Broken Wings

by L-J Baker

  Rye forced her legs to move. She passed happy, chatty people. Her breathing grew more rapid. When she saw the big brightly coloured sign for the Immigration Service, her legs stopped. She could see lines of people. Dwarves. Gnomes. Brownies. Fauns. And a half-goblin at the door in a uniform.

  Rye could feel the air pressing in on her. Squeezing her lungs. Turning the edges of the world black.

  Rye backed up, bumped into someone, and ran.

  No! Stop!

  When Rye halted herself, she stood in Upper Plantain Street outside a real estate agency. Her heart beat so fast and hard that she thought it might be in danger of bursting. She pretended to look at apartments for sale. She heard no shouts. The uniformed half-goblin hadn’t come running to catch her.

  “Fuck,” she said.

  Rye wiped perspiration from her face with a trembling hand. Stupid! What was she thinking? That sort of behaviour might attract exactly the attention she wished to avoid.

  Rye climbed back on her broom. She flew back to the building site. That afternoon, she wielded a hammer and chisel as if her life depended on hollowing out a whole room single-handed.

  That evening, Holly asked again about her form.

  “Tomorrow,” Rye said. “Okay?”

  Holly looked angry. “I need it. It’s important.”

  “I know. Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  Holly shrugged. “No.”

  Rye watched Holly walk into her bedroom and shut the door. Holly’s music blared. Rye felt so acutely alone. She wanted to get very, very drunk. But that wouldn’t solve anything and it was the last example she should be setting Holly.

  Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

  “Come on,” Rye said.

  Beep-beep. “You have reached the Immigration Service. If you know the extension number of the person or service you wish to contact, please dial now. If you wish to contact General Enquiries, please press one. Press two for visa services. Three for passports. Four for residency and citizenship.”

  Rye pressed four.

  “Hello. My name is Myrtle Smallage. How may I help you today?”

  “Um.” Rye cleared her throat, which was tightening too much. “Um. Yeah. Look, I was just wondering… um.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Well, the thing is… I have this friend. Um. She’s sixteen years old. She needs an ident number. Is there any way she can get the number before she’s an adult?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Myrtle Smallage said. “I’m not sure I completely understand your enquiry. At sixteen years of age, your friend is a minor, yes. But she should have a C.I.N. She would have been assigned one at the time her birth was registered. Perhaps we’re talking about an individual who was not born in this country?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “I see. What is her current residency status? Is she a visitor? A permanent resident? Because if she is a resident, then she should have a resident identification number.”

  Rye gripped the vandalised screen and struggled against the pressing dark and rising panic. “No, she’s not a resident.”

  “Only citizens, by naturalisation or birth, can hold a C.I.N., ma’am.”

  “How… how can she become a citizen?”

  “Foreign born individuals can apply to become naturalised citizens after a period of three years residency. Marriage to a citizen would also confer naturalisation. However, since your young friend is not a resident, she would have to apply to become one. And since she’s still a minor, a parent or legal guardian would have to make the application on her behalf. Which also means she’s underage to marry.”

  “Okay. How do I apply for her?”

  “The exact procedures depend on her current place of abode. Is she in her native country?”

  “No,” Rye said. “She’s… she’s here.”

  “I see. Then her legal guardian needs to make an application for an interim residency permit for her before the expiration of the tourist or visitor’s visa on which she is named.”

  Rye’s chest was so tight she feared she would not be able to continue to suck in air. “What… what if she doesn’t have a visa or permit?”

  Pause. “Are we talking about someone who is living in the country after the expiry of her visa or permit?”

  “No. Um. She never had one.”

  “Oh.”

  Rye groped to loosen the top buttons on her shirt. She could barely breathe. Her heart pounded so fast and hard that she thought she might be heading for cardiac arrest. She had to do this. For Holly.

  “I see,” Myrtle said. “Did this minor enter –”

  “She was taken away from Fairyland. She hasn’t got her wings yet. But she needs her ident. How can I get one for her? Please.”

  “Fairyland? Oh, I see. Yes. It’s common for fairies to apply as refugees. If there are substantive grounds for believing that she would suffer harm were she to be repatriated.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, and a minor could gain citizenship by adoption. If she were to be adopted by a citizen.”

  “No,” Rye said. “That refugee thing.”

  “Well, it’s normal to make an application through a lawyer. It’s a complex process.”

  Rye’s heart sank as she listened to the woman explain a load of bureaucratic details. She could not afford a lawyer.

  “Fairyland residents generally have a high proportion of successful applications,” Myrtle said. “Usually, the only impediment is if the applicant has a criminal record, either here or in their country of origin.”

  Rye’s wings scrunched up even harder. Still, Holly had done nothing wrong. She had been a wingless child when Rye took her out of the country. Rye had fled Fairyland without permission, but Holly couldn’t be held responsible for being kidnapped. Nor could they taint her with anything else Rye had done on her way out of there.

  Rye trudged back to work. What was she going to do now?

  Someone rapped on the front door. Holly darted from her room and cut in front of Rye to reach the door first. Holly was dressed up. As was Daisy Bark, the person who had knocked.

  “You ready?” Daisy said.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Holly said.

  “Wait!” Rye walked the three paces down the hall to the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out,” Holly said.

  “Onionfield,” Daisy said. “We’ve got tickets to the latest Frond Lovage play. Second Time Loss. It’s going to be astronomical! All the papers give it rave reviews, Ms. Woods.”

  Rye frowned at Holly. Holly scowled at Daisy.

  “You didn’t say anything about this to me,” Rye said.

  “I bought the ticket myself,” Holly said. “Out of my wages. Okay? No need to get knotted.”

  “That wasn’t my only concern,” Rye said. “You have school tomorrow. And aren’t you underage for that play?”

  “Don’t worry, Ms. Woods,” Daisy said. “My mum is taking us. She’s wearing the most embarrassing dress, but the theatre is going to be dark most of the time, so no one should be able to see her much. We can run ahead of her from the parking lot to the auditorium and pretend like we don’t know who she is.”

  Rye leaned to see past Daisy. A carpet waited on the parking pad. Mrs. Bark waved by wiggling her fingers. Rye raised a hand. When Holly tried to slip out, Rye grabbed her arm.

  “We’re going to be late,” Holly said belligerently.

  “You could’ve told me,” Rye said.

  Holly shrugged. “Why? What difference would it make?”

  “Don’t you think it would’ve been polite to let me know you were going out?”

  “You don’t own me.”

  Rye mentally recoiled. “No, I don’t.”

  “So, let me go. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Holly –”

  Holly jerked free and darted out the door. Daisy Bark paused, looking uncomfortable, before she strode to the carpet. Rye fleetingly considered
stalking out there and demanding that Holly return to the apartment. Was it time she reasserted herself? Or would that make it worse?

  The carpet lifted and flew away.

  “No, I don’t own you,” Rye said. “But it’s my job to take care of you. It still is.”

  Rye closed the door and slumped to the floor. “It still is. Crap. What am I doing so wrong?”

  Rye slid her fingers into her hair and clenched her fists so that the hairs pulled painfully at her scalp.

  “Flora.”

  Rye wanted to be back then. Back at the start of their affair. Before the gifts and crap. When it was just them having sex and being together. Lying naked on the couch and having Flora stroke her wing membrane. Smelling Flora’s hair. Forgetting that the rest of Infinity existed. Having someone love her. Having someone want her.

  “Fey!”

  Rye scrambled to her feet. This was not the way to solve anything. Why did she only remember the good stuff? They’d had insurmountable issues. It would never have worked. She’d better spend her time trying to solve real problems rather than daydreaming.

  She had no idea what she was going to do about Holly. The problem was that matters were likely to get worse. Telling Holly that she did not have, nor could she get, an ident number wasn’t going to be pretty. Holly would just have to send in the forms without it. Or not send in the forms at all.

  If Holly hadn’t been likely to get a scholarship, that would have been easier. But Flora was confident that she would succeed. Holly having a good career was exactly what Rye had been working for. The kid was counting on it.

  Rye needed an ident number for her. The government way wasn’t going to work. Where did that leave her?

  Rye grabbed her jacket and went outside. She climbed on her broom and flew off toward the bridge.

  Rye pushed into the smoke, stink, and noise of the Ball and Chain tavern. Music from a tinny sound system blared over the talking, laughing, and coughing. She threaded her way through the crowd of mostly men to get to the bar. She didn’t see Knot.

  “Beer.” Rye shouted her order to the pixie behind the bar. “Knot Knapweed in?”

  The bartender shoved a jar toward her, took her money, and nodded. Rye turned. She spied some of her workmates at one of the stand up tables.

  “Hey, Rye!” Blackie said. “You finally got off the leash?”

  Rye smiled fleetingly and eased in beside Knot. She waited for a lull in the disjointed conversation about some team before leaning closer to Knot.

  “You know people who can get things, don’t you?” she asked.

  Knot’s scalp ridges pulled closer together. “Depends on what sort of thing you’re after.”

  “Some paperwork,” Rye said.

  “Official, like?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Knot!” Budge called. “You tell Blackie he’s talking shit!”

  “Yeah, you’re full of it,” Knot said. He nodded to Rye to follow him.

  Outside, Knot led her to a quiet, dark spot in the parking lot.

  “What you after?” Knot said.

  “I need a new ident number.”

  Knot’s scalp ridges tightened. “You done time inside?”

  “Something like that. You know where I can get one?”

  “Maybe. It’ll cost.”

  Rye’s wings couldn’t get any flatter against her back as she steered her broom into Lichen Street. Most of the streetlamps were broken. Trees showed burned holes for windows. Stripped and burned out carpets littered the sidewalks. A drunk lay asleep near an overflowing dumpster. The shadows seemed watchful. The air smelled of poorly tuned engines and vibrated with lightly leashed violence.

  Rye halted in front of the Magic Mushroom. The gambling bar’s two tiny windows were barred and shuttered. She really didn’t like the idea of leaving her broom out in the street, so she slung it on her shoulder and approached the door.

  A tiny metal window snapped open. “What you want?”

  “I’ve come to see Knife,” Rye said.

  “You a member?”

  “I’ve got business with Knife,” Rye said. “Knot Knapweed sent me. He knows Knife. Yeah?”

  A shout carried down the street. Rye turned. She heard a scuffle, a crash, then nothing.

  The door opened. Rye blinked in the sudden wash of light. She stumbled forward. A claw pressed her chest.

  “Not that.” The claw belonged to a bulky goblin with close-set yellow eyes and razor-blades piercing his huge, pointed grey ears. “Not inside.”

  Rye reluctantly set her broom down just outside the door. “It won’t get stolen, will it?”

  The goblin slammed the door shut.

  “Right,” Rye said.

  She stood in a luridly decorated corridor with fake gilt on the wallpaper, but, oddly, a bare wooden floor. A tawdry, over-decorated door led off to the right. That was where the voices, laughter, and music came from. The place reeked of dreamweed smoke. Rye felt the doorkeeper’s malevolent gaze on her.

  “Um. Is Knife in there?” Rye asked.

  “Back room.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Rye’s wings ached from their defensive tightness. She could feel the goblin watching her. She climbed up a short set of steps and walked around a bend. She stood in a nearly dark dead end. Something scuttled across her foot. She knocked on the only door.

  “If that’s you, Slug, you can fuck off,” a deep female voice called.

  “No, I’m not Slug,” Rye said.

  “Who the fuck are you? Come in. Don’t make me shout through the fucking door, you fucking idiot.”

  The thick smoke congealing the air made Rye cough and her eyes water. She blinked at the huge goblin woman in an improbable mauve negligee reclining on a sofa.

  “I’m looking for Knife,” Rye said.

  “Shut that fucking door,” Knife said. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Rye. A friend of Knot Knapweed’s.”

  “That gap-tooth fucking toad owes me money. You got it?”

  “I don’t know about that. Sorry.”

  Knife’s moist nostrils twitched. “What the fuck do you want, then?”

  “Um. Knot said you could get me a new ident number.”

  Knife’s ear tips rose and her eyelids lowered. “Did he?”

  “Said you were the person to see.”

  Knife took a long bubbling pull from a hookah. When she exhaled, she shifted. Her negligee drew tight across her ample front. Rye had no idea that goblin women had so many nipples. The effect was not erotic.

  “It’ll cost,” Knife said.

  “Yeah. I figured. I need two. How much?”

  “Seven hundred. Each.”

  Rye tried not to look dismayed. Knife didn’t strike her as the sort to haggle. Well, she could do without one herself for now. She’d just get one for Holly. “Okay. When could I get the number?”

  “After you give me the fucking money. I ain’t no fucking charity. No money, no numbers. You got that?”

  “Yeah. I got it. Okay. I’ll… I’ll get it and be back.”

  Rye turned. Her head was beginning to spin from the sickly sweet smoke. The door burst open and knocked her backward. She tripped on the carpet and landed on her backside.

  “Hey, Knife! What the fuck?” A fat young goblin female with her pointed ears painted toxic green stared down in surprise at Rye.

  “Get her off my fucking floor,” Knife said. “What do you fucking want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  Rye was already rising when the young goblin grabbed her with strong claws and hauled her up. She gave Rye a hearty slap on the back. The blow caught Rye painfully on the top of her right wing bud and made her grunt.

  “Hey!” The young goblin scowled at Rye. “What’s on your back? You ain’t hiding no weapons, are you?”

  “Weapons?” Knife said.

  The young female grabbed Rye before she could deny it, shoved her face-first against the wall, and roughly patted a claw over
her back. “Fuck! This is just like that whiny fairy that was here. Them’s wings, ain’t they?”

  “So, you’re a fairy freak,” Knife said.

  Rye wanted to bolt. But the young female barred her way, and it was unlikely that the sleazy queen of the underworld would turn her over to the Immigration Service.

  “They gonna send you back?” Knife said. “That why you need a new number? Your fucking lot don’t like thems that get away, do they? Do some bad shit to the poor fuckers they get back, don’t they? This makes it different. A big fat fucking difference. Numbers for fairies are two thou each.”

  “What?” Rye said. “Two thousand? But you just said seven hundred.”

  “Two thou,” Knife said. “Or do you want to fucking argue and pay more, flying freak girl? Or maybe you want to go back home? To the prayers and whips.”

  Fey. “Two thousand. Okay.”

  As Rye closed the door behind her, she heard Knife chuckling.

  Rye lifted the jug to swallow some more beer. She still had a couple of hundred in savings, so she could afford to sell her broom for a bit less than she paid for it. She’d ask around at work tomorrow. She’d get Berry’s number off Knot and ask him if he knew of anyone who was looking for a broom.

  The door opened. Rye shot to her feet and strode to the hall. Holly glared at her.

  “We need to talk,” Rye said.

  “I’m tired.”

  Holly strode to her bedroom. Rye stepped into the doorway to prevent Holly from slamming the door.

  “I’m pretty tired, too,” Rye said. “I’m tired of you pulling this shit. Don’t you think you should have told me that you were going out?”

  “Why?” Holly turned her back and began undressing. She threw her shoes at the wall.

  “Because I’m your sister. Because I care about you. Because I’d worry myself stupid if you just walked out and I had no idea where you’d gone. Because I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Because I’m getting tired of feeling like shit in my own home.”

  Holly rounded on her. “I never asked to be your sister! I never asked to live in this dump! I never asked to be a fucking fairy!”