Lesley Livingston: Wondrous Strange

“I trust you find these accommodations adequate?” The king’s voice shook Sonny from his reverie.

“It’s not home, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It was not.”

“Of course, lord.” Sonny ducked his head, remembering himself. And who it was he spoke to. “The apartment is fine. Thank you.”

“How fortunate that your predecessor vacated in time for your tenure.”

“He had his throat ripped out by a glaistig last year.”

“Aye.” The king’s mouth quirked in a mirthless grin. “But the timing was fortuitous.”

Sonny cast about for a change of subject. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“The occasion warrants that I do the offering.” As Auberon drifted farther into the room, a gathering chill rolled through the air in his wake. He held up a dark bottle sealed with a silver stopper, and Sonny’s mouth watered in instant, automatic response. Faerie wine. Mortal libations weren’t even a shadowy taste of the perfection that was contained in that bottle. The king seemed amused by the expression on Sonny’s face. “We must celebrate your first year as a Janus Guard.”

“That’s very kind, lord. But I haven’t yet proven myself.”

“If I had any doubts that you would, boy, I wouldn’t be here. Of course…neither would you.”

Sonny wasn’t sure if the Faerie king meant that in a more or less ominous way. He watched as Auberon plucked two wine goblets from the hanging rack in the kitchen. With a deft twist of the silver bottle top, he poured out the sparkling liquid in generous measure.

“I have no qualms.” Auberon shrugged elegantly, handing a glass to Sonny. “You are the finest Janus I have ever chosen. Better even than Maddox, or the Fennrys Wolf.”

Sonny fought against the urge to defend his friend Maddox, knowing it would be unwise to disagree with the king’s praise.

“Joy to you,” the king saluted. “And good hunting.”

Sonny raised his own glass in return and took a sip, suppressing a groan of pleasure at the taste. The Faerie wine sparkled so brightly it seemed made of tiny stars.

“Titania sends her regards.”

The delight Sonny took in the wine evaporated, and he shivered involuntarily at the thought of the queen of the Seelie Court. Titania . All the elemental charm and beauty of a summer thunderstorm…and just as dangerous.

“She wishes you luck.”

I’ll wager she didn’t specify whether it was good luck or bad , Sonny thought. He was careful to keep the thought quiet, though. “Does that mean that you and the Summer Queen are on cordial terms, then, my lord?”

“For the moment.”

Of course, in the Otherworld-the Faerie realm-time had no meaning. And so that “moment” could last for years…or vanish in an instant. At least, thought Sonny, if Auberon and Titania were on civil terms, it meant there would be no interference from her for the duration of the coming Nine-Night, and that was a relief-Summer and Winter were so rarely in accord. Sonny wondered fleetingly about the other two-the so-called shadow courts-with their unpredictable monarchs: Queen Mabh, capricious ruler of the malevolent Autumn Court; and Gwyn ap Nudd, the strange and secretive Lord of the Spring. Alliances among the monarchs were treacherous, constantly shifting, and Sonny marveled at his lord’s ability to navigate those stormy seas.

Auberon moved across the floor, beckoning with a gesture for Sonny to follow him out onto the balcony. For a long while they stood in silence, leaning on the balustrade. Far below, pastoral and at peace, lay the green expanse of Central Park.

“Do not fail me, Sonny.”

“My lord. I will not.”

“This year of all years…I must not fail.”

A weighty silence stretched out between them, and Sonny cast a sideways glance at Auberon. The pale, perfect skin around the Faerie king’s eyes seemed tight, his features drawn. “You seem…weary, my lord. Ill at ease…”

Auberon turned away, murmuring to himself as though the young Janus had suddenly vanished and he stood alone. “My subjects tear at the chains across the Samhain Gate with teeth and claws. Batter at doors-doors that I have closed-with maul and sword. They would cleave each other limb from limb and die howling, if only to risk the chance to force their way through that infernal crack between the Faerie and mortal worlds. To escape from there to here . To this…sickly…tainted realm. How then should I seem?” the Unseelie king demanded. “When there are those who would flee my kingdom-all for the sake of cavorting with mortals.” He spat the word from his lips.

“I…am mortal, my lord,” Sonny said quietly.

“You are a Janus. I made you. Mortality has nothing to do with you.” Auberon threw back his head and swallowed the rest of his wine in one mouthful. “Unless, of course, you die.”

The Faerie king leaped up onto the balustrade. Spreading his cloak wide, he stepped into nothingness, the thin air blurring around him like smoke.

In his place, a charcoal-winged falcon soared off over the park, shrieking fury.

Less than half an hour later, Sonny was stalking the twisting paths of the Ramble in Central Park like a hunting cat, reaching out with his mind to touch all four corners of the Samhain Gate.

He often wondered what New Yorkers would think if they ever discovered the truth about their beloved Central Park: that the 843 acres of rolling, verdant sanctuary in the middle of the city was nothing more than a disguise, a carefully constructed façade cloaking a gateway between the mortal world and the Faerie Otherworld.

Only a century and a half earlier there had been four such Gates: Samhain, Beltane, Imbolc, and Lúnasa, scattered throughout the Old World-passageways by which the Fair Folk could come and go, interacting with the mortal realm. But once the Faerie had begun to drift to the New World in the wake of large-scale human immigration from across the sea, the Courts of Faerie had decided to relocate one of the four Great Gates to this new land, where so many mortals-the kind who still believed in the Faerie-had settled.

As Central Park was being built at the end of the nineteenth century, the Samhain Gate had grown within its confines. Hidden from the populace of the city, it meshed seamlessly and unseen with the growing urban oasis, providing a perfect playground for those who crossed over, a place of nature and thus a natural habitat for the Fae, right in the middle of bustling human habitation.

The Samhain Gate had provided endless diversion for the dwellers of the Faerie Otherworld, but it wouldn’t last long.

A few decades after the park’s completion, around the turn of the twentieth century, Auberon had taken it upon himself to shut all four Gates. Angered by a mortal transgression, the king cast an enchantment that would seal them forever so that the Faerie realm and the world of mortals would remain separate.

But Auberon’s enchantment had been flawed.

A crack remained in one of the Gates.

The Gate that stood in the center of the teeming New World metropolis would open for one night every year, from sundown on October 31 to sunrise on the first of November. What was more, every nine years the Gate would swing wide for nine full nights, of which Samhain was the last.

And so Auberon had decided that if he could not keep the Gate shut, he would bring together the most promising of all the mortal changelings from across the Faerie realms. Gathering thirteen of them, Auberon trained them and gifted them with abilities that would enable them to guard the Gate on his behalf.

The irony was not lost on the newly made Janus Guards. But they were a fairly pragmatic lot and understood the realities of the situation: They could serve the Faerie king or they could die. So they served.