Faerie Misborn Read online

  I pulled her all the way in and to the back, settling her against the side of the wall while I dug in the coal.

  I had to move a lot of heavy pieces, some of them quite large, but finally I cleared the space against the back wall. I moved her carefully into place, and hugged her one last time.

  I knelt there, my candle flickering, and lost myself in thoughts of what a wonderful aunt she had been to me.

  Then I bent over and kissed her head through the blanket, and began to pile the coal on top of her.

  When I was finally done, the pile of coal looked the same as it had before, maybe just a bit taller.

  Aunt Clare had been a tiny woman, and thin as a rail.

  I backed out of the coal bunker, and carefully wedged the hatch shut, leaning all my weight on it and making it screech one last inch, so I knew it was tight.

  No one would come here and disturb her.

  She would be able to rest here for always, in peace and quiet.

  Just how she always preferred.

  I trudged back the way I’d come, my shoulders down and my head tired. My eyes had a dull feel to them, and I felt ancient.

  Burying the dead is the last kindness we can do for them. The last act of love.

  Chapter Four

  Chance

  The next day found me in a terrible gloominess, mixed with real fear.

  What am I going to do without her?

  I had no idea.

  That morning, I had gathered most of my stuff, which was to say, two extra shirts and one extra pair of pants. I still hadn’t found a new pair of shoes, although the old tennis shoes I wore were getting tight. I stuffed the clothes, my thin blanket, the last candle, the matches, and the knife in my bag, threw it over my shoulder, and started walking.

  I knew good places to sleep were hard to come by, but I did not want to stay in our old cubby. It was full of old ghosts, old memories which made me so sad that I had a hard time sleeping last night.

  I didn’t want to repeat that over and over.

  So off I went.

  I walked out of the old, abandoned tunnels, down the track depression, up onto the walkway, and into the subway central.

  No one paid me much attention, I was covered in grime from the coal bunker.

  Even though I had lost my coat, the coal dust had coated my platinum hair until it looked the color of grey flotsam. My shirt and pants were dun colored.

  I kept my eyes downcast, and walked in a plodding manner that invited no conversation.

  No one bothered me.

  Sometimes it was good to be small and grey and plain.

  I walked for a long time. Hours, it seemed.

  I reached an old loading dock near the wharf, behind all the fancy stores, where street folk gathered around 55-gallon drum fires, to talk and socialize.

  I trudged up to the nearest fire and held out my hands, warming them.

  “Holly, isn’t it?” an old man on the other side of the metal drum asked.

  I nodded.

  “You’re with Clare, aren’t you?”

  I said nothing, made no movement. I felt miserable and numb at the same time.

  “How is Clare doing these days?”

  I shook my head, and a fresh course of tears ran down my face.

  “Hello? You okay?”

  I finally raised my face to look at him.

  He saw my tears and put two and two together and sighed heavily.

  “Oh, man. Ohhhh, no. I am so sorry. God.”

  We both stood there for a several minutes in silence.

  Then another person walked up to share the fire, and he had a paper bag bottle.

  “Hey man, want some?” He asked, himself halfway drunk.

  The homeless shared so much.

  The first man took the bottle and drew a healthy swig from it.

  “Yeah, that’s not bad. Whiskey, isn’t it?”

  “Whiskey! Makes the world go ’round.”

  “Thanks. I just heard an old friend is no longer with us, and I’d like to toast her.”

  “Awww man, that’s too bad about your friend.”

  “Holly? Want a taste?”

  I shook my head, and moved off to another fire.

  I left the two old men drinking and sharing and laughing, reminiscing about lost friends.

  My stomach grumbled loudly.

  “Sister, you okay?” A pair of old women were huddled by the new fire, and one of them was looking at me kindly.

  I shrugged.

  “Oh, she’s crying. Honey, why’re you crying? What happened?”

  “Shush Donna, leave her to her tears, don’t bother the grieving.”

  “The grieving?”

  “Yeah, Batt and Tod over there said Clare died.”

  “Oh, man, that’s tough.”

  “I think this girl was with Clare. I’ve seen them together before.”

  “Is that so? Honey, were you and Clare traveling together?”

  I nodded, feeling miserable.

  My stomach growled again.

  “Oh, listen to that. She’s hungry.”

  “You hungry, Honey?”

  I ignored them.

  “Got anything to eat, Donna?”

  “No, no. I had a half a sandwich yesterday, but it’s gone now.”

  “Ah, pity that. Honey maybe you can go to the soup kitchen over on 6th Avenue?”

  “That’s St. Joe’s. They’ve got good soup, and if you get there early, they usually have bread to go with it.”

  “Honey, want us to walk you over there in the morning?”

  I turned and walked away from the fire and the two women. I wanted to be alone.

  As I left, I could still hear them: “Donna, I have a wad of chewing tobacco. Just a small one left but do you think she’d want it?”

  “No, Donna, she’s just a kid.”

  “Well, I started when I was ten. You never know.”

  I walked over to the water and looked into the black depths. The sun had set, and the moonlight reflected off the small waves made by multiple ships and boats.

  I could hear the water lapping against the dock.

  I turned and walked over to the wall fronting one of the loading docks, and sat down, my back against the cement.

  Knees up, my hands on either side of me, I bowed my head. I had no idea what to do, and I was rapidly feeling like I didn’t care.

  I felt dull and lost, and my head felt utterly empty of thought.

  I held my bag under my legs, and cradled my knees in my arms, and fell asleep.

  My eyes opened the next morning to the beeping sound of a truck backing up.

  The fires were gone, the oil drums pulled off to the side, and everyone had left.

  A semi-truck was backing up near me.

  Several men on the loading bays were waving the truck back, back, back, helping it to back up onto the ledge so they could unload it.

  I got to my feet, grabbed my bag and walked.

  Taking deep breaths and waving my arms back and forth to wake up, I decided to walk to the fountain and wash.

  It was very early. The sun had just come up maybe a half hour ago. I could still see the moon in the darker western sky.

  It took me an hour to walk to the fountain. A couple of street folk were already there, washing their hands and face.

  I bent and began washing.

  Aunt Clare had always told me not to get any of the water from the fountains in my mouth.

  “It’ll make you sick, Sweetheart,” she’d cautioned.

  I remembered every single thing she’d taught me.

  Boy, I’m filthy.

  I washed my face and hands, and tried to wash my hair out a bit, but not too much. The coal dust camouflaged the color well, and I still didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

  After a half hour of splashing, and getting myself soaking wet, I decided it wasn’t going to get any better than this.

  I stood up, my bag slung over my shoulder.
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br />   My stomach was so empty it felt hollow.

  I still felt tired and sad, and in no fit state to do any running, so I found a piece of cardboard in a dumpster, and a discarded crayon in the grass, and made a sign.

  “Hungry. Please help.”

  I decided to try begging. Aunt Clare had taught me, although she did not recommend it. A lot of people would rob you if they knew you carried cash, and that’s what begging brought.

  I’ll just get enough for some breakfast, then I’ll stop.

  I went to sit under a tree near the fountain. The plaza was a crossroads; a lot of people passed by on their way to do important things.

  I sat, my sign propped up, and waited.

  After an hour, people started to fill the plaza, most of them walking rapidly toward their destination. Not many stopped. I was still mostly invisible.

  But a few stopped and tossed coins at me.

  I forgot to get something to hold the coins.

  I grabbed the loose change tossed my way, sticking it under my leg until I could count it.

  Then one man tossed me a dollar.

  It fluttered down, and landed a few feet away.

  I leaned over and reached for it, and another man, who had been begging about thirty feet away, knocked me in the head, grabbed the dollar, and ran off.

  I fell over, my head ringing from the blow.

  I saw stars.

  I sat there, holding my head, for a while.

  My sign lay face-down and forgotten a few feet away, no one able to read it.

  I sat there a long time, holding my head.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I looked up.

  It was a boy, a few years older than me, bent over, looking concerned.

  I took a deep breath and looked at him.

  He had green eyes, messy brown hair, and ...

  Did I see this correctly?

  ... pointed ears??

  I closed my eyes.

  I must’ve got hit harder than I thought. This is the last time I go begging. From now on, I’m stealing my food.

  I looked up again. He was offering a hand to help me to my feet. And his ears were not pointed, they looked like normal ears.

  Now.

  I frowned internally.

  I reached out and took his offered hand, and slowly got to my feet.

  “Here. I think this is yours,” he said, handing me my bag and a handful of change.

  “Oh, thanks.” I took the coins and dropped them into the bag.

  “Is your head okay?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “I saw the guy club your ear and take the dollar,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah, that.” I looked around for the guy who’d hit me, but he’d left.

  “He’s gone. I saw him run off. I think he realized it was best not to stay at the scene of the crime.”

  “The crime?” I asked, still feeling fuzzy-headed.

  “Yeah, it’s against the law to hit someone in the head, you know. I think the charge is assault.”

  “Oh, yeah, I think it is.” I looked up at him. He was about a foot taller than me.

  I was short for thirteen.

  He looked tall, and maybe about fifteen. His brown bangs hung over his eyes, and he kept jerking his head to the side to swing the hair out of his eyes.

  He was looking down at me with an easy grin on his face.

  “I’m sorry. Um, thank you for helping me,” I said.

  “My pleasure,” he stuck out his hand. “My name’s Chance. Pleased to meet you.”

  I slowly took his hand. “Holly.”

  “Holly, would you like some breakfast? I was just about to get a roll and a latte over at the cafe. I’m on my way to school, and I forgot to eat at home.”

  My stomach grumbled again.

  I looked up at him sharply.

  He was still grinning, but pretending he didn’t hear my stomach growl.

  “Umm, I guess so. Thanks.” I grinned back at him. I was trying to blend in.

  “Awesome,” he shouldered his backpack, which I had not seen until now. It was blue and gold. He jerked his head. “Come on,” he said, and started walking.

  I fell into step next to him, happy to have made a friend.

  Chapter Five

  The Letter

  “So Holly, pick out what you want. I’m getting a bagel and some hot cocoa.”

  I looked over what the coffee shop offered. I had never tried a bagel before.

  “Those look good. I’ll have one, too.”

  He nodded and ordered, and we made our way to an open table.

  My bagel was rainbow colored. Pink, purple, blue, green and yellow stripes wound their way in curving lines around it. Chance had gotten them toasted and split open, and we spread pink cream cheese over the open halves.

  “It tastes like strawberries!” I said, chewing the bite of bagel slowly, to savor it.

  “Yeah, that’s strawberry cream cheese. Isn’t it great?”

  I nodded.

  “They also have blueberry, lemon, and plain. Oh, here, I almost forgot.” He handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

  This was also something I’d never tried before.

  “Be careful, it’s hot,” he cautioned.

  I took a sip. The most wonderful taste in creation slowly spread through my mouth. I closed my eyes in ecstasy.

  Could this morning get any weirder?

  Apparently, it could.

  “So, Holly, how do you like your bagel?” Chance asked.

  “It’s wonderful. I love it!” I said around mouthfuls. I took another sip of hot cocoa.

  “Listen, remember how I said I was on my way to school?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it’s kind of a fib, but not really a fib. Call it a white lie, in a roundabout way.”

  I stared at him. What was he talking about?

  “I came to find you, Holly.”

  A river of fear began to wind its way down my back. Aunt Clare had warned me against getting trapped, getting picked up by the coppers or the counselors, or any number of people who wanted to snatch you.

  They wanted to snatch you badly.

  I realized I’d been staring at him without blinking when my eyes started to burn.

  He put his hands up, palms facing me. “Hey, whoa, don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I swear. And I’m not with any authorities or anything. I’m from the school.”

  Huh?

  “Whatdyamean?” I choked and took a sip of hot cocoa, then swallowed my bite, cleared my throat, and tried again: “What do you mean?”

  Chance smiled.

  “I am from the school I attend. I’m in my second year. It’s an eight-year school so I’ve got a long ways to go. I’m one of the youngest recruiters they’ve got on staff. And it’s not really a proper job. They give me free lunches and extra school work credit for doing this.”

  “So ... you’re a recruiter for your school?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “And why did you come talk to me? I’m barely thirteen. I’ve never really gone to school before, er ... I mean, I’ve been homeschooled my whole life.” I remembered Aunt Clare and her lessons, and felt tears spring up in my eyes.

  “Here,” Chance handed me a napkin.

  Had he seen my tears?

  I wiped my eyes.

  “No, um, you’ve got cocoa dripping out the corner of your mouth. Just there.” He pointed at my cheek.

  “Oh.” I dabbed at my mouth and was rewarded with a smear of brown, along with a healthy bit of black coal dust.

  Guess I didn’t get it all.

  “So, back to the school. I’ve got a list of people I’m supposed to talk to, and,” he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Your name is second from the top, see?” He showed me the list.

  Sure enough, there it was: Holly Ó Cuilinn.

  “Huh,” I said softly, looking down at the paper. I hadn’t known my own last name
.

  “Well, but why, um ... why am I on the list? There’s only, like, fifteen names on the list total,” I asked.

  “That’s a very good question, and I’m going to answer it. Our school only accepts very special students? The kids who go there have to be of a certain type of ... of ... “

  I stared at him, waiting.

  He cleared his throat and tried again.

  “The school is, um, a boarding school, that um, well.” He looked at me and took a deep breath. “Our boarding school includes a room you live in, with a bed and a frig and a TV. And all your meals are supplied.”

  This made me sit up straighter.

  Free food? Free bed? Free room?

  There’s got to be a mistake.

  Aunt Clare had taught me nothing came free. That you either had to have money or you had to steal it.

  I thought for a minute.

  But here I was eating food and drinking hot cocoa, and Chance had bought it. This was free!

  But he had paid for it. It wasn’t free at all.

  I looked around. People were eating food and drinking out of coffee cups.

  I looked over toward the counter. People were ordering and handing over dollar bills and coins, and in some cases, a little plastic card, that got handed back to them after a minute.

  This food wasn’t free. Chance had bought it for me. He had paid for it, then given it to me.

  “Chance, who pays for the school? The rooms and beds and food?” I asked.

  “Different people. Parents mostly,” he said.

  “But I don’t have any parents, not anymore. My mother died when I was born, and just yesterday my Aunt Clare died. I’ve got no one.”

  Chance took a deep breath.

  “There are special scholarships set up at the school. Money in accounts to pay for some students, so they don’t have to pay. That’s what the list is for. That’s what the school is offering you, Holly. A scholarship.”

  A scholarship?

  I thought for a minute.

  “What do I have to do in return?” I asked slowly.

  There had to be a catch. Someone always has to pay.

  “All the school is asking you to do it come, try it out, try to learn what they’re teaching. Make some new friends. That’s it.” Chance looked at me, a smile on his face.

  “ ‘Try to learn what they’re teaching’?” I asked.

  He nodded.