Sweet Child

by Brie Tart

  “He likely kept you around so he could protect you.”

  “Yeah. Looking back, that explains a lot of what he did.” The scars on her palms nagged at her even more. She couldn’t remember when the small area around them wasn’t numb. The nerves had been screwed up for that long. “Wonder how much else of me is ‘cause of this Unseelie thing.”

  “What does that matter?” Yoel gestured to all of her, from her jacket to her jeans. “Everything about you tells me you have a very confident impression of who you are. You’ve shaped what life has given you into your own. No amount of fae meddling will change that.”

  “Yeesh, now you’re sounding like the only high school coach that gave a damn about me.” Helen’s cheeks heated up at the praise. “You’re pretty good at this teacher thing, Scribbler.”

  Yoel smiled, showing white teeth and a pleased crinkling around his eyes. It made him look a little less mature, and softening his whole demeanor into something warmer. Had the harsh fae underworld, or his dad’s death made him so aloof? Was it something else?

  Helen left those questions for another time. She let them both bask in their mutual victories for the time being, and played with the possibility of her unlikely mentor turning into a friend.

  CHAPTER 12

  Helen usually skipped Friday and Saturday nights at Yoel’s request. Her and Dylan always took Lucy to the nearest playground and followed her through its slides, helped her on its swings. A few times, Lucy would ask for something like a push or a lift, and Dylan wouldn’t notice. Helen never rushed in at first as she checked her boyfriend. He’d pull out his phone from his pocket and wrinkle his nose at the screen as he tapped it. Sending messages to his mysterious contact? Who else would be able to distract him from his Lucy-centered universe? By Lucy’s second shout, Helen went to her and Dylan would glance up from his phone. The grateful smile her partner gave every time made Helen’s stomach twist with equal parts guilt and suspicion. Regardless, Lucy got most of their mutual attention the rest of the weekend, much to the toddler’s delight.

  When Sunday evening rolled around and Helen parked her bike on the side of the street, she nearly missed Yoel leaning against the bookstore’s display window. He had on grey slacks and a black button down that night, with a slate gray trench coat hung over his shoulder.

  “You goin’ somewhere?” Helen asked after her engine settled from a roar to a purr.

  “We are going somewhere, yes.” Yoel motioned to the door beside him. “If you’d like to leave anything inside, do it now. I’ll call us a taxi.”

  “We don’t need a taxi. I’ve got two good wheels right here.” Helen patted the seat behind her. “Tell me where we’re going and hop on.”

  Yoel looked down at the motorcycle with a bit lip like it might be quicksand. “I’d rather risk the taxi.”

  “She doesn’t bite.” Helen raised both eyebrows at her mentor. “You own a business, you’ve been to Brazil, but you never rode two up before?”

  “It’s true I have many interests, but motorbikes aren’t one of them.”

  “Then put on the coat and hop up.” Helen reached into her saddlebag, grabbed the extra shorty helmet she saved for passengers (mostly Dylan), and threw it to Yoel. He caught it and nearly dropped his coat in the process. Helen would have to take him on rides more often if it got him that flustered.

  “This feels absurd.” He fumbled with the chin strap and adjusted the helmet over his carefully coifed hair. “Are you sure it’s safe without any eye protection?”

  “You’re fine.”

  Yoel rattled off a couple cross streets. “We’re going to the Tomcat Cafe. It’s a coffee shop on the corner. You’ll know it when you see it.” He climbed on behind her, setting his feet on the tailpipes at first. Helen patted his leg and pointed to the foot pegs sticking out over them. He adjusted his position and took her waist.

  “Got it.” Helen shifted her weight to one leg as she got ready to take off. “Lean with me on turns and hold on tight. I like to go fast.”

  Helen revved the engine and it roared back to life. She hadn’t even let go of the brake and Yoel went stiff behind her. Her laugh got lost under the noise of the bike. Yoel had shown her his world for the last few weeks. It was about time he got a taste of hers.

  * * *

  Helen may have teased Yoel about riding too fast, but her tires never squealed, and she kept a healthy distance between her bike and the cars in her lane. Making him too jumpy would be a danger to them both and she wanted Yoel to survive his first ride.

  They came up to the intersection Yoel told her about in a part of town full of hole-in-the-wall stores and high end restaurants. She stopped at the red light and browsed for a parking space. The Tomcat Cafe’s cursive sign and orange cat logo hit her gut like a bullet train. She doubled over her handlebars and nearly vomited in the middle of the street.

  The whole block around the building radiated fae energy. Yoel had exposed Helen to the artifacts in his safe during their spars, but it was never that thick. Every breath made Helen dry heave.

  A horn honked behind them as the light turned green.

  Yoel rubbed her back and leaned closer to her ear. “Pull off to the side.”

  “Don’t tell me we’re goin’ in there.” Helen coasted her bike between two parallel parked cars and coughed into her elbow. If being that far away from that cafe made her keel over, how would she react inside?

  “Wishful thinking won’t change it, Miss Carver.” Yoel wobbled and braced himself on Helen’s shoulder as they stopped. “The Tomcat Cafe is a neutral gathering place for the fae of Cleveland. Seelie and Unseelie both openly mingle there.”

  “That explains why my dinner’s coming back.” Helen groaned as pain shot through her stomach.

  “Is it too intense? I thought you’d built up enough of a tolerance by now. Perhaps it’s too soon for this place.”

  “We came this far. I’ll deal with it.” Helen gulped down the acid in her throat. “I hate wasting gas.”

  “If you insist.” Yoel frowned, but continued. “A former changeling and powerful witch named Maggie runs it. She has an enchantment over the place that nullifies the magical ability of all who enter, except for any glamours and scries.”

  “Glamour is disguise magic. Scries are like cameras and video chatting with mirrors. Changeling is...a human baby switched out for a fake one?”

  “Yes, though it’s also used as a term for humans stolen by fae as companions,” Yoel amended. “She’s also an important contact of mine. Like a bartender, she overhears a great many things. If she likes someone, she’s not shy about sharing that information.”

  “So she takes bribes?”

  “Oh yes. Secrets and favors are the best currency in fae society. I’d get a great many offers for exposing you and your abilities.”

  “Why you telling me this?”

  “So you know what you’re worth.” Yoel reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a silver heart charm on a matching chain. A half-pleasant hum clung to it. It must be Unseelie magic. “Here. Put this on before we go inside.”

  “You couldn’t pick something less cheesy?” Helen took the chain and dangled the heart in front of her helmet. “What’s it for?”

  “It’s a minor glamour enchantment that changes the hair and eyes of the wearer,” Yoel said. “Simple enough magic that it won’t attract unwanted attention.”

  “Good idea.” Helen hooked the clasp around her neck, underneath her hair. Her face tingled as magical energy settled over it. Her hair lost a good foot, and the the ends tickled her jaw. When she patted her eyes, her lashes were much shorter. She’d have to pass a mirror to see what color had replaced her Carver-Green irises. “Why don’t you have one?”

  “I’ve been there before. I won’t stand out.”

  “Alright. What do I do while you talk up the witch?”

  “Study the clientele. Focus your senses and try to pick out who is Seelie, Unseelie, and human. See how they i
nteract and learn from it. Fae have their own culture and customs, their own varying personalities and alignments.” Yoel itched his cheek where the chin strap made red marks. “Let’s park. This thing chafes.”

  Helen took another minute to find her bearings, then pulled onto the street with the next wave of traffic. She found an empty spot a couple blocks over and stored both helmets in her saddlebags after they dismounted. The two of them walked the rest of the way to the coffee shop. The closer they came to the cafe, the more her stomach cramped. She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and muscled through it like she had through so many crappy high school experiments. If she couldn’t beat it, she’d go down trying.

  The cafe had soft floodlights stationed over its outdoor seating area and wide open windows on its storefront. Bags of coffee beans sat on display tables alongside fake pastries painted to look gooey and fresh from the oven. An invisible force pressed on Helen as she entered, making her steps heavy as she plodded alongside Yoel.

  Inside was a cashier counter under a chalkboard menu. Paper lantern light fixtures gave the lobby a soft glow. A series of bare shelves and cubbies were built high into the walls out of anyone’s reach. To an ordinary onlooker, the cafe’s cluster of customers would seem like a scene from an advertising campaign full of TV-pretty models laughing over their scones. Seelie energy came off them in sickening waves.

  “Do you want me to order you anything?” Yoel asked under his breath.

  Helen breathed past the roiling acid in her gut. “No.”

  Yoel walked them to the register and tapped the small bell by the tip jar.

  Helen caught a few of the fae sizing her up. Did they think she was an ordinary Unseelie, or could they see through her disguise? She wiped her moist palms against her jeans and edged a step closer to Yoel.

  “Comin’,” said a woman behind the counter with her back to them. Her loose tunic and flowing skirt had a dizzying array of bohemian prints, and her dark braid went all the way down to her waist. A Seelie stink sat on her like light a spritzing of perfume instead of the layers her customers had. The barista turned around and Helen gawked at the clumps of freckles across her whole heart-shaped face, going down her neck and disappearing under her collar.

  “It’s been awhile,” Yoel said, a bit of a brogue coloring his speech. Hadn’t he gone to a university in Scotland? Maybe some rubbed off.

  “Aye it has, Mr. Scribe,” the barista said in a thicker Highlands accent as she sidled to the register and offered Yoel a bright smile. “And ye brought company this time. Tryin’ to make me jealous with this beast o’ a lass?”

  “I’m showing her around.” Yoel gave her a thin smile as he turned to Helen and gestured to the barista. “Should I introduce you?”

  “I can take care of it.” Helen offered her hand, different fake names rushing through her head. “I’m uh...Ellen Harper. Don’t worry, me and him are just friends.”

  “Oh, I’m just stringin’ him along so he’ll keep givin’ me shiny things. Name’s Maggie, never Margaret.” Maggie threw a wink Yoel’s way and gave Helen’s hand a firm shake. “It’s your first time, so here’s the rules. One, if ye see a ginger cat wanderin’ ‘round, leave him alone. That’s Teague. He’s mine. Two, I host all kinds, so no startin’ fights, or else. The professor can cover the rest.”

  “I’m not ‘the professor’ yet. I need to finish a doctorate first,” Yoel corrected, his cheeks turning a shade pinker. “Find us a table, Miss Harper. I’ll be right over.”

  “You got it.” That must’ve been Helen’s cue to start studying. She held her breath and braved her way into the dining area.

  The lesson shouldn’t be too hard. Sit there, act natural, and watch things. All she had to do was keep her mouth shut and not obsess over if Tommy’s assassin was among the customers. The Seelie crowd gave Helen sidelong rolls of their eyes or condescending glares, but didn’t linger long as she passed through them. She found an unoccupied sofa by a window and dug her nails into the cushion as she sat. Ruining the upholstery was worth holding back her urge to punch those snobby sneers.

  The minority of the customers were other lone figures like her. Each one gave off a different kind of the Unseelie energy, like intense versions of her necklace. A woman with a blank stare and a head-sized leather bag sitting on her table ran her finger over an open book set in front of the bag. While the vibes coming off her body from the neck down matched the oversized purse, her head seemed like empty air. A guy with shaggy brown hair and a baseball cap adjusted a lump in the backside of his baggy pants. Was he hiding a tail? Sitting to the left of Helen, a gentleman in a black suit jotted notes in a journal while sipping his chai tea. The pleasant aura coming off him reminded her of black and white vampire movies.

  Helen idly rubbed her stomach, as if that would calm it down. None of the Unseelie figures seemed to have the same gut churning reaction she did to the thick of Seelie energy crowding the cafe. Yoel had mentioned she’d build up a resistance in time. Maybe all of them had already grown theirs.

  Helen lifted her chin to get a better look at whatever the suited man wrote. Maybe it would give her some insight into how Unseelie fae ticked.

  “Can I help you?” The dapper man snapped the journal shut without marking his place.

  Helen shook her head and diverted her attention back to Yoel as he chatted with Maggie by the register.

  “I haven’t seen you around here, have I?” The gentleman in the suit leaned toward her. He had the upscale drawl of a full-of-himself Bostonian.

  Helen shrugged and squeezed her mouth into a line. Was he flirting, or did he notice that she felt off?

  “The Dark Queen didn’t cut out your tongue when she made you, did she?”

  “No. I can talk fine.” Helen labored over each syllable, trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible. “But you talk too much.”

  “I wasn’t sticking my nose in someone else’s writing.” He set his pen on top of his journal and crossed his legs as he slouched back. Crap, he was getting comfy. “But since you mention it, I am a bit of an extrovert, and you look rather interesting. ”

  Helen dug her nails deeper into the sofa. Stuffing peeked out.

  “That’s enough bothering the lady, Todd,” a smooth Seelie presence said from over Helen’s head. “She’s obviously a solitary type, and this is not the place to provoke a tussle.”

  An orange tomcat with dark stripes running down his forehead and cheeks peeked out from one of the cubbies high on the wall. Unlike every other Seelie in the cafe, this feline’s energy seemed concentrated, like someone had squeezed a thunderstorm into a housecat. Helen winced and turned away.

  “Then the lady can tell me herself, can’t she?” The dapper man curled his lip. “Or maybe I should test the limits of the treaty on you. Perhaps it doesn’t apply to exiles bound to a witch instead of a court.”

  “You want to try, little abomination?” The tabby crouched, and its tail wiggled high in the air as if it wanted to pounce. Its energy intensified as its blue eyes glowed.

  A shrill whistle came from the register. Both the cat and the gentleman whipped toward it.

  “You, take yer pissin’ contest outside.” Maggie pointed an ominous freckled finger at the dapper man first. Then she turned it on the cat. “Teague, keep yer gob shut.”

  “There aren’t any ignorant beings about, I checked,” said the cat in a plaintive whine a husband might give to his overbearing wife.

  Maggie closed an imaginary zipper over her lips.

  The suited gentleman tipped an unseen tophat at Helen, and shot a nasty hiss at the tomcat. Teague turned his nose up and sprawled across his platform.

  Yoel and Maggie resumed chatting. He wasn’t telling her about Helen’s weird condition, was he? If only Helen could hear what the two of them talked about. Had she been stupid to trust Yoel so quickly? Too desperate for revenge that she latched onto a foe instead of a friend? Being surrounded by so much foreign energy was building her into
a paranoid tizzy.

  Yoel waved Maggie from behind the counter and pointed at Helen. The two of them crossed the room to her.

  Helen let go of the torn up cushion under her and tensed her forearms as she watched them. Would she have to fight when they reached her? Could she push past the mass of fae if she needed a way out?

  Yoel took the empty spot beside Helen on the sofa, and spoke in an undertone Helen had to strain to hear over the room’s chatter. “Miss Harper has a stake in that story you were just mentioning, Maggie.”

  Helen let her tight arms relax. “Why ain’t she getting the ‘Miss’ treatment?”

  “I’ve done business with her longer,” Yoel said.

  “Either she’s mastered her American accent, or she’s born and brought up here, aye?” Maggie sat on Helen’s other side, in the same chair the suited Unseelie had just left. She slid it closer to the sofa. “What’s she got to trade for it?”

  “Depends what you’re asking for.” Helen set her elbows on her knees and leaned over them.

  “No need.” Yoel crossed one of his legs over the other. “I’ll cover her debt. I have a vested interest in this matter, myself.”

  Maggie tapped the side of her nose with an understanding nod. She snapped at the platforms over their heads. “This is goin’ to cost ye more than usual, since you’re payin’ for two.”

  The ginger tabby, Teague, leaped from his perch and landed on Maggie’s waiting lap. His power filled the air around them with an electrified hum that drowned the surrounding noise to dull murmurs.

  “I thought fae couldn’t do magic in here.” Helen edged away from the cat and pressed into Yoel.

  “Every fae except for the spell’s creator,” Teague said as his tail swiped Maggie’s shoulder.

  “Aye, and this way we have privacy.” Maggie scratched behind Teague’s ear, and he curled under her hand.

  “From the beginning, if you don’t mind,” Yoel said. “What dealings have you had with Lord Ailpien of Far Seeing Owls?”