The Last Changeling (2 page)

“You might say I flew.”

I smiled involuntarily. It was like my body was rebelling against the seriousness of the situation. “Do you have a safe place to stay for the night?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do you need a place? I live above my parents' garage—”

“What would you ask in return?”

“Nothing,” I said, and my body felt hot. She looked so distrustful then, I wanted to hurt whoever had taught her that kindness always came with a price. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Why?”

Because I'm a good person.

Nope! Try again.

Because if I help her, I'll become a good person.

Not quite, but we're getting close.

Because I'm a terrible person, and I need to atone.

There you go.

“Because the park is dangerous at night. Someone could harass you, or worse … ” I tried to subtly look her over. She was almost as tall as me, and by no means scrawny. I was pretty sure she could hold her own in a fight. But if someone caught her unaware, or had a weapon, would any of that matter?

“Just try it for one night.” I stood up, holding out a hand. “Please?”

“I guess I could take a look,” she said finally, taking my hand.

I could feel her pulse through her glove. I focused on the feeling of it. “Really?”

“Yes.
If
you promise to help me transfer.”

“I do. I will.” I helped her to her feet. Up close she smelled like the forest, like earth and rain and berries. I resisted the urge to
taste her cheek. “Come on.”

–––––

I turned off the lights as I pulled into the driveway. To the right of the yard, the house was dark. This time of night, it would take a full-scale alien invasion to get my parents out of bed. I had no reason to feel worried as we hurried into the garage.

But I did. My nerves were in a tangle. My heart acted like it had something to prove, always racing, sometimes jumping over hurdles.

Lora had that effect on me.

Now that we were nearing my bedroom, those nerves were making me jumpy. The garage felt like a minefield of boxes. Sleeves spilled over the tops of the cartons like abandoned limbs, but they gave me an idea. I reached into a box, searching with my hands as much as my eyes. My fingers trailed down the fabric of a nightgown. A minute later I was climbing the stairs to my room, balancing the box in front of me. It took me a minute to locate my keys. And once I had them in my hands, I still managed to miss the lock twice. Finally the key slid into the lock.

I flipped on a light.

Oh no.

What had happened to my room? Hours earlier, it had seemed like a perfectly acceptable place to sleep. Now it looked like a pigsty; the last place you'd ever want to bring a girl.
I tried to very casually pluck clothes from the floor and toss them into my overstuffed closet. I had to leverage my body against the doors just to get them to shut.

Way to look like a badass.

At least the bathroom was dark.

“Are those school books?” Lora asked as I gathered stacks from the floor.

“Some,” I said. “Do you like to read?” The question was stupid, something I might have asked in kindergarten, but I wanted her answers to everything.

I needed them.

“I love to read.” She grinned, sitting on the edge of my bed. I have to admit, it felt good to make her smile like that. “But I haven't had the chance to read … modern things. The books back home are much older.”

I nodded, picturing bookshelves stacked with multi-colored Bibles. I set some of my favorite books beside her. Then I just stood there, feeling out of place in my own bedroom. “You can change if you want.” I tapped the box of clothes with my foot. “And feel free to sleep in the bed.”

“All right,” she said, almost dismissively. Her hair spilled over the books as she flipped through them. It was so bright, and her lips were so red.

Yeah. I was staring. “I'll just, uh … ” I took a step back. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Turning away, I felt the blood seep back into my brain. Then it was three short steps to the bathroom
.
It hadn't really occurred to me that the bedroom was barely big enough for me to live in.

Now it was too late.

I rushed through my nightly ritual, brushing my teeth like my life depended on it. I practically fell over trying to get into my pajama pants. I went through T-shirt after T-shirt, searching for one that didn't smell like sweat,
but they all smelled like sweat
. Then I started to panic. I felt increasingly cornered, like I'd been given far too little time to transform into the man I wanted to be.

Man?

The thought made me laugh. Most days I still felt like a clumsy kid. Other days, I was an old soul drowning in disillusionment. But that elusive essence—the essence of being a man—was something I'd yet to drink. Except when she looked at me.

God, when she looked at me …

I had to get back to the bedroom. What if she'd already left? I checked my face in the mirror (twice) and hurried out the door.

Lora looked up when I entered. She was dressed in a full-length flannel nightgown my mom had worn when I was a kid, and her cheeks were pink, like she was up to something. She might've passed for a cherub if not for that hair.

She hadn't taken off her gloves.

“Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the bed?” she asked.

I didn't know if she meant
with her
or
alone
. I shook my head, lying either way, as she thumbed through
Othello
.

“I've heard of this man,” she said. “He wrote about faeries.”

I sat down on the edge of her bed. My bed. “You like fairy tales?”

Her hand stopped in mid-flip. “Some.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking of the cheesy movies I'd loved as a kid. I wanted to tell her about them, maybe share a laugh, but the look on her face stopped me from joking around. I realized we were skirting the conversation we needed to have. “Hey, Lora?”

She lifted her head. She must've noticed the change in my voice. “Yes?”

Don't ask now. There's no reason to ask now
.

“Are you in any danger?” For a fleeting instant, I saw myself as the hero who would save her from the villains of her past. Then I realized that inventing some danger, just so I could save her from it, wasn't heroic at all.

She sighed. When she said “Yes,” my eyes closed. “There are those who would do terrible things if they knew I was here. They would force me to return with them. They would hurt me.” She watched me as she spoke. “They might hurt you as well. I should have told you before I let you bring me here.”

I fought to keep my emotions off my face. “Do you think they'll find you here?”

She started to shake her head, but stopped. “They dwell outside of society, surrounded by acres of wildlands. They would not expect me to come here.” She braved a smile. “To the city.”

She took my hands. Smooth currents shot up my arms, jump-starting my heart. I realized I'd been holding m
y breath.

“If you wish for me to leave, I will do it,” she said. “Right now. I won't hold it against you.” She scoote
d toward me. The nightgown bunched up beneath her, revealing long, curvaceous legs.

I willed myself to watch her face. A nice pair of legs would do me no good if some asshole mobster came and broke mine, not to mention my face. “I'm not going to throw you out in the cold.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, staring into my eyes. Studying me. “And do not worry that I will stay too long. Inevitably, I must return … ”

“Wait. What?” Now I was totally lost.

“Not to rejoin them,” she said, and I thought she was choosing her words carefully. “But there are those I left
behind … ”

“I see,” I said, though I didn't really. But I wouldn't push her on it, not tonight. “Why don't we get some sleep? I'll be able to think more clearly in the
morning.”

She lowered her eyes. It was like she knew the effect they had on me. “That sounds fine.”

I turned off the light on the way to my futon. It felt good to stretch my limbs, in spite of the narrow space. It wasn't like I was going to miss out on my normal good night's sleep. Usually I was lucky if I fell asleep before three a.m. With Lora lying so close, I doubted I'd sleep at all.

Then, just as I'd accepted that I'd probably be up all night, her voice pierced the silence.

“I need to … purchase some things.”

I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. “You need to go shopping?”

“Yes.”

I grinned into the darkness. I'd never been so happy to hear something so mundane. “What do you need?”

“I'm not sure exactly. But it looks as though I've come into some money—”

I wasn't going to ask. No matter how much I wanted to, I just wasn't going to ask.

“—and I was hoping to find something I could use to contact a friend back home. Something that would be confusing to one who lives outside of society. Something h—” She stopped herself, breathing heavily.

“High tech?” I offered, my eyes adjusting quickly. Moonlight filtered in through the window above my bed. I could just make out the outline of her face as she said, “Yes. High tech.”

“Disposable cell phones,” I said, unfazed by the feeling that she wouldn't know what the hell that meant. “I could get you some, and you could mail one to your friend or something.”

“You wouldn't mind?”

“No big deal. You can just pay me back whenever.” I didn't really want to take her money. I wasn't sure what she'd gone through to get it.

She nodded slowly, like she was mulling over the offer as she agreed to it. Then she smiled and I was certain—
certain
—the moonlight spilled directly over her head. When she spoke, she spoke in the voice of a person in a trance: “It feels as though my power wanes with the passing of each breath. But power shifts like changing seasons, and when it waxes once more, I promise you this: in exchange for true kindness, I will do everything in my power to grant your heart's greatest desire.”

My body flushed, a multitude of emotions filling me with warmth and shame. First, the thought that my greatest desire was to crawl onto that bed, climb over her like an animal, and draw her lips into mine. Then, the fear of what could be interpreted if I read between her words. What if she was a teenage prostitute run away from some crazy cult? I wasn't naïve. I knew these things happened. I tried to imagine myself using a baseball bat to ward off a gun-toting preacher pimp.

I pressed my face into my pillow. If Lora wasn't a prostitute, she wouldn't be thrilled that I'd allowed the thought to enter my head. And if she was … well, if she was, I'd do the best I could to help her begin a new life, and if she wanted to thank me carnally, I'd smile, give her a brotherly hug, and politely decline.

Then I wondered, with a new wave of shame, how I was supposed to use theoretical morality to resist the most beautiful creature I'd ever met. My cheeks were so hot I thought my capillaries were going to burst. I lifted my head, peering at the outlines of my belongings: books stacked on my desk; the accordion-like shape of the lampshade; and my soccer jersey hung over a chair. But these familiar, inanimate objects failed to tantalize my
very
active imagination, and my eyes found themselves trailing Lora's barely moving form. I studied her from across the room. When the sound of her breath grew even, I knew she was sleeping. When she started to twitch, I knew she was dreaming.

Hours later, I slipped into sleep.

3

E
l
o
r
A

Liquid moved like honey through my dreams. Ravens took wing and blanketed the sky. I could almost taste the air of Faerie, sharp and sweet like the forest after the rain. Then I awoke and these things slipped from my mind.

I was on my knees in an instant, staring out the window above the bed. The moon drifted behind webs of clouds like a secret the sky was not ready to reveal.

I know the feeling
. I kicked the tangled sheet from my legs.
If I could just slip into the sky for a moment, I might be sated for the remainder of my trip
.

See, that is the thing about faeries and lies. We can lie perfectly well in our own minds. It's the passage of the lie from the lips that is forbidden.

One short flight, and I'll be fine
.

I pulled myself onto the windowsill.

It's dark, and I'll be quick. What is the danger?

Of course, I knew the answer to that. The mortal lay so close I could hear him breathing. He needed only to glance up to see me climbing through the window. He might banish me from his bedchamber, or worse: see a glimmer of my true nature and try to trap me.

Make me bargain, like a villain, on my knees:
I'll grant ya three wishes, or me pot o' gold
.

I never could do a believable Irish accent.

Slinking back into the room, I moved onto the bed and then the floor, creeping across the carpet like a sulking pup. The mortal was sleeping, his breath unsteady as chirping sounds escaped his mouth. His tawny hair spread out around his head. In the dim light I saw his resemblance to a young forest elf, before age slants the cheeks and points the ears. His eyes were closed, fluttering little wing beats against his cheeks.

Taken in by the illusion of innocence, I lifted a hand to his cheek.

He is a killer
.

I stopped in midair.

All of them are.

Taylor laughed in his sleep, as if he had heard my thoughts and found them faulty. He turned on his side, away from
me.

I took it as a sign.

I was back at the wind
owsill in an instant, crawling through the frame and out onto the little ledge. My wings, tucked neatly beneath the loose, billowy nightdress, began beating against the cloth before I had even set them free. The night air swirled around me, undoing the button
s on the back of the gown, and within seconds my wings burst from their bindings.

Then I was off.

Calling on the night to stain my skin, I soared into the sky, beating back the cold with ecstatic wings. The beauty of that moment knocked the breath out of me. I did not dare try to steady my heart, but let it beat against my chest as a reminder of how much flight meant to me.

Held in the embrace of the cool night air, I was truly
free.

Higher and higher I flew, chasing the moon, pulling back clouds with my hands. I dove into a burst of rain, came away soaked to the skin, and felt the bumps rise upon my arms in silent tribute. The scent was intoxicating.

Then, something odd: I seemed to be shedding stars. Drops fell from my skin toward the earth, catching each glimmer of moonlight. I touched my face with cold fingers and brought them away covered in tears. Giddy with the wildness of it all, I licked them from my hands, tasting the salt of the sea. Sea, earth, air, darkness: I was a part of them all, and all of them resided inside of me.

Slowly I became aware of other things. Glowing bulbs of light suspended in the sky. Tree trunks sprouting wire branches. A honking, unlike any bird, came near and then faded away. My glamour flickered, responding to my unease, and I knew I should return to my little cage.

One more minute
.

I did a flip in mid-air. My stomach dropped, unable to catch up to my body. I laughed, feeling reckless and free. There was a part of me that knew I was risking too much, knew I needed to lower myself from the sky. But my happiness in that moment kept me in flight.

Until Taylor screamed
.

The fearful sound echoed throughout the sky. I could scarcely think. I dare say I forgot how to breathe. And though it seemed highly illogical, my instinct told me to lower myself back to the ledge of the garage.

What will he do to me
?
What will they all do
?

I was terrified.

Yet the strangest thing happened when I lowered myself to that little ledge. No raging mortal awaited me there. No torches, no knives. No guns to tear my wings to shreds. I peered inside the window, my stomach aching with nerves. Still, silence. A simple glance to the left showed what my heart dared not hope.

Taylor lay sleeping.

Had I imagined the scream? Or had someone else spotted me in the sky? I'd been certain, at the time, that the scream was his. But how could I be sure? Here in the mortal world, men of a certain age might all sound alike.

Sq
ueezing back through the window, I moved quietly into the bathroom to dry my skin and clear my mind. Clothing formed pyramids on the floor, accompanied by the occasional towel, but I passed them by. Drawing upon
my waning strength, I drew quick circles above my head until the room was spinning with warm air. I tucked my wings against my back and set to work buttoning the nightdress. I hated the confinement, the feeling of being held down in my own skin. But what choice did I have, here?

Now my clothing was dry. My desire for flight was temporarily sated. Yet I did not leave the room immediately. Instead I walked across the tiles, feeling their strangeness with my feet, and touched the glass of the mirror.

Reflections hold a deep fascination for the fey. Often we steal glances at the surfaces of lakes, just to see if our reflections will do something silly without our bodies' permission. But staring into this looking glass, at the two-dimensional, trapped version of myself, all I could see was the lie.

For a moment I let the glamour slip, freeing the glow that lived within. Dark symbols flashed and faded beneath my skin. My hair curled over my arms like tongues of flame. But I did not let out my wings, now that I had tucked them away.

I did not want to see them.

When I was a child, many in the Court mused that the Queen had mutilated my wings as some form of punishment. Indeed, they appeared to have been sliced along their thickest curves. But no such punishment ever occurred; I was born with the abnormality.

At least here, I could pretend I was normal.

I reapplied the glamour slowly, watching my reflection as it changed. Smaller eyes, smaller mouth. Everything proportioned and uninteresting. A little knob rested on the side of the mirror, and I opened it to find a cabin
et built into the wall. I was pleased to learn that humans had secret compartments just like faeries did, even if they were quite easy to find. Armed with this new discovery, I continued to poke around the room. I pulled back a curtain hiding a long, white basin and picked up a bottle, turning it over in my hands. It slipped.

The bottle crashed against the basin and slid toward the drain. I placed my hands over my ears, as if that might somehow drown out the noise.

It didn't.

There came a tentative knocking on the door.

I opened my mouth, but only the tiniest sound escaped.

Taylor knocked again. At least, I thought it was Taylor. Considering my limited knowledge of the human world, it could have been anybody.

“Lora?”

It was Taylor. That should have put me at ease. But upon hearing his voice, my heart began clattering around the way it had when I'd been in flight. I felt nervous, joyful, and panicky.

“It's me,” I said through the door, though, upon immediate consideration, this seemed an improper response.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, muffled by fatigue.

What could I say? I felt, in that moment, a great many things, but “okay” was not among them.

I opened the door.

Taylor stared through the darkness. “Were you in there without the light on?”

Yes, but it's not a problem, as I can see in the dark
.

“I didn't want to wake you,” I said.

“What were you doing?”

Again, I searched for an acceptable answer, all the while growing more anxious. In the end, it was a tiny tuft of hair that saved me, sticking up from the top of Taylor's head. It was not the sight of it that disarmed me, but rather the fact that he regarded me with the utmost sincerity while, unbeknownst to him, that tuft rebelled.

“I'm just trying to get used to”—I gestured grandly—“this.”

He took a step toward me, his mouth contorting in a yawn. He looked like a roaring lion. “Is there anything I can do?”

He wasn't looking at me. I got the distinct impression he didn't want to, though I could not guess at his reasons. Even more interesting was the fact that my heart had resumed its pounding the moment he'd come nearer.

“I don't know that there's anything anyone can do,” I said, shifting my gaze to the floor. I couldn't stop noticing the emptiness of the room: the floor devoid of soil and insects, the ceiling of neither sky nor trees. My whole life, I'd lived with the possibility of losing these things, yet it was an entirely different thing to actually be without them. To miss them. “Back home, things are just … different.”

“They must be.” He looked at me then, his eyes kelpie green in the darkness. “You said you live out in the country?”

“Far from here.”

“I used to want to live outside the city.” He lingered in the doorway. “Have dogs and horses. Climb trees.”

I smiled faintly, and it seemed to encourage him.

He placed his hand on the doorframe. “I drew up these plans for a city in the trees. It was basically a bunch of tree houses with bridges connecting them, but … ” He paused, and in spite of his smile, there was an edge to his tone. “I was
convinced
it could happen, if we just moved out of the city. My brother, Aaron, and I—” He stopped, busying himself with a fraying corner of the door. “We thought we could make it happen.”

“You have a brother?” I asked.

Taylor stepped past me toward the sink. He turned on the water, running his hands under the stream. “He's not here anymore.”

“Oh.”

Back home, much had been said about the disconnected nature of human families. Now I had the chance to learn about it firsthand. But the scowl on Taylor's face, reflected in the mirror above the sink, told me I daren't ask him now.

I stepped up behind him.

For a moment, he was too busy touching the water to notice me. It seemed to put him in a kind of trance, and he closed his eyes, feeling.

When he opened them, his scowl had lessened. “I would go into the bathroom and pretend I was running my hands through a stream,” he said, turning off the f
aucet and shaking droplets onto my arm. Before I could respond, he was walking out of the room.

I followed.

“I would stand at my desk, or my dresser, and pretend I was touching tree trunks.” He ran his fingers over the surface of his desk. “Sometimes I could even convince myself I was feeling that buzz, that energy you get from
touching trees.”

I stepped up beside him, in a trance of my own, and touched the desk. The wood was smooth, glossed over with a substance I did not recognize, but the pattern could still be seen.

I closed my eyes.

When Taylor's arm bumped against mine, I nearly opened my wings. The energy I had been hoping to find in the desk emanated from his skin. For an instant, I couldn't breathe.

Then, just as suddenly, my wings settled against my back and my breathing returned to normal. I was simply on edge, I assured myself, lifting my hand from the desk. He'd caught me off guard.

I looked up to see him staring.

“I don't know if that helps,” he said, sitting on the edge of his bed, “but it used to make me feel better whenever I felt trapped. It helped me to think that the things you find out there”—he gestured toward the window—“are in here too. Just in different forms.”

I sat beside him. “Taylor.”

He turned to me, and the look on his face said he would grant me three wishes.

“Words fall short,” I said. Ignoring the fire burning in my chest, I placed my hand over his. “But, yes. That helps.”