Trick of Fae

by S L Mason

  I would run away naked if that’s what it took, but I would rather have panties and a bra when I catch up to Arty.

  She nodded her head, tapping her finger on her lips. She pulled the different bolts of fabric out of the cupboard and began to sing. After a few moments, it didn’t look like a bra to me. When she finished, it dawned on me what she made, which made perfect sense. I should’ve expected that was what she’d give me. I guess I was hoping for something a little more modern. After all, they had indoor plumbing while the brassiere had been around for a long time.

  Instead, I was provided a corset, a full-on lace it up, cinch it tight, take a deep breath because you won’t be breathing again corset.

  “I was hoping for something a little less constricting.”

  “Yes, but this will keep your ‘girls’, as you say, from bouncing around, but will make them stand up nice and pretty. If you’re referring to that thing you were wearing when you came with the metal pieces, I would not recommend it for the human breast, which sags over time.”

  Did she make a dig on human boobies, saggy human boobies? I guess the Fae breast never sags. They must be perfect and perky forever. Now, I really hated them. Honestly, you live forever being immortal and have perky titties. I hated the Fae.

  She whistled and it laced itself onto me and then cinched up tight. I squeaked, as every breath in my body was squeezed out, in a higher tone of voice than I had intended.

  “Do you walk in this?”

  “Oh, yes. Many of the Fae walk in them.” She nodded her head, keeping her eyes on my undies, all the while patting and adjusting. I squirmed away from her intrusive touch. What was it with the Fae? Had they no concept of personal space?

  “What about fighting? I mean you implied that you have wars down here. Do women fight in a corset?”

  Her head pulled back as she cocked it to one side.

  “Of course not. One wouldn’t fight in a corset. You wear a breastplate.” Of course, it was the most obvious thing in the world. Duh.

  “Great. So what do you wear under the breastplate?”

  “When female Fae go to war, we bind our breasts with spider silk to flatten them and keep them compressed against the body.”

  I felt the smirk on half my face. “Oh, my goodness. I think we need to discuss sports bras and how they could be advantageous to female Fae the world over.”

  “Can’t you please just make me a bra exactly like the one I had?” I cried.

  “But it’s not good for your breasts.” She waved it in the air in front of me.

  “I don’t care if it’s not good for my breasts. I want to wear it. It makes me feel safe, please, please, please, may I have my brassiere?” I begged. She wouldn’t give it to me, and like a petulant child, I lost my temper. “Lavender, give me my brassiere, please.”

  She complied, but her head hung as she cowered away for me.

  “Did I just compel you again?” Bile rose in my throat. How do I stop this?

  “Yes, my lady. I’m sorry. I did not mean to provoke you. I simply wish to help you.” Once again, her head hung with eyes downcast.

  I took a deep breath, trying to get control of myself. I wasn’t being a very nice person. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t usually this big of a bitch. “Lavender, I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really, sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you, compel you, control you, dominate you, or whatever it is that I’m doing to you. How do we make this work? Can you make something similar to what I brought with me?”

  She stepped back, looking down at the floor.

  “You must never say sorry again. To me or anyone else. I will forget you said it. Yes, my lady, I think I can reproduce the bra.” She whistled for a few moments and then began to sing a high, sweet song. The only reason why I was paying attention was to see if I could replicate the magic. Who knew that underclothing would be so difficult to attain in this underground world? Within a few moments, she created a beautiful brassiere. When I put it on, it did indeed hold up the girls. I was so happy I kissed her on the cheek.

  “My lady, Fae do not touch one another.”

  “Are you kidding? You don’t touch each other? How do you procreate if you don’t touch?”

  “Well, in matters of love, of course, we touch one another. But we don’t touch each other in passing. Overt demonstrations of emotion are something only children display to adults.”

  I smiled at her. Just because they were emotionally repressed didn’t mean I had to be, and I wasn’t going to be.

  “Can I see the mirror please?”

  She whistled C, D, E to bring up the mirror. It appeared on the wall, and there I was, wearing my brand-new fairy panties with my brand-new fairy bra—they were beautiful. I mean really beautiful, probably the prettiest underwear I’d ever owned. Victoria could keep her secret; she had nothing on Fae undies.

  As a lark, I whistle the same notes Lavender had, C, D, E, and the looking glass disappeared. “Ha,” I exclaimed. My heart beat faster. I’d made the mirror disappear, oh my god. How did I know what notes to whistle? My eyes met the strangers in the mirror. It was me, but I didn’t know the music. How did I know the notes?

  I hated Fae. Everything about it had changed my world, including me.

  “My lady, you made it disappear.” Lavender gaped from me to the wall.

  I whistled the same notes in a lower octave, and again the mirror reappeared.

  The Fae claimed humans were less than them and they were better than us. I was quite capable of making the mirror appear and disappear. I didn’t care how I did it. Next step, get out of here.

  The wheels in my head started turning. If I could do the mirror, what else could I do? Deston said I had free run of the castle, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t lock me in again. When Lavender left, I need to listen to how she locked the door.

  She hadn’t locked it when we came in; I paid attention to that. She will when she leaves. Free range of the castle or not, she was my babysitter.

  “Is it possible you could whistle me up a pair of jeans? And a T-shirt?” I gave her a toothy smile.

  “Jeans. Similar to the pants you were wearing when you came in?”

  “No, those were sweatpants, and they’re vile.” I got a pen and paper and drew another picture, explaining they were blue and made out of heavy cotton denim, practically indestructible, unless of course, she took her scissors to them and then threw them in the wash.

  She nodded her head and then using the fabric she already had available to her, she sang. They weren’t jeans, but they were better than running around in a dress all day. She did whistle me up a shirt. She had no idea what a T-shirt was. The shirt resembled a sexy pirate blouse. It billowed everywhere with ties at the wrist and neck. I was dressed for a Renaissance fair. It was rather flattering even if it was mostly see-through.

  I wanted to go for a walk and take in the gardens or any other portion of the castle. If I was going to find a way out, I needed to explore. But exhaustion weighed down on me, and I needed a nap.

  “You should rest, my lady. I will go and seek out food for you. I’ll also see if there are any other pressing matters for your time. I’ll return later.”

  I waved her off and yawned as I climbed into bed. She exited and I darted over to the door to barely make out a few notes. They were a low A, D, F…I didn’t get it all. I waited until she couldn’t be standing there, and then I replicated what I’d heard through the door. Try as I might, the lock stayed firm. Better luck next time.

  I laid down on the bed. I hadn’t realized how much sleep I’d lost before coming here. Of course, going up and down seven flights of stairs was enough to wear any human out. Why did they walk up and down the stairs? Maybe some of them didn’t.

  No offense, if I was on the thirty-third or thirtieth floor I certainly wouldn’t be walking up and down all the stairs. I also wouldn’t be allowing the stairs to force me to stay downstairs all day. They had those floating raft things—why didn’t they have floa
ting stairwells? Or something like that? Maybe I’d need to figure out how to make stuff float first before I started reinventing the wheel.

  That was my new plan. I needed to learn how to sing. I never really paid attention in music class. I didn’t know how to play an instrument. I only knew notes because my mother played. She tried to teach me, but I really wasn’t any good at it. I couldn’t get my fingers to do all those things that my mother could. Trying to play the piano and make your fingers crawl across the keys like spiders, I couldn’t play. My fingers wouldn’t comply. Ugh, spiders…

  It’s not that I couldn’t sing. I mean everybody could sing, but the question was, were you any good at it? I sang along with the radio, and I thought it sounded okay. Arty was always telling me I could sing. But then, Arty was my best friend, so his opinion couldn’t be relied upon; he was biased.

  I whistled again for the mirror. I wanted to see it appear on the wall, and then I whistled to make it disappear.

  Okay, I’m not a child. I’m practicing.

  I thought about the song that I’d heard her sing for my brassiere. I didn’t know if I could replicate it, but it would be fun to try. Better to have a go and an extra bra, even if it was a little misshapen.

  I opened the wardrobe and took out the fabric she’d used. I didn’t want to use the wrong fabric. There were several of them in there.

  I attempted to replicate her song, and the fabric floated in the air, folding and bending. What I made was kind of like a brassiere, but it was nowhere near as pretty, and certainly not as functional. Okay, actually it was lopsided. One cup was larger than the other, and whatever the clasping mechanism that she sang onto it, mine wasn’t there. The straps on one side looked like sleeves, and the other side looked like a thin, spaghetti strap. It was the most misshapen bra of all time. It was ugly, and it certainly wasn’t going to fit me, but I’d made one. The point was that I’d remembered enough of the song to make something that resembled a bra.

  I could do this. The big question was what could I get Lavender to show me? I didn’t want her to know what I was doing.

  Just because I’d been able to compel her, didn’t mean someone else couldn’t as well. Maybe they could, I didn’t know if my compulsion was strong enough to beat somebody else’s. She said I compelled her. Every time I did, it was painful for her. Taking someone’s will was painful.

  Free will, that was exactly what Fae were doing to all the humans. They took Arty, they broke his free will, and they took it away from him. Maybe it was painful because it hurts your brain. All I knew was that it wasn’t cool. I didn’t want to do that. I’d rather she didn’t know. If she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell anyone.

  I placed the bolt of fabric back in the wardrobe. I placed the misshapen bra under my pillow. I wasn’t sure whether that was going to keep it hidden. Obviously, I had to dump it somewhere. Where would you dump the ugliest bra of all time in hopes that no one noticed?

  I fell asleep thinking about all the various things I’d need or want to do. The last thought before I closed my eyes was of my parents and Arty, but mostly Arty. I didn’t want to think about my parents. Where they were, whether they were alive, or were they saved, or not. The gunshots still rang in my head. Was that my dad shooting them, or was dad shooting himself? Was it a Fae shooting Mom and Dad? That’s silly, Fae didn’t carry guns, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t.

  CHAPTER 13

  “My lady, you must rise and dress for dinner.”

  I lifted my head, rubbing my fist into my eyes. “For dinner? I haven’t even eaten lunch.”

  “Yes, but you must prepare for dinner. We only have two hours.”

  Only two hours to get ready for dinner, are you kidding? I could get ready in ten minutes. “We must create something entirely new,” she said.

  “Well, I could show you how to make a strapless brassiere.”

  One of her eyebrows rose, and a smile spread across her face. “Yes, yes, I can see how that would happen. It’s like a small corset.” She whistled me up a strapless bra. There had to be specific components to a song, basics to build upon, like a pattern or a recipe. This sound would do this, and that sound would do something else. If I could learn the basics, I could build whatever I wanted, like making a cake or cleaning a gun. You must have all the components and put them together in the right combination for your gun to work.

  I wasn’t one for small talk. I really liked to get to the point rather than beating around the bush and making nice; nice wasn’t my thing. But to learn answers to any of my questions, I needed to try a little finesse.

  “Lavender, you sing beautifully, and obviously you use a song for everything. What is that all about?”

  “It’s part of the Fae life. All Fae are born with a beautiful voice. We can sing, whistle, or even make a pleasing rhythm.” Her eyes glistened with love for her magic. “Music is in our lives; it is part of the natural world if you listen. Everything has its own rhythm, its own song. You must only be willing to listen for it.”

  “So, you sing, and the fabric tells you what it wants to be?” I held my breath.

  She smiled, her eyes gazing down. She shook her head as if it was a simple concept that I should’ve understood.

  “No! Everything has its own vibration, its own song. Or its own key. You have to find it and then manipulate it any way you wish. For example, fabric is always sung to in a major key. It’s the nature of its design. We have fairies that are great artisans, and they do nothing but sing and weave. It is their one desire; they truly love it. Although we have a caste system, you might be mistaken in thinking that we are stuck. Advancement is always open to any Fae who wishes to try. You are not stuck wherever you began although you might be put lower than where you started. The Fae society isn’t just about being feudal. Just because you start a scullery maid doesn’t mean you couldn’t become a duchess. Ability has more to do with Fae society than position.”

  It dawned on me that she’d started at the lowest of the low, but because of her talent, she managed to bring herself up. She’d been very haughty when she first came to my room, but she’d earned her position; she was proud of it.

  “If all fabric is a major key, all you have to do is make a pleasing tune for it to create your heart’s desire?” I asked.

  “You can make the most pleasing tune in the world, but it doesn’t mean your fabric will obey. You must coax it, like a cat you wish to pet. The only way to pull it to your will is to flatter it and, in your mind, picture what you want. Picture it precisely in its entirety, and you must see it from every angle all at once, along with its intended use.”

  Then, she sang into existence a dress of the sheerest chiffon it barely whispered over my shoulders, and it was in soft cornelian blue. Everything about it screamed femininity and desire. I whistled the mirror into existence and saw myself. It was my reflection, but it didn’t look like me. I wasn’t sure who it was. I could’ve been one of the Fae myself, but the only thing missing were two pointy ears.

  My jet-black hair somehow dressed itself as she touched up my makeup. She truly was an artist, and I’d never been this pretty in my entire life.

  I’d always run around with my boring brown hair, throwing on whatever eyeliner and lipstick I bought at the local drugstore. I didn’t pay attention to all the little intricacies that make you beautiful. I didn’t know who I was looking at, but she was beautiful—she was me.

  “You truly are a special talent, Lavender. Thank…” I stopped. Can’t say thank you.

  She smiled, and her almond eyes fluttered.

  “Don’t worry, His Grace is paying handsomely for my talents. Although I have to say, you are probably one of the nicest Fae I’ve ever dressed.”

  I looked down at her. “You know I’m not. I’m human.”

  She winked. “I think you could fool anyone. The only thing that gives you away is your ears.”

  My hair was slicked back to ride high and full, with my eye makeup trailing off int
o my hairline. My ears were round, not pointed like hers.

  She whispered, “If you wish, I could whistle them to a point. It would just be an illusion, but you would truly look like a Fae.” Her almond eyes batted at me.

  I found myself contemplating it. “No, I’m human. I’m not sure why I’m here or what you want from me, but I’m not one of the fair folk. No matter how much you dress me up and put pretty makeup on my face, I will always be a human.”

  Her eyes widened, and she lowered her head. My words had barely been whispered.

  I didn’t want to be a fairy. No matter how much she made me look like one. I wanted to go home, see my parents, hug Arty, and know all was right with the world.

  I felt moisture building up in my eyes, and I didn’t want to cry. I swallowed hard, pushing the big lump in my throat back down, to breathe around it.

  “When I arrived here, I had a friend with me. His name is Arthur or Arty. They put him in a stable. Do you know where he is?” My voice shook.

  Her eyes open and closed, flittering as she darted them away.

  “He’s probably still in the stable, learning his trade.” She turned away from my desperate face.

  “Learning his trade.” I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean learning his trade? He’s a seventeen-year-old kid just like me.” My voice rose.

  “He is now a member of the Fae workforce. As it stands, he’s part of the stables under the command of the Puca.”

  I felt my whole body shudder. “Who is Puca?”

  “He is a terror. The truth is, every now and again he gets bored down here. He rides up to the surface, terrorizing humans for fun, and then chooses one, usually from an old Irish family. He prefers them because they are the hardest workers and the greatest fighters. He brings them back to become members of his stables. On the surface, the human is generally never seen again, and his family assumes he’s dead. Sometimes he calls them out from their own home in the middle of the night. There is no way for your friend to get away from Puca.”