Page 4 of Wicked Things

He ignored my question like I thought he would, but he had a follow up one of his own. “And what are you?”

“Me? I-I’m a wool merchant. I don’t have much money, though, if that’s what you’re after.”

The Fae leaned forward, his long, thick ink-black hair falling across his face. I could have sworn that I saw tiny silver flames dancing in his green eyes as he leaned closer.

“Stop wasting my time,” he snapped. “You know what I mean. Are you a witch like your mother was?”

“My mother? What do you know about my mother?”

“Answer the fucking question,” he said in a loud, harsh voice.

“My mother was no fucking witch.” I snapped back at him, and I didn’t know where I found the courage to give him such a hateful reply. It wasn’t even true, because she claimed to have been an enchantress and people called her a witch. The Faery lord looked surprised and gave me a considering look.

“Oh? Then who, pray tell, glamoured you to look mortal?”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I don’t know what you are exactly, but you’re not at all mortal, though a little mortal blood does perhaps run weakly in your veins. Someone has glamoured you long ago to hide what you truly are. It’s beginning to crack now around the edges, and your true nature is beginning to shine through. You actually remind me of a demon I used to know. Twice dead Pierre, who was killed a couple of times and went to hell for a while but was too pig-headed to stay dead. He was angry about what happened, and the shriveled morsel that passed for his soul needed revenge. Are you looking for revenge of some kind too, Braden Wanderer? And isn’t it true that you’re the bastard son of King Callum, the Vengeful?”

“King who? No, I-I…where in the world did you hear that? I did think about going to Otherworld to the Elves to see if I could someday trade with them. That’s if I could find a portal and if they’d let me in, but I have no real plans. And my mother said I did have a Faery father, but I never knew his name. Why would I need or want revenge?”

He lifted one shoulder negligently, as if he had no idea what someone like me might take it in my head to do.

“What witch has glamoured you then, if not your mother?”

“I-I don’t… Look, my mother has passed.”

“Passed?” He looked sharply over at the man who’d kicked me in the ribs. “What is this ‘passed?’”

I spoke up before any of the others could respond.

“It means she died when I was a child.”

“Then why not say so?”

“I thought I did.”

He sighed. “This was a bad idea.”

“What? Taking me? Yes, I agree. Please take me home then. Or I can go, and I’ll walk back myself.”

“No. Answer my question. Who put this disguise on you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

I sighed heavily. He wasn’t going to let me go unless I answered his questions. “I remember once when I was little my grandmother taking me to an old woman who lived near the marshes. My grandmother said too many people were noticing I looked different. She told me later, when I asked, that the old woman might have been a witch. I was given a potion to drink, and she lit a fire and said things over me. Could that have been it?”

“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug. “If you’re telling me the truth.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I have no idea. Maybe to irritate me. You’ve done a good job of doing that so far. Lie down and go back to sleep if you can. We can talk more in the morning. It’s a long time until then, but we have far to go tomorrow, so you’ll need the rest.” The man still kneeling beside me tried to push me back down, but I shrank away from his touch and tried to shrug him off.

“No, wait—what happens in the morning? What do you mean, we have far to go? Where are we going? Where are you taking me? You can’t say things like that and expect me to accept them and go to sleep. Please tell me.”

He ignored my words and simply watched as the other one kept trying to shove me back down on the floor.