Page 26 of Welcome to Fae Cafe

Kate stood. “I don’t need any of that,” she said. “Listen, some guy is saying he wants me to die, and you’re telling me he’s afae prince?! I’m dead serious that I will walk out of here and call the police if this is a joke. I only came here because I thought you could help—”

“Why do you think I’m making you a sweater?” Freida interrupted. “And if I’m going to come out of retirement for this nonsense, you’re best off to not ask questions and just listen. We have only five more minutes until knitting club is over, and then we can’t speak of anything of the faeborn-related until next week. Do you understand, Human?”

Kate shut her mouth.

“Perfect. And don’t ever threaten to call the police on us again,” Freida scolded. “We have kindly invited you into our knitting club, Kate Kole, even though you will be dead in a matter of days, maybe even hours. But perhaps, if you’re smart, and with some help from your very skilled fairy godmother, you can figure out the answers you need to live. Unfortunately, almostallfairies are tricky, manipulative, cruel, and would jump at the opportunity to torment a human. You cannot trust a fairy. Not even us, really. Not even me.”

Kate searched the faces around the circle for traces of suppressed laughter, but every woman was looking down at their knitting. Hazel was stuffing her face with cracker sandwiches.

“How can you tell me to trust you and then warn menotto trust you in the same sentence—”

“I didn’t tell you to trust me. And don’t ask me to intervene and save you from the Prince, Human. I can’t.” Freida glanced up from her work to shoot Kate a look. “I can only nudge you toward the answers since fairies can rarely give straight answers. The fairy-kind cannot speak the name of the place we are from, nor can we speak to direct any human on how to find it. It’s the same for the ancientBook ofRules and Masteries. It’s just not possible—our mouths won’t move to do it. However, you seem well read and intelligent. If you want our help, you’ll have to follow the signs.”

The small door on a cuckoo clock sprang open in the corner, and a bird popped out with a chime. All the ladies tossed down their knitting at once. Gretchen reached over for one last macaroon and shoved the whole thing into her mouth. Crumbs tumbled down her chin into her braid.

“It seems we’re out of time. Have a lovely day, Kate Kole, and don’t be afraid of using arealname.”

Kate stood, her ball of yarn rolling off her knees and hitting the floor after all. “Wait—”

“No more questions.” Gretchen pointed to the cuckoo clock with her needle again and a lob of macaroon fell onto the coffee table from her mouth. “Knitting club is over.”

“Until next week.” Freida slid her bag onto her shoulder. “I do hope you survive until then, Kate. But it’s unlikely. I suppose we won’t get to hear your story after all.”

The women stuffed their balls of yarn into their bags and left one by one. Kate quickly grabbed her book bag and followed them out.

“Wait,” she said again as she reached the street, but every woman had gone in a different direction. They moved so fast; she couldn’t have followed them even if she’d sprinted.

8

Kate Kole and The Games of Fairies

Wind howled through the night, and thunder boomed over the city.

Kate awoke with a start. Lingering traces of bad memories mixed with the present sounds of pounding rain.

Her clock showed ten past midnight. The apartment was frigid, and she realized the window had unclasped during the night. It hung open an inch, squeaking on its hinges. Rainwater soaked her dresser below the sill.

She rubbed her eyes and placed a hand over her thudding heart, climbing out of bed to seal the window shut. She grabbed two novels from her nightstand, pulled a thick blanket off the shelf, and headed to the drawer in the kitchen for her flashlight.

The kettle whistled as loud as the thunder minutes later. Kate poured boiling water into her favourite mug, twisting the string of the tea bag as the windows lit up with a flash of lightning.

She braced for the thunder that would follow.

Her bones became clattering instruments, her blood rushing through her veins as the sound cracked over her apartment, rumbling the floor below her. She couldn’t bring her feet to move until the thunder died away.

When the noise became an echo in the distance, she crept to collect her blanket, flashlight, and tea, and she went to the coat closet beside the pantry. She crawled inside and sat on the pillow she left there, closing the door quietly behind her. When the flashes of light were blocked and the noise was muted, she felt like she could take in a full breath again.

It was on nights like tonight that Kate felt she was a child. She was still that little girl hiding in the backseat of a car. She was still laying in that hospital bed, confused about where everybody was. She still liked popsicles and ice cream and wanted to read picture books about dragons past her bedtime.

It was on nights like tonight that Kate wondered if she was still stuck in that day, and if everything in her life since that point had only been a dream.

Kate organized her blanket over her legs, clicked on her flashlight, flipped open her book, and got lost in the novel about a boy who could speak with dragons. He became the Dragon King. He led dragon armies, and he spared the dragons from disaster.

During the long hours of the night, Kate read by flashlight beneath the blanket, whispering the words of the story out loud and scribbling notes in the margins of the pages. She made it through the entire book from cover to cover before dawn. She moved on to the next one just as the wind went quiet and hazy white sunlight peeked below the closet door.

Kate cracked the door open and peered out with tired eyes. Glittering morning light rolled over her apartment floor like a carpet inviting her out. She tossed the blanket and books ahead of her and crawled into the kitchen, moaning at the ache in her legs. She went to the window first. All traces of the storm had vanished from the sky, leaving a milky blue horizon speckled with cottony clouds.

The redhead girl was nowhere to be seen across the street. A young man with tanned skin and a bun of dark curly hair ate breakfast at the diner. A hoodie peeked from beneath his jean jacket. Kate watched the eggs on his plate disappear until someone sat down across from him and cut off her view.

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