Chrysalis Ch3: The Light (pt1) (Patreon)

<- previous

Where there are devils, there will also be gods... and even insects have their queens.  While extracting limbs from a nymph, it cried out in its tongue for its patron deity to come for them.

No such creature appeared, but it piqued my interest.   Since that time I have sought out rumors and hearsay on the matter.  What hunter wouldn't desire the head of a god?
I uncovered whispers of hidden courts, of realms beyond  mortal entry...

a people of the wood... no, more than that.   The woods themselves.
Living trees in human form

Dryads.
-From the writing desk of Alastor O'Reilly, 1824


No one bars their way out of the catacombs.

Neith takes the lead, carrying Astraea on her back. The smaller woman, despite her previous show of power, now appears shockingly frail. She breathes in ragged, shallow breaths as drops of sweat bead on her forehead.

Lloyd trails a few paces behind, clutching his makeshift club and trying not to trip over the steps in his haste to keep up. Neith is clearly ignoring him, which he’s more than fine with. He doesn’t want her to take note of how closely he’s sticking to her.

Even without looking, he can feel the eyes of numerous strangers on his wings.

The stairs end in a pair of heavy copper doors, one of which Neith shoulders open with a grunt. A sudden blaze of afternoon sunlight forces Lloyd’s eyes to screw up, and as they adjust he’s met with the noise of open air.  He stumbles a bit as he makes it over the threshold, catching himself on a heavy ceramic pot with his one free hand.

On closer inspection, he sees it’s a potted planter. The mundanity of it seems absurd to him.  When he raises his head to take in the space, he sees that he’s standing in a high-class hotel lobby. Everything is made of glass or marble or metal. People walk briskly in and out, bustling across the gleaming floor. As his eyes trace upward he sees the ceiling soars up endlessly, an open space crisscrossed by wide walkways high above his head. Looking behind him, he sees the broad windows on the face of the building, and his breath catches.

The chunk of wood he’s holding clatters to the floor.

It’s London.  He’s staring at the familiar cityscape of London. He knows these buildings. He could have walked here from his flat.

He’s barely left home.

He twitches, suddenly remembering where he is and what he’s wearing.  His wings are totally exposed.  Tucking them down, he hurries along at a feverish pace, chancing the occasional glance at the entirely human crowd around him to see if they take notice.

No one does, though. The little group isn’t attracting any extra attention… and now that he’s watching the crowd, he notices something.   Out of the corners of his eye, he’s catching furtive details, things that aren’t there when he looks directly at them. Extra limbs or additional eyes, or rotting flesh, or insect parts…

His skin prickles, and he looks up at the window again. There are metal bars framing the glass in a starkly decorative pattern. Staring at them too long makes his eyes ache, a faint tang of winter in his nose.

Iron.

Neith shifts her grip on Astraea and strides over to a row of elevators, Lloyd trailing in her wake. She taps at the buttons, speaking without looking at him.

"Not going to make a break for the front door...?"

"How many of those people are made of eels?" Lloyd mutters bitterly in response, looking away from her and rubbing at the cuff marks on his wrists. He’s not lying, he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t make half the distance to the doors before being assaulted again, and this time without any tree… light… person, to pull him out of the fray.  But that’s not the main reason he’s following.

He has a question.   LOTS of questions, but one in particular.  One he can’t stop turning over in his mind.

“You could always try using those decorative little appendages of yours.” Neith suggests, breaking his thoughts.  She darts a malicious smirk over her shoulder. “Unless someone’s out of practice…?”

“This might come as a shock, but I don’t exactly spend my weekends soaring off the fire escape.” Lloyd says, his wings rippling indignantly.

Neith snickers at the bitter response, then turns her attention to the elevator floor dial.  The two stand in silence as they watch it move smoothly from forty, to thirty-five, to thirty.  Dropping at a swift and steady pace.

Lloyd’s thoughts return to the question he wants to ask, and as he watches the numbers tick down he realizes his window is closing.

It’s now or never.

"...that...thing back there.
It called you an unseelie."

Lloyd glances sidelong at Neith.  She doesn’t break her gaze from the floor dial.

"It did." She answers, speaking in a short, tight clip. "How kind of you to remember."

Lloyd steps a little closer. He’s going to have to come at it head-on, then. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay, but that’s...that’s a word for an evil faerie-“

The elevator interrupts with a soft chime, and the doors slide open. Neith steps inside and turns around, moving carefully to keep from jarring her semi-conscious passenger. Finally, she looks directly at Lloyd, fixing him with a toothy smile.

"If you're curious, step on the elevator.”

Lloyd swallows. He takes a shaky step forward - then stops, placing his palm flat on door holding it open. His wings flicker nervously behind him.

"Where is it taking us?"

Neith's eyes flicker, the veins pulsing red. She opens her mouth, showing off just how long and sharp her canines are.

"Lollipop, you have two seconds.   Get on, or don't."

The coppery smell of blood rolls over Lloyd, wiping away that sickening hint of iron. He can almost hear her heartbeat.  Lloyd’s wings pull tight against him, and he could swear Neith’s teeth extend a fraction of an inch.

Lloyd shivers, transfixed, frantically trying to decide which choice would be less dangerous -
and then something tugs at his wings.

“AH!”

He tumbles into the elevator and presses himself into the far corner, looking around wildly.

"WHAT...WHERE...is it alive? Did it come back?"

But as he looks, he sees nothing nearby, no one close enough to have touched him, just the doors as they slide closed.

"Your Alp Luachra friend?”  Neith asks, lifting her foot and tapping the button for the floor she wants.  “Mmmm, no. You would be able to smell him if he was."
She wrinkles her nose.  "They all smell like rotten sewage.”

“It was likely just some passing púca."  She concludes casually as the elevator begins its ascent.  “They like to creep about. It’s in their nature, given how difficult it is to see them.”

Lloyd’s legs tremble.  He wants to slide down the wall to a seated position, but he catches himself, instead glancing cautiously up at Neith...and beyond.  His eyes are magnetically drawn to the woman collapsed on her shoulders.
Something about her…something achingly familiar…he can’t place it.

But one problem at a time.

"Púca. Unseelie. This is..."
Lloyd takes a moment, trying to figure out how best to put it.

"This is all just…
fairytale bullshit."

His wings flutter in frustration. Neith releases a snort of laughter which only causes Lloyd to clamp his wings against his back

Neith smiles up at the dial steadily growing in number.

"My, you are observant.
Does this feel like a fairytale to you?"

Lloyd folds his arms around himself, looking at his feet.
"Not… not exactly.   And I’ve read quite a few."

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Neith steps out onto a gleaming walkway, a sturdy golden railing separating her from a thirty-story drop. She saunters across the floor.

"Then do you feel like fairytale bullshit, lolly?" Neith calls over her shoulder, waiting for him to catch up.

He crosses the threshold, pausing by the railing to glance over the edge.  Far below he can see the crowd of people moving, gathering and departing like ants scuttling on their way.

For just a moment he considers the possibility of needing a quick escape.  Once he gets the information from Neith, and assuming he wasn’t able to wait for an elevator, would he be able to...

...but no, he doesn’t want to test his wings on this. He’s tried clumsy little flutters off of his couch at home, but leaping off into empty space…

He keeps talking, masking his calculations.

"So… you must have… drugged me, or… "

Even as he says it, it sounds like a hollow explanation. Beyond that, Neith was clearly dodging the question.   Frustrated, he grinds ahead.

"...so what exactly am I supposed to be, then?

A brownie?  A pixie?
Some kind of… bandersnatch? A spriggan?"

He’s trying to sound incredulous, but it all sounds less strange now that he’s actually saying it. Neith stops, keeping a firm grip on Astraea, and Lloyd’s wings flicker as she turns to face him. The veins in her eyes subside to a slight pinkish color and she’s smiling. It almost seems friendly.

"If I told you, would you keep following me?”  She asks simply.

Lloyd is left unsure of how to respond, but then Astraea mumbles something and stirs and Neith’s smile disappears.

“Any which way, I have more pressing matters.”  Neith says, turning away and walking quickly across the walkway. She takes a sharp turn down a covered hallway, her footsteps muffled by brightly-colored carpeting. Lloyd starts and hurries after her, furious with himself for trailing after what might as well be a flashing neon warning sign.

Wondering if she might actually know.

Neith stops in front of a door and gives Lloyd an impatient look as he approaches.

"My right pocket.  The keycard is in my right pocket. Be a gingersnap and get the door, would you?"

Lloyd’s expression sets. His wings tuck against his back, and he folds his arms.

"If you can't set her down for two seconds, how about you hand her to me? Then you can get the door."

“YOU want to… How dare you-” Neith sputters, her eyes pulsing as she shifts around, aggressively placing herself between Lloyd and the golden haired woman.  

"How about you do what I tell you and I don't feed you to Jasper and Emerald.” Neith snaps back, her teeth flashing.

Lloyd is startled by how heated the woman sounds.   It’s the first time he’s felt he’s had any sort of advantage with her.  Then he looks over at Astraea… god even her name sounds…comforting? Like this will all make sense if he just says it. If he just thinks it hard enough.

Astraea tries to mumble out something inaudible, and Neith gives her leg a worried pat.   Biting back her frustration, she looks to the door then back to Lloyd, her brow furrowed in calculation.

When she speaks again, she speaks with a soft desperation.

"If you enter the room, I'll tell you what an unseelie is.  What it REALLY is. And answer whatever other questions you may have that I can answer.”

“Just please, be a good girl and get the door."

Be a good girl
Be a good girl
Be a good girl

It’s the final, unexpected straw. Lloyd’s wings snap out in a furious motion, filling the space.

"I AM NOT A GIRL!!
God, I am so fucking sick of that!
You're not clever, it's not funny, and - and - I'm not a girl! All right? Just… cut it out!"

Neith’s almost as startled by his sudden outburst as he is.  Whatever reaction she was expecting, it wasn't this. He’s breathing hard, glowering at her for emphasis.

Then, almost as much to her surprise, his wings lower and he steps forward, adopting an acrid expression.  He extends a hand, and she turns and nods to her side pocket.  Steeling himself for whatever he might find, he reaches into Neith’s jacket. As soon as he feels something, his hand closes around it and he snatches out and inspects the key he’s retrieved.

It’s a mundane rectangle of plastic. Just like the rest of the hotel.  Just like the city outside.  It’s so ordinary it’s crushing.

Bitterly Lloyd turns and swipes the card through the lock, feeling a little dizzy.

His shoulders sink as he hears the mechanical clunk of the door, and turning the handle, he opens the way into the room.


continue reading ->