by R. Cooper
“How would I know that?” Flor was cranky.
Clematis rolled onto his side again, propping his head on one hand and leaving the other at his hip.
Flor swept a look over him, then glanced away. “I’m not an art student. Knock it off.”
“What?” Clematis looked down at himself, noticed bits of grass stuck around his navel, and brushed them off. He spotted a cobweb on his pants. “Damn it.” He picked that off too and scrubbed his palm on the grass.
“Never mind.” Flor heaved a breath. “So he’s an English major and you want him to fuck you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say no.” Clematis sniffed. “But he’s very shiny and also blind, so I don’t think I have a chance there. And yes, he’s an English major, which means he is taking one of David’s classes, and today we talked about it. Mostly the reading. Have you ever read The Little Mermaid?” Clematis shivered. “David thinks Andersen had encountered real beings, but his heavily Christian worldview made him perceive them as less than humans.”
“Yeah, I’ve read it.” Flor glowered at a book that wasn’t there. “The mermaid chooses death and loneliness and is rewarded for it in, like, a thousand years by getting a soul, right? Like only humans have souls and we should be so lucky. That’s not romantic, and also it’s a bunch of shit. Beings have souls. Hans Christian Andersen can kiss my ass.”
“Well, yeah.” Clematis rolled onto his back. “You can see the colors around weres and everyone else. Of course they do. They have something. Just not us. So Andersen was a little bit right.” He frowned. “I don’t think we can earn them, though. That’s what I was debating with Sasha. You either have one or you don’t. Even if you don’t call it a soul. Maybe it’s spirit or energy or some term one of the anthropology majors would know. But you couldn’t just grow one, could you? And a sacrifice shouldn’t be necessary, because plenty of terrible people still have them.”
“Is this what David talks about in his classes?” Flor asked roughly. “Is this what you and David talked about? Whether fairies have souls? Did he tell you that we do? Because obviously we do.” He peered down at Clematis, sprinkling him with vanishing traces of sparkle. He was dark with his summer tan, his throat and most of his shoulders exposed. A pair of pink, heart-shaped sunglasses slid from the top of his head down over his nose, then landed on Clematis’s chest.
Clematis left them there. “What are you talking about?”
“Shine.” Flor held out a hand as if that meant something. “Clematis, I am starting to wonder who raised you. Seriously.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” Clematis looked up through the radiant halo of Flor’s glitter and met Flor’s very serious stare.
“Yes,” Flor told him softly. “Yeah, I think so. I’m not sure what, though, and I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I was… I think I put stuff on you that you didn’t do because I…. It was easier to not know you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Clematis closed his eyes rather than deal with Flor’s radiance. “Well, I’m not mad at you about it, whatever you thought, or whatever’s wrong with me.”
“You don’t really get mad, do you? Or sad, or upset?” Flor did not seem pleased. “Even when you should.”
“Is that what’s wrong?” Clematis believed him, but it sounded a little ridiculous. “I don’t get mad?”
“I take it back,” Flor carried on. “I shouldn’t have said wrong. I should have said different. Some people process emotions differently, and that’s okay.”
That was absolutely something David would say.
Clematis felt as if he’d gone very still. “Did you… talk to David about this?”
“I told him about that thing you do.” Of course Flor had told David that. He probably told David everything. Then David had probably told Tulip.
“Do they hate me more now?” Clematis’s voice was oddly clear.
“What? Dude, no.” Flor sighed. “I think he feels guilty. For not noticing, and for using you too. He, uh, knew he loved Tulip and Tulip was avoiding him, and then there you were, and—”
“It’s fine,” Clematis cut him off. “I knew what he was doing, didn’t I?”
“Hey.” Flor gently poked him. “Look at me.”
Clematis looked.
Flor held out his hand again. Sparkles appeared in the air an inch or so above it and disappeared an inch or so below. “Shine,” Flor explained, in a whisper as if he didn’t want the others to hear. “That’s our shine, Clem. It has color and brightness and volume, and we can lose it, just like they can. Trust me.” His voice broke, only for a moment. “I lost mine once, let it fade to almost nothing. The only real difference between ours and theirs is that everyone can see ours.”
“You have so much.” Clematis could barely speak. “It hurts to look at you sometimes.”
Flor caught his breath. A second later he shook his head. “I’m hardly David.”
Clematis raised his hand and trailed it through Flor’s glitter—his shine. He snatched his hand back and closed his eyes again. “Sorry.”
Flor made a noise, sort of thoughtful, sort of pissed, and sat back. He stretched out his legs. “So, what, exactly, did you think? You couldn’t walk into a church? That fairies are evil and pay tithes to hell or whatever?”
“No.” Clematis shook his head. “I didn’t think that.”
“Is this because you don’t have a lot?” Flor tipped his head to one side before reaching out to drag his fingers through the air next to Clematis. “You don’t see how beautiful this is?”
Clematis put a hand to chest, over his heart, which felt too fast and too slow, stunned and off rhythm. “You think it’s beautiful?” he asked in a whisper. “You told Stephanie you didn’t see why humans liked me so much.”
Flor frowned and angled his head back. “When did I say that?”
“I don’t know.” Stephanie had only told him because she’d been teasing him about something. “Years ago, I think.”
“That’s not….” Flor ducked his head and sighed. “Look. I’m sure there is a reason why humans say that stuff and continue to believe it. If David doesn’t already know it, he probably will find it if we ask. But whatever some medieval humans said and some people still believe in some form or another—it’s bullshit. Humans fall in love with us. Make babies with us. We care about things. We’re good. So that’s just their scapegoating nonsense in another form. Don’t believe that shit anymore. It’s lies and it’s fear, and if you believe it, they win.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Clematis wondered aloud.
“I have no idea. The assholes,” Flor decided at last. “And they don’t get to win.” Flor leaned toward him. “I’m not bothering you, am I? Being too pushy?”
“We’ve been over this.” Clematis rolled his eyes, then picked up Flor’s sunglasses and slipped them on. The world stayed warm but went mercifully dark. Flor’s glitter was slightly easier to bear.
“Okay.” Flor seemed to hesitate, then nodded. He kept his gaze straight ahead, on Tarō and Annabeth. “Then say it,” he ordered, soft and careful. “Say we’re just as good as they are. That you are no better or worse than a human.”
Clematis’s mouth went dry. His stomach tightened. “Some humans are very good.”
Flor stilled, then bobbed his head. “I’ll allow that. Some are very good. And some are not. The same is true of us.” He thought something out and bit his bottom lip, left it full and pink. “But I don’t like the idea of you or anyone else thinking we are less than them, or saying that where some other vulnerable being could hear. Or where some dickhead human could hear. So, please.” He inhaled. “Say you’re as good as they are.”
“Flor.” Clematis felt his wings tremble beneath him. His blood was loud in his ears, hot under his skin. He shut his eyes.
“Come on,” Flor murmured, coaxing. “Please. For me.”
“Flor,” Clematis protested again.
“Just a whisper will do, if you can.” Flor leaned over him
. Clematis could feel his presence and all that shine. Fairies had shine he could feel.
He curled his toes, but he’d taken his shoes off. He clenched his hands instead. “I’m as good as they are.”
The words were hoarse, but they made Flor exhale softly.
Clematis lay there, shaking, breathing hard, and felt the same terror he’d felt before saying it, cold and uncertain and real. Then Flor touched his arm carefully and said, “Thank you. I’m so happy you did that, even if it was only for me.”
“It didn’t feel true, but I said it anyway,” Clematis marveled at him. “It made you happy?”
“You could say it because it is true, dumbass.” Flor trailed his thumb down Clematis’s arm and smiled widely. “You thirsty? We have water, soda, and I got some of those premade iced coffees.”
The thought of water made Clematis swallow painfully. But he didn’t answer. “Flor, are we friends now?”
Flor froze, then curled his legs under him. He tapped out a circle on one knee. “I think we were before, in a way. Now we are in a different way.”
“Oh,” Clematis said, as if he didn’t feel breakable despite the heat of the sun and the knowledge that Flor didn’t hate him.
“What is going on with those two?” Tarō asked loudly. “Telling secrets, I think. It seems very intense. What do you think, Annabeth?”
Annabeth took her cue as smoothly as a TV news anchor. “It looks like a slumber party over there, Tarō. All it needs is a pillow fight and a makeover.”
Clematis sniffed. “Flor doesn’t need a makeover.”
“That is precious. Like we were talking about Flor.” Tarō was probably leaning back in his seat. “Flor is an icon. You are wearing khakis.”
“He has to wear them for work,” Flor called out, then got to his feet. “Water or coffee?” His mesh shirt had the Puerto Rican flag on the front. He had his MCC armband around one bicep, and on the other a temporary tattoo of a unicorn. Tarō had a matching one on the back of his hand.
“Water, please,” Clematis said after another swallow and sat up to watch him go.
Annabeth stared at him, eyebrows raised, but Clematis had sunglasses on, which meant she couldn’t see where he was looking, so he stayed where he was and wondered why his heart didn’t slow down. The moment was over.
Flor chatted with Tarō while grabbing a bottle of water, then brought it over, walking carefully on the hot pavement with his bare feet. He could have floated over. Maybe the late August sun made him feel lazy and warm. Clematis dragged his gaze up Flor’s legs to his shorts, tight at his thighs, revealing enough to make his mouth dry.
He looked away and found Annabeth still watching him. She might have enough werewolf in her genes to smell him from that distance. Her expression flickered from confusion to something like concern, and then she just seemed annoyed with herself.
Clematis took the bottle Flor handed him and drank some before Flor could get cranky about it. Flor stretched out on the grass next to him. He picked up the course catalog and flipped through it.
“Are you ever going to major in anything?” He tilted his head and made a face at whatever he was reading. “Fairy with a license, fairy with a degree…. Not so far off, right?”
“They don’t want me here,” Clematis pointed out.
“They would prefer us silent or gone, but that is not going to happen,” Flor answered, singsong, as he continued to peruse the different classes. “Besides, you’ve got company now. Frangipani and a few others. And me, although I’m not a student.”
Clematis wet his lips with more water. “Are you always sure when you do things that they’re right?”
Flor put down the catalog. “That’s a serious fucking question. Did you take a philosophy class too?” He must have been teasing, because he looked startled when Clematis nodded. “Oh. Well, I don’t know how to answer that, except to say my parents are nerds and David is about the same. So I guess I’m a nerd too, about this stuff anyway. You’re supposed to leave the world a better place. Just because we live longer than humans doesn’t make that any less true. In fact, it makes it more true. Like… I have to live with the choices I make, I have to live with them for a long time, so I try to make good ones.” He scrunched up his nose. “It’s a pretty good way to make decisions, but it’s not always easy, so… I’m as sure as I can be.”
Annabeth was listening, which meant Tarō probably was too. Flor seemed thoughtful but unperturbed with his simple answer. He looked settled, which was not how fairies his age normally looked.
“Is that… happiness, for you?” Clematis couldn’t help the uptick in his voice. Happiness was what fairies wanted, what they protected the way a dragon watched its treasure.
Flor snapped his head up. “Huh? I mean I guess it could be.” He frowned. “You seem confused.”
Clematis could barely force out the pained whisper. “I’ve always thought your happiness was David.”
Flor startled, his wings twitching as if he’d been electrocuted. His eyes went wide, and he glanced around as though looking for a better answer. All at once, he dropped his shoulders and let his hands fall to the grass. He gripped it hard. “I thought it was too,” he admitted, ashamed and small and scared as Flor should never be.
“I knew it was too intense over there,” Tarō remarked, but gently. “Flor,” he started, only to stop and swing toward the path from the entrance. Annabeth was already turned that way.
Near the start of the path, where the angriest humans had put up their tables today, a tiny nonbinary creature, perhaps a pixy or a small elf, was standing stock-still while the humans shouted at them. Clematis imagined the little being was trembling, imagined them thinking their magic would be no use to them here. They probably felt very alone, even though some of the college students close to them were yelling back at the angry humans.
It was so much screaming.
Tarō and Annabeth rose from their seats as one, almost as if they’d rehearsed this, or just done it a dozen times. They walked smoothly toward the scene, not taking their time but letting themselves be seen, the bright MCC armbands announcing them.
Tarō laughed as he bent down to talk to the little being, joking as if those hateful humans weren’t there. Annabeth stood at the tiny creature’s side, but with her attention on the humans, who seemed a lot less bold with her staring them down.
Clematis’s hands felt cold on the bottle, and he let it fall, spilling water down the grass. “All this because of one dragon?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Flor shake his head. “This was there before. That dragon just gave them a reason to show how afraid they are.”
“This proves us right!” one of the humans called out as Annabeth and Tarō escorted the frightened student farther down the path. As though their presence was a threat in and of itself.
Clematis shut his eyes.
Flor wrapped his fingers around his wrist.
Chapter 6
“DO YOU think everything is getting worse?” Clematis peeked over the top of the book he wasn’t paying attention to and looked at Lis as she sat down across from him. The notebook was from one of the Holt Institute’s early instructors. Clematis had taken it from the pile to be destroyed. But he wasn’t in the mood to read it now.
“Everything in general?” Lis sipped her chocolate milk through a striped paper straw. “Or everything with you? Because if you’re asking, something is definitely up with you lately. You’ve been different the past few months. I thought I knew the reason, but maybe I don’t.”
If no one has taught you about love, perhaps it’s time you were forced to learn, Fairy Clematis. The light you want will never find you if you stay in the dark.
The words Tulip had used to curse him.
Clematis hadn’t told her, or anyone, about that. He was already strange. Anyway, the reason he asked that question had nothing to do with Tulip’s wrath.
“I meant, so many humans have never liked us, but lately I’m
… I’m not brave like the others.” Clematis ran his fingertips over the cracked leather spine of the notebook. “Humans haven’t changed. They still want me, but they are…. When I was little, in the city, I heard stories about groups of them hunting down beings to hurt them. But I never saw it. And angry humans were easy to distract, for me at least.”
“And now they aren’t?” Lis finished, understanding. “Is this about the groups on campus or your boss?”
Clematis shrugged helplessly.
Lis looked concerned. “What’s happening at work?”
“I’ve been sent to the basement,” he admitted in a whisper. “They changed the dress code, made rules requiring a driver’s license. They don’t want me to eat except the way humans do. And when I talk to Sasha, Mr. Harbaugh starts to go on about the policy about harassment.” Clematis stared at the notebook’s cover. “Sasha told him he was fine, but… I’ve been wondering if I should move back to Los Cerros. It might be better there.”
“Well, one, hiding from the world never works out. Sorry. And two, I would miss you a lot. And three—” Lis lightly rapped her knuckles. “What about Flor?”
“Flor?” Clematis raised his head. “Oh. He’d find someone else to take care of. Flor is a fairy meant to keep someone. He says he’s not looking for serious, but I think serious will find him. Someone who won’t mind that he’s in love with someone else.”
Lis stared at him, then got up. She marched behind the counter, poured herself another chocolate milk, then returned to the table. It was near closing time, so no customers were around to bother her. “Okay. I’m ready. Who exactly is Flor in love with?”
“David.” Clematis was fairly sure he’d explained this to her already, maybe years ago, but he must have. “His best friend since they were children. They were pretty much always together until Tulip finally got over himself and stopped shimmering for David and actually took him up on what he’d been offering for years. Tulip made him a flower crown and everything. Old-school. Tulip must have asked Flor’s permission, but Flor wouldn’t tell me about a moment like that.” Lis raised both eyebrows in question. “I slept with David,” Clematis added, in case she hadn’t known that part.
