Chapter Two
TogetherAugustandFloriantrampedupthestairstotheirapartmentonthesecondfloorofthestore,butatthetopofthelandingFlorianpaused,watchingwithuncertaintyasAugustfumbledwithhiskeystounlockthedoor.Thestaircasewasnarrowanddark,butevensohecouldjustmakeoutthesameunsettledexpressiononAugust'sface.Hisuncleglancedback,tomeethisnervousgaze,andmanagedaslightsmilethatFlorianthoughtwasmeanttobereassuring,butwasfartoostrainedtoofferanycomfort.
“Come in,” August said, gesturing for Florian to enter as he pushed the door open. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Florian nodded, but still it took a moment before he could force his feet to lift from the ground and step inside. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, and every instinct in him cried out in protest, yearning to turn and run the other way. But then he was through the door, and August followed, closing it behind him.
As he entered Florian could hear a hushed voice that quieted the moment the door closed. From the entryway the kitchen was not quite visible, but he could see light from the dining room where his father must have been waiting.
“Go on,” August murmured behind him. “I'm right here with you.”
Florian steeled his resolve and took a few stiff, heavy steps through the entryway and into the light of the dining room. Two figures came into view as he turned the corner into the room, and he paused, startled. He had not been expecting two.
One was a tall man who looked about his age with tan skin and dark hair in a short, practical sort of style. He had a serious, almost stern expression on his face as he stood leaning against the kitchen counter, muscled arms folded across his chest. Florian did not recognize him, but his gaze lingered on the stranger's handsome features for a moment, before flicking over to the man who sat at the table.
Florian had no memory of his father's face, but the moment he met the man's eyes from where he sat looking up at him, he knew immediately that it was him. Though he was visibly older, his father had a youthful look to his face—the way August did, despite being unrelated. His hair had the same dark brown, almost-black hue as Florian’s, but the older man had sprinkles of grey throughout; their eyes were the same shade of warm amber brown. His neat, short beard kept Florian from fully studying his features, but the shape of his nose, cheekbones, and eyes were all uncomfortably familiar—too much like his own. A nervous, hesitant smile was on the older man's face, but all else seemed frozen in time, as their eyes remained locked together in silence.
“I found him, Jerah,” August said from behind Florian, snapping him back into the moment. “Here he is.”
“Florian,” his father said, slowly standing up. There was a strange familiarity to his voice too: all at once a voice he had never heard, and one he had always known. “I... My son.” His mouth worked silently for a moment. His hand clenched into a fist, and he pressed it to his mouth, shaking his head. “You know, I... I've thought a lot about what I would say to you, but now I can't remember any of it.”
Florian licked his lips, his mouth suddenly painfully dry. “Why?” he asked hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Why are you here?”
He felt more than heard August sigh softly behind him, and his father seemed to deflate at his words.
“It's a long story. A very long story,” the man sighed, unable to meet Florian's gaze again. “I... Let me start with this, Florian, that I am so, so sorry. Everything I did, I did out of concern for you, but there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't worry I made the wrong choice.”
Irritation flashed hot and prickly in his face, but he couldn't bring himself to reply. Instead, with a stilted hand he pulled out the chair opposite his father—his name was Jerah, he reminded himself—and silently gestured for him to continue, before looking down at the worn wooden table. Usually August would keep a small vase of flowers in the center—or mail and groceries, or some half-finished project for the shop, would be strewn across its surface—but now it was completely bare.
Across from him he heard Jerah sigh and sit back down, but still he didn't look back up. “This is all going to sound crazy,” his voice came, low and anxious. “So I'm just going to start with the worst of it. You weren't born in this world, Florian. We aren't humans.”
Florian blinked, then jerked his head up to meet Jerah's gaze. The older man's expression was completely sincere, so he whirled around in his seat to glare at August who still stood nervously behind him.
“What the fuck is he on?” he snapped, feeling more angry now than anything. Had August not vetted him at all?
“Just listen to him, Florian,” August repeated, looking down at his shoes, and the similar sincerity in his voice made the rage in his chest grow cold all at once. What the hell was going on?
“What we are—” Jerah persevered, even as Florian's bewildered gaze lingered on August. “—are fae. Not like pixies or fairies in the stories, although there are kernels of truth to many of those tales. No, our main distinguishing feature from humans is the magic we can use, and the world we come from.”
“This is insane,” Florian muttered, more to himself than to any of them now. “You can't be serious. You finally come back now, and this is what you want to say to me?”
“I know how it sounds,” Jerah replied with an urgency in his voice now. “But you have to believe me. I can prove it to you if you'll give me the chance. But haven’t you ever felt like you didn't belong here, Florian? Like you didn't fit in, or you were meant for something more?”
“Of course I've felt that,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm gay. I'mtrans. Of course I didn't... didn't fit in.” He trailed off. The words felt uncomfortably close to his own thoughts only moments earlier, during his conversation with Nadia.
“But more than that, right?” his father said. “Because you've never belonged here, Florian. Your home is our world, the Veil. It's sort of like a... a mirror, in a way, to this world, to Earth. And there are places where the worlds touch, the barriers between them are weakened, and you can pass through. That's how we’re able to travel here. There is no magic on Earth, but in the Veil…” He paused, then chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, in the Veil, I'm the king of the Winter Court, so that makes you a prince.”
Florian didn't have the strength to reply. His head was swimming, his whole body suddenly as cold as if he'd been launched into the early morning ocean. Without thinking, he propped his elbows on the table and pressed his forehead into his shaking hands, squeezing his eyes shut. There couldn't possibly be any truth to anything Jerah was saying, but his face was so earnest, and there was still so much familiarity in his voice.
“The reason I brought you here is because you weren't safe in the Veil,” Jerah continued. His voice seemed distant and far away now, but Florian couldn't bring himself to look up. “The Veil is... Well, much of it became dangerous and uninhabitable long ago. Our kingdom is one of only a few safe places left, at least those large enough for our people to survive. But, before you were born... Before you were born, I received word that a powerful... witch, I suppose would be the closest term. A witch wanted to speak to me. When I found her, she gave me a prophecy. She told me a Changeling prince would come from my family line to heal the Veil. There hadn't been any Changelings in, well, centuries, so I don't know if I really believed her then. But when you were little, you…”
He paused, taking in a shaking breath. “You told me you were a boy, and... transformed, right in front of me. That's not something fae can normally do. Only Changelings can do that. But there are a lot of myths and stories about Changelings, and I knew it wouldn't be safe for you if others found out, regardless of the prophecy. There would be people who would want to steal your hair, and your blood, and try to take you for their own gain. So I... I brought you here. To keep you away from prying eyes, from anyone who might do you harm.”
Everything he said was sounding more and more insane. Florian glanced back at Uncle August in desperation, but the serious expression on his face told him that the man believed every word his father was saying.
“A lot of fae left the Veil for Earth to avoid the Blight,” August said softly, meeting Florian's eyes. “I was one of them. I had already been pretty established here by then, so... That's why your dad brought you to me.”
“I waited until I knew bringing you back could be safe,” Jerah said quickly. “I've spent all this time learning everything I can, researching all there is to know about the Nova Blight and how to get rid of it, why it failed the first time, where to find—” He stopped, but Florian still couldn't bring himself to look in his direction. “Well. There will be plenty of time to explain in more detail later. For now, I think this is enough. I'm... Well, I'm hoping you'll agree to let me show you the Veil, to prove everything to you.”
