Dirty Lying Faeries

Chapter Four

Thea

Finishing my soup and hurrying to beat the light snow, I crossed the parking lot to my building. Inside my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and changed into pajamas, dropping Candie's sweats and hoodie into the laundry so I could return them clean. On that note, I sent her a text.

I borrowed some clothes but I'm washing them now. How's the hangover?

With the fluffy snow outside I threw back my living room curtains and sank onto the couch with my laptop. I spent some time job hunting, like I usually did after work. Which led to feeling stressed, which led to being hungry, which ended with me grabbing some cereal and streaming videos.

A glance outside told me the snow had stopped a while ago and the city's lights sparkled with the season—Christmas lights twinkled, menorahs were lit for their last days, and wreaths hung from doorways and inside shop windows. And in the parking lot of my building someone very large stood with an eerie stillness.

They were the biggest person I had ever seen and were standing mostly in shadow. Some kind of fog obscured the details, or maybe it was my blurry vision again. Within the depths of the enormous silhouette I saw a pair of red eyes. Glowing. Of all the strange things that had happened today, this was the most off.

I yanked my curtains closed as goose bumps crawled down my arms. I bit the inside of my cheek and scolded myself for being such a baby. I'd been living away from home for years, I wasn't going to suddenly throw my reason out the window now.

Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. Going to the closet, I pulled out a bent piece of iron pipe that my brother brought me from a job site when I first moved to the city. I remember laughing at him when he'd handed it to me, telling me to keep it by my front door. But now setting it on the couch next to me, I felt mildly better. Opening the curtains again, I saw the figure was gone. My brows knit together as an odd phrase from the night before came to mind:

Near the end of his life, he claimed to see things in the forest. Fairy tales come to life.

It had been quite a day; this was what I got for stuffing my face and staying up all night. Still, I'd had a good time. A playful smile crossed my mind and suddenly my thoughts were completely on L'Atelier Rouge.

Flipping my laptop open, I searched for articles about the painter, Dubois. But all that came up were routine pieces about the opening of the gallery, some student papers about a couple of his early paintings, and an awards page—L'Atelier Rouge had won some prestigious art standards.

"That's it? Nothing about his condition?"

No biography, no records, not even most of his works. You would think a painter would have a few articles at least speculating on his mental health or physical ailments. But my researcher's curiosity was getting the better of me. It seemed impossible that there was nothing on a known figure from the area's history. It was doubtful that my new vision problems were the same as his, but whatever it was that had convinced Dubois he was seeing fairy tale creatures was sure to be fascinating. If I really wanted to sate my curiosity, I would have to go back to the gallery. Devin did say he would be interested in this kind of collaboration.

And I was doing this as a project, not just to see Devin again. It wasn't just an excuse. Okay, it might be an excuse. Or both. It could be both. Fine. I wanted to go talk to the charming gallery owner again; after all, he did say if I had questions about Dubois that I could ask him.

A twitch had me rubbing the heel of my hand at the corner of my eye, trying to relieve the irritation. They were tired and sore from rubbing them all day. Whatever had irritated them was wearing me thin.

Next up: searching for optometrists in my area. Settling on one that let me schedule online, I double-checked my work calendar and booked the appointment. This blur thing was not going to fly, not when I was only in my twenties.

Lying back on the couch, I glanced at my open tabs and my mind drifted back to Dubois. What did he think he was seeing? I began a new search and focused on the stranger things he'd painted.

Fangs

Supernatural fangs

Pointy ears

Wings

The results gave a rather expansive list, which I should have guessed. I'd filled my head with enough fantasy books to last a lifetime when the most interesting thing to do in my hometown was to go to the library. But the last article I clicked on checked all the fantastical boxes and could describe what Dubois thought he was seeing. Closing my laptop, I let out a halfhearted laugh.

"Yeah, right. Faeries."