Chrysalis Ch16: Secret Places (pt1) (Patreon)

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          The Glade's not a small building, but it's hardly a maze. Even with plenty of little side passages and corridors, the bulk of it is open space for the customers to mingle,  the mists accentuate more than they conceal.
         Which makes it all the more frustrating that Ian is nowhere in sight.
         "Ian?!"
         L's frantic footsteps echo around the empty ground floor as she bursts out of the back room - irregular impacts punctuated by bursts of silence as her wings flutter, turning a stride into a hop. There's too many things for her to worry about to wonder if she’s actually moving faster, or just acting on impulses from her panicked subconscious.
         If it’s even her subconscious at all.
"Ian?!"
         There's no one there. No Ian. No Madeline, even though she'd been sweeping outside just before. L's antennae flicker, tasting the damp air, hunting for the familiar warmth of her friend’s presence, but it's all jumbled up with the fading scents of the night before. L hovers indecisively. She doesn't even know what time it is. He could be out getting food. He could be -
         He could be asleep.
         Why didn't she think of that at first? The Glade's empty; the odds are good that he's trying to rest. L darts unsteadily backstage, all but sprinting for the ladder.
         As L flurries backstage, something catches her eye. A sliver of golden light spilling from a crack in the floorboards. Or... that's not right. Not a crack.
         A hatch. No different from the one in her room, except this leads down below. There is a stir of footsteps. The light breaks a bit; whatever is casting it is briefly obscured and then re-emits.
         L swerves at the sound, looping towards the shaft of light, half-realising that she's gliding again.
         "Ian! I-Ian, are you down there?" Her feet skid off the floorboards as she touches down. Even if it’s someone else, they could have a direction. She grabs the handle to the hatch and yanks up. L is met by a set of wooden slats leading down, the cast of the inviting golden glow no longer obscured.
         The crawlspace below the stage is tidy, polished, warm. Brooms are lined up like soldiers in tight formation. A bucket is set on the floor, a white chalk outline delineating it against a brush, a dustpan. Each item in its place and a place for every item. Rags are neatly folded and stacked in mechanical precision.
         Beyond the cleaning supplies, there is a dresser, a nightstand, a bed. The sheets have been pulled tight, the pillow perfectly fluffed and centred. The hard right angles of the dresser polished to a fine sheen. Overall the space is austere, faded, as though the colour has been drawn out of it.
         Except, of course, for the golden glow, tucked away in a corner.
         L takes the simple staircase two slats at a time, her wings folding up against her to keep from brushing against the narrow walls. This is obviously Madeline's room, but… Ian had to get the Glade’s cleaning equipment from somewhere. He could be here.
         And Madeline never really respected L’s personal space, either.
         "Madeline? Have you seen Ian? I…" L scrambles down past the rows of supplies, voice softening as she reaches the golden glow. A crab scuttles away from L’s stalling feet.
         The golden light radiates against a cluttered mess of baubles L almost mistakes for rubbish. Scattered across the space are shells, pieces of fabric, strips of paper. A number of tiny pages hold wild, absurd drawings done in charcoal and crayon and acrylic, all tacked to the wall in bizarre angles. Haphazardly joining them are photos and polaroids, so many that they obfuscate the images. An art deco poster, cinged from burns and creased from folds, hangs in the far back. Its faded lettering advertises a cigarette company L has never heard of.
         At the centre of this chaos is a massive leather briefcase, its edges worn from constant dragging. L remembers seeing it, briefly, before it was rushed out in Madeline’s arms when L and Ian were first brought to their room. Neatly folded within the exposed trunk, between clusters of crabs squatting in drawers and pouches, is a grey seal skin of mottled fur. The golden glow emits from it, like waves breaking on the ocean floor.
         L’s antennae reach into the space as she takes it all in. There's an eerie tang of salt in the air. The old briefcase, the Hollywood posters, the sealskin. Childhood stories rush through her like the golden light.
         Without being aware of it, L lifts a hand towards the fur, light washing over her skin as she pressed it. A red glow emits beneath her fingers as they make contact, the light slowly fading. As the glow wanes, so too seems the sealskin, turning semi-translucent until L finally withdraws.

Selkie.

The name echoes through L’s mind as the glow restores its brightness. These are Selkie’s things.
         Her reverie is broken by a mad pattering of footsteps, boots thumping across the ground. Madeline thunders into the corner, her face a storm of outrage and fury. For a second, time freezes. The brownie’s eyes bounce between L, her hand, the sealskin, angry brows furrowing with every beat. L’s antennae shoot frantic warning signals, but L’s gaze is trapped on Madeline’s face. Watching her lips open in shock, L’s ears prepare for a silent, angry gasp.
         But Madeline’s tongue curls.
         And her lips speak.
         "What the fook are ye d-" Madeline clamps her mouth shut, eyes wide, desperately failing to bottle her words. Her voice is rustic, oaken, humming like the soft forest floor. The two stare at each other, fright and anger swirling between them. L gathers herself first.
         “You can talk!?”
         Madeline freezes, blinks, but only for a moment. Then she springs into L, snatching the nymph’s wrist with an iron grip, prying her from the corner like an oyster from its shell.
         Madeline drags L past the bed, across the floorboards, up the steps. The nymph struggles to keep up with the brownie’s direct, heavy movements. Madeline does not turn around. She does not look or slow down whatsoever. She is a force of will expelling L with all the strength and force of salt and iron.
         All L can do is yelp and flap and flutter, pulling helplessly back on her arm. The shock of hearing Madeline’s voice is washed out by the crushing pain in her wrist.
         "Ow! Madeli - ow! Ow! L-let go! I didn't mean to - OW!" As they emerge from the staircase, L uses the wider space to pull to the side, her wings blurring into frantic motion.
         "Let GO of me!" she snaps, her voice rising as her feet leave the floor. Madeline's grip might be remorseless, but she's lighter than Ian. L's fully prepared to pull her into the air if she doesn't release her. But as soon as the two are above stage, Madeline flings L’s wrist into the air with her.
         "He's in your fookin’ room!" Madeline barks. Rage washes from her voice like the waves of the sealskin. She promptly scuttles back into the crawlspace, stalling only when her head peeks above the hatch. Madeline scoops a lone crab skittering across the threshold of the wood and tucks it in her blouse. L can see the sparkle of tears in her eyes, her lips wavering. Her final words are tinged with regret.
         "What's your bloody problem?" And then the hatch is slammed closed.
         Without thinking, L swoops back down and grabs the hatch handle, yanking it open again. Madeline has already disappeared.
         "What's your’s?" L shouts into the space, her own voice trembling. "You won't even talk to me! How am I supposed to know - " L cuts herself off and jerks back, letting the trapdoor fall back into place.
         She's getting distracted. This isn't what she needs to be doing right now. The Market. That's where her thoughts need to be. That's what she needs to focus on. The Market, and the song, and -
         "Ian? IAN!" L turns and hurries up the ladders to the loft, her feet drumming on the loosely-joined boards. By the time she reaches the hatch, momentum rams her into it, shoulder-first.
         The door bolts open and L pops into the room within a flurry of scales.
Ian stares at her, mouth agape. He’s sitting in bed, wearing boxers and nothing else, a hand limply covering a half-finished text to his mother.
         "Ah… good mornin’, bruv." Ian looks down at his bare chest and through his, throwing the bedsheets over himself like a Greek toga. He tries to put on a warm smile "So, uh… how was nymph stasis?"
         "Stasis?" L pulls up short.  Ian looks like hell, dark lines under his eyes.  She gives her head a sharp shake.
         “Yeah, stasis. Trystan said somefin’ about-” Ian stops as L spins around, ducking beneath the makeshift curtain. “Are you doin’ arright, mate?”
         L pokes her head back through the fabric. "N-no. Well, yes… sorta– Look. it’s really complicated.” She scans Ian’s makeshift outfit. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Apothecary District."
         Ian blinks as she disappears again.

         For a few seconds, only the sounds of fumbling clothes fill the room. The thin fabric separating the two shakes with their movements. Ian’s voice cuts through the weak muffler, tinged with familiar caution.
         "…So, yer not gonna, I dunno, rest after all that?"
"No." L replies sharply. The last thing she needs right now is more doting from Ian. L swipes out a new outfit from the lanky pile around her bed: soft pants and a loose top hastily adapted for her wings. It doesn’t matter that she looks like a bundle of laundry. She struggles out of her dress.
         It's not the one she wore with Hedrick.
         "I don’t need rest, I need to go to the Apothecary District. I can explain- oh, bollocks!" L dives into the pile of debris on the vanity, rattling Neith II's jar by accident. "Hedrick gave me some money, yeah? D-did you see where I put it?"
         Neith II, who had been silently resting in the open jar, is jostled awake. She raises with a chirp, circling around the container, watching L with interest as the nymph continues her search.
         "Mate, I’m a bit lost on what we need the money for?"
         The coins aren't on the vanity. L whirls around, scrying the room for the telltale glint of gold.
"For buying things? What else would money be for? We’re in the bloody Market!" she snaps. No sign of metal. No -
         Her laundry's been piled in the corner. L's antennae jolt. She leaps into the heap of clothes, pawing through them, looking for the familiar garment. Maybe…
         Ian pulls on a forest green henley, the heathered fabric falling softly across his chest. “Arright, arright, bruv. I’m dressed, I’m tryna help ya. Could ya maybe just… slow it down a gear or two?”
         L's hand brushes against something cold and metallic. The coins, bundled up in the corner of the dress she was wearing. Were they supposed to be hidden, or did she throw them away? Hurriedly, L snatches them up, holding them close to her chest.
         Hopefully they're enough.
         "No, no, I've got them. We’re okay. We’re good." She steps back to the hatch and pulls it open, twitching aside the curtain for Ian. "Come on."
         L's already marching towards the ladder before she's finished the sentence. She’s descending when a hand reaches down and grips her by the forearm. Stopping her in place.
         “L,” Ian says firmly. “Mind if I ask ya a question?”
         “Quickly,” she hisses.
         “Right. What the fuck is goin’ on?”
          L looks around, casting a wary eye for anyone who might be listening. Madeline's sure to be barricading her room or something, but Hedrick…
         Hell, where does Hedrick even live?
         "Can we talk outside?" Ian breathes out a sigh, and his grip loosens. L takes the chance to barrel down the rungs in a flutter.
         "Arright, fine, outside. But before we even fink of runnin’ off I’d like a sliver of an idea - L? Are ya listening to me?"
         “Uh-huh!” L shouts back, her feet parting the mist along the floor, Ian’s words bouncing through her ears unlistened. She hurries past the knots of brass pipework and the sprays of moss, nervous fingers fumbling with the lock on the front door. When it clicks, she squirms outside.
         The Market beyond the Glade opens up in front of her, yawning and cavernous. It seems empty enough, but she doesn't trust it. L blinks against the blue-green torchlight, squinting as she glances through the nearest shadows. Even if she can’t see it, her instincts scream that there’s a cat somewhere.
         Ian catches up with the nymph and squints in the midday light. They still have hours before the Glade opens. A smattering of fae pass by, but few take note of the pair. Just other vendors, going about their business, keeping the Market moving. L notes that one gives a ‘friendly’ wave.
         "Arright, cool, we’re out. Um, where to start? Ya lookin’ to buy somefin’?”
         “Shhhh,” L waves her arms at Ian, glowering at the fae onlookers. Ian leans close to her, lowering his voice.
         “Why are we whispering?”
         "I need to buy a song. Not an MP3 file, not a CD, a real song, something that sings for me.” And not her. L’s face scrunches up. "They sell songs down here, because of course they do, but… I don’t know what I sound like. So you need to come and confirm, does that make sense?"
         Ian runs a hand through his hair. "... No, not really." He starts to speak more, but L cuts him off with a frantic voice.
         “It’s important to me, Ian! I need it!”
         “Yeah, I get that ya need it, L, you’ve left a pretty clear impression. No questions there, I get it’s nymph stuff…”
         “Excellent, thank you,” L nods, turning around. “So let’s-”
         “... but the song ain’t gonna run away, innit? I feel like a headless chicken. Ya mind slowin’ it down, finkin’ this through?”
There it was. L holds her position, starting to breathe a little faster. "Think what through?" Getting the song was the only thing she could think about, could afford to think about.
         "Do you even know where the Apothecary District is? I get that this is some big secret to ya, and I’m glad ya trust me, but we’re the two freshest blokes in town. I can barely remember how to get groceries, and this place is sprawling. Fuckin’ ‘ell, where’s Trys in all this? He’d be a better help to us than ourselves, innit?”
         It was a good question. Trystan had offered to draw a map, but… L was no rookie to the Market. She had everything she needed in her palm.
         L looks down at the glinting coins in her hand. Her eyes run over her wrist -
pale hairs splitting her skin, stirring as they taste the silent air
         - and flick away again. “We don’t have time to chase after Trystan,” L explains. “We need to do this quickly. If Hedrick finds out-”
         “He’ll do what?” Ian asks.
         “I don’t know! That’s the problem!” L shifts back and forth restlessly.
         “He’s been pretty understandin’ so far,” Ian replies. “Christ, L, it’s a fuckin’ boon he sympathises with us at all. What happens if ya piss him off, oi? Wanna at least consider?”
         L exhales roughly. Ian flinches when he hears it. “We won’t have to consider if you would just stop asking questions and we could go.”
         “You promised to answer them!” L’s breath continued to quicken. She remembered what her mum had said. He was treating her like the princess, himself the knight. But the last thing L needed right now was to be kept in her tower.
         When Ian sees her trembling body, he retreats a step, lifting his hands. “Okay, okay,” his voice is low, reassuring. “Different angle, arright? Trys and Hedrick are merchants, they haggle. They understand the prices, the good dealers from the bad.”
         “I can’t wait for them!” L shouts. Her fingers have clenched into fists.
         “Well, we should be waiting, anyway,” Ian’s arms hang in the air, like he’s trying to calm a bear. “I mean, look at yerself. Ya run into a shop like that, the merchants are gonna rob ya blind. They’ll take ya for an easy mark.”
         “What’s that supposed to mean!?” L heard her voice crack.
         “It means you’re panicking! Desperate, not thinking straight! L, please, we can’t go right now, you’re an absolute mess.”
         “OF COURSE I’M A FUCKING MESS!” L screams, her voice drowning in a sob. “Of course I’m panicking! Do you think I’m doin’ this for laughs, do you think I’m asking you on another FUCKIN’ DATE!? I need to get her outta my fuckin’ head!”
         “Her!?” Ian’s body stills as he processes the words. “L, what does that mean?”
         L tries to slow the heaving of her chest, her voice squeaking through hurried breaths. “That’s… that’s not me who's singing on stage, Ian. It’s her.”
         “Wait…” Ian’s eyes grow wide and his skin pales as he realises. “Lyra? …Oh, fuck.”
         “The first time was a few minutes, a half hour,” L hurriedly explains. “The next? I’m gone for an entire bloody day! It’s just gonna get worse and worse until…” She pulls back, her heart hammering, looking wildly around.
         “You don’t know that,” Ian’s voice rises. “We don’t know anyfing.” The phrase sends L’s chest into another spiral, her wings beginning to whirr against her back. She turns around, hiding her frightened face. She had to buy the song. It had to work. Otherwise, she was completely rudderless. Helpless to stop what was to come.
         Ian continued, cautiously walking around to see L’s face. “And because of that, I think we should stay.” Keeping her in the tower.
         “Just for a moment.” Until it was too late.
         Ian slowly extends a hand towards L’s shoulder…
         And she swats it away. “NO!” she shouts, her wings jolting her into the air. “Don’t hold me back! This is my problem!”
         She’s flying higher and higher in the air, her wings bobbing unsteadily. “And I’m going to fix it.”
         "L! WAIT!"  He lunges, trying to grab hold of L's foot. L spins and darts off, her wings carrying her down the closest alley. Ian's fingers close on empty air.
"You wait!" she yells over her shoulder. Her flight is more clumsy than she wants, the aerial equivalent of someone skidding over ice, but it doesn't matter. She just has to keep from hitting the walls, follow the alley until it opens up in one of the tangled little nests of vendors, and then...
         Her thoughts jump back to Lyra. She can't just sit and wait for her to emerge. What if there's another trigger for it? What if there is no trigger, and she can just do it whenever she wants? What if she's just gradually growing stronger, and -
The song won’t even help.
         L can feel something building in her throat. She pushes the scream back down and sends her wings into a blur, squeezing the coins in her hand as she rockets out of the alleyway.
         "L! I’M JUST TRYIN TO HELP YOU!" Ian calls after, running through the streets, cutting past vendors, dodging over carts and cats and stray alp luachra."Don't leave me behind!"
         As L soars through the air she narrowly skims past a feathered harpy. Beyond, a flock of jet black ravens that zip around like minnows in a stream. L tucks her wings back just enough to keep from hitting the birds, skimming lower to the ground. She loses speed as she hunts through the vendors with a bird’s eye.
         Trays of gleaming fruit and rows of bubbling glasses. Piles of papers, stacks of books. Trinkets and bottles and little bundles of bones wrapped in silk string. Where are the songs? What does a song even look like?
         Ian's still shouting behind her. L’s feet grace the ground, she ducks under a narrow archway and bolts down an alley to the left. She doesn’t know where she’s going, she’s picking directions at random. Or, it feels like it's random. What if it's not? What if it's somewhere Lyra wants to go?
         L shoves the thought away violently, stumbling over bits of broken wood and apple cores. It's getting hard to breathe again.
         The two continue their charge through the space, past the grand bazaar and the large fountain and a few humans gathered in one corner. Tents and tents and tents, sprawling seas of canvas. Towers, circuses, arcades and arches. They run past stands of roots and berries and vegetable matter. Vendors squirm and slither about. Some of their produce does, too.
         Ian disappears from view, falling behind. L hears him calling her name, not fifty paces away. It sounds frantic, terrified.

        He doesn’t see her.
         L doesn't notice at first. Her vision has narrowed to whatever is directly in front of her. A tent with a pitch-black interior, otherworldly whispers inside. A row of pale crystals hanging from sturdy chains, chiming like they're caught in a breeze. Two figures in dark robes, pausing a heated argument to watch her.
         They aren’t a song. That’s not a song.
         None of this is a song.
         Where can she find -
         L’s knee cracks against the corner of a slimy, ledge of crumbling red brick. The jolting impact is accompanied by an eerie prickle over her skin. She grunts, looking up.
         Why is she so cold?
         L is face to face with a stack of empty iron cages. The tang of winter frost seeps into her nose and down her antennae. She scrambles backward with a gasp, the sounds of the Market rushing back all at once. L can hear people laughing, customers angrily haggling, thin, hissing whispers -
         She hears her name. Ian hoarsely calls for her. L stumbles away from the cages, retreating back to his voice, her breath ragged in her throat.
         Ian sprints at the sight of L, his expression turning from fear to relief to confusion back to fear. “L! Fuckin’ ‘ell, bruv. Ya scared me to… what’s that look on yer face?”
         "We're..." L swallows, struggling to control her voice. Her wings pull tight against her back.
         "Th-this is where I was… the first time." She looks back at the outlines of the cages, all but lost in the dim light.
         It doesn't matter. L can still feel the chill radiating off of them.
         "… we’re in the Unseelie Quarter."

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Be sure to check in Friday July 22nd to read
Ch16: Secret Places (pt2)