The Modern Fae's Guide to Surviving Humanity (16 page)

“Not as much.” Hawthorn's step had slowed to a stroll. “And what iron is there is covered by good wood and stone and plaster. The desks are wood.”

“And the doorknobs are brass.” We turned a corner, and I recognized one of the buildings I had passed earlier. “We're going to the hill, aren't we? If we'd turned left instead of right at the corner, we'd have gotten there faster.”

“You seem to like to walk. I like to walk. I didn't think you'd mind.” Hawthorn whispered, yet every word rang loud and clear.

My cheeks warmed, and I gave thanks for the dark. I quickened my pace, rounded another corner, and saw Sheryl and Jerry standing atop the hill at the street's end.

“It's better if you hear it from them.” Hawthorn backed away from me. “Anything I would tell you would just be words. It's a big decision. You need to be sure.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, Sheryl bounded down the hill toward us.

“Lee!” A grin split her face, and she radiated something I had never sensed in her in all the time I had known her. Confidence. Joy. She hugged me, as bouncy as a five-year-old on her birthday.

“I think this is the first time I've seen you smile.” I looked past her to Jerry, who approached more slowly. “You finally found her.”

“Yeah.” Jerry shuffled up to us, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “That I did.” He nodded at Hawthorn as if he were anyone else. A colleague. A classmate. A human being. “The rest is a sort of a blur, but I'm adjusting.”

“Please tell me what's going on.” I herded them down the sidewalk, away from Hawthorn. “Ashford tried to bribe me with bagels.”

“Did you eat one?” Jerry frowned when I shook my head. “Then you're not committed. That's how it works. When you accept something from them, they have you. It's like a contract.”

“You have to come live with us. It's wonderful.” Sheryl twirled, her skirt billowing around her. “It's another land. Guinevere and King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake.”

“Folklore major. Minor in anthro.” Jerry jerked his head at her. “In case you couldn't tell.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sheryl bent close. “Ashford said she'd give us a second chance to do the presentation. But we needed to give something in return.”

I looked back at Hawthorn, who stood some ways off next to an oak tree. He might have even been talking to it. His lips moved. “What exactly are you supposed to give?”

“Time.” For the first time in my memory, Jerry looked thoughtful. “Our knowledge of being human. Some of them—” He laughed. “They're bored. Looking for something else. Excitement. Purpose. And there are corners in this world where they've found they can fit in, like here, and they want to learn how to fit in better. And that's what they need us for. To help them learn. To learn ourselves.”

Sheryl patted his shoulder. “He's come so far in just one week.”

“I'm not an idiot—I can see what's in front of me.” Jerry looked at his watch. “We need to get going. There's a dinner, and we have to be there. First thing you learn is that they're picky about their rituals.” As Sheryl ran ahead, he hung back. “Are you coming? It's not a bad place. Kinda like here, but the light's a little different.”
He lowered his voice. “And right now it's just her and the guy who runs the candle store in town, and that's a little too much woo-woo for me.”

“Jerry. You've gone to live with the fairies. You couldn't get much more woo-woo.”

“Yeah, well.” He watched Sheryl pirouette across the hill. “Food's good. Kinda starchy. They like cheese.” He pondered for a moment. “Rugby. They play something like rugby. They like to have humans around because if there's a dispute, we can referee. We're impartial. They're like Cubs fans versus Sox fans once they get going.” He shrugged. “It's not your everyday extra credit project. But I think I could get to like it. For a few weeks. Couple of months.” He headed back up the street. “Maybe a year.” He broke into a trot. “Hey, beats the shit out of the old 8 to 5!” He stopped to wave good-bye. Then he joined Sheryl, and together they walked behind the hill.

I saw a flare of light, a reflection on the fog, as though someone opened the door into a brilliantly lit house. Then it went dark, and I waited until I heard footsteps from behind. “You pick the ones who are having trouble here. The ones who don't belong. Who won't be missed.”

“The ones who search for something they can't find here.” Hawthorn drew alongside, bringing with him scents of moss and fresh cut grass. “Who can learn from us, and give something in return.”

I breathed deep, felt the calm spread through me. No one had yet used the word
magic
, but wasn't that what this was? Hope, and the promise that there was still some wonder in the world? “They don't have to solve their problems. You give them a place to run to.”

“We offer respite. Is that a crime?”

I thought for a moment. “Not sure if I consider Ashford respite.”

Hawthorn smiled broadly, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “She spends most of her time here.” His expression softened. “I, on the other hand, return quite often.” He quieted, and a sense of waiting hung between us.

“I need to think about this.” I backed away. Then I turned and walked back up the street, away from promise, and hope, and magic. It took all the strength I had not to run.

By the time I got back to the dorm, animals had cleaned up the bagels. I returned to my room, put the clothes pole back in the closet. The steel had grown cold, smears of corrosion already marring the mirror finish. No more fae to trigger its power. No more wonder.

I sat at my desk, booted up my laptop, began reading the next day's assignment. Told myself that I would fix my life myself, solve my own problems. That anything I left behind would just be waiting for me when I returned.

Respite.

I called the company's 24-hour IT line, and got new network passwords. Logged into my work email account. Sixty-four messages since Friday afternoon, half marked URGENT.

Is that a crime?

I read the first message four times before it sank in. It was my turn to chair the monthly managers' meeting, and there was an agenda change I needed to make immediately. The usual life and death.

The old 8 to 5.

I got up, stretched my legs. Dug my coffeemaker out of the closet. I had just started adding coffee to the basket when I heard the voice drift through my head. Infinitely calm. Patient. And a little sad.

It's magic for us too, you know.

I went to the window to find Hawthorn standing in the yard, looking up at my window, hands in his pockets. “Stop reading my mind.”

He shrugged.
It's what we do. You would have to get used to it
. He smiled.
Or you could learn to block it. Or you could learn to do it, too. The education goes both ways
.

The coffeemaker gurgled, and the thick aroma of the brew filled the room. I filled my mug, then wandered to the desk and stared down at my laptop. The display had gone into standby, my latest screensaver drifting in and out of focus. A forest scene, the foliage thick, impenetrable, a thousand shades of green. I thought about Sheryl's smile and Jerry's quiet understanding. Had they changed? Or had they rediscovered what they once had been, and found a place where they could be that way again?

I stared at the screensaver as the time ticked away and my coffee grew cold. Then I closed my laptop and shoved it into my shoulder bag. Threw in some makeup and a change of clothes. A couple of books. My coat. The clothes pole, I left behind. I didn't need protection any more.

I went outside to find Hawthorn waiting for me. He held a plate with a half a cinnamon-raisin bagel, toasted and buttered, and I ate it on the way. There was no great flash of light when I bit into it. No lifetime's worth of eldritch knowledge tumbled into my head. It was just a step forward, the first of many.

“The bagel of commitment.” I held up the last bite, then popped it into my mouth. “To be followed at some point by the cheese danish of understanding.” And I laughed like Sheryl had.

Hawthorn frowned. “Are you all right?”

“No. Yes.” I quickened my pace. “I'm fine.”

The hill came into view. It looked different now, the colors altered, like Jerry said they would be. Shades of green that I had never seen before, blended with blue and silver and gold. When we circled around to the back, I saw the opening, its faint outlines visible in the grass. Amazing how I could have missed it before. It seemed so obvious now. I started toward it, then stopped when I felt spreading heat in my coat pocket. I took out my car keys, and placed them underneath a rock.

“I'll watch them for you.” Hawthorn stood off to one side. My gatekeeper. My guide. “Are you ready?”

I nodded.

The door opened, and I stepped inside.

Barbara Ashford

I
s there anything more pathetic than a menopausal faery?

Yes. A menopausal male faery. Leading a motivational seminar for humans. At the New Rochelle Radisson.

For two hundred years, I had thrilled audiences with my interpretations of Lear and Othello, Hamlet and Brutus. Now I was instructing them in the fine art of How to Be Human
^TM
. A 21
^st
century Charon, a fairy ferryman, guiding them across the River Shticks to the Wonderful World of Self-Actualization.

“True is it that we have seen better days.”

But at least my new audiences loved me, too. Two hundred people filled the Empire Ballroom, shining faces lifted to mine like flowers seeking the sun.

Except Penny, my magenta-haired personal assistant. She was leaning on the wall by the display table, mouth agape in an enormous yawn.

Focus, Finn. You've got magic to do.

I could not afford to become distracted. My recent seminars had been marred by minor slip-ups: the occasional lapse of concentration; the momentary flash of impatience; the errant surges of power that shorted out electrical devices, set off sprinkler systems, and—on one memorable occasion—catapulted several members of the audience into orgasm. But I was on track today. In the groove, in the zone, in the money.

My gaze swept the Empire Ballroom. Rapt expressions—check. Heartfelt nods—check. Tears glistening on flushed cheeks … yes, it was time to wrap up my Sermon on the Self-Help Mount and send them off with some well-chosen platitudes.

Blessed are the cheese makers, indeed.

I detected an uneasy shift in the collective bliss, an unexpected spike of confusion. I shot a quick glance at Penny. Her mouth still hung open, but now she was gawking at me.

Dear gods, had I spoken aloud?

Something prickled in my armpits. Sweat. I was sweating like a human.

The overhead dome lights began to flicker. Heads tilted skyward. Murmurs rose from the crowd.

I was losing them!

I wrestled for control of both my power and my audience and desperately ad-libbed, “Monty Python's
Life of Brian
offers us many moments of pure silliness.”

Heads jerked back toward the dais. Tentative smiles blossomed on a few faces.

“But the movie also teaches us an important lesson …”

“Do you want what's in the box or what's behind the …” No, you idiot. That's Monty Hall, not Monty Python. Think! You chose the name Phineas for a reason.

The lights returned to their normal brightness, and I smiled with renewed confidence.

“… and that lesson is: always look on the bright side of life.”

The appreciative chuckles offered new proof of Barnum's perspicacity: there really
was
a sucker born every minute.

Right. Time to get back on script before my glamour eroded completely. Serious expression. Firm nod.

“Our time together may be ending, but the journey has just begun. Hold on to the openness of mind and heart and spirit that brought you here.”

It's easy if you buy my CD: How to Be Human
^TM
.
On sale today for only $14.95.

“Embrace your higher self.”

It's easy if you consult my How to Be Human
^TM
daily affirmation cards. Business, Love, and Self-Esteem sets only $9.95 each. Boxed set—$26.95.

“And remember our five touchstones.”

A graceful wave of my hand and the phrases I had been drumming into their empty heads since 10:00
A.M.
promptly appeared on the giant projection screen behind me:

Utter drivel, of course. But sprinkle it with a little faery dust and they lap it up.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

“Maintain the unshakeable belief in your power to fulfill your destiny. And when you stumble—as we all do …”

Cheese makers, anyone?

“… just pick yourself up, dust yourself off …”

And sign up for my advanced weekend seminar: How to Live Human
^TM
.

“… and proclaim to the world that you are a glorious, accomplished, authentic human being!”

I flung out my arms as if to hug the whole sorry lot of them. Braced for their reaction, I barely winced when they leaped to their feet, applauding and whistling. When I was young, the turbulence of human emotions merely fed my power. Now, I had to shield myself to prevent such displays from overwhelming me.

I descended from the dais, cringing inwardly as I accepted the clumsy embraces of my fans and made approving noises about their “transformations.” My senses reeled from their aroma, that oh-so-human tang of sweat and excitement and flesh. A depressing reminder of my own mortality. True, I would never suffer the indignities of physical aging. My flesh would remain firm, my hair black and glossy. But as my power waned, so would I. Until I simply … faded away.