Dreams and Shadows (7 page)

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

C
OURTING
Y
OUNG
M
ALLAIDH

A
t eight years of age, Mallaidh (pronounced Molly), had endeared herself to the whole of the fairy court through her hoydenish charm and unearthly grace. Her eyes were pools of childhood; the golden wisps of her hair were ever in motion, always caught in some light breeze, even when there was no wind, glinting, even when there was no sun; and she had a way of wrinkling her nose just so as to make the freckles across the bridge of it dance. She was delightful. Were she not preceded by her own mother, the title of “fairest of them all” would have been hers.

Not that she cared; had she concerned herself with such things, she would not have been half as captivating. Instead she had this way about her that never included attending to her own looks or fashion; rather, she appeared desperately in love with whomever and whatever she was with at the time. Her moods were infectious. Blithe and untamed, she was a free spirit, untethered from routine or convention. Hers was an essence that pined for adventure and longed for a life sprinkled with magic.

A life like her mother's.

Cassidy Crane (a surname she'd picked up in the hole-in-the-wall bars of the Austin club scene) was something of a legend. A slender, raven-haired punk-rock goddess, she was a demure boot-wearing, butt-kicking beauty with specially inked tattoos that, if you looked closely enough, you could watch move and change color with her mood. She didn't tolerate lovesick fools and was always at the hip of the brightest and the best up-and-coming talent. Artists, musicians, and writers all found time with Cassidy—if they had the gift. But it wasn't until her steadiest beau—an incredibly talented actor—overdosed and died in her arms that she secured her immortality: Mallaidh. That name was the last thing Cassidy left her daughter before vanishing back into the ether of the rock scene.

When Cassidy walked the foothills and trails of the Limestone Kingdom, she ruled the roost—so when she left the swaddling-wrapped Mallaidh at the foot of Meinrad's cave, it was thought by all that her daughter would follow in her footsteps. Thus far, she had. Mallaidh was the highlight of the hills, the glowing talk of whomever she graced with her time.

And to Nixie Knocks the Changeling, she was the center of the very universe.

Mallaidh was neither unusually cruel nor given to any sort of boorishness, so whenever Knocks came around to call there was no reason to be unduly rude. She flirted; it was in her nature. Her eyes grew big and brown and she smiled in a way that dislodged his stomach from its moorings, sinking it a solid foot. He had no choice but to fall madly, deeply in love with her. Though she did not return his affection, she did enjoy the attention, and she devoured it when—time and again—he would pay her a visit in the vain hope that she might see him differently once and for all. Times like today.

“Hello, Mallaidh,” he said, his eyes making indirect contact while his foot nervously drew semicircles in the dirt. His arm was concealed poorly behind him, fresh-picked, dying wildflowers clutched hopefully in his grimy little fingers. He was eager, nervous, unsure of himself. As far as Mallaidh knew, this was his natural state. His upturned cockeye blinked, entirely independent of the other, and Mallaidh tried to pretend that seeing that didn't bother her so much.

“Hello, Knocks,” she said sweetly, her voice almost cooing. Her mood was particularly bright today, mirroring the radiant skies and the soft, billowing clouds that drifted dreamily in the distance. “What's the haps?”

“The . . . haps?” he asked, confused.

“Oh, did I say that wrong?” She leaned in flirtatiously, trying coyly to play it off. “You used to live in Austin. That's what they say there, right?
What's the haps?
”

“I don't know. I . . . I've never heard that before.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” she said, recovering for both of them. “I must have gotten it wrong. You know people better than I do.”

“No, I . . . I . . . ,” he stammered.

“Don't be modest. You're smart. Don't let anyone tell you different.”

He scuffed the ground harder, not yet consciously realizing that he'd drawn a heart in the dirt. “So, Mallaidh.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I don't know yet,” she said, curiously. “Why?”

Knocks leaned in close, almost uncomfortably close. The next part he whispered. “I have a secret.”

“Ooooh.” She loved secrets. “What is it?” she whispered in the covert tenor of a secret agent.

Knocks smiled and looked both ways. “There's a hunt tonight.”

“There is?” she asked excitedly. “Why haven't I heard about it?”

“Because it's a secret. Only a few of the forest bogeys know.”

Mallaidh grimaced playfully, watching the young boy trying to present himself as a man. “Since when are
you
a forest bogey?” she asked.

“W . . . we . . . w . . . well . . . ,” he stuttered “I'm not. But I heard them. And I'm gonna go take part.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed—a young belle offered a chance to a dance to which she was clearly not really invited. “Well, I'm too young for a hunt. And I'm afraid there's nothing for me to do.” She was clearly losing interest in the conversation. “Look, I—”

“Oh, well, Ewan and I are—”

“Ewan's going to be there?” she interrupted. Her eyes lit up as if someone had set off fireworks behind him.

Knocks's eyes narrowed into angry slits. He strained for normalcy, his eyelids fighting to stay open against the weight of his jealousy. Through gritted teeth he spoke, very slowly. “Yes. Ewan will be there.”

“And I can go with you?” she asked, clapping excitedly, bouncing.

Knocks paused for a second. “Yes. Of course you can come with me,” he said, smiling broadly. His plaque-encrusted, yellow teeth sprouted as randomly from his gray gums as trees did from the ground, his sickening grin turning Mallaidh's stomach. She muscled through it, betraying nary a second of her discomfort.

“Where should I meet you?” she asked.

Knocks answered in a sour staccato he tried disguising as mere theater. “The Great Stage. Sunset. Come alone.”

Mallaidh smiled, touching Knocks lightly on the arm, above his elbow. “Oh, I'm so excited,” she said. “I can't wait! See you tonight.” She winked before slipping immediately back into the forest.

Little did he know it wasn't his demeanor or appearance that so spoiled his chances. To Mallaidh, a changeling was just another fairy—a revolting and misanthropic fairy to be sure, but a fairy nonetheless. And that simply wouldn't do. Not for a Leanan Sidhe. Fairies were prone to long, meandering lives, their life force like an artisan's candle, meant to burn long and slow. But mortals, they burned out quick and flashy, like puddles of gasoline. They were exciting, fresh, always on the precipice of death. And for a Leanan Sidhe, only the company of a mortal would truly do.

It was the life her mother had led, which meant that it was good enough for Mallaidh as well. But try telling that to a changeling.

K
NOCKS INHALED DEEPLY,
the air still perfumed with her breath, notes of lilacs mixed with peaches in sweet cream. He looked on, smiling, dumbstruck at the touch, for a moment forgetting the rotting flowers wilting behind him in his grasp.

He stared agape into the woods behind her, the lingering smile slowly sinking as reality once again set in. The flowers burned in his grasp, a stinging reminder of his humiliation. Reaching back with his other hand, he grabbed hold, mindlessly twisting until the heads of the flowers popped off and the stems were a green, ragged tangle of carnage staining his hands a mossy olive. There was much work to do.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HE
S
AD AND
R
ATHER
L
ONELY
E
ND OF
A
BRAHAM
C
OLLINS

A
braham Collins was not cool, and he knew it, and no measure of tattoos, concert tickets, or hipster duds could change that fact. He'd tried. Instead, he came across as a dried-up imposter, one pocket protector and a scientific calculator away from cliché. To make matters worse, he wasn't sharp enough to be accepted amongst the intellectual elite of the company nerds either. He was the sort of fellow you would expect to find at home on any given night of the week, surrounded by costly looking, designer-at-a-discount furnishings, slumped on the couch watching television, wondering why he couldn't find himself a girl. Any girl.

So when his coworker and only close friend, Dallas Wise, invited him to fly wingman on a weekend camping trip with two secretly tattooed twenty-somethings from the secretarial pool, he jumped at the chance. It wasn't until they rolled up in their beat-up, ugly-as-sin military green Volkswagen Thing that Abraham realized what this really meant.

Dallas had laid claim to Stacy in advance, leaving Abraham with Carly, a slender, lithe vixen, all tan and teeth in a bikini top and jeans skirt. Way out of his league. He knew it, and when she looked up from her purse and they made eye contact for the first time, she knew it as well.

By the time they were settled by the campfire, everyone had a good, clean buzz going and the air hummed, backlit by the pinks and purples of the setting Texas sun. Dallas and Stacy cuddled by the fire's edge, each with a beer in hand and a comfortable smile dangling on the tips of their numb expressions. Abe nervously shifted atop a chalky rock, trying to think of some clever way to get close to Carly as she grew ever more oblivious.

Dallas reached into his pocket, pulling from it a small, loose Baggie filled with dried mushrooms. Each had a long stalk with an oblong cap, speckled brown and white at one end with a deep blue bruising at the base, fading as it trailed up the shaft. They evoked thoughts of Lewis Carroll caterpillars and smoldering hookahs, and the excited eyes of everyone around the fire glistening with anticipation. The girls eyed each other—Stacy proud of her date, Carly impressed that he had actually come through.

“Just a couple caps for me,” said Carly. “I'm a lightweight.”

“Me too,” nodded Stacy. “Any more than five or six caps and I'll be over the moon all night.”

Dallas plucked a few mushrooms out of the bag and fed them to Stacy one by one, their eyes locked in a flirty stare as she eagerly gobbled each cap. After the fifth cap, Dallas grabbed a small handful for himself then tossed the Baggie to Carly. He popped the entire handful into his mouth, chewed a little, swallowing hard, hastily trying to muscle past the taste. Carly picked up the bag, plucking a few choice caps for herself, and politely passed the bag to Abe.

Abe stared longingly at Carly, who gave him only a cursory glance as she handed it over. He'd lost her. There wasn't much time left to grab her attention before they rode the wave and crested into the night. The last thing he wanted was to be humping the leg of a girl more interested in staring at the stars than slipping into a tent with him. He needed her attention. And fast.

“Five caps,” he blurted out without thinking. “That's it?” Everyone looked up at him. He smiled bravely, leaning his head back, pouring the remainder of the bag's contents straight down his throat, shaking every last cap, stalk, and broken bit into his waiting maw. He chomped furiously, the dried mushrooms turning into a thick, disgusting wad of paste in his mouth. It was like chewing raw dough. He couldn't swallow; he tried. His gag reflex fought back, but he forced it down in one painful lump, his stomach shuddering at its arrival.

Dallas snorted out a chuckle. Carly buried her face in her hands. Abraham smiled through the queasiness, trying to disguise his amateur-hour mistake as something more masculine than it was.

Dallas recognized the strained look in Abe's eyes. “Hey, Abe,” he said.

“Yeah?” Abe mustered, still trying to hold down the mushroom loaf swelling in the pit of his gut.

“Why don't you go grab some firewood before your dose kicks in? That way we won't have to go out later.”

Abe smiled. “Yeah. That sounds good. Ladies, if you'll excuse me.” He stood up, casually disappearing into the brush, eager to put distance between himself and the camp to vomit properly out of earshot. His mouth was already watering, a purge wasn't far off.
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Carly can't hear this.
Churning, his roiling stomach began to bloat; at any moment he would lose it. Farther and farther he shuffled into the woods, finally letting loose with a furious heave.

Wiping his mouth clean of slop with his sleeve, he looked around for stray branches for the fire. He didn't want to spend too much time away. After all, within the hour everyone would be feeling good, and he wanted very much to be sitting next to Carly when they did. So he loaded his arms with as much wood as possible, turned around, and returned to camp.

Only, he couldn't remember from which direction he had staggered.
Oh, damnit.
He knew he wasn't that far, but the trees all looked the same.
What the hell am I doing in the woods?

He wandered, night slowly creeping in over the forest. Trees menaced the horizon, shadows crept hungrily behind him. This was a bad idea, a truly, spectacularly bad idea, and as the few minutes' journey stretched into what seemed like an hour, Abraham Collins was sure this was how he was going to spend his weekend: wandering aimlessly through the woods while his best friend scored. And that's when he saw the campfire.

Abe staggered back into camp, dropping the armload of wood into a pile, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. His head was pounding, his stomach steadily expanding with gas. While the fire was still roaring in the center of camp, no one was sitting around it. “Guys? Dallas?” he called out. There was a rustling to his left, coming from one of the tents, then a giggle and a
SSSHHHH
. The tent unzipped and Dallas partially emerged from the small separation it created, giving the weird impression that there was nothing left of him but a disembodied, floating head.

“Hey,” Dallas whispered. “Did you get the wood?”

“Yeah,” said Abe.

“Good. Good.” Dallas fumbled for words, watching them rattle around behind his eyes before realizing he would never catch any of them. Instead, he gave Abe a telling look.

“Where's Carly?”

“Dude . . . ,” Dallas began.

“Where is she?” Abraham asked once again, this time with a slightly more powerful intonation.

“Dude,” Dallas repeated, “you blew it.” Abraham's jaw went slack. “You had your shot, Bro-ham. Come on,” he whispered, quieter still, “I've got both of them in here. And you saw them. I can't pass this up.”

“I don't . . . I don't believe you.”

“No, seriously. They're both—”

“No, no. I believe
that
. I just. I can't believe . . .”

“Look, dude. What can I say?”

“Nothing. Just, just don't say anything. I'll just sit out here all night. Alone.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dallas gave him a concerned but pleading look. “Can you do me a solid and not hang out by the tent? I mean, it would be kind of creepy, you know?”

Abe tried to speak up, his mind sifting through the hundred or so things he would like to say were he to man up. Then he sighed and did what he always did: he slunk away, envied his best friend for what he knew was going on, and dreamed of a day when it might be him in that tent. As he walked away, he stepped on a large twig. The
SNAP
echoed, bouncing around the camp. He looked around, startled, realizing what was going on.

Great,
he thought to himself.
Now the stuff kicks in.
He listened for a moment to the fire, the crackling pops and snaps like an orchestra of Black Cats set off in a soda can. Abraham was sweating, cold, and had a headache beginning to crescendo. Now the auditory hallucinations were settling in, meaning he was just moments from finding out how badly the mushrooms were going to hit him. Looking up, he saw the moon, big and bright in the sky, and decided that if he was going to trip his balls off, he might as well find a good spot for staring at the stars while he did.

It didn't take long to find a large, almost comfortable limestone boulder resting cautiously on the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a lush, serene valley. Moonlight dripped over it like pooling blood. Colors were sharper than before, flickering—almost shimmering—ghost trees waking from their daylight slumber, stepping out of their stumps to walk and sway amongst the living. Abraham stared at the ghost trees wondering if they hungered, if they had any desire to scare anyone, or if, as ghosts, they simply wanted to feel the slightest touch of sunlight again. As Abraham stared at the ghost trees' sultry moon dance, he felt time slowing to a crawl, the whirling spin of the world reduced to a slow-motion stutter as he fell out of the time stream entirely, able to look in at the captured moment, waiting, paused for him, beyond the thin veil of reality.

Yes. The mushrooms had finally kicked in.

If he wasn't going to get laid tonight, he might as well have the trip of a lifetime. So once again he raised his eyes and took in the splendor of the moon. Larger and larger it loomed, until it could come no closer and it too began to shimmer, shake, and finally lose the tension that held it together. Slowly the moon melted before his eyes, first with small, single droplets forming on its craggy surface before streaking, then in waves as entire patches buckled and ran down the front of the sky, vanishing. Shocked at the sudden loss of the moon, the stars took photos, winking in and out as they captured pictures of the strange turn of events.

With the moon gone, the stars had a full-blown freak-out, each spiraling through the night on a panicked carousel, screaming, wailing for help before several thousand of them collided, exploding in the center, together forming a brand-new moon so the earth would no longer be so alone. Everyone needed a partner. Everything needed a friend. Nothing in the universe wanted to be found sitting alone on a rock in the middle of nowhere wondering why they weren't allowed in the tent. Everyone should be allowed in the tent. After all, that's all the world was: one big tent for us all to fuck in. But not Abe. Abe wasn't allowed in that tent either. No, Abe was destined to spend the rest of his life outside that tent, outside of time, outside of himself, looking back in at a moment when he would be left alone forever.

Dallas, Carly, and Stacy hadn't taken this many mushrooms. They wouldn't be able to step out of time like this. So they would stay at the camp, trapped inside the thin walls of reality, unable to see what Abe saw. And that made him even more alone. Alone.

Alone.

Psst. Over here.

“What,” mumbled Abe. Or at least he thought he mumbled
what
. Did he? Had he really said anything? He tried again. “What?” That time it worked. The word came out. Or did it? “What,” he repeated again. Or maybe he hadn't repeated it at all.

Come here.

Okay. That wasn't really a voice. That was all in his head. He wasn't really hearing anything.

“Come here, silly.”

Abraham looked up, saw a shadow in the tree line behind him. The voice sounded familiar. Feminine. Sexy. Carly.

“Carly?” he asked in a shouted whisper. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, sweetie. It is.”

“How did you get out of time?”

“What?”

“Time. How did you escape it? You didn't take as many shrooms as I did.”

She giggled. “Time isn't all that hard to get away from. Like you.”

Abraham tried to spin around on his rock. It wasn't working. His head merely flopped back and forth on his neck. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn't know
hard to get
if it walked up and hit you with a brick.”

“Hard to . . . hard to get?”

“Yeah.”

“You were playing hard to get?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You're good.”

“You've got to be,” she said with a wry smile.

“Why'd you wait so long?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren't a creep.”

“Oh. Am I a creep?”

“No, but your friend is. Do you know what he wanted me to do?”

He thought for a moment about the dozens of stories Dallas had told him, about all the things he'd gotten women to do. “Probably.” It wasn't hard to imagine how he'd chased Carly off. “I can guess, I mean.”

“Well, do you have any ideas about what
you
could get me to do?”

Abe giggled a little. “I could think of something, I suppose.”

“Well then, what are you still doing on that rock?”

“I can't really move.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I mean, I've become one with it or something.”

“No, you haven't. I'm not coming over there. You'll have to come over here. So summon the strength of the earth or the ancients or whatever you have to do, but get your ass off that rock and over here. I want to show you something.”

That got Abe's attention. He sat up, the energy of the universe flowing through him, the stars and wind against his back, and he levitated from the rock as if willed to do so by a powerful force. There was an electric pulse on the night air and he could feel it now. It originated deep inside the pit of his gut, tethered to the shadowy, naked form of Carly, hidden just behind the bushes. He was drawn to her. It was meant to be. There he floated above the ground, his legs no longer responding to what his brain was telling them, his torso drifting, barely supported by them.
Wait, was he drifting or was he walking?
He couldn't tell anymore.