Away with the Faeries

Chapter Seventeen

 "Barbaric," Lana said, plopping herself on the surplus of velvet that pooled on the floor, kicking her feet up as if she was just returning from an afternoon walk; "a cat tried to eat me once," she paused a moment, "I mean I can't blame the poor thing, honestly who could resist?"

Would it be considered a hate crime to french-fry a person of the Nuea? Glancing between Lana who had amassed from thin air and the burning logs before us, the thought was becoming a tempting one.

"Where did you come from," I asked, curling further into the cloak as the wind grew harsher.

"Well," Lana began, tugging the velvet over herself; "when a girl Nuea and a guy Nuea fall in love she battles to the death for his hand in marriage."

Marcel coughed beside us, clearly as shocked as I was by the sudden escalation of events. Browns drawn I gazed down at the swaddled Nuea. That was not at all what I meant by the question but now I was genuinely intrigued. Tired, sore, cold, but intrigued.

"What?"

Lana grumbled, twisting in the velvet to get closer to the flames; "What do you mean what? You do know what proceeds the uniting of a couple, don't you," she muttered smartly, "Or do I need to explain the birds and bees to you?"

Marcel grinned, kicking at a log and stirring the fire.

"Don't think I'm not above smothering you," I threatened, eyelids growing heavy as I watched the glowing cinders twinkle.

"Been there, done that," Lana reminded me grumpily.

Subduing a yawn I slumped to the snow curling the cloak tighter around me. The idea of giggling away in a forgotten corner of a rotting asylum seemed to bring me more comfort than my current situation and so I clung to it. The fact that none of this was real, not the way I felt my toes burn with frostbite or the way my chest ached to free the Kingdom of Erde. It was all fake, a fabrication of my intense imagination. I wasn't covered in the paint of a warrior, because I wasn't a warrior.

I was a software engineer. I saved corrupted files not kingdoms. This was insane, all of it; Faeries, Elves, Pixies, and war. How could it be that I was picked from one out of seven billion potential candidates to be thrown into this world? Because there was no world I reminded myself rolling over in the thick cloak, snow crunching beneath me, because this is all fake. The heat of the flames against my exposed skin was fake, the sting of the freezing wind across my cheeks was not real, and Marcel, gods he was an unfair hallucination.

———

Morning sunlight hit my eyes, stirring me awake in the early hours of the morning. With a grumble I shifted, soft grass itching against my skin and a pillow hard beneath my head. Both those things were wrong, exceedingly so. Startling awake I sprung from where I had drifted off. Heat flushed my face as I realized not where but who I had woken up on. Marcel's large frame lay sprawled out on the grassy woodland floor, his dark hair pooled like liquid on the grass.

He was asleep, a smile ghosted my lips. I've never seen him look so vulnerable. No, not peaceful. That wasn't the right word. Even in his sleep, Marcel's brow dipped, face drawn tight as if he continued to face the battles he did in the waking world. Inching closer to him I leaned in. What are your demons? Dark hair spilled across his guarded features. Lifting a hand to brush it away Marcel's eyes flew open, his hand shooting out to my wrist. Gasping I stumbled back before falling to my ass.

Recognition flooded his eyes as he quickly released me; "Apologies," he murmured, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes darted to the sleeping Bloed officials, "you startled me. You are not hurt, are you?"

Shaking my head I tenderly rubbed my wrist; not hurt, only surprised; "No," I answered.

Marcel stood, holding a hand down for me. Taking it he pulled me to my feet; his hands then moved to the cloak around me, pulling the hood over my head, and drawing the fabric around me tighter. Marcel then glanced at the small patch of grass around us, fitted perfectly to where we had slept. Immune to the winter's harsh wrath, the heavy snow receded from us, flurries falling in thick bundles everywhere but here.

Dandelions and other strange weeds sprouted from the thick grass, plucking one I looked at Marcel.

Carefully he took the weed, examining it; "This takes powerful magic," he noted before adding with a shrug, "or one of us is cursed."

"My money's on the call girl," Lana declared, rising from a patch of grass.

Synching the cloak tighter around me I shot the small Nuea a scowl; "Slut shaming is a hate crime."

"I wasn't shaming you, babe," she clarified, plucking the weed from Marcel's hands before tucking it behind my ear; "that'd make me a hypocrite and I'm no liar."

Ignoring the small Nuea, Marcel met my eye, "You're not cursed, are you, Rayne?"

I had been recently thrust into a strange world and left to die, so maybe? That would explain the rapid de-escalation of events.

"Maybe," I shrugged, "I don't think so."

Marcel raised a brow, clearly not buying what I was selling.

Throwing hands in the air, I caved; "Yes probably," I said, "There is a good chance I am probably cursed, because this," I said, kicking at the grass, "is not the strangest thing to have happened to me."

Marcel grinned, dropping to pick up a pebble; "Or you're one hell of a powerful human."

With a flick of his wrist, he threw the stone, the small rock flew, hitting Mac smack between the eyes. Glancing down to the shiny grass that swayed gently in the breeze, a thought occurred to me. Maybe I wasn't human at all.