“Isn’t it?” He looks around at the vivid oil paintings of hunts and kings and battles, his chin balanced on the backs of his folded hands. “I didn’t build it, but I found it. You can tell it’s fae architecture by the roofs - very old stuff, their newer buildings look nothing like this. It was a ruin, but with a little hard work, I refurbished it and made it a home.”
He pauses, taking a bite of a caramelized orange peel. “I saw Altair earlier today. I sent him on an errand for me and he looked quite amazing. You did good work.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t really do anything -“
“The Brightness is subtle like that,” Vil agrees. “But beware, Miss James; never forget you have it. Or you will start to think your accomplishments are solely your own.”
“And get a big head?”
“Precisely. I didn’t carve out a mansion in the Bright Place without a good deal of humility. There are fae who can eat your Brightness, or suppress it. So it would be wise of you to learn something of defending yourself, especially as…” He trails off. “Especially as the fight draws near.”
“Near?” I poke a duck wing.
“That woman trying to close the Bright Place off isn’t the only one I’m fighting,” Vil says dourly. “The other high fae aren’t pleased I’ve stolen eight of their own. Barnabus has managed to keep them back, and your cactus dog will surely help, but a time will come when all hands will be needed on deck.”
My palms get slick with sweat clutching my silver fork. “I don’t want Sir Charles fighting and getting hurt!”
“He must,” Vil quirks a slender brow. “You may have created him, but I collar him. He obeys my demands.”
“He’s not - he’s a gentle boy -“
“He’s a fae you created out of your own Brightness,” Vil interrupts me ruthlessly. “All fae have power; he is suited to fighting as a hawk is suited to flight. He will defend his master to the death, and his master is me.”
The silver fork in my hand shakes, and I get the sudden urge to fling it across the table and have it stab Vil right in the smug, beach-tanned face. Vil leans back in his chair gracefully, completely unruffled.
“Continue your work with the feeding. I will be gone for a few days - but I will be back for the linking ceremony. Be sure you are ready.”
My boss. He’s just a shitty boss, I keep reminding myself. A shitty boss that holds every fae I know under his shitty iron thumb. I nod like a good obedient employee of capitalism, but my brain works overtime - he’ll be gone for a few days. A perfect opportunity to sniff around, try to find a way to free the high fae.
“I’ll have you know something about the high fae’s abilities,” Vil continues. “All of the information they collect with it comes directly to me. If you think about stepping out of line, I will know.”
I squeeze my fork tighter. Could he hear me just then? No - Altair told me on the way to school today that their abilities only work if they’re in close proximity. And Altair is nowhere to be seen, which means Vil just got very lucky with his guess.
“I’d never,” I try to sound light and unaffected. “Sixty-thousand is too much money to afford stepping out of line.”
Vil watches me with his mild brown eyes, then nods with a small smile. “For you, I suppose it is.”
We eat in silence until a dessert of tiny vanilla cream cakes comes out, sprinkled with chestnut dust and swimming in a little pool of coffee-chocolate sauce. Halfway through the cakes, Vil looks up at me again.
“When is your cycle?”
I sputter chocolate down the front of my sweater. The house fae whisks his napkin over my front and it disappears instantly.
“My, uh, what?”
Vil sighs. “Your menstrual cycle. When does it begin?”
I’d check my phone app but there’s no signal here. “Uhm, I think the end of the month. Like the 28th?” A frown carves his dignified face. “Something wrong with that? I can try to hold it in.”
He brushes my joke completely aside. “Fae are different than humans - like many animals on Earth, fertile fae only bleed when they are ready to reproduce. The problem lies in the fact human and fae menstrual blood smells nearly the same to seed-producing fae.”
“You’ve lost me again.”
He leans forward on the table. “Fae breeding seasons are short, but violent. The moment your period begins, every high fae in a hundred-mile radius will be drawn to you. Sometimes with…devastating effect.”
My face drains to ice-cube temperature. “Dane, Quinn, Altair -“
“Altair may be able to temper his instinctual reaction than most,” Vil agrees. “And while Quinn’s sense of duty is strong, it’s not stronger than nature. Dane will be your biggest problem - he gives in to his instincts too easily, and he’ll no doubt be completely under its sway.”
“W-What do I do?” I grip my napkin. “I go home right? For that one week?”
“No. The fae need you here to feed them.”
“But my period - I can’t feed them when they’re going bonkers!”
“It’s only the high fae who can smell you,” Vil assures me. “Which means only those three. Asking them to sit still for a feeding from you while you bleed pheromones in their direction is too risky and too cruel, even for me. So I will feed the high fae that week. They went around starving for three years, they can do it again for seven days.”
He leans back in his chair. “I will also issue a command that none of them are to go near you. The silver collars will reinforce it. To be safe, give none of them permission to enter your room, ever. Your room will be your haven. I’ll have the house fae deliver your meals to you there.”
“But how will I get to work?”
“Cancel ahead of time.”
“What? I can’t just -“
“It’s either that or be ripped to shreds,” Vil says coolly. “Make your choice.”
“Altair took me to school - “ I protest. “Tons of girls must’ve been having their periods there but he didn’t do anything.”
“Their craze only takes hold of them in the Bright Place.”
“That doesn’t -“
“You will also do well to remember that any feelings you have for the high fae are a consequence of their natural state of being - they attract humans to them as a flower attracts bees. Do not mistake that attraction for your own urges, or you will find yourself under their spell. And trust me - under a fae’s control is a very bad place to be.”
I start to argue again, but Vil stands abruptly, throwing his napkin on the table and leaving through the oak doors. He stops in the threshold, his face turned over his shoulder.
“Take care, Miss James, not to underestimate my monsters.”
-7-
Quinn helped me back from work today with nothing but chilly silence. He comes to his feeding the same way - with absolutely no emotion on his elegant face. He strips down slowly, and I quickly choose an herb mix for him; chamomile and cocoa butter and almond extract. I pull the blindfold on and settle at the ivory stool, waiting. This is my third feeding, and I feel sort of like I’m starting to get the hang of it.
Until I hear Quinn laugh.
It’s not a quiet snort, but a full-on laugh. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard - musical and sweet and strong. Quinn is…laughing?
“What is that ridiculous thing you’re wearing?” He manages. My cheeks get red-hot.
“It’s…humans aren’t good at the whole ‘get naked’ thing, okay?”
“From what Dane has told me, they are.”
I roll my eyes then realize no one can see it. “The people Dane interact with are definitely used to it, but I’m not. I don’t, uh, the only naked person I’ve ever really seen is me. And sometimes not even that because it’s hard to look at my weird body straight on in the mirror.”
Quinn is quiet, and I hear him getting into the water slowly. Finally, he says;
“I thin
k you look fine.”
“How would you know? I’m wearing all these clothes.”
He’s silent, and my hands freeze in their search for his shoulders.
“Wait a fucking minute - don’t tell me…your ability -“
“I can see through physical objects.” Quinn says softly. I shriek and cover my chest with my arms, and he sighs. “Volume, please.”
I try to stop hyperventilating, forcing my hands to find his shoulders. No one else has seen my naked, full-grown bod - not even my parents! The second I turned thirteen I stopped changing in front of anyone but the eyes of God. But now Quinn - I shudder. I feel like someone’s violated my privacy completely.
“Fae are comfortable with nakedness,” Quinn says. “I assumed you would be too. I apologize if I upset you.”
“But wait - you’ve gone down to the human realm before, right? Haven’t you talked to any of them? Seeing someone naked can be pretty private to almost everyone.”
Quinn doesn’t say anything. And that’s when I put it together.
“Am I, like, the first human you’ve ever spoken to?”
My hands inch up to his neck just in time to feel him nod. His skin is milky-smooth, almost as soft a baby’s. And while Altair had little imperfections like scars and hair, Quinn has none of that.
“While Dane and Altair consorted with humans,” Quinn says. “I’ve stayed here.”
“Why?”
I hear the water splash in the tub as Quinn squirms. Squirming? From the fae king of stoicism? And he laughed too - there’s more to him than I ever thought.
“None of your business,” He says, matter-of-factly.
“Alright. I get it, you know.” I lace my hands through his blue curls, shocked at just how perfectly wavy and velvety they are. “Humans suck. We’re loud, and ignorant. Nothing’s ever good enough for us. We tear down trees, we ignore people who need help, we fight with each other so hard we commit atrocities. So I get it, not wanting to be around us. We suck super hard.”
I sink my hands back to his shoulders, and I feel him instantly relax against the tub, all the tense, lean muscle in them going soft. He’s smaller than Altair by a long shot, and thinner, and yet he’s still ripped with muscle - more like a male ballet dancer than anything. The smell of chamomile and almond seeps into my nose, relaxing me, too.
“I haven’t seen much of the Bright Place, yet, or any fae other than you guys,” I continue. “But I’m willing to bet fae are a lot less stupid than humans, on average.”
“Sometimes,” He agrees quietly. “Sometimes moreso.”
I steel myself for the hard part. Food, I think. He needs food. It might be sensual for a human to do this to another human, but he’s a fae. To him it’s just food.
I run my hands down his chest gently. His milky-smooth skin is incredible to touch, no hair anywhere. His whole body is like when I used to put my hand outside the window on the freeway and let the wind slide around my hand - supple and so delicate I’m afraid if I push too hard he’ll bruise. All of him is delicate; his ribs, his collarbones, all of it held together by his thin, corded muscles.
Quinn isn’t Altair - he doesn’t make much appreciative noise. But when I reach the tight sides of his torso, he makes the smallest, sharpest intake of breath, and then he exhales with a whisper of a prayer;
“Bright Lady.”
I feel that surge of weird pride well up in me again. I’ve found it - the spot he’s hungriest in, and I rest my hands there for a few minutes, stroking him in slow, easy circles, the sweet water kissing my fingertips every time I reach the lowest part of his skin.
Finally, I run my hands all the way up him, and pull away.
“Okay. I think that’s enough, right? You can spread the rest to your other parts?”
Nothing. Just silence. He’s still mad for sure.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” I say. “About what I said the other day. I know you don’t forgive people easy and you don’t have to, with me. I just want you to know I said it without thinking, like a big dumbass. So. It won’t happen again.”
Still, nothing. He must be really pissed. I take a deep breath.
“Okay. I’ll just, um. Go.”
I get up, pulling my blindfold off once I’ve turned towards the door. Quinn still says nothing, and half-worried half-confused I turn my head the slightest bit over my shoulder.
He lies there in the tub, his arms over the edges and his eyes closed. His breathing is even, and he doesn’t move. Is he…sleeping? He isn’t naked anymore, a gorgeous periwinkle-blue robe encasing his whole body. It flows out of the bathtub like a wave, not wet in the slightest, as if it repels the water instead of soaking it up. The blue of the robe moves like Altair’s clothes did - fading in and out with darker blues, deep violets, and steely grays, like every layer of the ocean coming together and drifting apart again. It’s cut deeply down his chest, showing off his skin in a drastic V-shape all the way down to his belt - a slender thing studded with sapphires that shift their colors just like his robe; floaty lavenders, bright teals, pure Prussian blues and stubborn slate grays. Each gem glows in a different rhythm, some fast, others slower than a lighthouse. The gentle light they’re giving off practically hypnotizes me. His blue curls shine, a tiara of smooth silver circling his skull and coming to a stop on his forehead, where a round, brilliant sky-colored sapphire sits.
His true form.
Carefully, I walk over, making my steps as soundless as possible. Altair said he barely gets any rest. Seeing him asleep now, in his true form, makes me so indescribably happy. I’m helping. I thought I wouldn’t do anything here other than make the high fae miserable by acting as Vil’s voodoo doll, by forcing them into a death-pact to fight - but right now I’m helping, aren’t I?
His sleeping face is so innocent, so pure and childlike. Reverently, like he’s a god and I’m a worshipper, I lower my face to the top of his head and kiss it gently before I leave him to rest.
****
After a dinner of lobster bisque and crispy, soft garlic bread with just me and the house fae at the table, I slide into my own bathtub. I look out the window - the night sky is so crazy beautiful here; with constellations I don’t know the name of and fours sprays of stars like banners streaking across the bowl of black, reminding me of four vibrant Milky Ways, almost. Red stars cluster together on the horizon, two extremely bright blue stars almost directly overhead. And unlike the human realm, shooting stars happen constantly - diamond flashes of light here one second and gone the next.
I miss the view out of my apartment window. Is it weird to say that? The Bright Place is so incredible, and Monster Garden even more incredible, but I miss the feeling I got looking out my own apartment window. Here, I’m looking out the window as the hired help, and none of the things around me are my own. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy the view. I told Quinn humans are never satisfied, and it’s really true.
I should just enjoy the quiet moments like I can. Before the fighting starts, like Vil said. Before I’m turned into a voodoo doll of death.
I get out of the tub and put on my old, stained terrycloth robe. I’ve had this thing for fucking ever, but I can’t bear to throw it away. It’s my jam-stained baby.
A knock…on my door? At this time of night? I hear a familiar whine and scuttle over and open it to see Dane standing there, in all black leather again, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks very not happy to see me. And next to him is someone very happy to see me - a green cactus dog.
“Sir Charles!” I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, the cool silver of his collar against my cheek. “Who’s the best and cutest cactus dog in the world, huh?”
Sir Charles barks, and I answer him with a boop on the giant wet nose.
“That’s right! It’s you!”
Sir Charles barks happily, and Dane clears his throat to get my attention. I pretend not to notice and motion for Sir Charles
to come in, but he hesitates at the doorway, whining with his ears flat against his head.
“You have to tell him he can come in,” Dane deadpans. “With your words.”
I look right in Sir Charles’s big brown eyes.
“You can come in, buddy.” I snap my eyes over to Dane. “But you, Mr. Rude Ass, can’t.”
“As if I’d want to come into your stinking hovel,” He sneers.
“Then why are you here?” I cross my arms over my chest, mimicking him and hiding any part of my chest from his view. Every fiber in my body screams for me to rip my robe off and jump his bones, and the longer I think it the bigger his languid smirk gets. Right - cold squid. Taxes. Getting dental work done. Think about anything but him and the sinfully beautiful way his Adam’s apple swells out from his throat - cold slimy squid tentacles. Cold slimy goddamn squid tentacles, May.