“Everyone knows why she left - it was the trees,” called out someone from the court.

  “She thought human science could help,” said another.

  However, the queen shouted to her husband, “Remember, love, the last question is always a trick!”

  After the upset of the second question, she was not going to play strictly by the rules.

  Nevertheless, the king could not think of an answer that wasn’t the obvious one. His daughter made an irritating habit of telling anyone that would listen before she left what her goal was. She desired human advice on the disease destroying many of the groves.

  It was never a secret.

  Logan closed his eyes and steadied himself by breathing deeply through his nose. All he had to do was find the truth by tasting it on his tongue.

  Yes, Brigit wanted help for saving her beloved trees. That tasted like truth, but it didn’t feel like the full truth. It gave him a slight tang on his tongue, but the answer lacked the full richness that absolute truth gave Logan.

  He thought of Brigit, her quick, bright nature, her intelligence, but also her traits of needing Balance in all she did. He thought about what little he had observed of her parents, and he thought of his own parents. Their love, as well as their impatience with him, when he decided Bewachterberg was where he wanted to attend university.

  “Being a cat, I have the patience to wait all day. However, perhaps the contestants could answer before the court expires from boredom?”

  The king answered first.

  “Our royal daughter wanted to discover a cure for the disease killing our trees.”

  While a murmur was heard in the branches, no leaf fell.

  The lack of response caused an air of nervous tension amongst the audience, and even the queen held her breath. He was a human bard; what he said was bound to make the dinner memorable.

  Logan felt the exciting and dangerous exhilaration of not knowing if he would win or lose. At this moment, he understood the fae; their obsession for passion and color in their lives.

  “Brigit left because her parents refused to listen. She left because the queen and king had no faith in her. They refused to trust her judgment and integrity.”

  Vehemently whipping their branches in enthusiasm; the trees sounded as if a sudden windstorm had come upon them.

  Two leaves fell - one at the king’s feet and another by Logan’s.

  The young man bent to pick up the silver leaf, feeling a slight frost burn in his fingers as he touched it.

  “It will be up to the wraith to decide this tie-breaker,” decided Jib.

  This time it was to the wraith that all eyes and heads turned. The wraith seemed to sense the interest from the crowd, for it twisted a bit as if turning. The column of the gray-white ghost floated up from its position behind the table. Its face had long been worn away and what remained of its features was thin, barely there, and mostly see-through.

  Its thin, quivering whisper forced everyone to silence so they could hear what was about to be said.

  “I can barely remember the sensation of being human. Of caring. Of the desire to fit in, and the desire to stand out.” The wraith paused in its speech, the column of wisp wavering in the breeze.

  “This is the first time since my arrival any have been interested in what I would say. Being here, I have felt the crushing feeling of not being listened to.”

  Logan could feel it. Could feel what was about to happen.

  “The human has spoken the correct answer.”

  Logan smiled just as the world came crashing down on his head.

  When Brigit came up the stairs, she immediately noticed the opened door. Laying across the threshold was an arm.

  “Logan!”

  Welcome, Brigit!

  But the fae had no time for exchanging civilities with the coco mat. She put her fingers over Logan’s neck, feeling for a pulse. His skin felt clammy and slightly damp. His long brown lashes lay starkly against skin that was paler than usual.

  “So this is where you live now?”

  Startled, Brigit looked up from Logan’s limp form to see a familiar black cat staring at her with eyes of orange and red flame.

  “Jib! Did you hurt Logan?” Brigit demanded. She looked down the hallway and seeing it vacant, stepped over the threshold. Grabbing Logan by the ankles, she dragged him into the safety of the apartment.

  “Is that how you greet long lost friends?” asked the cat. The True Beast settled down on the welcoming coco mat, tucking its front paws under its body.

  Welcome! I cannot tell you if they are home today. But you may wait.

  Brigit ignored the cat and the mat while she lifted the unconscious Logan to a sitting position on the floor. The woman put his arm around her shoulders and brought him to standing but even with her fae strength, lifting his limp form was difficult.

  She half-carried, half-dragged him to the living room couch. Laying him down, she brought his feet up onto the cushions before rushing off to get him a wet washcloth from the bathroom.

  “Hallo? Remember me?” Jib called after her. “Why don’t you invite me in so we can chat more easily? The iron over the door is preventing me from being your guest.”

  Not until Brigit was satisfied that Logan was resting as comfortably as she could make him, did she address the cat.

  “Did you have anything to do with this?” At her tone, Jib rolled onto its side, showing a furry stomach, while it nonchalantly licked a paw with extended claws.

  “Don’t get so worked up, princess.”

  “Don’t call me that. Especially around here.” She put her hands on hips, asking again, “Did you have something to do with this?”

  “A siren sent message birds to several kingdoms asking if anyone had misplaced a wood sprite. With an address, your parents sent a Summons to bring you home, but bagged a human instead.”

  During the cat’s recitation, Brigit thumped a fist against the threshold to accent the word that exploded from her lips, “Idiots!”

  “The Summons was addressed to Occupant. Does he live here with you? How unusual.”

  The cat’s red irises flickered wildly with curiosity.

  “I know you’ll never shut up unless we talk, but can we have this discussion inside.”

  As she walked to the doorway she automatically picked up the bay laurel wreath that had fallen off of Logan’s head. Underneath it she discovered a silver leaf. Brigit gave a quick exhalation as she picked it up. Touching it made a wave of homesickness wash over her. She tucked it in her pocket and turned back to Jib who was watching her with avid interest.

  The dryad gave the True Beast a formal invitation, outlining the boundaries and rules. While she talked, the cat gave a long stretch to its back before casually sauntering inside, flicking the very top tip of its tail. Brigit closed the door behind it and returned to the living room to check on Logan.

  “He’s got a touch of Fae Fever from being in the Perilous Realm,” said the púca. “He’ll shake it off in a day or so. A bit of bone broth would do him good.”

  “Haud yer wheesht! He needs only what I be making him, Mr. Nosy,” said a female voice from the kitchen.

  “A brùnaidh? Brigit, you are living better than a queen. Even your mother can’t get a brownie.”

  “Hush, Jib, have some respect.”

  “Ah, a moggy has no’ respect, so dinnae try to make a hat from a bundle of straw.”

  “Whatever is she talking about, Brigit? Can she not speak the Queen’s Fae?”

  Brigit hissed at the cat again to shut up, but as Logan’s eyelids had started to flicker, she was distracted from more reproaches.

  “Am I back in Kansas now?” the young man asked.

  “What? Kansas, where’s that?” asked Brigit, but she received no reply. Logan was still too disoriented; Jib had wandered off to inspect the bedrooms; and the brownie had disappeared.

  Logan was struggling to sit up, so Brigit pulled him sideways with a hand under his elbow, stuffing pillows behind his back. From clammy, his skin had grown very hot.

  Fae Fever made a healthy human feel like they had altitude sickness. But Brigit worried Logan could suffer severe repercussions. Being Beguiled by the siren had weakened his immune system, leaving him too vulnerable.

  Brigit didn’t have enough experience to know what she should do. She’d need expert help.

  “Do you think you can walk to your bedroom?”

  Logan nodded his head, but it flopped a bit drunkenly making the fae woman skeptical. But between his weak assistance and Brigit’s fae strength, she got him to his bed. They almost tripped over Jib. The cat flopped in the middle of the floor right in their path.

  “Cold,” Logan muttered, fretfully pulling at the comforter.

  Jib jumped up on the bed and gave Logan a critical eye.

  “Dehydrated.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Jib,” replied Brigit sarcastically. She didn’t know why Logan was wearing a toga. The white draping looked thin, so she collected an extra blanket she had seen in the closet to drape over him. After reassuring Logan she’d be right back, she went to the kitchen. The brownie handed her a sports water bottle.

  “The laddie is looking pretty peely wally. Here’s a wee bit of melted sugar and a hauf of whiskey. Dinnae tell the moggy but, aye, a bit of soup would do him good too.”

  “Thanks,” said Brigit gratefully, feeling overwhelmed. “I need to get word to my friend Celia. She’s a naiad, training to be a nurse. I can’t use a phone, so I’ll have to go to her apartment. But I don’t feel I can leave him alone.”

  “Aff with ye. I’ll look after the wee laddie till ye return.”

  “I’ll take Jib with me. I don’t know why it’s here or what it’s up to.”

  “That be best, methinks. I’ll look after the laddie while ye be gone.”

  The brownie’s unusual suggestion startled Brigit. Brownies did not involve themselves with the personal care of the householder. However, she was too grateful to question the gesture. Collecting her wallet, she grabbed a protesting Jib by its neck and left for help.

  As the Crow Flies

  “Mrs. Tiggy, is that you?”

  “Tis is, laddie. Tis is. No’ drink it all up, like a good lad.”

  Logan’s hand shook as the sun-browned hairy hand steadied the cup at his lips.

  “I had the strangest dream,” he said, sinking back onto the pillows under his head.

  “I’m sure ye did,” muttered the brownie. She awkwardly patted the top of his hand and set the empty soup bowl on the side table.

  “There was a king and a queen. And a talking cat. Do you think I’ll meet him again? I like cats.”

  “Most likely, barra, but tis time to sleep.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Tiggy.”

  Logan snuggled down under the covers while the brownie sang him a Scottish lullaby.

  In a golden cradle on a quiet floor

  Under the branches of trees, and the wind rocking it

  Sleep child, and sleep safe

  The brownie had agreed to Brigit’s scheme since she recognized Logan’s last name. Well, if she was asked by the Great Queen how the lad got to such a pass, she could at least honestly tell Badb Catha she had done her best.

  The dryad was tempted to travel by jumping from tree to tree, as it would make a fast trip to Celia’s apartment complex. But Jib could only travel through trees with portals and there were none near where she wanted to go.

  Not for the first time, Brigit wished she could use cell phones. If she could handle the tech, she wouldn’t be sitting on a public bus, looking like a crazy person as she talked to an invisible púca.

  “Now I know why my six older siblings left home ages ago,” she said sideways out of her mouth to Jib. When a human sitting in front of her turned to give a sad pitying look, Brigit stopped herself from rudely displaying her middle finger.

  “The human was adequate to the task and saved himself,” said Jib. “Why are you upset?”

  The cat was standing on its hind legs, front paws on the window glass, taking in the town scenery. Jib was a púca and being a True Beast, could only remain in a feline form, unlike the kelpie.

  “I already owe a Debt of Gratitude to him. What my parents did just made the responsibility greater.”

  It had been only a matter of time before her parents caught up with her. However, Brigit had been optimistic, thinking she would be in her senior year by the time they found her. She never thought others might be dragged into the dispute, especially not someone she already owed a Debt of Gratitude.

  Jib left the window and sat down next to Brigit, purring.

  “You can’t blame your parents for wanting to know where you are. You did take off rather abruptly. We were all worried.”

  “I left a note,” snapped Brigit, “I’m not heartless.”

  “Have you ever thought that leaving the Perilous without permission from their majesties flaunted the Law of Civility? Other fae have been exiled for less.”

  “Exile me then. Big loss.” Brigit crossed her arms and looked away, her eyes misty. At her show of distress, Jib put a paw on her hand and Brigit reflexively stroked its fur.

  “That’s why you need a diplomatic, smooth talker like me. I can help soften them to your way of thinking. Besides, Bewachterberg looks interesting. I could stay awhile. Keep an eye on you while you remain in the human lands.”

  “Not likely, Jib. They’re stubborn. It’s why I stopped trying to get them to listen.”

  Brigit stood up, picking the cat up to cradle it in her arms against the stopping motion of the bus.

  “This where we get off. Ceel’s apartment is nearby.”

  Naturally, Celia agreed to help. But she drew the line at letting a púca inside her apartment, so Jib and Brigit waited outside while the naiad collected items she felt might be helpful.

  Brigit described Logan’s current symptoms, as Celia locked the front door of her apartment and refreshed its protective seals. While they walked to the bus stop, Celia, who could use a cell phone, texted the wrestler to meet them at the apartment if he was available.

  Finished, the naiad explained her theory to Brigit, “Logan’s weakened condition may have made the effect of the Perilous more intense.”

  “No joke, Ceel,” said Brigit. “That’s why we need you. He looks pretty bad, and I don’t think a human hospital would do him any good.”

  Her bondmate said, “How low to go behind your back and involve your parents.”

  Before Jib could speak, Brigit blurted out, “No worse than trying to kill me.”

  No one in Geheimetür knew who her parents were and Brigit planned on keeping it that way as long as possible. Behind Celia’s back, she motioned to Jib by placing an index finger over her lips, begging his silence. The púca twitched its tail but said nothing.

  While the three headed back on the bus, Celia continued talking, “I still think it was a pretty low thing to do.”

  “To be fair, I did laugh pretty hard when she trotted around the polo field neighing like a horse for two hours. It was hilarious.”

  Jib wanted to hear the story, so Brigit related it while they traveled back to the apartment.

  Celia took Logan’s temperature, pulse, and blood pressure while he slept through most of the exam. Celia showed the brownie the herbal tinctures she wanted Logan to drink.

  “You’re amazing,” said Brigit, who thought it all a mystery. She wanted to believe in her friend’s ability to help Logan.

  “When humans return from the Perilous, it’s not unusual for them to run a fever or feel tired afterward. However, Logan’s immune system is probably weakened by the siren’s Beguiling, making the situation serious. In the next twenty-four hours, we should see if he worsens or stabilizes. What he needs now is rest and plenty of fluids.”

  Granite arrived so Brigit, Jib, Celia, and the brownie met in the living room to discuss what to do. The dryad paced back and forth across the floor, telling the others, “We have to come up with a plan.”

  “A plan for -?” inquired Jib. The True Beast was lying across the back of the sofa, its eyes mostly closed. Whether in contentment, sleep, or thought, wasn’t exactly clear.

  “Logan won’t be able to get to classes next week, but he can’t afford to miss any more,” explained Brigit. “He just got his grades back up.”

  “Grades?” asked the cat, causing Celia to whisper to it, “A measure of how well you are learning the material being taught.”

  Meanwhile, Granite gazed down at his large square hands to minutely examine his fingernails. He seemed uncomfortable as he mumbled, “I know a guy - “

  When he paused and didn’t continue, Brigit encouraged him to explain.

  “This guy attends classes, especially ones that give credit for attendance. For people who can’t attend. Subs in for them.”

  “No way,” scoffed Brigit, returning to her pacing. “Logan’s maestro would see through that Glamour in a second. Besides the school probably has some sort of protection against that.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” insisted the wrestler. “This guy is a Doppelgänger.”

  “Oh, that might work!” Celia cried excitedly.

  “Dangerous idea,” said Jib, adding, “I like it.”

  Brigit stopped pacing and put her hand on her chin, to think over Granite’s suggestion.

  The Doppelgänger were mysterious beings. They were often recluses, with little to do with other fae. It wasn’t known how their fae Glamour worked so they were viewed with suspicion.

  Doppelgänger from the nine fairy courts had used their power to conceal the entire country of Bewachterberg. This work of magic was considered the gold standard of what the fae working together could achieve.

  However, Doppelgänger serving as royal advisers was now out of fashion, and Brigit had never met one. She did know her parents found their magic disconcerting.

  The dryad slowly said, “A Doppelgänger is more powerful than any of us. That puts us at a disadvantage in any negotiations. Do we want to be in Debt with one? Who knows what it might demand in payment.”

  Granite squirmed, his level of discomfort growing. However, he also didn’t think it right Logan be punished for events out of his control.

 

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