Our evening regimen started with Beverley going upstairs to shower with Ares on her heels so he could lie on the bathroom floor, waiting. Nana followed her up and, when Beverley finished, Nana helped her comb and dry her glossy, dark hair. They always played a board game, then ended the day with Nana reading aloud while Beverley settled in. They both seemed to enjoy the routine; I'd watched them, undetected, from my darkened room. Beverley was getting a better version of my Nana than I had known growing up, like Demeter 2.0 or something.
I didn't want to mess it up, not even for one evening. Getting Nana's input about the Eximium was important to me but, at the same time, I didn't want to tell her about it at all. She'd surely find a reason to be against my decision.
The breeze increased, but didn't flutter the corn. Only the treetops danced.
Come.
The ley line spoke!
The grove's branches swayed, beckoning me. Then all at once the field was inviting me, stalks undulating, tassels nodding, pennant-like leaves waving me in, encouraging me to step into the row, into the arms of the stalks.
Intrigued, I laid down the sickle and succumbed to the summoning. Immediately the row stilled as the dried leaves reached high, making an aisle for me, opening as if this procession of one moving toward that seat of power in the grove was a most welcome guest.
My steps, punctuated by the crunching of dead weeds underfoot, released aromas that combined the smell of harvest: the scents of soil and a field of vegetation left to deteriorate and rot, withering in the wind of ever-cooler days. In the embrace of the stalks, my fingers trailed outward, feeling their dry husks, the texture of the season.
The ley line sent a pulse to acknowledge me. I expected a faint hiccup, like a little gust of wind, but this was much stronger, like the tremor of a small earthquake under my feet or the bass drum at a rock concert thudding out its rhythm against my chest.
Something was different. Why?
You are different.
I walked on. Great. The ley line knows I'm stained. Just what I wanted, to feel more like a freak.
As I reached the edge of the grove, rain began sprinkling down.
If it began to pour like the weatherman predicted, I'd be drenched before I made it back to the house. Eyes on the sky to gauge the clouds, my toes struck an exposed tree root. For all the pomp of my journey here, my arrival was doomed to gracelessness. In my attempt to catch myself, my palm grazed the ridged bark of the ambushing oak. I stumbled into the grove and went down on my knees.
In an instant, a blue-tinged field formed around the interior of the wood and the space surrounding me.
The smell of saltwater filled my nostrils and the cry of gulls and the crash of waves filled my ears. Raindrops beaded and rolled on the lightly glowing exterior surface. Its spherical shape made it seem as if I was inside a bubble. What the hell was going on? A blue mist rose from the ground not far in front of me. It swirled rapidly together, twisting and pushing like some creature inside a balloon, stretching and growing.
"I pray thee, forgive me this trespass."
The voice was female, soft and melodic. In a few seconds, a two-foot-long mermaid floated before me. Her lower half was layered in pearlescent blue scales. The skin of her upper half was a shade paler and gleamed like it was embedded with glitter. Her raven hair lifted as if she still floated in water. She wore only pearls, a dozen necklaces of various lengths, one strand rounding beneath each breast.
"I am Aquula."
"You're… you're a mermaid? In my cornfield?"
She giggled and it was the sound of pebbles clinking as the tide recedes. I glanced up; the rain was hitting heavier on the bubble.
"I am a fairy." Her childlike voice came in a whisper, as if sharing a secret. "A water fairy."
Historically, it was customary for witches to call upon the fey as quarter guards for their circles. In modern times, however, calling the fey could get a witch killed.
Allergic to asphalt and iron, the fey had wanted to return to their own realm completely. They no longer wished to be bound to witches who could jerk them without warning from that world—where time ran differently—for the purpose of protecting a circle. Long before the other-than-merely-humans had come out of hiding, back in 1971, the Concordat Munus affirmed that the fey had, for lack of a better term, unionized. They were not to be summoned by witches ever again, or the witches would suffer the consequences. Elementals had agreed to stand—in spirit form—as our protectors in place of the fairies.
While the fey remained free to visit our world, such sojourns were rare due to their allergies.
I'd seen fairies on TV, but never in person. I was drawn to study her otherworldly face, so delicate and innocent. But I knew the fables. The fey only look frail. That misconception of frangibility had led humans to lose their fear of something very dangerous. "Why are you here?"
"I am here because of Menessos." She followed his name with a tremulous "Ahh…" sounding like a lovestruck teen.
"Oh. Great." There was no enthusiasm in my tone.
"He is quite lovely, is he not?"
Okay, so he was the walking, talking body double for Arthur Pendragon, my myth-based fantasy man who had romanced me in my dreams for as long as I could remember. He might be hot, but he was still a vampire. My fingers tapped on my thighs. "I suppose."
"Suppose?" She flipped her tail and seemed to swoon, falling slowly to the side, her hair gliding fluidly up. Outside the bubble, the rain fell harder still. "He is gorgeous to my eyes, but I forget myself." She floated upright again. "Thou art Persephone and thou hast tempted him back into the circle."
That was what Samson D. Kline had told me, shortly before Menessos beheaded him. Later, Menessos confirmed it. "I didn't know he'd been refraining at the time."
"Regardless, I thank thee."
"I'm glad you're happy about it." Maybe she would keep him busy and away from me.
"I am his southern quarter guardian, and now I know I shall see him again."
Did she not know of the Concordat?
"The guardians of the north, east, and south are fearful, now that he hath returned to the circle. But I yearn for his beckoning." She paused, expression dreamy.
I realized she and the other three «guardians» did indeed know of the agreement with the witches. I already knew Menessos was not just a vampire. He was a vampire-wizard, a sorcerer. I had no idea how or if the Concordat applied to him and it sounded as if the fairies were none too sure themselves.
Her expression turned serious and she eased forward to slip a cold hand to my wrist. Her dark eyes, eerie with much larger irises than a human's, searched my face. "Be warned, sweet Persephone: the others have taken to plotting. And while I would do naught that would earn my master's wrath, the others seek only to dispense with their binding by any means. Thou art precious to him, else he would not have entered thy circle. This hath not occurred to my counterparts, sweet Persephone, but it will," she said gravely. "I beseech thee to take precautions and protect thyself."
"I will now," I said.
"I cannot linger." Even as she said the words, the rain slacked off.
I wondered if my world was, to the fey, like my personal meditation world where a jackal named Amenemhab counseled me. "Go, Aquula. And thank you."
She faded back into a mist. With a low pop, the bubble burst. The smell and sound of the ocean faded. While the fleeting raindrops pressed the mist back into the earth, the branches overhead shielded me.
I sat in the grove thinking. Vivian's stake had been destroyed by my hand. Menessos owed me. Acceptable repayment, as far as I was concerned, would simply be him staying the hell away from me. But if his enemies were going to think of me as a tool to be used for retaliating against him, maybe I needed to call in the favor he owed me.