Sean Cullen - The Prince of Neither Here Nor There

“Easy for you to say,” Kim snapped.

“What are you talking about?” Brendan demanded, shaking off his stupor. “Wards and Laws and all that. Somehow, you people know more about me than I do.”

“I’ll kill you all,” Orcadia shrieked, cutting in on their conversation. She tore at her hair, trying to drive away the birds.

“You must go! Take him to the Swan. He’ll be safe there.” Greenleaf’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll attempt to distract her for a time. Hopefully, I can delay her long enough for you to get away.” Mr. Greenleaf raised his hands and closed his eyes. Instantly, the wind began to quicken into a stiff breeze. In seconds the breeze became a stiff wind then a gale, whirling around Greenleaf as he stood in the centre of a funnel of dust and leaves and stray bits of paper. “Go!” he shouted over the roar of the wind.

Kim didn’t wait another instant. “C’mon.” She grabbed Brendan by the shirt and pulled him to her scooter. She jammed her field hockey stick into a saddlebag and jumped on. She drove her foot down, gunning the motor. “Get on,” she demanded.

“Why should I do anything you say?” Brendan shouted. “I don’t know what’s going on. Who are you people?”

“Certainly, who we are is important,” Kim said urgently. “But what’s more important is who you are. You are a Faerie. You’re one of us.”

“Fairy?” Brendan was confused. “What do you mean, I’m a fairy?”

“A Faerie! One of the Fair Folk,” Kim said, exasperated.

“But…” Brendan began.

Orcadia chose that moment to ignite. Brendan felt the birds’ minds wink out as they were incinerated. They dropped to the ground, lifeless and smoking in a ring around Orcadia’s feet. Brendan felt a sharp stab of shame. They were just innocent birds. He’d lied to them and now their deaths were his fault.

“Now, you will all die!” Orcadia shouted.

Greenleaf suddenly threw his arms toward Orcadia. The funnel cloud carved across the pavement and enveloped her. She shrieked, but her voice was muffled by the wind. The cloud lit up from within with flashes of lightning as she struggled to escape. The funnel cloud lifted off the ground and rocketed skyward.

“No time to explain. If you don’t want to be a dead Faerie, you’d better move your ass right now,” Kim threatened.

Brendan had no choice. He jumped onto the scooter behind Kim and wrapped his arms around her waist as she sped away.

^48 A whelp is a newborn puppy. The insinuation of the insult is that it’s somehow bad to be a newborn puppy. I don’t know about you but I like newborn puppies. Except for when they pee on the carpet, but even then, they’re kind of cute.

^49 There are several different types of Faerie Arts, what we might call Magic. The Disciplines allow Faeries to manipulate the Energy of the Earth to affect matter, mind, and even time. Weaving is one of these disciplines. A Weaver is a Faerie who has the power to manipulate magical energy. They can do this in any number of ways, depending on the craft they prefer. Some use music. Some use visual arts such as painting or carving. Some quite simply weave, but that’s a little bit obvious. They are vital to the continued existence of the Faerie People, as they allow the Fair Folk to live in hiding alongside human beings.

^50 Keen means weep or mourn. It is an old Irish word. Not that the word is used by old Irish people. It’s a word from olden times. That were Irish. You know what I mean.

^51 The bird, not the construction vehicle.

^52 This action is a good example of Faerie “Magic.” Faerie Magic is sympathetic: it can only manipulate an already existing situation. What I mean is this: Kim couldn’t make a barrier of thorns grow on the moon because no plants would be available for her to manipulate. And she would suffocate because there is no air on the moon, but that’s beside the point.

^53 Sadly, his life was in danger of being snuffed out so he was practically wetting his pants.

^54 Speaking with animals is an Art unto itself. And I don’t mean just talking to animals. I do that all the time. I have a guinea pig named Mr. Pants who listens while I read the newspaper to him every morning. Faeries are capable of speaking to animals and listening to their responses. There’s a big difference. The Faerie Gift is amazing while what I do is merely a bit pathetic and lonely.

Despite his tight grip around Kim’s waist, Brendan almost fell backward over the end of the scooter as it shot forward. He stifled a shout as Kim wove through the parked cars at a speed certain to break both their necks. Without slowing, she swerved around the end of the building, vaulting onto the lawn, and zoomed straight for Queen’s Park Crescent with its steady hum of cars. Brendan watched in horror as she gunned the motor and headed for the thickest traffic.

“Are you out of your mind? Slow down!” Brendan shouted in her ear. “You’re gonna kill us.”

“Holy Mother of the Moon!” Kim spat. “Would you just relax and try not to get your skirt caught in the wheel, Granny?”

Brendan was about to shout a retort but terror stole the words away. They shot into traffic without slowing in the slightest, Kim sailing into a gap between a limousine and a gigantic SUV. Car horns honked. Tires squealed. Brendan buried his face in Kim’s shoulder waiting for the inevitable collision. He clenched his entire body around Kim as if she were a rock in a tossing ocean.

“Loosen up, will ya?” Kim grunted. “You’re gonna break me in two.” Brendan didn’t let go of his grip. He waited for the screech of tires that would announce their painful demise, but it didn’t come.

Seconds passed. He was still alive. He mustered his courage and peeked over Kim’s shoulder.

They were heading south in the long turn around the provincial Parliament, accelerating smoothly. Brendan couldn’t believe how fast they were going. He noticed something else. Usually, Kim’s scooter had the high-pitched whine shared by all vehicles with small engines, but as they zipped along, Brendan realized he wasn’t hearing that sound. Instead, emanating from the engine was a low, harmonic hum that shifted through a spectrum of sound depending on their speed. It almost sounded like a choir of tiny voices. He looked down and saw that where he had assumed the scooter was built of metal and plastic, it was actually an amalgam of different woods, skilfully carved with strange symbols up and down its chassis. The saddle was beautifully tooled leather, the pattern a series of swirling lines chasing each other across the surface. The scooter’s lines were sleek and perfectly harmonious. It was more like an animal than a machine.

“I thought this was a gas scooter,” Brendan shouted over the wind. “What does it run on?”

“Trapped zephyrs,” 55 Kim called back.

“Trapped what? Yaaaaaaah!” Brendan screamed as they approached an intersection, weaving through the cars stopped at the red light.

Kim ignored Brendan’s cries of panic. She gunned the motor as she timed their approach to the intersection of College and University perfectly, the light winking green as she sailed through. They flashed down the wide boulevard, weaving through the cars.

Brendan opened his eyes, surprised that he wasn’t dead. The wind ruffled his hair. He relaxed his grip ever so slightly. “Where are we going?” Brendan asked. He was not entirely over his initial fear but was starting to enjoy the ride. A little. The speed of their passage and the beautiful hum of the engine’s song were exhilarating.

“Someplace safe,” Kim said dismissively.

“Why don’t we go to my house.” His father might be at home. Maybe they could get him to help, call the police.