were five fae I didn't recognize offering help.

  "First time in Mellosh?"

  "Hotel?"

  "Sunglasses?"

  It was an assault of a completely different kind than the last portal, and just as discombobulating. I pushed past them, muttering "no" repeatedly. Several of them followed, but I lost them after turning down a few crowded streets, eventually finding myself alone in an empty alley.

  I took several deep breaths while waiting for my pulse to slow. Almost getting killed by an angry mob? That barely warranted any nerves. If it weren't for the wider implications, that wouldn't have registered on my list of crappy things for the day. But, stepping into a narrow street thronging with people? That got my heart beating like it wanted to jump out of my chest. Surprisingly, I found myself grinning.

  Slowly, I made my way back to the thrumming center of commerce and watched from a relatively calm side street People ran this way and that. Shouts filled the streets, but not in anger. This was their daily life. It was utter chaos, but in the most beautiful way. There was so much energy. Just watching it made me feel alive.

  I waded into the crowds and followed the directions I had—or at least, I tried to. The directions were almost useless, and every time I pulled the paper out I was accosted by someone offering to show me where to go.

  I ignored them, my firm resolve to be independent holding strong. For the first few hours. By then, I was wandering aimlessly through the winding, cavernous streets, hoping for a solution to appear, slowly spiraling into despondency.

  My stomach rumbled when I passed a restaurant serving unfamiliar spiced meat and vegetables straight from a grill out front. They didn't speak English, or have an enchantment that allowed them to understand me as many Fae did, but the limited options made communication easy. My three dollars or whatever they were called, bought me a plate so huge I didn't think I'd be able to finish. I smiled my thanks and sat at one of the open air tables to watch people zip by.

  At first I picked at the meat pessimistically. It had looked better when it was on the grill, but the smell was still good. I took a tiny, experimental bite and about died. It had to be on my top ten list of best things I'd ever tasted. I finished the huge mound of food in record time.

  Leaning back in my chair, I let out a contented sigh. Things looked so much brighter on a full stomach. I watched a couple of other patrons until I figured out that my dirty plate went in a bin off to one side, and headed back out into the throng.

  With a full belly and a better attitude, I made some headway with the directions I'd been given. The streets weren't marked, but most of the businesses were quite obviously named after the streets they were on. Within twenty minutes, I knew I was at the final street corner in my directions.

  Unfortunately, it was the busiest corner in the world, and all I had was the shop name to go on from there. There had to be a dozen shops within the first hundred feet in each direction on the main roads, and there were a couple of alleys off of those. The instructions were ambiguous enough that it could have been anywhere in the vicinity.

  I went one by one, reading sign after sign in a dozen different languages, some of them human, some of them fae. It took me a half hour, and when I got back to my starting point, I was certain I'd checked them all. The dressmaker was nowhere to be found.

  That's when I noticed the zipper on my bag. It was hanging wide open. "Damn, I didn't even notice anything." I rifled through the bag and found that the little cash I had left was gone. "That was smooth," I said, more in admiration than anything.

  I stood and watched the crowd as it went along, trying to see if I could spot a pickpocket. It took about fifteen minutes before I ever noticed one. There was only a slight hunch to his shoulder as he dug through pockets that gave him away. I couldn't tell what type of fae he was. His feet were hooved, which made me think faun. Then I saw his face and noticed the green skin. Not one I was familiar with. The more I looked around, the more I realized I didn't recognize most of the fae represented in Mellosh. I guess there really was a divide between Seelie and Unseelie. I wondered if that was what The Morrigan had sent me here to prove. It was possible that she'd even known I would get lost; she could have given me better directions if she'd wanted to. "She wins this one, I guess," I mumbled to myself. Seelie and Unseelie were a bit different, there weren't many in Volarus, and Unseelie did favor a life of chaos. The things she'd told me were mostly true. I don't know what she thought I was going to make of that, though.

  I pulled out her note again, hoping against hope that I'd missed a clue on the page somewhere.

  "Where?"

  I startled at the person standing much closer than was polite. Here I am, judging someone else's manners. "Madame Zelia's Clothier," I answered, showing him the words on the paper in case he could understand the writ
ing better.

  He nodded and took off instantly, pausing only long enough to make sure I was following. He went about twenty feet and pointed at a door with an engraved sign on it that held the name of the shop I was looking for. I stepped back and looked up at the storefront. Nothing on the side of the building indicated the shop was there, just the sign on the door. I'd been standing twenty feet away from my destination a dozen times over the last hour. "I appreciate the help," I said, and pressed the buzzer when the door didn't open.

  The man stood there, holding out his hand. "Something," he said, his eyebrows raised. "For help." He mimed pulling something out of his pocket and putting it in his hand.

  "I don't have anything," I said. "My money was stolen."

  The expression on the man's pale face turned dark. Lips peeled back over pointed teeth. He let out a wicked hiss. "You owe me. I did you a favor!"

  I sputtered, trying to find words to express my incredulousness. He'd walked me twenty feet. "There's a system," I told him. "I didn't ask you for your help. We didn't make a deal. This wasn't a favor."

  Thankfully, the door to the shop opened and a young woman peered out. When she looked me over, she gave me a smile. "You're earlier than I expected."

  I started to say that I didn't have an appointment, but she'd just noticed the pale young man. He was scratching a pointed ear and leveling a glare at me.

  The woman looked from me to him, understood the situation and went off on the man in an enraged tirade that sounded like it had to be filled with curse words. I would have loved to be able to understand her words. The man only put up a half-hearted argument before slinking away with his shoulders hunched.

  "Please, come in, Mistress. It's not every day I have The Morrigan in my shop."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The smell of magic and incense filled my nose, eliciting a sneeze. The space was cramped, filled to bursting with fabrics of every shade and texture, dress forms, and mirrors.

  The shop, like everything in Mellosh, was completely overwhelming in the best ways.

  The woman had disappeared into the maze. I assumed she was Madame Zelia, and since she'd assumed I was The Morrigan, I wasn't worried about her coming back for me. It wasn't likely anyone would forget they had left The Morrigan in the entrance to their store. I scanned the merchandise, searching for a pattern in the way things were organized and finding none.

  A small hand popped out between large bolts of fabric.

  "Please, come back here so we can begin the fitting."

  I pushed my way around her wares, feeling like a bull in a china shop. Twice I had to stop and right something that began to tip. Whether they were avant-garde dresses, or just lumps of fabric, I had no idea.

  When I ducked through the opening where I saw the hand, I found myself in a relatively empty space. It was occupied only by a pedestal in the middle, a small stool, and a half dozen mirrors pointed toward the center of the room. It was still small, but I felt like I could breathe.

  "Madame Zelia?" I asked.

  The petite woman's dark features pinched, her red eyes dimming. "You're not The Morrigan." Her eyes skimmed up and down my frame. "Though you look much like her. I should have known when I saw the crown. She was never one for such affectation." She reached up and cupped my chin in her hand, turning my head from side to side. "Also, your jaw is different."

  Normally I would have slapped away such a familiar touch from a stranger, but she was too impersonal and professional and I was put oddly at ease. "My name is Sophie Morrigan."

  "Ah, so you're the one everyone is atwitter about," she said, her gaze turning shrewd. "You wear the Golden Fleece." She tapped her ash gray chin thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to take it off?" She looked me up and down, glancing from each body part to the clipboard in her hand. "You are about the same size, and your magic tastes similar enough. I won't have to do too many alterations."

  "Um," I said, struggling to figure out what issue to address first. I decided to clear up the reason she seemed to be expecting The Morrigan. "The Morrigan's instructions didn't indicate that she had already commissioned a dress."

  Zelia absently waved a hand in the air next to her head. "Aengus commissioned my work. I requested he send me The Morrigan. I assume this means you didn't know about my design? If you want something different, I'll have to start from scratch and you'll need to return in two days for the fitting and final touches."

  Well, that was interesting. Aengus had commissioned a costume for The Morrigan. I wondered if that was before or after her flat refusal to go to the ball with him. He seemed desperate enough that either was a distinct possibility. Either way, me showing up in her costume would likely dial up the tension between them. In fact, if enough people mistook me for her, it might make things even more frustrating for her the next time he saw her. "I'll take the one Aengus ordered."

  "Wonderful," replied Zelia, looking down at her clipboard. "Do you want to see the design before I commit to it?"

  "Nah," I said. "Let's have it be a surprise." I didn't want to give myself a chance to change my mind. Waiting the two days for a new design would be cutting it too close to the ball. Plus there were all those benefits of it irritating The Morrigan. "Let's get to work. What do you need me to do?"

  My part of the fitting and final touches consisted of standing very still on the pedestal while Zelia walked around me, fussing over small details that nobody but her would ever notice.

  She tested my patience like it was her whole job, and sometimes, I thought it must be. There was no other explanation for the way she'd move something, then ten different changes later, move it back. I kept my mouth shut, though, and I only growled a couple times.

  At one point, she gestured to Haiku on my hip, and Epic on my back, and asked, "Will you be wearing these to the ball?"

  "Hell yes," I told her. "Where I go, they go."

  I'd prepared myself for an argument, I thought her tone had been judgy, but she simply got to work on making them fit. I took that as a sign the other guests would also be armed.

  The costume wasn't bad. From what I could tell, it was like a one piece bathing suit with about a million yards of fabric attached to the back. I didn't understand it, but it wasn't bad. On the upside, it didn't hinder my range of motion too much. If I needed to run or fight, I should be good. I couldn't ask for more than that.

  When it came to fitting the mask, Zelia made about a dozen small huffing noises and stepped back with her small, gray fist pressed to her pale red lips. "This just won't do."

  "I can take off the Fleece, and we can see what happens," I said.

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. "That would be great."

  I shrugged. "Don't get your hopes up. It's probably going to pop back onto my head and knock the mask askew."

  I gripped the cool gold in my hand and pulled it off, taking care not to pull out half my hair with it. My head suddenly felt very light. It had been a while since I'd taken the thing off. I even slept and showered with it on; there was no point in trying to do otherwise. It always came back.

  Zelia let out a small sigh as she adjusted the mask. Satin lightly pressed against my face. Now that the crown was out of the way, it settled perfectly and disappeared from the edges of my vision. "I can see better now. I wasn't sure how you wanted me to walk around a ballroom with the way it was before."

  Zelia nodded distractedly, her hand reaching up to tweak the mask. "There, that's perfect."

  I spun slowly, looking in the mirrors around me. I still didn't get it. Maybe it was one of those artsy things that everyone stares at thoughtfully, sees nothing, and then proceeds to talk about the colors. "I like the shades of orangey-red, and the white flecks."

  It was Zelia's turn to shrug. "It looks beautiful as it is, but what you are seeing currently is all practicality. We are making sure you can move and aren't exposed." She said it like someone that was very tired of dealing with the limitations of the body. "Now," she took a deep
breath, "it's time to see the artistry."

  She looked at me expectantly.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Say the trigger word."

  I quirked a brow. "Trigger word?"

  "To activate the magic in the costume." Zelia now looked like someone that was very tired of dealing with the limitations of my knowledge. "Can't you guess what the word is?"

  My lip curled up. "Do your customers usually enjoy being made to guess?"

  "I don't live in their heads, so I don't know," she said. "It's a sign of weakness to reply to a question with a question. Did you know that, earthling?"

  I narrowed my eyes, and she gave me another expectant look. Fine. I was supposed to guess. Trigger word for the dress, whatever that meant. I decided to do one slow turn, looking in each mirror, figuring that learning more about the dress was the first step. It wasn't until I looked at myself in profile that I saw it. The colors, bunched at my back. Orangey-red, black, with flecks of white. Something protruded from the top of my mask. Antennae. "I'm a monarch butterfly."

  Then I was enveloped in the magic of transformation. It wasn't anything like my shifts to crow or my winged human form. The change was slow, and deliberately flashy. Flares of light danced across my back as the fabric unfurled into massive butterfly wings. The sparkly black bathing suit portion rippled and my body disappeared from view, replaced by the shining black body of an insect.

  I spun slowly. There was no sign of Sophie. I was a butterfly. "Wow," I said, real appreciation in my voice. I couldn't see my own mouth move in the mirror. "This is amazing."

  "It works," said Zelia. She pulled on something around my legs. "When people ask you who made it, remember my name is Zelia. Also, the trigger word is 'monarch'."

  I nodded, and the butterfly in the mirror twitched.

  Just then, the Fleece appeared in my hand. "What do you expect me to do with you?" I asked it. In response, the crown broke apart; the golden feathers floated in the air, shifting in color until they were a bright silver. As if for effect, they floated about the room before settling onto the body of the butterfly over the flecks of white, giving them just a touch more shine. They looked like they must have always been part of the design.