''Don't you remember, little flower?'' he asked, his voice low and melodic, ''Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.''
''Perhaps,'' I whispered, ''But Shakespeare was referring to a man...''
He cocked his head in confusion, his eyes growing darker...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Being half-fey had some perks.
For example, the plants that Ellie and I kept in the apartment were remarkably well-kept. Though, I'm not sure if that was because of my supernatural connection to Earth spirits or Ellie's green thumb. They were not alive because of my attentive caretaking talents.
"E," I called, "I think the cactus is dead."
A loud groan sounded from her bedroom. We lived in Brooklyn in a small shoebox- I mean apartment- that comprised two bed closets- I mean rooms- and a kitchen/dining/living room. I've combined those last few because the small living space between our two bedrooms functioned as all three. But it was something that we'd paid for. Together. With nobody else's help.
Though, if I were ever to mention to my best friend I had a royal trust fund the size of Alaska, there would probably be some minor redecorating.
Ellie peeked her head out of her bedroom and glared at me.
"It's a cactus, Mar," she grumbled, sweeping her black hair out of her face, "even you shouldn't be able to kill a cactus."
I raised an eyebrow. "Do not underestimate my ability to ruin things. I've been working at it my whole life."
At my morbid statement, Ellie emerged from her room. Ever since I'd gotten back from my trip to Scotland, she'd been treading carefully around me. She was careful not to say the wrong things or ask me to do too much. She even refrained from her usual teasing.
Her brown eyes even now were soft and held too much understanding in them. I was grateful for her, as always, but too much understanding meant pity. My brain and my attitude were not hardwired to accept pity. Or help.
"That was surprisingly pessimistic."
She flopped onto the floral couch we'd somehow gained rather than bought. We were almost in our twenties and nobody in their twenties ever bought furniture, they would just somehow come to gain it through various means. I didn't make the rules.
She put her hand on my forearm and I felt strange pulses of energy coming from her. They rolled off of her like colored electricity. I ignored it.
Another fey trick- sensing auras and sometimes even emotions. I didn't quite know how to control it or how to read it, but the differing colors meant different things. My father had been the best at reading people.
"Do you want to talk about your trip? The funeral?" she prodded.
