Brightly (Flicker #2) (4 page)

Since Filo had been teaching Lee some Old Faerie, she could follow along as the old woman insisted that Filo had grown a foot since she’d last seen him, and Filo told her to quit stalling and tell him the prices. The old woman laughed, a sound like crows taking wing, and slapped his shoulder good-naturedly.

As they haggled, a voice made Lee straighten:

“You look beautiful.”

Lee turned, and her breath caught in her throat. Nasser stood before her, tall and lovely in that easy, oblivious way of his. He was wearing a crisp white button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A wine-colored vest was buttoned over it, and he wore dark pants, the fabric cut sharp and clean. There was an honest-to-goodness white handkerchief folded into his breast pocket.

She must’ve been staring, because he tilted his head and asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers over the vest. “You look
nice.
” As she looked up into his face, the Market lights made his dark blond hair look almost golden.

He laughed, but before he could speak, Filo cut him off.

“Does this taste like chimera blood to you?” he asked, offering Nasser a short, angular bottle filled with bright green liquid that shimmered with traces of gold.

Nasser dipped one finger into the bottle, then tasted the thick drop of liquid. “It’s a little watery,” he said dubiously.

“That’s what I thought.” With that, Filo turned back to Madge and started chattering in Old Faerie:
“You cut it with something! You can’t possibly expect me to pay that much!”

“He’ll buy it anyway,” Lee whispered.

“Of course. Chimera blood’s hard to find, even watered-down,” Nasser said. “And Madge will cut him a break; he’s a good customer.”

A minute later, Filo was swapping a handful of old-looking silver coins for the bottle of blood, which he slid into his bag. “Have you seen Alice around?” he asked Nasser, joining them.

“I think she’s down by the bonfire with Jason. You’ll probably be able to find her there.”

“Right.” Filo waved and set off, quickly melting into the crowd.

Nasser turned to her. “Ready to look around?”

“Sure.” Lee slid her hand into Nasser’s, blinking as the touch of his skin sharpened her Sight. She loved his hands—strong, steady, gentle.

They roamed among the vendors for a while, pausing to see the more curious wares. A pair of identical pixies hocked racks of enchanted clothing: leather jackets that turned the wearer invisible; boots that could hover several inches about the ground; fireproof gloves. In a tent filled with pottery, a man with a voice like shifting sand claimed that some of his pots contained actual djinn, though he wouldn’t say which ones, and the djinn were to be released at the buyer’s risk.

At a stall shrouded in steam and the heavy scent of fried food, Nasser bought some kind of fried bread that came wrapped in wax paper. Lee couldn’t see the person in the stall; she only glimpsed a pair of scaly blue hands that darted out of the steam, one accepting Nasser’s money and the other giving the food.

“It’s safe to eat,” he assured her, when she eyed the food warily. She knew the effects of faerie food and drink all too well. “Not everything here is safe for humans, but there’s no enchantment on this stuff.”

“If you’re sure.” Trusting his judgment, she nibbled on the bread as they ventured further into the market, holding hands. It was delicious, with a hint of sweetness to it.

They stopped at a table made from a stone slab to watch an arm wrestling match between a half-troll and a half-ogre, already in progress. Faeries crowded around the slab, hooting and shouting and placing bets.

“Should we bet?” she asked, squinting as she tried to determine on what the fey were basing their bets. Both contenders were at least eight feet tall and built like oxen; it seemed pretty evenly-matched to Lee.

“Nah. If you’re going to bet, save your money for the guessing games later on.”

“Guessing games?”

“Yeah. You know—where you put a ball under a cup and shuffle it around, stuff like that. I make a killing at those every year.”

“How long have you been coming to the Market, anyway?”

“The first time I visited, I was fourteen,” he said. “I was looking for powdered dragon scales. That was the first year Neman and Morgan trusted me enough to go without getting myself in trouble.”

“They thought you were experienced enough?”

He laughed. “No. They just thought I was smart enough to mind my own business and not pick fights with anything that could kill me.”

But he didn’t really have to mind his business now, she mused silently, sliding her gaze up and down him. Nasser was a solid six-foot-four, broad-shouldered and strongly built. As soft-spoken and gentle as he was, he could be physically imposing if he wanted to.

With a great bellow, the half-ogre slammed his opponent’s arm down so hard that the slab cracked. About half of the gathered faeries let out a colossal cheer; the rest groaned and started to pull out their money.

Nasser and Lee wound through the maze of stalls and blankets, approaching the bonfire. The great leaping flames were a deep gold color, responding to the cadence of the band. Nasser and Lee lingered near the edge of the vendors’ area, watching the band romp on the raised stage while crowds of dancers whirled around the bonfire.

Lee found herself hypnotized by the dancing, by the patterns of steps. The music jumped in her blood like electricity, triggering an urge to join in the dance that felt almost like a reflex or a muscle memory. Her heart started to pound.

“I know this dance!” she exclaimed. “From the revel. They taught me this dance.”

Memories tugged at her, like flashes of a forgotten dream: Umbriel and his companions, laughing and singing as they moved through a lively dance, taking her by the hands and guiding her through them. She blinked hard, trying to force them back.

“They loved dancing,” she remembered. “And sometimes, if they were tired of having me paint for them, they’d have me join in. I was clumsy at first, but they taught me.”

“That’s….” Nasser looked down at her, smiling. “That’s good.”

Lee bit her lip. “You think?”

Many memories of her time in the revel still eluded her, but those she could recall were often so bizarre and disconnected that she had trouble labeling them as good or bad. It was like a dream she couldn’t interpret, moments that ran through her fingers like water.

“Yes,” he assured her, as the music wound down and the dancers applauded the band. “It’ll be easier this way.”

“What will?”

Taking her hand, Nasser led her into the crowd. They joined a circle of eight faeries, who smiled benignly and shuffled aside to make room for them, possibly not even realizing they were human. The band launched into a reel that turned the fire emerald green.

As the circle of dancers began to move around her, Lee was startled to find herself moving as well, without really having to think about it. She knew when to clap, or swap places with a partner, or duck beneath an archway of outstretched arms. It was as if she’d known the steps her whole life—and, in a way, she had. In the revel, fueled by faerie magic, she had danced for days on end without ever growing tired.

Colorful lights whirled around her as she spun over the grass, and exhilaration sang all through her veins through the next two songs. When they finally had to stop to catch their breath, Lee realized she was grinning so widely that her cheeks ached.

“When did
you
learn to dance?” she complimented, as bemused as she was curious, while they headed back toward the vendors, breathless from laughter and exertion. “I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “You go to enough of these things, you pick it up.”

“Hey, Nasser!” called a voice. “Lee!”

They turned. Alice was trotting toward them, dressed in a sleeveless white romper, with Filo beside her. Jason strolled just behind them, hands in his pockets. His guitar was slung across his back, as inseparable as a limb.

“I was starting to think we’d never find you two,” Alice chided.

“Entirely possible,” Lee replied. “It’s a big Market.”

The five of them walked past the bonfire, where makeshift wooden tables and blankets were spread over the grass. Faeries, half-breeds and all kinds of other creatures lounged in clusters, talking and laughing. A few chatty vendors haggled their way around the groups, selling little baubles.

They found a fairly isolated patch of grass and sat down. While Lee recounted the Bloody-Bones episode to Alice, Filo and Jason slipped off and returned with a paper bag filled with some kind of candy: chunks of sweet dried fruit that Lee couldn’t identify, coated in a hard, sugary substance. When chewed, they released a burst of cinnamon-like flavor.

Alice was gazing out over the grass, toward the Market, where the band was playing. She elbowed Filo lightly in the ribs.
“Have a dance with me,”
she said, in Old Faerie. She and Filo treated it like a secret language, one they used mostly when they drifted off into their own private conversation.
“It’ll be fun.”

Filo grimaced.
“I’m no good at it.”

“
Come on,”
Alice coaxed. She was toying absently with her necklace, a charm she must’ve bought tonight: a little blue crystal nearly the color of Filo’s eyes, glowing faintly.
“They call the steps. You just have to follow along.”

“
No,”
he said.
“I’d rather not. Okay?”

“
Sure.”
Alice smiled a little, as if to show there was no harm done, but Lee could see the twinge of hurt in her eyes.

Jason stopped strumming his guitar. “I’ll dance with you, Alice, if that’s what you want.”

For a second, she looked surprised. Then she shook her head. “No, that’s okay.”

“Oh.” He watched her for a moment more; then he started plucking absently at his guitar strings again. “All right, then.”

“I mean, if you want to—” she started, too late.

“Nah. Forget I said anything.” Jason glanced up at Filo. “I passed a storyteller earlier, you know—big crowd, but he’s not half as good as you. Want to go make some tips?”

“Not particularly,” Filo said, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t work for tips.”

“Then you can give them to me,” Jason said easily. He hopped to his feet and slid on his guitar strap. “Come on. You’re not at all curious?”

“A little,” he admitted with a sigh, standing.

Jason grinned wolfishly. He turned to the rest of them. “You guys coming?”

Alice nodded, but Nasser and Lee exchanged a sly glance.

“We’ll catch up with you,” Nasser told his brother.

“You kids have fun,” Jason called, giving them a brief wave as he, Filo and Alice started across the grass and disappeared into the light and sound of the Market.

For once, Filo thought, Jason was right: The storyteller was nothing special. He looked young—in his mid-twenties, though it was hard to tell with faeries—and his fur-tipped ears twitched endlessly. He sat on a wooden crate, hands clasped, his dark tail lashing back and forth behind him.

The three of them joined the circle of listeners in the middle of a rather dry recounting of “Furrypelts.” When the tale was over, the listeners clapped and tossed coins and trinkets into a basket at the storyteller’s feet. He rose and bowed.

“Requests?” asked the storyteller, surveying the crowd. A smug smiled curled his mouth up at the corners. “Any requests?”

Alice raised her hand. “Let’s make this more exciting,” she called. “I propose a bet.”

“A bet?” The storyteller chewed his lower lip with one fang.

“Yes. I’d like to bet that my friend here can tell a better story than the one you just told,” she said, nodding toward Filo. “I’ll bet you all the money I have on me.”

“And my money, too,” Jason added.

A low, amused murmur ran over the crowd. The storyteller hesitated.

“Unless you don’t want to take the risk,” Jason offered. He made a great show of glancing around at the gathered fey, eyebrows arched skeptically. “We would understand.”

Filo winced internally. Few things made him more uncomfortable than having this many sets of eyes fixed directly on him. He preferred not to make a spectacle of himself, but it was already done. If he refused, he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

The storyteller’s ears drooped slightly. Then he narrowed his eyes, as if to an insolent pup, and stepped aside. “I accept,” he purred finally. “Tell a better story,
boy
—if you can.”

Sighing, Filo took the storyteller’s place atop the crate and mentally thumbed through his rather large repertoire of stories. He settled on an old Japanese folktale.

The faeries watched him with glittering eyes, looking hungry, almost predatory—the look faeries sometimes got when they caught a whiff of humanity. And it was his responsibility to entertain them.

Of course, they didn’t realize the nature of Filo’s magic.

Magic was a live thing, endlessly adaptive and endlessly creative—artistic. It had desires of its own. The magic that lived within a human could sometimes take control and create
through
that person, using the body like an instrument to make whatever art it was best suited to.