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When I think about what I’ve seen, I realize that the twins are switching places and I wonder what that means for this relationship I’ve had with Edric for the past seven years. Was it with him, with his twin brother, or some weird combination of the two?
It’s not him cheating on me with another woman—at least not so far as I’ve seen yet—but the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
I should just leave. I should go home and pack up his crap and leave it waiting for him or his twin out on the curb. Because there’s something particularly twisted about how all of this is playing out.
I slow down when I see that Edric has stopped up ahead. He’s standing in a small clearing. To get to that clearing myself, I have to leave the quiet carpet of pine needles for the underbrush that’s growing up on the edges of the meadow. I look left and right, then spy a ridge of granite that rises steadily on the north side. It could give me a view of the meadow. It just depends how much foliage there is in the way.
It’s starting to get dark now, so I hurry over to the ridge and clamber up the rock. It’s steeper than I thought, but I find plenty of hand- and toe-holds and soon I’m jogging along the top of the ridge, my running shoes quiet on the granite.
I keep an eye on the meadow as I go. Edric’s still just standing there. Waiting for something, I guess. Probably for some bush girl who lives out here where sensible people don’t even visit, never mind live.
Finally, I reach the part of the ridge that’s closest to the meadow. There are pine boughs in the way, but I find places where I can peer through them and get a good line of view. Behind Edric is another of the massive oaks that seem to be scattered through this mostly evergreen wood. I’m close enough that I could call out to him and he’d hear me.
The dusk is steadily falling. I can still make Edric out. He’s wearing a pale tan fleece and the light from the moon picks it out. Around me, the forest falls deeper and deeper into shadows.
I’m not sure when I start to hear the music—fiddles and drums and bells playing a soft marching rhythm. I just know I’ve been hearing it for a few moments before I see lights approaching on the far side of the meadow. And then…
I have to shake my head.
It figures. Who else would Edric be meeting out here but some back-tothe-earth Renaissance Fayre types. These ones are riding horses and they’re all decked out in fancy gowns and robes. Edric’s played the Fayres for years—he took me there on one of our first dates and didn’t I fit in, all in black with my tats and my hair cut short and spiked. I’d laughed when Edric put on the hose, doublet and all to play the wandering minstrel, but had to admit he had the build that could pull it off.
They all took it so seriously. Apparently, a lot of them were part of something called the Society for Creative Anachronism and they had this whole role-playing thing set up where they dressed like medieval lords and ladies and had feasts and jousts and, of course, the Fayres.
I ended up liking a lot of them—once we got over our mutual culture shock. But today? Not so much. Between finding out Edric’s got a twin who’s apparently been sharing his conjugal rights, traipsing around in the autumn woods, which is not my idea of fun, and now this, I’m not feeling particularly charitable toward them.
I figure the looker on the front horse is the woman he’s here to see. She’s wearing the usual SCA low-cut bodice, a blue-green cape flowing over her mount’s withers. She has a crown—naturally—and her hair is a dark waterfall that goes all the way to the small of her back in a curtain of ringlets. The rest of them are acting like they are her court—like she’s the queen her crown says she is. I start to look for a safe way down to confront them when it occurs to me that none of the riders are carrying the lights. The lanterns are bobbing in the air, floating above the little entourage. And then I see…then I see…
Children, I tell myself. They’re just children.
Except some of them have wings and they’re no bigger than cats. They’re flying—flying!—above the riders, carrying their lanterns and…and…
My knees feel weak. I sit down on the stone under my feet before my legs give way.
I try to convince myself that I’m not seeing what my eyes are telling me I am. They’re doing it all with wires. Mirrors. It’s just a trick. That’s all.
Just.
A.
Trick.
The music falls silent when the lead rider stops her horse directly in front of Edric. She says something to him. I can hear her voice—high and musical—but I can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s in some language I’ve never heard before.
Then they both look in my direction.
Oh crap.
They don’t know I’m here. They can’t know I’m here.
But then a pair of those flying cat-sized people come zipping from the meadow and my pulse goes into overdrive. I want to bolt, but I can’t even get to my feet. The pair dart between the boughs of the spruce, holding their lanterns, until they’re circling above me. I’m blinded by the light and hold my arm up to cover my eyes. They make a last circle above me—so close the hummingbird motion of their wings has my hair lifting and fluttering and I can smell the sweet oil from their lanterns—then they’re gone again. I see stars until my eyes adjust to the darkness.
My heartbeat is still drumming in my chest when I hear the woman speak once more—this time in English.
“You know what happens now,” she says.
I see Edric nod. His shoulders are drooped.
He knows, and I can guess. They’re going to do something to me—I don’t know what. Wipe my mind of the memory of seeing them, maybe. Banish me into some weird Fairyland prison.
