The Modern Fae's Guide to Surviving Humanity (28 page)

It was a nice thought. Would have been even nicer if it had been true.

At least most of her overtime was paid, if she chose to report it on her time sheets. But what was she supposed to do with all the money? She was too exhausted and too busy to spend it. Pile it up in the bank, she supposed. Her children could spend it when she was dead.

Assuming she ever had time to have children. Which would mean having time to find a husband. And that got back to that whole quaint concept of a “personal life.”

“Ha,” she muttered as she let herself out of the building, into the foggy San Francisco night. “Personally falling asleep in front of the TV again.”

The Financial District was quiet at this hour. She'd have to walk up to Market Street at least to get a cab, maybe even up closer to the Civic Center. At least she could afford a cab—the Muni at this hour would be depressing indeed.

Gathering her coat more tightly around her, Loretta strode toward the lights of Market Street.

Suddenly there were dark shapes to either side of her. Someone grabbed her right arm as a young man appeared before her. He had dark curls, bright blue eyes, and a mad, feral look. Loretta needed only an instant to
take all this in, before she could even gather breath to scream.

The young man put a gentle hand over her mouth, moving almost too quickly for her to perceive. “No, no, none of that,” he whispered.

Her terror fell away, though she could not have said why. Something in his voice … it was gentle and bewitching. She let her breath out through her nose, as his hand still covered her mouth, and relaxed into the grip of whoever held her arm.

Dark, it was so dark! Why could she not see who held her?

The man before her dropped his hand. “There, you see? Nothing to be frightened of. Walk with us.” He gave her a dazzling smile. Loretta smiled back at him, still not understanding. Wondering where her fear had gone.

There were two people behind her as well; she could sense that even though she could not see them. And though they were on Sansome Street, in the heart of the Financial District, there was not another soul about.

The dark-haired man took her left arm and turned her around, walking back in the direction of her office. “Here we go,” he murmured in her ear.

Loretta walked numbly. She felt encased in a bubble, a safe and mysterious cocoon. As they approached a streetlight, she glanced over at the one to her right. He was another young man, also peculiar looking: bright blond hair and very pale skin. Almost luminescent, though that had to be a trick of the light.

She looked away, back towards the one who had spoken. “Where …” she started, but stumbled over her own words. The whole thing felt like a dream.

“Hush for now, you're safe with us,” he murmured.
They walked on, to the sound of light footsteps behind her.

Hestia walked aimlessly until she got to Telegraph Hill, then decided to climb to Coit Tower. Many fae, when they came topside, avoided heights with the reflexive discomfort of creatures who spent their lives underground, but Hestia had always been unique. Unafraid. She welcomed the giddy freedom of the open air and the brilliance of the stars above.

Though not many stars could be seen, here in the middle of the city, with all its polluting, glaring lights. How different the world had become! Every time she came over, it seemed to have become more crowded, more complex. Brighter, faster, noisier.

Hestia made her way to the top. At least it was a bit darker and quieter up here, though she still had to avoid humans—in pairs, in groups, and a few solo night wanderers. She stood in the shadows behind a couple who were holding hands as they gazed at the view of downtown in the middle distance. The woman leaned her head on the man's shoulder. After a minute, he kissed her.

Very sweet
, Hestia thought dispassionately. She felt distracted and out of sorts. Should she go back under the hill and try again later?

The younglings had gotten such a head start. And they had covered their tracks well once they came across. Both of these things had taken Hestia by surprise; she would not underestimate them again. Somehow, they had gained access to the records of all the recent changelings, and then set out on their reckless task before anyone realized something was amiss.

It had been foolish of her not to see this coming. But
how had they even arrived at the idea in the first place? Younglings should not be so involved with fae politics. Youth was a time of play and growth and learning.

The wind shifted; Hestia snapped out of her reverie and stared down at the street below. It wasn't a scent, precisely, but she suddenly knew that the pack of younglings was nearby.

She stepped out of the shadows to peer more closely at the world below. Her keen fairy eyes picked up movement, a small group … not four, but five. Her inner senses confirmed what she saw. They had captured another one.

“By the Tree,” Hestia whispered, before slipping over the low wall that separated Coit Tower's observation platform from the shrubbery on the hill below.

It had been so easy for them to find and glamour the poor unfortunate. She had no idea she had magical powers of her own, so she fell under the influence of the fairies without a murmur. Iannon held her arm anyway as they walked down the darkened street; Rex and Gardenia kept the streetlights and stores obscured, at least while they passed. A careful human observer might wonder at the small moving cloud of darkness, though it was more likely the misdirection would turn their attention away as well.

“Where are we going?” the changeling girl murmured, at last finding some semblance of her voice and reason though she was still lulled by the fae presence that surrounded her.

“A nice quiet place to talk,” Iannon said, patting her arm gently. “We want to tell you a story.”

“I like stories.” Her voice was dreamy and unconcerned.

“Excellent.” Iannon drew her a bit closer. The girl breathed deeply and sighed.
Probably the biggest hit of fae pheromones she's ever received
, Iannon thought, smiling to himself. At least since she was an infant, anyway.

He led his little band to the shelter they had been using this trip, at the base of Telegraph Hill, on the bay side. It had once been a corner grocery store, now long vacant. As they approached the door, Gardenia stepped forward and, with a few murmured words, brushed aside the wards that guarded the entrance. The door swung open and the five went in.

Iannon led the party to a room in the back, where the fairies had set up their camp. Glamour lay heavy in here, infusing the space with light and loveliness: comfortable sofas and mattresses in the corners; a few small tables laden with dishes of grapes and strawberries, perfectly fresh; and low tinkling music coming from everywhere and nowhere.

The girl sighed again, with obvious pleasure. Iannon took her to a bright red sofa and sat her down. She leaned against a thick pillow and grinned up at him.

“Are you hungry?” Iannon asked her. She might well be fae, but she surely had human habits of eating at regular times. He had learned this the hard way the first time they'd come over to help the stolen ones return home.

“Oh, yes, please,” she said, but did not move.

“I'll do it.” Rex brought her a dish of fruit.

She blinked a few times and then slowly reached for it. After another pause, she began feeding herself the grapes, one at a time, chewing each one thoroughly and swallowing before taking another.

Gardenia started to giggle, but Iannon silenced him
with a quick glare. It was cruel to mock them. They didn't know any better.

“Let her eat her fill, then we shall get started,” he whispered to his friends.

“Of course,” Gardenia said, nodding impatiently. “We know.”

Iannon shook his head and stepped over to the window, staring out into the night. He could, he supposed, have chosen a more reliable crew of assistants, but these were his friends. Nothing had ever gone seriously awry. Nothing they couldn't fix, anyway.

He was about to turn back to the room and see how the girl was doing when a small movement outside caught his eye. Iannon sharpened his vision and peered out. It wasn't a cat, or some other night creature; it wasn't a human either. The movement was too familiar. And a minute later, his magical senses told him what he had already suspected:
she
was out there.

She had found them.

Loretta sat on the most comfortable couch imaginable, eating the most delicious fruit she had ever tasted in her entire life. No food would ever again taste so good, not for the rest of her days. She already ached with the sadness of the time when she knew she would have to stop eating, when she would have to put the bowl down, when her belly would be full or when the grapes would run out; but the sadness was washed away anew with every new bite.

A vague and infinitesimal part of her awareness understood that there were other beings in the room with her, and that she had some confusion as to what this was all about. That concern fluttered at the very edge of her
senses and was easy enough to ignore. So she did, instead putting another grape in her mouth.

All too soon the grapes were gone. Loretta wanted to sob at the loss, but her hand found a huge, red, luscious strawberry instead. She put it to her mouth.

At once, the memory of the grapes vanished. The strawberry! She had never before tasted anything so delightful. Her life would now be devoted to eating these strawberries. She had achieved nirvana, perfect happiness, utter satisfaction.

After a sweet and formless time, Loretta understood that someone was sitting beside her on the sofa. It was the odd but very beautiful young man who had come to her in the first place. She gazed over at him, the memory of his gentle hand over her mouth now filling her. Loretta put a finger to her mouth, feeling the sticky-sweetness of the strawberries still there.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked.

“I …” She started to answer but had no words, so she glanced down at the bowl in her lap. It was empty. Again, the despair of loss and abandonment threatened to overtake her, but it quickly faded into a sense of fullness, of happiness. Of, yes, satisfaction. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes.”

The man, boy, whatever he was, smiled. “Wonderful. Now we shall tell stories.”

Oh yes, stories. Loretta liked stories. She had forgotten all about that part. How funny! She had forgotten so much, so quickly. It was still like a dream. A really, really wonderful dream.

“I am Iannon.” The boy put his hand out formally.

She took it. It was cool, and soft. “I am Loretta.”

“I know.” He grinned at her. His beauty was
breathtaking. She fell in love with him, pell-mell, in that moment. She would love him forever; she would bear his children; she would hold his hand from this day forward, never letting go.

Then he let go. “And this is Rex, Lucas, and Gardenia,” he said, pointing to other people in the room. There were other people in the room! Loretta had forgotten all about them! She gasped and looked at them all as Iannon introduced them. Each one was so gorgeous, it was as though they radiated light from their very pores. Her head almost ached, to hold such beauty, but then the pleasure of it was so strong, there was no aching.

How did they live with themselves, being so lovely?

“… will grow less overwhelming soon,” Iannon was saying. She blinked and tried to understand him, to hear him. “You will get used to it before long, and be able to put the sensation aside as needed.”

“I don't want to,” she murmured, even as a part of her knew this was not true. She knew she could barely think, could not reason. Yet it felt so good … why would she ever want it to stop?

Now Iannon leaned forward and took her hand once more, and the bliss enfolded her. “You are one of us.” The words made no sense, except that they did, she knew it was true, she had never felt so loved, so at home… .

Hestia approached the building cautiously. Iannon had spotted her; she'd seen him through the gap in the boarded-up window. She always found them sooner or later, and he knew that.

So what was his game this time?

The maddening thing was, they weren't even fundamentally at cross-purposes. Iannon and his band were
capturing changelings and returning them to Faerie; Hestia believed that infants should not be switched in the first place. The difference was that Hestia, as former Queen of all the Westernmost Fae, was respecting the authority of the current king and queen, however she might feel about them personally. She was trying to convince them to change fae policy. It was foolhardy and dangerous to return the changelings ahead of their appointed time.

Iannon was ignoring all this, simply taking matters into his own hands. And the ruler of his rogue family—his be-damned
Lady
—refused to stop him. If Iannon and his gang were not brought under control, the entire delicate balance of power in Faerie could be toppled, disastrously.

Hestia paused a block away from the shuttered storefront. She slipped into deeper shadow, giving herself time to think. Powerful as she was, with four of the younglings there, she would be hard-pressed to overcome them all and wrest their captive from them. And the captive would be helpless, drowning in glamour and confusion.

It was cruel, what they were doing, immersing the poor creatures like this. Yes, Hestia agreed that all changelings should be returned from whence they came. But slowly, gently, with explanation and preparation and plenty of time to adjust to the dramatically different world. As commanded by King Goren.

The Lady had to be behind this, and not for the first time. No youngling, however rebellious, would persist in such blatant disobedience to the authority of the king and queen unless he had the support of his clan mother. Which meant that the Lady was even more two-faced than Hestia already knew her to be. She had stood
before the rulers of Faerie and told them her pretty lies, smiling all the while. There was no other explanation.