thread. “Your left hand,” he said.
She gave him her other hand and watched as he wound her first, middle, and ring fingers with the string, tying one knot on each digit. “What is this supposed to do?” she asked.
“It will help you make your deliveries.”
She nodded, looking at her fingers. How could this be magic? She’d expected something that glittered and glowed, not mundane stuff. String was just string. She wanted to ask about it again, but she thought it might be rude, so she asked something else she’d been wondering about. “Why does iron bother faeries?”
“We don’t have it in our blood like you do. More than that, I don’t know. There was a king of the Unseelie Court poisoned with but a few shards quite recently. His name was Nephamael and he thought to make an ally of iron—he wore a band of it at his brow, letting the burns scar deep until his flesh was so toughened it could scar no more. But that did not toughen his throat. He died choking on the stuff.”
“What are these Courts?” Val asked.
“When there are enough faeries in an area they often organize themselves into groups. You might call them gangs, but the Folk usually call them Courts. They occupy some territory, often fighting with other nearby Courts. There are Seelie Courts, which we call Bright Courts, and the Unseelie Courts, or Night Courts. You might, at first glance, think that the Bright Courts were good and the Night Courts evil, but you would be much, although not entirely, mistaken.”
Val shuddered. “Am I going to be doing deliveries alone? Are any of the others coming with me?”
His golden eyes glittered in the firelight. “Others? Luis is the only human courier I’ve ever had. Is there someone else you are thinking of?”
Val shook her head, not sure what she should say.
“It doesn’t matter. I would ask that you do these tasks alone and that you do not speak of them with any of the… others. ”
“Okay,” Val said.
“You are under my protection,” he said, letting her take the bottle. “Still, there are things I would have you know about the fey. Do not tarry with them and take nothing they offer, especially food.” She thought of the magiced stone she had fed to an old man and nodded grimly, guiltily. “Put this comfrey in your shoe. It will help you keep safe and speed your travel. And here’s madwort to keep you from fascination. You can tuck that into your pocket.”
Val took the plants, toed off her left sneaker, and tucked the comfrey inside. She could feel it there, nestled against her sock, oddly comforting and alarming because it was comforting.
When she emerged on the street again, she felt a tug from the thread twined around her first finger. Magic! It made her smile despite everything else as she started in that direction.
It was still early evening when she made it to Washington Square Park. She’d stopped along the way and spent stolen money on a ham sandwich that she was still too sick to digest, despite her hunger, and had to toss it away half-eaten. She’d even managed to wash her face in an icy fountain, where the water tasted of rust and pennies.
The three bottles of whatever-they-were clanked together in her backpack, heavier than they would have been if she hadn’t been so tired. She longed to uncork one and taste the contents, to bring back the power and fearlessness of the night before, but she was wary enough of her exhaustion today that she didn’t.
Walking through the park, past NYU students in bright scarves, past people hurrying to dinner or walking their tiny, sweatered dogs, she realized that she had no idea what she was looking for. The thread pulled her toward a pack of middle-schoolers in expensive skater clothes climbing up on one of the interior fences. One floppy-haired boy in low-slung jeans, skull-print knee pads and checkerboard Vans was louder than the rest, standing on the top rung and whooping at three girls leaning against the thick
She gave him her other hand and watched as he wound her first, middle, and ring fingers with the string, tying one knot on each digit. “What is this supposed to do?” she asked.
“It will help you make your deliveries.”
She nodded, looking at her fingers. How could this be magic? She’d expected something that glittered and glowed, not mundane stuff. String was just string. She wanted to ask about it again, but she thought it might be rude, so she asked something else she’d been wondering about. “Why does iron bother faeries?”
“We don’t have it in our blood like you do. More than that, I don’t know. There was a king of the Unseelie Court poisoned with but a few shards quite recently. His name was Nephamael and he thought to make an ally of iron—he wore a band of it at his brow, letting the burns scar deep until his flesh was so toughened it could scar no more. But that did not toughen his throat. He died choking on the stuff.”
“What are these Courts?” Val asked.
“When there are enough faeries in an area they often organize themselves into groups. You might call them gangs, but the Folk usually call them Courts. They occupy some territory, often fighting with other nearby Courts. There are Seelie Courts, which we call Bright Courts, and the Unseelie Courts, or Night Courts. You might, at first glance, think that the Bright Courts were good and the Night Courts evil, but you would be much, although not entirely, mistaken.”
Val shuddered. “Am I going to be doing deliveries alone? Are any of the others coming with me?”
His golden eyes glittered in the firelight. “Others? Luis is the only human courier I’ve ever had. Is there someone else you are thinking of?”
Val shook her head, not sure what she should say.
“It doesn’t matter. I would ask that you do these tasks alone and that you do not speak of them with any of the… others. ”
“Okay,” Val said.
“You are under my protection,” he said, letting her take the bottle. “Still, there are things I would have you know about the fey. Do not tarry with them and take nothing they offer, especially food.” She thought of the magiced stone she had fed to an old man and nodded grimly, guiltily. “Put this comfrey in your shoe. It will help you keep safe and speed your travel. And here’s madwort to keep you from fascination. You can tuck that into your pocket.”
Val took the plants, toed off her left sneaker, and tucked the comfrey inside. She could feel it there, nestled against her sock, oddly comforting and alarming because it was comforting.
When she emerged on the street again, she felt a tug from the thread twined around her first finger. Magic! It made her smile despite everything else as she started in that direction.
It was still early evening when she made it to Washington Square Park. She’d stopped along the way and spent stolen money on a ham sandwich that she was still too sick to digest, despite her hunger, and had to toss it away half-eaten. She’d even managed to wash her face in an icy fountain, where the water tasted of rust and pennies.
The three bottles of whatever-they-were clanked together in her backpack, heavier than they would have been if she hadn’t been so tired. She longed to uncork one and taste the contents, to bring back the power and fearlessness of the night before, but she was wary enough of her exhaustion today that she didn’t.
Walking through the park, past NYU students in bright scarves, past people hurrying to dinner or walking their tiny, sweatered dogs, she realized that she had no idea what she was looking for. The thread pulled her toward a pack of middle-schoolers in expensive skater clothes climbing up on one of the interior fences. One floppy-haired boy in low-slung jeans, skull-print knee pads and checkerboard Vans was louder than the rest, standing on the top rung and whooping at three girls leaning against the thick
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