Page 2 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
After the Allies won World War II, the kings, queens, chieftains, priestesses, babuskhas, all the leaders of Fae, decided they had to reveal themselves to humanity. The number of Fae that had felt called to fight against the spread of the Nazi regime was not unnoticeable. And the way that those of Fae ancestry quickly climbed the ranks within the military units, or seemed to escape situations that should have killed them, was a topic of general conversation and rumor.
The war-traumatized humans did not react well to the knowledge that the Fae, the subject of fairy tales they had scared their children with for generations, were real.
Not just real, but longer lived, stronger, faster, richer. The battered Soviet Union, home to a huge variety of Fae, offered to take in all the magical creatures of the world. As one can probably imagine, America had something to say about this. A bit of nuclear-superpower flexing later, and all the Fae were “resettled” in the US.
The English, Irish, and Welsh Fae were given a large tract of land in northern Maine, titled the Federal Elf Community #2. North of Baxter State Park, in the Allagash Wilderness Waterway, is where I was born and raised.
As the sun fades and we near the end of the train line, the town of Sitvor, the last human town before the FEC, appears.Home to the families of the “conservation officers'' who patrol the FEC’s borders, old timers who refused to leave when the FEC was created, and faeriephiles, it is basically a one-stoplight village with two dive bars and faded product signs in the shop windows. After Sitvor, I will have to hike out, unless I want to draw attention to myself.
I throw my pack over my shoulder and head off the train. I keep my head down as I wind through the station. Last thing I need at this point is a ticket for no license—or worse, unlawful settlement or corruption of a human.
It’s a quick walk through the town followed by a short jaunt through a neighborhood filled with tiny homes with peeling paint and sagging roofs and postage-stamp yards, and then I am at the foot path that will get me onto our land. The rounded peaks of Mount Katahdin are silhouetted in the distance as the sun dips low. The path looks like a game trail to anyone unfamiliar with the area. I peer at the sky as I hustle north through shrubs that slowly turn into dense forest. I wish I had time to enjoy the woods; fall in Maine is truly lovely.
I reach the spot where the trail forks, both paths equally worn. I smile to myself. Robert Frost was right: the path matters not; you’ll find your destiny either way.
I lift my hands, seeming to touch nothing, then drop my glamour and shift my awareness.
You know those crazy ladies who claim they can see your aura? Yeah, they can, and they are probably more than a quarter Fae blood.
And that’s what I did, shifted so I could see that part of the spectrum. Here, I can see the buzzing yellow shield that seems to extend to the sky. I simply relax my body and let my outer aura shift to yellow. Yellow, the color of deceit. The humans think the barrier keeps the Fae in, a nice solid wall of energy. Why,sweet humans, of course none of us can pass this barrier thatwecreated.
Once my aura matches, I simply step through. A moment later and a zing goes through the air. Sundown. Perfect timing. Letting go of my spirit sight, I press through some brush and brambles that hide the trail. Once on the path, I start hiking toward Cimit, one of the smaller settlements of the FEC.
Chapter 2
Cimit is a tiny village that gives off a storybook-like vibe. The buildings, a series of small wooden huts with thatched roofs, are arranged around a large well in a grassy area surrounded by evergreens, like a miniature town green. There’s even a farrier's workshop, and those fancy-looking chickens wandering about. It’s not a large enough village to support a tavern or inn; the community hall is where I’ll find a mirror.
I head straight to the long, low, rough-hewn building at the far end of town. All the villagers’ faces swivel away from their pints and towards me as the door opens. A worn brick fireplace dominates an entire wall of the community hall, its flames flickering in the draft. The villagers are a ragtag crew, unlike most smaller settlements in the FEC. Usually the members of a species settle together. But Cimit, being close to the border, draws the outliers. At a glance, I can see a leprechaun, a couple of brownies, a wolver, and a human-looking creature that is probably one of our more hideous beasts in heavy cloaking.
“Don’t mind me,” I bubble with a fake smile, striding for the giant ornate mirror hanging on a wall near the bar. I dig about in my pockets for a piece of quartz. “Aha,” I breathe, relieved to find one.
Everyone is still watching me. I need to get the hell out of here before getting recognized. I press the crystal to the mirror.Out of the corner of my eye, I see the leprechaun stand. That is the last thing I need right now: a horny, crabby male who likes to collect pretty things.
The mirror finally accepts my offering and shimmers. I think of the twins and the smell of my childhood room. The leprechaun’s mouth opens just as I throw myself at the mirror. Perfect timing.
I hate mirror travel. It comes more easily to some, but I’ve just never had the knack for it. Abruptly, my foot strikes the ground and I stagger, falling to my knees in the hallway of the Green Court. Behind me, on the stone wall, is the exceedingly large common mirror, decorated with tiny leaves etched into the edges of the grand rectangular glass.
“Well, well, well,” drawls Malcolm. Olwyn’s husband for the past twenty or so years, he isn’t my most favorite person in the Court, nor is he my least. He has generally pretended I don’t exist, which is fine with me.
“I wasn’t expecting you to get on your knees for me, Adelaide,” he practically purrs. He is wearing a slim-cut emerald-green suit, undoubtedly to match Olwyn’s gown. He looks down at me and bites his lip.
