Caffeine and Magix

Inspired by @thenightofthelivingwriters​ 4th day prompt, “the fae are free” (X)

Ellen stares down at the scrap of paper. Her throat still stings from the horrifying ordeal of hacking and gagging it up from where it appeared in her lungs. She can taste blood from her bruised bronchial tubes in her mouth, the metallic taste lingering as she reads the message again and again.

The fae are free. Run.

“Shit,” she says out loud. Then, louder, “Shit.”

She’s not in a good position to run. She’s at her cabin, the one so far into the woods that she has to walk the last mile as the trees grow too close together for her car. It’s a good six miles to the nearest town, another three before she gets to the closest witch’s protection circle.

Even if she starts now, she’ll never make it. The fae the warning talks about–the ones that her dear older brother was supposed to be watching–already know the taste of her magic. She has no doubt that they’re fleeing the broken bars of iron her brother somehow failed to maintain and heading straight towards her.

“It wasn’t my choice,” she tells the night. The candles along her walls flicker. “I didn’t ask for this.”

She half expects to hear her voice echoing back at her. Wasn’t it, little one? Wasn’t it your choice to follow the sound of merrymaking? Wasn’t it your choice to enter Underhill? Wasn’t it your–

“I was a child,” she tells that imagined voice. Then, quieter, “Shit.” It doesn’t matter if she was a child. She’s a witch. She knows why it doesn’t matter. She knew.

Those who freely enter Underhill, no matter their age, can’t ever leave. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the way it has to be. Magic can’t flow in and out of portals–it unbalances them. She entered as a witch and left as a witch. The hole she created by going against the universe–there’s a reason no one enters those woods anymore.

Her family’s been fighting fate for nearly fifteen years to protect her from the laws of nature.

There’s the sound of a bell outside her door. It rings pure and clear through the lightless woods and, when it reaches her, the first candle goes out.

“Ah,” Ellen says. She pushes her silvered hair away from her eyes. She used to have the most beautiful red hair, but escaping Underhill left its mark in more ways then one. “Maybe I’m done fighting this.”

She’s afraid. She’s so afraid that it’s clearly circled back to calm. That’s why she’s still standing in the middle of her living room, blood drying on her lips and wet note crumpled in her hand. She is attuned to the flow of nature and she–she’s trespassed against it. 

She remembers the tug of emptiness behind her navel when her father carried her out of the fairy circle. She remembers the way the mushrooms withered. She remembers the screams–

“I never asked for this,” she tells the room as another two candles go out. “I never asked to be saved.”

“I know,” she says through the wood of the door. “That is why I have been patient, little one.”

The Seelie Queen enters the cabin like moonlight. Her hair is as black as night but it glows with the same silver of her eyes. Her skin  is the same color as the shadows on young bark, her lips the same poisonous red as the holly berries dripping from the trees. Behind her is a procession of white horses being directed by silver-plated knights.

Ellen feels fae magic wash over her for the second time in her life. Her brother once described it as jumping into a river of ice; piercing and unkind. Ellen has never understand her brother’s experience. She’s always thought it warm.

“Thank you for being patient,” Ellen says. She searches the Queen’s eyes and finds no anger there. It’s a shock to realize that that’s what Ellen has been so afraid of–anger. Not her. “I was too young then.”

The Queen studies her. The horses outside are eerily silent, black eyes trained on their ruler. When the Queen smiles, so do they. “I’m bad at judging youth. I would have decided differently had I had better Sight.”

It’s as close to an apology as Ellen can get from a fae. She hopes that it’s not the Queen’s magic that is making her feel so warm and comfortable now. Fae magic always wears off–always. Ellen hopes she means it when she says, “I believe you.”

By the look in the Queen’s eyes, she hopes Ellen means it too.

“I’ll go with you,” Ellen says, lifting her chin. They’re words that have been beating behind her teeth for years, long before the Queen appeared here tonight. Even if fae magic is stealing her fear and making her warm, this is true. “I broke the rules. I’ll bear the consequences.”

“Well said,” the Queen says softly. Her nails are long and jet black as she reaches to cup Ellen’s cheek. “Though I hope those same consequences become benefits in time.”

The Queen’s fingers are as cool as the night around them. Ellen feels warm anyway. She tentatively brings up her own hand to lay over the Queen’s, trapping the fae’s skin against her own. Ellen still tastes blood in her mouth, but the feel of the Queen’s skin is good. Really good. Too good.

“Me too,” Ellen confesses.

The Queen smiles and, around them, mushrooms grow.