Away with the Faeries

Chapter Three

Mrs. Benett grabbed my face in her small hands which despite their delicate look were covered in rough calluses. She squished my face, tilting my head up and down, then left and right as if examining me. With a finger, she pushed my dark hair away from my face. 'Tsk-ing' Mrs. Benett turned to look at her son.

"She is definitely human," she mumbled in French, proceeding to tug on my ear as if that explained everything.

Marcel looked at where his mother had pulled and nodded in agreement. What the hell? Was I missing something?

"Of course I am human," I stated before gesturing to Marcel, "you speak as if you're not human yourself."

Marcel cocked a dark brow at me, an amused look cast across his face. Mrs. Benett on the other hand seemed as if I had just slapped her.

"My son is far above such filth," She hissed before coldly storming from the room brown wings sashaying behind her.

Swallowing hard I made my way back to the small hay bed, sitting heavily upon it, my body still weak from the earlier events. Marcel watched me carefully, a curious look in his eyes.

"I am not human," He said, inching closer to where I sat on the bed.

I laughed nervously at his words.

"Then what are you," I asked, deciding to go along with whatever game he was playing, "An Ogre," I questioned jokingly.

Marcel's dark eyes narrowed, a frown forming on his lips. "Do I look like an Ogre to you," he asked, brows drawn.

"No! That was a joke," I mumbled quickly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "A horribly misplaced one apparently," I added softly.

Marcel smirked at my discomfort before breaking into a laugh, "You seem quite adept at being misplaced, Dame de la forêt," he grinned.

I nearly gagged as he called me a lady but instead simply rolled my eyes. My mother always demanded that my sister and I acted as proper French ladies. When in truth I was anything but. My little sister, Carla, was as close to clay as one could get and my mother wasted no time in shaping her into the ideal French woman. Whatever the hell that was. Suppressed rage coursed through my blood at the reminder and in a moment I was up on my feet with a tiny finger at his chest.

"I thought I told you that I am not a lady," I spat bitterly.

Marcel's grin grew as he looked down at me, "And I thought I told you I was not human," he countered.

"Then what are you," I yelled throwing my hands before me in frustration.

Marcel's dark brows drew together, confusion playing at his face. "You really don't know," he asked.

I shook my head knowing if he didn't believe my words that my eyes would give away my utter confusion. They always did betray me on that front. I could never tell a lie and God forbid I attempted to keep a secret. Marcel studied my face for a moment before sighing deeply. He then proceeded to pull a lock of his dark hair away from his ear. Unwillingly my mouth fell agape. The soft flesh curved up into a leaf shape pointed around the top of his ear. But what startled me most was the large chunk that was cut from it.

"We are Faeries, love," he said carefully.

My eyes traced along the jagged skin, this was man-made. My brows furrowed. Marcel shifted under my gaze before quickly covering the scarred tissue.

"What happened to you," I asked, my voice wavering slightly.

His face became dark as it filled with unwanted memories. "Guess you could call it the mark of the Fae," he laughed humorlessly.

Marcel strolled over to the glossy ceramic bowl where my tiny pixie squirmed beneath the ball of fur she used as a blanket. Mark of the Fae?

"In French please," I asked, my voice dripping in sarcasm.

Marcel poked the pixie, in an attempt to wake her. She slapped his finger away. Marcel huffed turning back to me.

"I do not know what French is. Stop speaking strange words," he said before beginning to elaborate; "All Fae people are marked," he pointed to his ear once more as ire raided his voice, "That way it is easier to distinguish humans from Fae." There was a sour look on his face, one riddled with disgust and hatred. "It's a blessing really," he added softly to himself.

Were the gigantic wings not distinguishing enough? Marcel had no wings however, his back lie bare cloaked behind the dark velvet he donned.

My body shook as it filled with rage. I wasn't even entirely sure why. "How is that a blessing," I snapped.

Marcel's eyes widened, clearly, he hadn't thought I heard him. His face fell, dark eyes clashing with my own, "Because if they don't mark you, love, they kill you." And with that, he walked from the room.

Who the hell were they? Quickly following him out of the room I was greeted by the sight of a mellow cottage. Dried flora of strange sorts hung in bunches from the wall, and a warm fire crackled within a hearth. The flames danced, licking rapidly at the bottom of a heavy cast iron pot that sat atop it. A small couch, hidden beneath quilts sat before the fire; Marcel fell to the floor, back leaned against the arm of the couch.

He grabbed for a dagger that rested on the floor and the piece of whetstone beside it. Running the two together in a swift motion. Mrs. Benett flitted around the kitchen, kneading away at a heap of dough. Moving across the wooden floors I stood before Marcel, watching as he drew the dagger over the stone with sure hands.

"Who are they," I asked.

Marcel's hand froze as the blade began again over the stone, he turned his dark gaze towards mine.

"What did you tell her," Mrs. Benett questioned walking over from the small kitchen. She was coated in a fine layer of powder, her dark brows pinched in a frown.

Marcel shook his head. "Only what she wanted to know," he shrugged, swiping at the stone once more.

Mrs. Benett gasped, "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Marcel threw his gaze toward his mother, "She knew nothing."

"Nothing," Mrs. Benett echoed, casting a doubtful glance to where I stood.

"I still know nothing," I clarified. To be honest I was still convinced that this was all a hallucination and that I had gone mad. My mother had likely locked me up in some faraway asylum to rot.

Mrs. Benett thought to herself a moment before nodding. She wiped her flour cover hands down her apron, seeming to come to a decision; "Then we will teach you."