“You returned,” said the Faerie, stepping out from the darkness.
“I did,” Mouse said.
“I assume that you have made your choice.”
“Yes. I have.”
The Faerie smiled, and the tips of his vicious teeth glinted. “You must say the words.”
Mouse bristled but nodded, knowing, in affairs of magic, words did matter.
“I want to make a bargain,” she muttered.
He leaned forward, a predator preparing to pounce on its prey. “A bit louder.”
She ground her teeth. “I want to make a bargain.”
His features sharpened. “Once more,” he whispered.
“I want to make a bargain,” she said, then tacked on, “please.”
She was unsure if it was the final word or the repetition of the request three times, but the wind picked up. It flared her skirt and kicked up the fallen leaves. All the debris swirled around the Faerie. He was the epicenter of a storm, drawing in the world around him and feasting on it with frantic energy.
The magic swelled, and the world felt closer, growing in intensity and color until it seared the hair on Mouse’s arms. A jagged lightning bolt split the sky, and she dropped to the ground. The scent of ozone and burned wood clogged her nose. A metallic flavor coated her tongue and teeth as she breathed. She pressed her nose into her shoulder, muting the smell and taste.
“The process has begun. I will meet you first thing tomorrow morning to discuss formalities.”
“Where?” she asked, her voice cracking around the words.
“I will find you. Be ready at first light.”
When she dared to raise her head, the Faerie was gone. The tension in the air broke, and she stumbled through the trees, her knees weak. She ran until she was back in the Matchbox, shaking beneath the covers, her head pounding and her blood hot under her skin.
6
Dusty sunlight woke Mouse the next morning, the air punctuated by birdsong. She remembered the Faerie’s face in the dark woods, looming over her, with the moon shining in his white hair. Unbidden, the story of the woman taken from the guillotine by the Faerie came to mind.
“You are acting like an inexperienced girl,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve been through much worse than this at the hospital.”
But had she? The walls felt too close. She needed to be outside in the fresh air.
Mouse loitered at the top of the front steps. The morning was warm enough that she did not need a coat, and the breeze felt wonderful as it met the dew on her back and forehead. However, it did little to quell the uneasiness that hummed through her blood as she thought about the Faerie.
There were many stories of humans making deals with Faeries,but there were a few things that stood out to Mouse as she rummaged through them in her mind.
Firstly, one should never give their name to a Faerie. The name gave the Faerie power over its owner, and those stories never ended well for the mortal.
Secondly, one should always clarify what a Faerie meant in their deals. Although they could not lie, they could skirt around the truth, or twist it, to trick the mortal into making a mistake. These mistakes usually led to the mortal being turned into a frog or a stone statue, or other such magic.
Thirdly, iron was poisonous to Faeries. If you needed to escape them, use iron.
Lastly, and most important of all, never trust a Faerie completely. Faeries wouldalwaystry to trick the mortal with whom they were bargaining. It was not clear why, but trickery was a through line in every story. It was just Faerie nature.
The sun rose higher, and it struck Mouse that the Faerie was late before she forced her attention to the greenery.
A passing line of bees changed their course, and Mouse watched, bemused, as they followed each other to the edge of the garden. In the blink of an eye, the Faerie stood at the tree line.
In the light of the morning, he looked different than she remembered from the night before. He seemed to bleed into the trees as seamlessly as he had when he’d been one of Thistlemarsh Wood’s statues. He still had the sunlight quality to him, and Mouse had to blink away the sting from her eyes.