Page 1 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
Chapter 1
The brewery in northwest Boston is lit by hanging lamps and a giant central, circular fireplace. I, Adelaide ferch Aidan, am draped across the large leather couch near the fire. I never really just “sit” somewhere. No, I drape or perch or plant. Nymphs rarely do things by halves. I raise my rich chocolate stout for a sip then lick my lips slowly. I’m enjoying flirting shamelessly whilst destroying everyone at computerized trivia. This probably isn’t a fair game, given that I’m seventy-eight and these humans are only a few decades old, but when did the Fae ever play fair?
I grin to myself. I feel the gazes drift to me. I toss my honeyed-chestnut curls behind my shoulders, only slightly preening.
A beautiful woman with thick, dark hair down her back and gorgeous plum lips is staring at me. My grin turns into a smirk. I slide my grey eyes, with the quirk of an eyebrow, over to her beautiful cinnamon-colored ones.
I’m able to pass as human with only mild dampening spells, but humans always think I’m hypnotic. Magnetic. The kind of woman everyone wants to bed, or be, or both. I consider myself attractive. Not by nymph standards, of course, but by human standards. Curvy and—thankfully—of an average height amongst them. However, I think the magnetism is more of an internal flame that they seem to feel. Feel and throw themselvesupon, like the proverbial moths, desperate to feel something, anything, besides their short, overworked lives. Not to be melancholy.
Sadly, this is how humans react to most Fae, and most Fae are not as benevolent as me. It’s one of the reasons why humans were so set upon confining all the “magical creatures” to the tracts of land ceded to us after the war.
Technically, I need a license to be off the Federal Elf Community, but—like the rest of the us that like to pass as human—I simply slipped out unnoticed. Unlike many of those Fae, I have put down roots in the human world. Some of the citizens of the FEC would wither surrounded by metal and technology, without the nearness of other Fae. But I, mixed-blood times three as my sweet grandmother would say, have no such problems.
Daughter of Aidan ab Seren of the royal Nymph Court and a minor lady-in-waiting of the Dark Court, I am part selkie, part human, and half nymph. Of course, no nymphs are pure-blooded anymore, as they have an enormous penchant for humans, but the court likes to pretend they are less mixed than the rest.
My eyes go to the screen with the trivia question, and I enter the answer on the little device. As the time ticks down, the woman with gorgeous hair smiles at me from across the room. “Bet you a drink I get this one,” she says with a small smile. “Bet,” I return with a smirk.
WHAT IS THAT NOISE? Christ. What the hell time is it? I sit bolt upright, pushing back my maroon blanket. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s not my cell.
Sparing a glance to the woman in my bed, who is definitely still asleep, I run to the bathroom. Who is calling me at this time of the morning? On a Tuesday?
I quickly touch the mirror fixed to the wall above my pedestal sink. My fingertips make the mirror shimmer. A very beautiful and very angry nymph appears. To anyone not Fae, it would seem that the mirror has become a clear glass window and this livid, waif-like woman in a white dress is somehow standing on the other side of the wall.
“Good morning, Priestess Alys.” I say tightly while trying to get my features under control. Whenever I go off the FEC for any period, it’s like I forget how to lie with my face.
“Afternoon, niece,” the Fae says, “though it is neither morning nor good.”
I swallow. Aunt Alys has been pissed off since her expected firstborn daughter turned out to be twin boys. So, a solid ninety years of anger. She’s a peach.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Priestess Alys?”
“Priestess Adelaide, your return to our court is requested.” I wince at my title. And I knew it was not a request, of course. “Now.”
“How now is ‘now,’ Aunt?” I am digging my grave at this point, by omitting her title, but dammit, I was going to have a good time while doing so. I have always found it entertaining to see how much I can annoy them without getting tossed to the court torturer. Nymphs do have a tendency towards rashness.
“I expect a trained Priestess of Aine, a child of the royal court, a niece of my blood, however mixed, to have better manners.” Her rage practically melts the mirror, her brown eyes full of barely controlled anger, and she frustratedly tosses back her ashy-blonde hair.
My own temper flares. “Whenam I expected, Priestess Alys?”
“Today.”
“Today? I cannot possibly be ready to leave today. I need to arrange coverage and—”
“I don’t care for whatever human nonsense you’ve gotten up to this time, Adelaide. You are required back on our land when the sun sets or the queen’s reaction will not be kind.”
The mirror blanks. I huff at my own reflection.
I strip off my tank top and sweatpants and turn on the shower, sticking my head out of the bathroom briefly to verify that my lovely guest is still asleep. My thoughts turn to the coffee shop. I’ll call Guillermo. He and Marianna will cover. Thank Goddess for them. Guillermo and Marianna have worked for me since I opened the shop.
It had cost a small fortune to buy the old building with its tiny corner shop. Luckily, avoiding pissing off my blood thirsty aunts and keeping Grandmother happy had earned me quite the trust fund. I immediately hired a contractor to refinish the inside and tastefully update the apartment above.
A benefit of my selkie heritage—and one of dubious original use—is that I’m exceedingly good at reading people. One of the contractor’s workers was kind and paid attention to my requests, as opposed to the foreman. Sensing his good heart, and his hard luck, I followed him home one day—in fur, of course. A hard-working wife and two adorable children in a tiny, infested apartment. That sealed it. I asked him the next day to become the general manager of the soon-to-open coffee shop, offering a salary he would have considered a fairy tale if I hadn’t backed it up with a few months in advance. A few weeks later, I hired Marianna to run the tiny kitchen, and they’ve been with me since. Honestly, they are more parents than my actual parents had ever been.
I shower quickly, then run around grabbing stuff while trying to get dressed. My guest is still zonked out. I guess I wore her out.
I leave her a note begging a family emergency, telling her to sleep late, eat anything she can find, and to give me a call in a few weeks. Finally, I lock up and head for the train stop.
I TOSS MY LEATHER BACKPACKon the window seat and flop down on the other. As the train heads north, I cringe. I’ll barely make it back before sundown. And I’ll make sure I’m not more than three feet past the border of the FEC by then, dammit. I’ve never claimed I’m not petty.
