Julia

  A cold panic seizes my heart. On impulse, I move to put out the fire, but Géraldine restrains me with an arm. “What’re you doin’, Julia?”

  “I—we can’t let them see that we’re here,” I insist.

  Géraldine shakes her head. “They probably already seen the smoke out our chimney. You put it out now, it looks suspicious.”

  I move to formulate a counterargument but realize that she’s right. Much to the disappointment of my nerves.

  “If they come knockin’,” she says, rising to her feet, “we’re just a couple of friends keeping each other company, yeah? No reason for ’em to bug us.”

  I frantically nod my head. A quick glance to my right catches Géraldine picking up her shotgun from where she left it by the wall, moving with an almost obscene degree of casualness. A quick glance to my left catches the Fairy knights out the window, moving toward the front door. In my ears, I can practically hear the adrenaline being pumped into my bloodstream.

  Géraldine lays a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, take it easy, hein?” She gestures at the gun. “This is just for insurance.”

  With that, she seats herself on an old recliner and draws a blanket up over herself, looking for all the world like a harmless old lady—an illusion that is only betrayed by the telltale chik-CHAK of the shotgun being pumped beneath the cover.

  A split second later comes the chime of the doorbell (apparently a battery-operated system). My skeleton makes a fair play at jumping out of its skin.

  “Julia, be a dear and answer that, why don’t’cha?” comes Géraldine.

  I shoot her a trepidatious look.

  “Remember,” she says, her tone soothing but authoritative. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

  I would tend to disagree, but I know it’s too late to argue.

  *

  I pull the door aside and force a smile. “G-Good afternoon, gentlemen!”

  The blue-skinned Fairies—who, I can’t help but notice, carry rather large swords at their belts—smirk at each other as if I have just said something highly amusing. And then one of them, slightly taller than his comrade, says something in their language, making the other snicker.

  “Good afternoon,” the taller one replies with a bow. His voice is thickly accented, but I recognize sarcasm when I hear it. He gestures into the hall behind me. “We come?”

  “Well—”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he and his partner breeze past me, the latter casually bodychecking me aside.

  “If—if there’s something I can help you with—”

  The shorter one plucks a small objet d’art up off a side table—an admittedly rather gaudy porcelain statuette of an angel—and holds it up for his colleague, who laughs. Then, somehow, he manages to rearrange it in his hand such that it’s pleasuring itself with its own trumpet. Apparently, guys are the same everywhere.

  “We here restore order,” the taller Fairy says, once the supposed hilarity of his partner’s antics has died down. “Rev’nants. Wild magic. Criminals. Protect Canadian, hm? Order of Winter Queen, mother of all.”

  The shorter knight starts snickering again; the taller silences him with a sharp glance.

  I open my mouth. “I see. Well. Um. We—we’ve not had any problems with that—”

  “Take look ’round,” the taller one insists. “Freebie. Hm?”

  I realize that there’s no point protesting, so I look away. “You’re very kind.”

  “Yes,” the taller one purrs. The shorter one smirks and tosses the now-obscene figurine over his shoulder, where it breaks against the wall. I manage some offence on behalf of the homeowner I’m robbing and then hurry to follow them into the living room.

  “Would you—ah, one wonders whether I could offer you gentlemen a drink,” I say as I come up behind them. I take note of Géraldine, still in her blanket, now feigning sleep. “We’ve got a very fine gewürztraminer—”

  The shorter one gestures at the far side of the room, where the panel of glass that I punched out to gain entry still lies in shards on the floor. He says something to his partner in the Fairy language.

  The taller Fairy turns to me. “What happen?”

  I hesitate, trying to decide whether to answer honestly. On the face of it, it seems bizarre that these knights would care whether I’m a criminal, but perhaps I should invert that: would these knights really care if I were innocent?

  “I broke it,” I say at last. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have a key. And it was very cold.”

  The taller one says just one word to the shorter, and his smirk widens. Evidently, the truth isn’t going to set me free.

  “But I really think you should try the wine,” I say hurriedly, proffering the bottle.

  The taller one accepts it in his hand, a rictus grin on his lips, and passes it to his partner, who immediately proceeds to empty it over the fire. I note that the liquid, as it leaves the bottle, has turned yellow and now smells distinctly of urine. The Fairy drops the empty bottle in the damp, smouldering ash.

  “My friend and me,” says the taller one. “We have…licence. From Winter Queen, mother of all. Put down…disorderlies. Any how we can.”

  I stand rooted to the spot and find I suddenly need to swallow. “I see.”

  “Smash windows,” he shrugs. “Disorderly.”

  The interior of my mouth suddenly feels very dry. Behind the two knights, Géraldine, her eyes now opened, silently sits upright.

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  “Disorderly,” I echo. “Well! Right. Yes. I’ll try to do better going forward.”

  The taller Fairy advances a step. “In our country…” He shakes his head. “Things die not. Not for real. Not fun. But here. Things die, hm? Human…human dies, hm?”

  My lips quiver. “Well, there’s…been some recent ambiguity on that point—”

  “Ah, Mistress Julia! As promised, I come bearing the finest curiosities…”

  The sudden voice surprises me twice: first with its presence, and then again with the fact that I’m relieved to hear it. “Elsevier!”

  The ore-spinner strides out of a doorway at the far side of the room, carrying a fine leather satchel in his hands, and then abruptly stops as the two knights spin around to face him. “Oh, I see we have guests! How delightful!” He does an obsequious little bow before them. “I am always honoured to meet servants of her Majesty the Winter Queen; and I can only hope that Julia, as mistress of this house, has made you welcome!”

  Géraldine shoots me a confused look that the knights are, thankfully, too occupied to notice. I raise my hand in a halting gesture. Let’s see how this plays out.

  It is the shorter knight who speaks now, demanding something of Elsevier in the Fairy language, probably some variant on “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Elsevier replies. “When dear Julia and I first—”

  The shorter one barks a command, and Elsevier stops and scowls. Then, he adjusts his cravat and resumes speaking, this time in the Fairy language. His manner seems studiously debonaire, even as the body language of the knights, to the extent that I can read it, remains suspicious. He gestures at me with a pale hand and smiles sweetly.

  The taller knight crosses his arms and then nods at Géraldine—the first time he’s deigned to acknowledge her presence; he asks Elsevier a terse little question that I assume can only mean “and her?”

  For the briefest of instants, a look of consternation crosses Mr. Elsevier’s face and I feel my heart sink. And then he says something, shrugs, and laughs.

  The shorter knight issues a demand. Elsevier passes him the satchel, which he opens and begins rooting around in. For just a moment, I see huge and beautifully cut gemstones glittering inside. And then the shorter knight scowls and waves his hand, and at once I realize that the satchel full of jewels is in fact one of the reusable grocery bags from my toboggan, full of junk food I’d liberated from a vending machine at the university.

  The taller knight raises an eyebrow. Elsevier shrugs and smiles, passing his own hand over the bag and—it’s difficult to describe what happens. It becomes almost like an optical illusion: a satchel of jewels when looked at in one way, a bag of junk food when looked at in another. For a moment, the two seem to vie for dominance—and then, ultimately, the reality wins out. I pay a confused glance to Géraldine, who seems—to my surprise—transfixed by the sight. I wonder if it distracts her—too distracted to be ready with her gun?

  The shorter knight makes a comment—whatever it is, he sounds angry. Elsevier raises three fingers and speaks calmly. The shorter knight crosses his arms, but the taller one pulls him aside to converse for a moment. And then, to my horror, the taller one gestures at me. “You. Come.”

  I draw in a deep breath and do as I’m told.

  “This is your home?” demands the taller knight, once I stand before him.

  I don’t allow myself to hesitate. “Yes.”

  A tiny smile flickers across Elsevier’s lips. So far, so good.

  The knight gestures back at the broken window. “Then why?”

  “Well, like I said,” I reply. “I…lost my key. And it was cold out.”

  The knights confer with each other. From the corner of my eye, Géraldine does a very passable impression of a confused old woman. The smallest amount of sweat moistens my brow.

  The taller knight gestures at Géraldine. “Who’s this?”

  “She’s my friend,” I say flatly, which is true as far as it goes. “I’m having her over as my house guest. She’s, um. She’s not well, I’m afraid.”

  The taller knight looks over at Elsevier, who keeps his face studiously neutral. I try to do likewise.

  “And who this?” He is of course gesturing at Elsevier himself.

  I cough. “I—uh. I didn’t catch his name. He enchanted it.”

  The taller knight cocks an eyebrow and starts chuckling under his breath. The shorter shoots him a knowing glance.

  “But who to you, hm?”

  It takes me a moment to parse the question. Elsevier looks at me expectantly.

  “He’s a…pedlar,” I say. I glance at Elsevier, who grants me a tiny nod: Yes, that is what we’re pretending. I feel a small relief at getting it right. “He, uh. He sells…” I try to think back to the term that he used. “Fine curiosities. From Faerie, I assume.”

  “Just as I told you—” Elsevier interjects, only for the shorter knight to bark at him.

  The taller knight nods. “Hm. And…” He lifts up the bag of junk food. “How much you pay for this?”

  I accept it into my hands and begin looking through it. It is, indeed, exactly as I expected: some bags of hickory sticks, some frozen nibs, a few bags of salted snacks. But…maybe it’s supposed to be jewels? Somehow, I sense that they’re expecting a score.

  “Maybe a month of my life,” I decide. A month. That’s not…too much is it?

  The taller knight shouts angrily at Elsevier, who starts jabbering at both of them in Fairy, seemingly trying to soothe their nerves. Across the room, Géraldine sits up, and I know we’re seconds away from a bloodbath.

  “Wait!” I exclaim.

  The room falls silent. The Fairies’ eyes all fall on me.

  “Obviously, this was just…a preliminary offer,” I say. “F-for the merchandise in the condition that it’s presently in. Of course, I’ll pay more once the ore-spinner’s done with it.”

  Elsevier tenses. The taller knight freezes, furrowing his brow in surprise; finally, he glares at me. “You. ‘Ore-spinner’. Means?”

  I freeze, not sure what I’m supposed to say. “He…makes…gold?”

  “Tiend,” mutters Elsevier.

  At this point, a number of things happen in rapid succession. There’s a hiss of steel as the taller knight whips back toward Elsevier, drawing his sword from his scabbard. But evidently not fast enough: a brilliant flash of light consumes the knight’s head, leaving behind just the charred stump of a neck and a plume of greasy smoke. The surviving—I can no longer say shorter—knight shrieks and charges toward his comrade’s executioner, who wheels about, readying another blast as the knight’s sword bears down upon him.

  Just then, a deafening bang sounds from Géraldine’s shotgun, and the knight is sent careening to the floor. He begins struggling to his feet, disoriented but apparently unharmed by the shot—but it’s too late. There’s a second flash and the knight falls still. It is only when the headless trunk of his comrade finally crumples to the ground next to me that I fully register that, within the space of a few seconds, our interrogation has escalated into a double homicide.

  Géraldine levels her shotgun at Elsevier, and I possess just enough presence of mind to interpose myself between them. “No!”

  She lowers her gun. “Friend o’ yours, Julia?”

  I hesitate. “Not exactly.”

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” comes Mr. Elsevier.

  I can’t bring myself to acknowledge him. The scent of charred flesh fills my nostrils. It smells—well, honestly, it smells a little like hotdogs. Two lives, snuffed out. Of course, they were complete assholes…

  I feel his hand fall on my arm, violently pulling me toward the patio doors. “We need to get out of here now.”

  I look dazedly at him. “You just…killed—”

  “Yes, and more of them will no doubt be along shortly! I would prefer to be well rid of this place before that—and of anything that ties us to it. Speaking of…” He raises a pale hand toward Géraldine.

  I see at once what he intends to do and tear myself out of his grip. “No!”

  Elsevier rolls his eyes. “Out of my way, Julia. We don’t want any witnesses.”

  “She saved your life!”

  “…Hardly.”

  Géraldine, for her part, glares back at him, flinty eyed. “This is how you Tinkerbell fuckers repay your debts, hein?”

  “If you hurt her, the deal’s off!” I insist, turning back to the ore-spinner.

  Elsevier scoffs. “Do you imagine that I care so much for our little contract—”

  “Yes. Or else you wouldn’t have stepped in to protect your investment just now.”

  Only once I’ve said the words do I realize that they’re true. Which makes it perhaps the first intelligent thing that I’ve said since the Shift started.

  For a moment, Elsevier doesn’t budge. Then, grudgingly, he lowers his hand. He smiles slightly, still looking at Géraldine. “I smell home on you.”

  She furrows her brow. “Quoi?”

  “Faerie. You’ve had an encounter with it, yes? A portal perhaps?”

  Géraldine’s expression darkens.

  “It was her grandson,” I supply, turning back to Elsevier. “He disappeared.”

  “Oh, really? Well then, perhaps we can help each other.” Elsevier turns his attention back to me: “And as for you, we shall have words. But for right now”—twin gouts of flame issue from the palms of his hands, setting the room ablaze—“I really think we ought to be going, don’t you?”