Sean Cullen - The Prince of Neither Here Nor There

75 The Faerie is obviously joking. Everyone pays taxes. The old adage is true: nothing is sure except death and taxes. Being practically immortal, the Fair Folk can escape the first but not the latter of these two evils.

76 A painter, as it is referred to above, is a short rope used on a boat to attach objects to it. If you thought that the Ferryman had thrown a painter like perhaps Picasso or Van Gogh and tied him around the mooring post, you are a little weird.

77 Ferrymen, Keepers of the Crossroads, and Bridge Guardians are a special category of magical beings. They have their own special guild called “The Brotherhood of the Ways” that accepts only their own kind as members. To be honest, no one else would want to be a member anyway: these guys are really creepy.

Dmitri finally opened his bedroom window. Brendan had been tossing pebbles for ten minutes and was about to resort to larger rocks when the blond head poked out.

“Brendan! What are you doing? Everyone’s looking for you! Your parents are worried sick!”

“I know,” Brendan whispered in a raspy voice. “I’ll explain everything. Just let me in. I need your help.”

“You should just go home.”

“I want to but I can’t! Please! I have nowhere else to go. You’ve got to let me in.”

Dmitri’s head disappeared and the window closed. Brendan waited for what seemed like an hour. He was about to leave when the back door to Dmitri’s townhouse opened with a low squeak. Dmitri held a flashlight in his hand.

“Hurry,” the small boy said, motioning Brendan toward the house.

Brendan gratefully padded across the dead brown grass of the backyard and into the kitchen. Dmitri was careful to close the door so that it didn’t make a sound.

The kitchen was small but cozy, redolent of the smell of Dmitri’s mother’s cooking: garlic, cabbage, and fresh bread. A small table occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by wooden chairs. A lamp burned in the corner of the counter, casting a warm glow. Dmitri indicated that Brendan should have a seat, then went to the counter beside the ancient gas stove and opened a steel bread box. He retrieved a pan of chocolate cake and a dull knife and brought them to the table. He sat down and cut a square piece of cake and lifted it onto a napkin for Brendan.

“Eat this,” Dmitri said quietly. “You look completely worn in.”

“Out,” Brendan said wearily, “worn out, not in.”

Dmitri watched in silence as Brendan devoured the cake. When Brendan was licking the icing off his fingers, Dmitri asked at last, “Where have you been?”

“It’s a long story,” Brendan replied. “And I’m afraid you won’t believe a word of it.”

“Let me decide what I will believe,” Dmitri said, crossing his arms. He was dressed in flannel pants and a threadbare dressing gown. He wore a faded T-shirt that read POLAND IS FOR LOVERS. His small face was pale and serious.

“Okay.” Brendan took a deep breath. “This is gonna sound totally weird but? the thing is… I’m a Faerie.”

“Faerie? I don’t know this word.” Dmitri frowned. “What is ‘Faerie’?”

“A Faerie! As in Faerie tales? Like Tinkerbell, only not like that either. Aagh. It’s complicated.”

Dmitri shook his head. “I don’t know what this ‘Tinkerbell’ is. You should just tell me where you have been and-yuck! What is that?” Dmitri’s face twisted in disgust as he pointed at Brendan’s blazer pocket.

Brendan looked down to see BLT’s head and shoulders sticking out over the edge of his pocket. The tiny woman was sniffing the air. “Is that chocolate?” she asked excitedly.

“Chocolate cake,” Brendan told her. He looked at Dmitri, who was staring in disgust at BLT. “See, this is what I mean. This kind of Faerie!”

“That is the biggest fly I have ever seen. Why are you carrying such a horrible insect in your pocket? And why are you talking to it?”

Brendan was confused. A fly? Why can’t he see her?

Before Brendan could stop her, BLT flitted out of his pocket and zoomed up onto the table. Dmitri recoiled in horror as she plunged face first into the chocolate icing on top of the cake.

“Gross!” Dmitri jumped up from his seat and reached for a newspaper. Rolling it up, he prepared to swat BLT. Brendan leapt up and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t, D,” he begged. “That isn’t a fly! Can’t you see her?”

Dmitri looked at Brendan as if he were mad. “See who?”

“He can’t see me,” BLT announced around a mouthful of cake. She rolled over onto her back in the icing and smiled drunkenly up at them. Her whole body began to glow. “He sees a big hairy fly. We protect ourselves with illusions. He sees what I want him to see.” Her eyes lit up. “This is good cake. Sweet! Sweeeeeet! ”

She commenced a frenzied, erratic flight, buzzing here and there around the kitchen, causing Dmitri and Brendan to duck their heads to avoid a collision. She banged into cupboards and knocked over a jar full of wooden spoons by the stove. Brendan managed to reach up and snatch her out of the air. With great effort, he held BLT as she wriggled. It was like holding on to a shooting star. “How can I make him see you as you are? I need him to understand. I need him to believe me.”

“If you let him see me, he sees all of us. When that happens, he won’t be able to go back. What’s done is done.” She licked some icing off her fingers and wriggled, desperate to spend her energy. Dmitri was watching this exchange. He looked at Brendan as if he was sure now that Brendan had lost his mind. Brendan knew he would have thought the same if he found Dmitri talking to an insect. He was torn. If he could take back everything and just be a normal person, blissfully ignorant of the secret world that had materialized over the last two days, he imagined he would do it in a heartbeat. Should he subject Dmitri to the kind of craziness that his life now contained?

I know I’m being selfish, but I can’t do this alone. I need some help and I have no one else I can trust.

“Brendan? Are you okay?” Dmitri asked, his face filled with concern. “You’re talking to a fly.”

Brendan groaned.

“All right. How do I do it?” he asked the struggling BLT.

“Are you sure you want to?” BLT managed to ask.

“I have no choice,” Brendan replied.

“Okay. All you have to do is say it. But you have to say it with sincerity. Will is everything. That’s what makes the magic work.”

Brendan let her go, and she recommenced her blazing circuit of the kitchen. Brendan turned to Dmitri and grabbed him by the shoulders. He looked into the smaller boy’s blue eyes and said earnestly, with all the honesty he could muster, “Dmitri, I need your help. I need you to see what I can see.”

Dmitri shivered. As Brendan released him from his grasp, the smaller boy blinked and rubbed his eyes then looked up into Brendan’s face. His jaw dropped. “What…? Brendan… you look… you look different.”

“Different how?”

“I can’t describe it,” Dmitri said softly. “Oh. You aren’t wearing glasses. And your pimples are gone. And… you shine!” Dmitri laughed.

BLT, her energy finally spent, fell to the tabletop exhausted.

“It worked,” BLT said wearily. “He has the Sight now.”

At the sound of her voice, Dmitri whipped his head around to stare at her. His mouth dropped open. He pointed at BLT. “There is a tiny person on the table.”

“Dmitri Krosnow, meet Basra La Tir, Lesser Faerie,” Brendan made the introduction. “I call her BLT.”

BLT hopped lightly down onto the tabletop and bowed with a flourish. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.” Dmitri stared for a moment in dumbfounded shock. BLT frowned and cocked an eyebrow. “Got any sweets?”