by Jeffrey Cook
Megan shook her head. "I can't. I'm going to have enough trouble just convincing my Mom to let me go to the Fremont Fair with you. No way could I explain asking a boy out. You know how she gets."
As Lani was about to respond, Justin returned with their lunch. Megan shifted the topic, and the half-menehune, the 14th-Century knight, and the Princess of the Unseelie Court talked over food, even managing to touch on subjects of a completely non-magical, non-historic, but non-dating nature. Justin refused to touch the mozzarella sticks until he'd cleared his plate.
Once everyone was done eating, they filed out, Justin getting the door with his usual way of looking around like they might be attacked at any moment. After all they'd been through in the Fall semester, Megan couldn't completely blame him. Then he took the back seat of Space Ship! after politely helping Megan into the front. The car, ostensibly a '92 Chevy but a little something special after being a father-daughter project for a menehune family, took off smoother than outsiders might expect, and soon they dropped Megan off back home at the plain, off-white house in West Seattle.
Chapter 3: Green Pills
Megan came home to find her mother staring at a piece of paper: a report card.
“It's in?” Megan said. “Awesome.”
Sheila O'Reilly blinked at her arrival. “Maybe we should get you tutoring?” her mother said, staring somehow distantly at the paper.
It was Megan's turn to blink. “Mom, it's Summer. And I already have tutoring. It's called Lani.”
“Is everything okay with your medication?”
“Yes. I've been taking it just right.” Of course, the right amount of ADHD medication was, admittedly, different than the amount her mother had convinced herself Megan should be taking, which had left Megan's life in a haze until Lani had forced a secret readjustment. Yet another thing in her life her mother didn't know.
Her mother gestured with the report card. “B in Math, B- in Chemistry.”
“All right!” Megan had almost been worried for a minute there, by her mother's concerned, blinking reaction. “B in this case stands for 'Bow before me, O synthetic division.'”
“I thought you were doing well.”
“I did do well. I finally managed to get synthetic division to work at all. And look, GPA's the best I've ever had.” Megan pointed as she stepped beside her mother. This was an accomplishment. This was great. And despite knowing better, Megan couldn't help looking at her mother, waiting for the realization that she could be happy. It never came.
“Yes.” Sheila O'Reilly sighed. “If one factors in...” her mother almost had to take a breath to say it. “Music Appreciation and Art.”
“Yep. I got my plus back in Art.” Having briefly lost it during her overmedicated phase had been embarrassing.
“And if you were just planning on art school, there'd be nothing to worry about.”
Art school was, indeed, one of the things Megan was planning. But every time she tried to mention it, there was this strange, brittle look in her mother's eyes, somewhere between confusion, concern, and pain.
“Still, not bad, right?”
“...No,” her mother said. “Not bad. I'm sure there's something we can do, though. You know I want to help.”
“I know.” Megan certainly knew. Aside from professional concerns, helping was the only thing her mother managed any interest in doing. “Work okay?”
“Work is fine.”
Megan managed to deflect some more questions regarding her grades, scholarships, and Summer tutors, partly by helping noisily with dinner preparations. She was proud of her report card after the struggles she'd had, and especially with trying to learn magic from Ashling on the side all the while. Her mother stopped fretting enough to get food served and to take out the bottle of green pills to take with the meal. Megan wondered, as she had many times these past months, how well those worked for people whose conditions had nothing to do with being 'fae-touched.' Better, probably.
They ate quietly for a little bit, before Megan's thoughts wandered back to the Fair—and to Cassia's band. The satyress had cheerfully announced that Sax & Violins would be playing her neighborhood's Event of the Season. That took Megan to considering some of the CDs in her mother's box of keepsakes in her closet.
“Hey, Mom, when I was a baby or before I was born...” Megan tried to keep her deeper breath unnoticeable. “...did you ever play the Fremont Solstice Fair?”
And there it was: that bright, brittle look in her mother's eyes at having to wrap her mind around acknowledging the fact of her former music career.
“Yeah,” Sheila O'Reilly said quietly. “I did stuff like that then.” And the edge of fear in the look got a little stronger. “You said those voice lessons were just so you could join the school choir.”
“Yeah, they were,” Megan said quickly. “I was just curious, Mom. I promise.”
Her mother breathed. “Why were you curious?”
“Was thinking of going to the fair with the Kahales. Just to watch and eat the food and hang with Lani. The whole family's going. Well, except Mr. K. He's out of town again for work.” Out of this facet of reality, technically, but as far as Megan's mother knew, Lani's father was human. Of course, as far as Megan's mother knew, Megan's father had been human.
“If Mrs. Kahale takes you, that's reasonable,” Sheila O'Reilly agreed as she looked at her watch and picked up the computer bag by her chair to take out her laptop.
“It's 7:30,” she said simply, and Megan needed no other explanation. Wednesday evenings at 7:30, her mother took an hour to clear out her spam folder—after carefully checking any work-based e-mails. Plenty of the live music events that Sheila helped administrate, but never attended, had near-last-minute changes or questions, making Wednesdays and Thursdays busy days.
Once the dishes were cleaned, Megan headed back towards her room, but then detoured. Knowing that her mother would be occupied for some time, Megan quietly headed for her mother's room, and the box of keepsakes hidden there. It was precisely as Megan had left it last time, which was exactly how she'd found it originally. As far as she'd been able to tell from the dust on it, it had gone untouched on the high closet shelf for over a decade, along with the old bass. That, much as she longed to, she couldn't touch, for fear her mother might notice it was disturbed, but the box, Megan was pretty sure, was practically forgotten. She shifted the carefully folded tour T-shirts aside, and started going through the CDs. Fourth one down, after looking through the songs, she found what she was looking for—one of the compilation albums included two songs recorded live at the Fremont Solstice Fair.
She was just starting to put things back the way she found them, aside from the borrowed CD, when a voice startled her enough to drop the CDs she was holding.
"Tsk, amateur. Not even wearing gloves."
"Ashling! Shhh!"
"You shhh,” said the tiny amber figure on the carpet, torn butterfly wings dangling from her shoulders. “Your mom can't even hear me. I'm like the wind. And possibly some other ‘80s power ballads."
“Did you walk all the way down the hallway?”
“More discreet than riding,” the pixie said.
“Waiting would have been even more discreet.”
“You'd be more discreet with my showing you how to sneak stuff.”
Megan quickly shuffled the CDs back into place and put the shirts back, then returned the box, trying to get out of the room in case her exclamation drew any attention from the kitchen, while Ashling continued mixing tips on breaking and entering with old song lyrics. Megan did hold on to the single CD, and she headed straight for her room with it after making sure the hall was clear.
Ashling's crow companion, the Count, was waiting patiently for them on the bust of Athena Megan had been given, crafted in Faerie for just this purpose. Lani had helpfully made a shelf for her next to the bedroom door. Her mother had questioned it, but mostly let it go the way she did many minor issues that Megan could reasonably describe as '
an art thing.'
"What are you doing here? Did my dad send you?"
“Yeah. Did you hear about the Market?”
“Yeah,” Megan said, fidgeting with the CD. “Lani told me.”
“But did she tell you about the animate piggy banks?”
“No. She mentioned moving paintings, though. That might be nice.” Megan stopped suddenly as she was putting the CD in the player. “Wait, why would I want an animate piggy bank?”
“Who doesn't like getting bacon for their loose change? And the paintings? Those're nothing. Wait'll you see the lamp exchange.”
Megan struggled slightly to regain a grasp of the conversation. “So Dad...?”
“Oh, yeah, he wants to ask you something. In person. So let's go tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Megan said as she put the headphones on, listening to the voice that was so much younger, but recognizably her mother's.
'Why is it Monday? / And how am I hungover from your laugh? / Why is it Monday? / And where did we get a balloon giraffe?'
The crowd went wild as her parents rocked out, when no one understood that something was burning away.
Chapter 4: Still New
An Teach Deiridh, The Last Home, lay in bright and golden sunshine, because it had been back under the reign of the Seelie court for nearly two months, but Riocard, the Unseelie King, still strutted across the front lawn like he owned the place to greet his daughter.
Once they actually reached each other, however, both their smiles got a little more strained with brief, awkward hesitation before finally they hugged.
“I will get the hang of that eventually,” Riocard muttered as they parted.
“S'okay,” Megan said. “We're new at this.”
“Yeah,” Ashling piped up above them. “Hugs. Court. Not enough practice.” From atop the Count's back, she shrugged her tattered Painted-Lady wings. “Speaking of practice, not much new to report on her studies, Sir, but they should be getting better now that there isn't school to get in the way.”
“Of course. Thank you for your efforts, Ashling, and for bringing her over for this visit.” The king also nodded to the crow. “Counts-to-18, you're looking well. There must be something to be said for Seattle's rat problem.”
“Caw.”
Riocard shifted a foot to look at his brown leather boots, then shook his head, coal-black hair falling behind his shoulders. “Thank you, but these are actually quite old.” The king looked back to Megan. “How...” and the awkwardness was apparently not yet over. “How is your mother?” There was nothing worried or brittle in the sidhe king's ice-blue eyes, just genuine curiosity—and perhaps an acknowledgment that a sad thing existed.
“She's Mom.”
“Ah. As she's been for some time, as I understand it. Let's get inside. How are you feeling about your magical progress?”
“Getting somewhere, I think. The winds and stuff are easiest, still. I keep practicing healing and inspiration, since Ashling says those are things most bards can do, but... uhm, it's hard to tell if I'm getting better or not. I don't really want to injure myself, and Ashling is enthusiastic at random times as it is. And..." Megan paused.
"And?"
"And it was getting easier in big leaps and things back in October and November, then it got a little bit trickier. And then Spring hit, and half of it was like starting over."
Riocard glanced at Ashling. "Seasonal affinity?"
The pixie nodded. "She takes before her old man."
Megan blinked. "Okay, so I sort of get it. Dad's all about Winter: snow, ice, and...uhm, Winter things. But shouldn't that be 'takes after'?"
"I said what I meant," Ashling said.
"What she means," Riocard stepped in, "is that you're an Autumn."
"Caw."
"Yes, Counts-to-Eighteen, she has numerous characteristics marking her as a Spring, and I'm sure she'd love to take you shopping as her fashion consultant for back-to-school. At the moment, however, we're discussing magic, not sweaters. And I believe there's some restriction or other about taking crows into shopping malls."
"Caw."
"Agreed." Then Riocard turned his attention back to Megan. "As my affinity is Winter, it sounds like yours may be Autumn."
"I am pretty good with the dancing leaves,” Megan said.
"Trust me, just the beginning. I'm sure Ashling will be happy to continue helping you, and we'll consider that a focus area for now."
Ashling nodded enthusiastically. "I'm good at focus."
Megan thought about responding, then gave up and looked back to her father. "How about you? With a little extra time on your hands, have you been looking over that list of people you were talking about?”
“No. I've never been the sort of man who was good at looking over lists. The rigors of choosing a new Seneschal are exactly the sort of thing I used to have a Seneschal for.” He frowned, and for a moment the only sounds were their footsteps on the smooth stone of the front halls of An Teach Deiridh and the flap of the Count's wings.
Then, Megan sniffed. “Oh my gosh, that smells delicious. Can I get some of those cinnamon rolls, Dad?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Stop right into the kitchen and ask. I'll wait in my room.”
Megan raised an eyebrow. “You'll wait?”
“I invite many kinds of trouble, dearest,” the king said. “The result of looming over brownies in their own kitchens does not happen to be among them.”
“Okay.” Megan headed into the indicated kitchen—and almost smack into a small tow-headed figure in baggy clothes. “Oh! Hi, Kerr!”
The brownie looked flustered. “Hi, Highness.” And there was that sort-of-bow, sort-of-curtsey again. Megan had known the brownie for nearly eight months now, and she was still slightly confused.
“So, uhm, I wanted to tell you that the cinnamon rolls smell delicious, and I was wondering if any were available.”
“Oh. Thank you. Yes, you can have one, of course.” Kerr scurried over to cut one from the cooling pan. “Is Lani with you?” Kerr asked.
“Thanks. No, she's back in Seattle with Mack.” Seeing that the ruddy little face looked slightly less cheerful at that, Megan added. “I'll tell her...” But talking about Kerr always felt complicated when Megan didn't even... “Look, Kerr, I'm sorry to ask abruptly, but are you a boy or a girl?”
Kerr shuffled slightly while handing Megan a small plate with the cinnamon roll on it. “Not really,” Kerr said.
“Oh.” Oh. Megan smiled. “Okay, thanks. I'll tell Lani you said hi. Hope we see you at the market sometime.”
Kerr smiled, then gave another little bow-curtsey. “That would be great.”
Ashling returned from whatever food had attracted the Count's attention, and they made their way into the 'Unseelie wing' of the castle. Megan had grown somewhat accustomed to everything from the thornvines to the sometimes macabre artwork. None of it spoiled her appetite.
When they reached the entwined-wood meeting table in the western tower, her father was waiting, as were two leopards curled up around the roots beneath it. Cassia, horned and hooved and bedecked in bronze that nearly matched her skin, leaned against a wall, apparently watching her cats lounge until Riocard got back.
“Hey, Megan. Ashling. Count,” the satyress said.
“Hey, Cassia. Maxwell. Jude,” Megan replied, crouching to scritch the latter just under the edge of his aviator helmet—while holding her plate high over her head with the other hand. “You're actually in Faerie for a change.”
Cassia grinned. “Your dad made it worth my while to hang out. We managed to have a good time in Faerie without even stabbing anything. You didn't bring Lani or Sir Blushes-a-lot?”
“They're babysitting.” Megan sat down next to her father and started properly on her cinnamon roll. “And probably making contingency plans for tomorrow while they're at it.”
“Makes sense. I'm definitely looking forward to playing both fairs. Maybe I'll do some shopping while I'm at it.�
��
“That reminds me, Megan,” her father said. “I should get you one of my bookmarks, let you do a little easy shopping.”
“You realize how weird that sounds, right?” Megan asked.
His eyebrow raised. “Well, someone's been taking her medication.” But he smiled as he grabbed a heavy leather-bound volume on the end of the table, opened it, and removed an old baseball card.
Megan managed to keep herself from reaching with sticky fingers. "So, you're saying that they'll take baseball cards as payment at this Goblin Market?"
Riocard shook his head and smiled. "No. I'm saying they'll take that baseball card as payment at the Goblin Market. You ought to be able to get just about anything you want for it."
"Uhm, I'm not sure I want to know, but exactly why is this one so special?"
Riocard chuckled. "The easy answer is this: it's one of my bookmarks. I'll want it back."
"How are they supposed to know that?" Megan asked as she licked a little bit of icing off her fingers.
"Trust me, they'll know. The merchants at the Market have a way of knowing the value of things."
“Okay,” Megan said. “I'll trust you on that. So, what did you want to ask me?”
“As Cassia said, she'll be playing both festivals. I'll only have time for one concert, on the Honored Guests' dais. I was hoping you'd join me.”
“Sure. Why wouldn't—oh. Is the Queen going to be one of the other Honored Guests? And her... guy?”
“We'll be joining Orlaith, yes,” Riocard said. “Her General Inwar hopes to make it as well, though he may be detained by his other responsibilities.”
“Isn't he her bodyguard or something?”
“He's certainly something, but he's served the role of bodyguard among his other security functions, yes. He has ever since he affiliated with An Teach Deiridh.”
“Affiliated? What, like the menehune? So he really isn't sidhe? Is that why he's so ...chilly?”
“As Ljosalfar go, Inwar has generally struck me as quite warm and compromising.”
“Leos-alf-har?” Megan attempted.
