Chrysalis Ch20: Barriers (pt1) (Patreon)

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          Eighteen minutes. It’s taken eighteen minutes for Neith II to approach the edge of the vanity and peer at the tiny, white-rimmed bubble L’s been confined to.
          She knows it's been eighteen minutes because the bright clock on Ian’s charging phone is one of the only things worth looking at. She’d spent the past three minutes watching a digital hand tick away the seconds, every click sparking a new piercing anger in her heart.
          L could have called someone, hypothetically, but who? She didn’t want to put her parents at risk, and she had yet to meet a fae that owned a mobile. That left her with one number, really, but Spencer Harcourt’s partially-eaten calling card was perched tauntingly at her desk. Out of reach.
          … Story of her fucking life.
          So L quickly resigned herself to a glum evening in the little salt circle, watching the occasional pop-up burst Ian’s phone into bright light before fading completely from her care. Her arms rest on her knees, her throat scratchy, her eyes dry and red.
          … How could he do this to her? Does he think she’ll have a change of heart after he’s gone completely ballistic?
          No. She knows - or at least thought she knew - Ian better than that. The lad wasn’t thinking at all.  Just reacting.
“Which is it, Ian? Did I fall from your eyes the day I touched down as a woman? Is it because I’m a FREAK? Or did you ever fucking love me at all!?”
“Don’t fucking lie! Ya’ve wanted this too! You jumped into it with open fuckin’ arms! Leapt so fuckin’ far ya FORGOT THE REST OF US!”
          L sinks lower, scrunching up into a ball, her hands pressed against the sides of her head, desperate to block the memories out.
          Her head hurts.
          Her heart aches.
          He can't just -
          L’s antennae twist up at the soft sound of scratching and scraping. It’s hard to sense - the salt barrier leaves a dry, crackly sensation through her nerves -  but she knows it's coming from the other side of the laundry pile. Her eyes widen as a small, orange eye peers out from beneath the many fabrics.
"Neith!" She gasps as the alp-luachra worms her way into view. L still isn't sure exactly how… sentient… the little creature is, but she seems quick on the uptake. L points at the line of salt crystals across the floorboards, her words slow and careful. "I'm stuck. Stuck. Do you get that?"
          The alp-luachra makes a curious gurgling noise somewhere deep in her midsection. She slithers closer, bumping her face against the invisible barrier. L nods eagerly. She seems to be listening.
          "Yes. Yes. We can't get over that, great start, very astute observation.” L says cajolingly. “Can you do something to break it? Hang on - "
          L flutters her wings experimentally as Neith II wriggles away, but her airflow does nothing to stir the crystals. The nymph frowns. Physically, it should be enough to…
          She tries again, flapping as hard as she can. Not a single grain budges.
          L grimaces. "Maybe we can’t do anything to-"
          There's a thump as Neith II flings herself against the empty salt canister, rolling it into the barrier with all the force her tiny body can muster. It bounces off thin air and rolls right back into her, knocking the poor worm over to a chorus of squeaks.
          "Heh. Well, so much for that loophole," L winces, drumming her fingernails against the invisible wall. It feels odd, like she's scraping them against glass. "... And if you go to get help, they'll all think you're just after scraps."
          Neith II bobs her head up and down in acknowledgement - or perhaps just excitement at the mention of food. L sinks back down into the bedroll, wings drooping.
          "I can't believe he'd do this!"
          Her arm lashes out, its harsh collision with the barrier travelling right back up her shoulder. L gives a soft yelp of pain and pulls back, shaking her hand. It’s like punching a brick wall.
          … Somehow, it still hurts less than the ache in her chest.
          She buries her face in her arms, breathing shakily, trying to steady herself. Her antennae track little movements, just outside the barrier. Neith II crawls as close as she can, seemingly mournful, when-
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
          L’s face is illuminated by white light, a little blue text message popping up below the clock. L squints at the words, looking at the sender.
          It’s labelled, ‘Mum’. L’s antennae twitch.
          ‘Evening sweetie!’ it reads, another soon joining it. ‘Just back from Yankee Candle, left my phone on the counter.’
          The nymph gives her hand a final shake before picking up the mobile.
          ‘My bad! Hope you didn’t get too wound up <3’
          The messages blink at her for a moment, before vanishing back into the darkness.
          … She shouldn’t. L could hardly stand Ian seeing her old room, she couldn’t imagine how furious the boy would be if he learned she was snooping in his private matters. Every time she’d asked about the phone before, he’d frown and quickly change the subject.
          Besides, They were in bad sorts already. This would only make things worse.
          … Which is exactly why L slid open the phone and began to read. Ian’s fault… he’s the one who trapped her in the fucking salt barrier with it.
          She punched in the code she’d seen him tap out a thousand times and began to scroll through his open apps and recent activity. The way Ian stared at his phone, she’d expected him to be completely addicted to social media or at least engaged in some twenty odd text conversations. The reality is… stranger. He did those things, sure, but as L scrolls through the old notifications, a single name overwhelms everything else.
          ‘Mum.’ ‘Mum.’ ‘Mum.’
          L pops open the messenger and starts flipping through the texts, equally surprised by their contents. No questions about dinner. No silly links or pictures of cats. Just an avalanche of comments from Ian that push past the point of concern. every reply of hers is met by four of his.
          ‘Where are you right now? Not back at the Silver Duck, right?’
          ‘Please take the bus if you aren’t feeling well.’
          ‘Mum, it’s been three hours, text me when you can.’
          ‘Did you set the alarm like I asked you to?’
          ‘Still not sure about James, maybe meet him in public?’
          ‘Give me a call when you leave, I don’t want you alone out there.’
          L’s eyes only grow wider and wider as she presses on. If Ian is dithering like some mother hen, his mum is… frankly, L’s not quite sure. When Ian gives a suggestion, asks a question, her answer is always ‘yes’ and nothing more. If she bothers to answer at all, that is. While Ian’s replies are immediate, entire days might pass before his mother bothers to check.
          And when she does, she always adds something about ‘Robert,’ or ‘Simon’ or ‘Richard’ or ‘Matt’. They seem to flit in and out of her life - every text in March was about some accountant named ‘Mike,’ but he had completely vanished come April. In May, he was back again, for three days, and then truly gone forever. The only thing any of these men seem to have in common is how little Ian trusts them. Woe be Ms. Evans if she tells her son she’s going on a date that night, because it’s sure to mean that his barrage of texts will kick into overdrive.
          “What the fuck…” L mutters to herself as she keeps absently scrolling through. L only knew Ms. Evans from what Ian told her of Ms. Evans, and from that picture, the woman made… unwise choices, perhaps. But… Ian has to be aware this isn’t normal. It bordered on psychotic, obsessive, and…
          … Does it not strike Ian’s mum as odd that she’s sheepishly nodding to everything her son tells her? How could she be fine with this? Not only fine, but…
          ‘You know that bar’s not safe,’ he would text.
          ‘Just for a quick drink,’ she’d reply.
          ‘You said that two hours ago’
          ‘Well maybe I don’t want to leave’
          L feels her chest flutter at the next message.
          ‘Why are you always like this?’
          L’s face tightens into a scowl at those words. No wonder he wanted to shove her in a little box - it seems he did so with everyone in his goddamn life. The prat’s probably used to having everything go his way, and everyone doing what he says. Did Ian treat men like this?
          Heh. She used to be one. The answer is pretty damn obvious.
          L huffs and tries to toss the phone to the other corner of the room. It bounces off the barrier and onto her knee, but the nymph’s rage outweighs the sting of the impact.
          “Always looking for a princess to save, right?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. “Even if you have to lock them in the bloody tower yourself.”
          She sighs. “... asshole.”
          There’s a quiet rap of the entry hatch, causing nymph and worm to jolt. One. Two. Three little strikes.
          L’s hands furrow into the covers as Neith II tucks into a pile of clothes for cover. It's not Ian's typical knock, but it’s not like he’s been typical of late. Maybe he's feeling apologetic.
          He'd fucking better be feeling apologetic.
          "I-if you're not up here to fix this," L starts, coughing as her voice wavers. She springs to her feet, spreading her wings menacingly behind her. "Then y-you'd better just fuck right back off, Ian!"
          There's a pause. A click. A creak. The hatch pops open an inch. A blood red jewel appears, nestled between blood red eyes and a pair of bunny ears pressed against the wood.
          A smirk.
Madeline.
          Their eyes meet, another second passes, and then the hatch is thrown open as the brownie scurries into the room. She watches L curiously, head tilted, as the hatch lurches back closed behind her. Slowly, the brownie’s eyes fan out across the mess that’s been made of L’s room, before she plops herself cross-legged onto the floorboards.
          Previously unseen crabs skitter from the corners, piping, woodwork all scuttling in a beeline to the brownie. One even uses Madeline’s knee as a springboard to crawl into her hair. The brownie continues her intense study of the scene around her.
          L watches them go about, arms still crossed sullenly. Of course it had to be Madeline. Her day had just been going too well.
          Would there even be a point in asking for help, or would the brownie just find some way to make the salt circle a little tighter?
          Seconds of silence pass as Madeline purses her lips, nodding along to some unheard tune. Eventually, her face turns back to L. "Wha’s all this, then?"
          L's wings tuck behind her back, cheeks red, ears burning. “Nothing.” She looks to her side. her antennae twitching moodily. “Don’t worry about it.”
          “Oh.” Madeline shrugs, her eyes staying on the nymph. “Here I was, thinking yous in a bit of a bind-”
          “Nope.” L offers a brilliantly fake smile. “This is exactly where I want to be. No need to exert yourself.”
          “Grand.” Madeline places a hand on her chin, ears twitching. “Guess I’ll just watch.”
          More time passes. The line of white grains at L’s feet glimmer in the corner of her vision. L sighs, relaxing.
          "Ian and I… fought. Again." She swallows the lump in her throat, shocked by the edge in her voice. "He… overreacted."
          “Uh-huh.” Madeline starts biting her nail.
          L makes a pouting face. “Are… you’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”
          A vicious little grin spreads across the brownie’s face. She lets the question hang for a moment. “... Ask what?”
          L breathes in slowly. "Please tell me you can get me out of this."
          Madeline snorts and stands up, shaking her dress as she trots into the room. "Actually, I’s lookin’ fer the lad, meself. He around?"
          L’s antennae bounce up. She flings her hands wildly at the salt barrier. “I… I haven’t really had the chance to go and check.”
          “Oh, right. Heh.” Madeline gets close and presses her hand against the barrier, wincing as it crackles. She seems more curious than concerned. “The hell yous get this stoof, anyhoo? Salt’s tight contraband. Iron, too.” She nods to the discarded crowbar.
          L blinks. “Uhh… Sainsbury’s?”
          Madeline laughs. “Well I wouldn’ be visiting this ‘Sainsbury’ if I was ye. Bloke seems like he’s deep in some Unseelie shite-”
          “Sainsbury’s a grocer.” L answers, half baffled.
          “We’ll” Madeline starts, “I’s never met a ‘grosser,’ but ‘ey don’t sound like fae yous can trust. Ya keep bringing ‘at guy’s merch, Hedrick’s gonna throw a fit.” Madeline taps a drumbeat against the barrier, her fingers bouncing against the repelling force. She nonchalantly kicks the salt canister towards L.
          “It’s protection,” L watches the brownie’s beat. “You know, from before-”
          “With yer dryad owner?” The canister bounces back, and Madeline catches it in her palms.
          “She doesn’t own me, for starters” L crosses her arms.
          The comment flies right over Madeline’s head. “Fook is salt gonna do? I think she’d just blast you’s with those light beams o’ hers.”
          “We were indoors,” L scoffs.
          “It works through walls, too.” Madeline nods, completely sincere. She keeps throwing the canister into the invisible wall.
          “Well, it’s a shame you weren’t around to spread your wisdom, innit?” L eyes the bouncing canister. “...Are you going to tell Hedrick?”
          “Mmm.” The brownie shrugs. She has a very… voluntary approach to answering L’s questions. “What was the lad’s biz, anyhoo? Can never tell with hoomans, always more Selkie’s thing.”
          L sighs. “It’s… I dunno, it’s complicated.”
          “Ohhhhh.” The brownie beams up in curiosity. “Was he tryin’ to take ye as a fairy wife?”
          “F-fairy- No! NO!” L snaps, scrubbing her hands against her temples. “It’s…” She folds her arms and slumps back down, Ian’s haunting face cycling through her memory.
          Why even bother making excuses for him?
          “He’s just being stupid,” L says. “One of the guests asked me out, and Ian got all… outta sorts.”
          “Like, ‘havin’ a bad day’ out of sorts, or a ‘I’m murderin’ me wifey with an axe’ out of sorts?” Madeline threw the canister at the barrier, snickering as L flinched back from the repelled plastic.
          L sighed. “You tell me. Somewhere in the middle?” She pointed to the salt barrier. “A middle I could really use some help getting out of.”
          "What’ll ye give me?" Madeline’s eyes twinkle cheekily. “Could always use a few more wishes.”
          “Nymphs don’t give wishes,” L mutters, nudging a toe at the barrier.
          “Oh, right.” Madeline saunters over, the playful grin growing. “Guess you could do ‘at nymph thing, instead.”
          L lifts an eyebrow. “What nymph thing?”
          “Mmm,” Madeline purses her lips. “See. me memory’s a bit foggy. Maybe ye could tell. Ye know, ‘at one thing? That nymphs do? Really well?”
          L blinks, staring confusedly at Madeline’s smug expression. Seconds pass, but it becomes increasingly clear the brownie won’t retreat from her self-amusing joke.
          “Can I actually perform wishes?” she asks. “You’d think someone would tell me sooner-”
          “Ohhhhh my God,” Madeline buries her face in her hands. “Ye sure ye divn’t just do this yerself? Ye seem ploughin’ daft enough.”
          “Oh, ha ha. Piss off.” L gives Madeline a curious look, still smarming. “What did you want from him, anyway? You know, I might be able to help if-”
          “Nope.” Madeline grins so wide dimples appear. “It’s hooman stoof. Wanted to ask him ‘bout some hooman things.”
          “What kind of human things?” L edges a little closer to the barrier, hope in her eyes.
          “The kind ye can’t help with,” Madeline leans closer, too, letting L bask in her smirk. “Wha’s some dryad’s runaway gonna know ‘bout hoomans?”
          L’s antannae flapped. “Well, I-”
          “Naw, naw, lemme guess,” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yer actually part hooman on yer mum’s side, twice removed? Some great great uncle give ye 1/64th hooman blood after he shagged some poor lass near a toadstool ring?”
          “I am-” L starts to blurt before twitching into a retreat. She scrubs the back of her neck, blush creeping into her cheeks. Is this something she can trust Madeline with?
          … Oh, fuck it.
          "I was raised human." L’s face sets as she looks up.
          ““Yer a changeling?” Madeline puts a finger to her chin, tilting her head”
          "That’s how I know Ian, right? Did you think I met him on some… ‘fairy bride’ dating site?”
          “They’s in pretty high demand,” Madeline comments.
          “Why else would I be acting so… daft, as you politely put it?”
          “So you’s agree ye are?”
          “Shut up,” L scrunches her face. “Can we get back on track? I was raised human. I do ‘hooman stoof’. So what's. Your. Question?”
          Madeline bobs her head upright. “S’pose it does change things. Awreet, I’ll let ye out if-”
          “Mm mm mm,” L lifts a wagging finger. It’s her turn to interrupt the brownie. She’s read too much - and experienced too much - to accept aid from fae with open arms. “What sort of ‘hooman thing,’ first.”
          Madeline frowns, glancing at the hatch. “Not sure I’s wanna say.”
          “Well, take your time,” L finally gets to smirk, too. “You’ve got a captive audience.”
          Madeline’s body is stiff, clearly on guard. She turns around, scowling. “Ye absolutely… completely and totally… cannot tell a fookin’ soul. Will ye swear on yer voice? No Hedrick, no Ian, no dryad owner, no-one.”
          So they were all keeping secrets from Hedrick. Hardly a surprise. It doesn’t take L long to consider; she’s not got much choice here.
          “On my voice, sure,” the nymph gives a careful, slow nod. This was probably going to be literal. “I’ll keep quiet about–”
          “No, no, no,” Madeline bolts up, gesturing with her hands. “Ye gotta say it exactly so. ‘Ye swear on yer voice ye won’t speak on what I’s ‘bout to tell ye’. Use those words. Exactly.”
Of course it’s literal. L pouts at her, taking a deep breath. “If this is some kind of spell you’re casting on me-”
          “Just bloody say it,” Madeline replies curtly.
          “Fine. I swear on my voice that I won’t speak on what you’re about to tell me-”
          The air shimmers in front of L's eyes, a curious tingle catching in her voice. Her antennae twitch and whirl, tracking a sudden rush of air. She flinches, a cold, sinking sensation settling into her stomach.
          She grimaces at the smirking brownie. “It totally was a spell!”
          “Changeling’s first time?” Madeline doesn’t hide the laughter in her voice. “Ye really were raised by humans.”
          “Well, you lot don’t provide the easiest learning environment,” L hisses back.
          “Heh. This one’s a freebie. If ye, or any fae, swear on yer voice ye won’t talk o’ somethin’, ye can’t. Simple as. See, I’ll try to tell you’s abouumpphhh."
          Before Madeline can finish the word, a small golden sigil glows over her throat, snapping her mouth shut. It sounds like the air is stolen from her breath.
          L squints. “You know, you’d think being a fae would give us some bloody advantages-”
          Madeline lifts a finger, then two, then three. Counting the seconds. It takes L a moment to realise her jaw is still set tight. After a moment, her lips finally open in a gasp. “... Like that. Fun, right?”
          “... Of course. It’s great. Perfect.” L shakes her head. “I was really antsy I might not get locked in a magical contract with every one of my coworkers, thanks for knocking that off my bucket list.”
          “What can I say? Brownies give great service.” Madeline twists her hair with her, sending rogue crabs flying from their makeshift nests. She blows out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. “Anyhoo-”
          “The ‘hooman problem’?” L shrugs. “Are you getting your tiles redone? Picking out hoover models?”
          “Brownies don’ just think about cleaning,” Madeline’s face puffs out in irritation.
          “Oh, I’m aware.” L taps her lips. “I am fully confident in your ability to weaponise Henry the Hoover against me-”
          L stops when she notices the brownie. Madeline has turned around, quickly braiding her hair, frenetic with nervous energy.
          “... I’s plannin’ a wake,” Madeline manages, her voice toneless. “I… I wanna wake fer Selkie. Like… like hoomans do.”
          “... Oh.” L's antennae lower contritely. Sensitivity quickly intertwines with curiosity. “Do fae not… have wakes? Or… funerals”
          Madeline finishes her braid, looking at the barrier. “No. Not like hoomans.”
          “That’s… huh.” L looks to the ground. It feels a bit… brutal. “What do we do instead?”
          Madeline shrugs. A sombre silence fills the space between them as she picks up one of the smaller crabs, scratching its shell.
          L inhales slowly. “Um… normally a professional would handle these, and I’ve never… I’m not that. But I could try. I’d like to help.”
          “Hmmph,” Madeline snickers. “Well, good news fer yous. When we’s fae give help…”
          Madeline whispers something to the crab, an odd series of chirps and clicks that form quirky patterns. The crab pinches its claws near her face, clicking in kind, before its set on the floor.
          A moment later, two dozen more emerge throughout Madeline’s hair and clothes and begin to cluster against the salt. They approach, one by one, each taking a single grain before scurrying back and displacing it in the floorboards.
          "... We pay help in kind."
          L crouches down, hands on her knees, watching the crabs work in fascination.
          "Wait… you can talk to crabs?”
          “Pfffft. O’ course. Why wouldn’t we?” Madeline joins the nymph’s observation. “Ye can too, with time. Think it works with all the critters, but theys a little shy. Don’t talk to any Tom, Dick, an’ Harry.”
          L jumps to her feet. Flashes of childhood memories spent standing around an ant farm glimmer in her eyes. “Then I must earn their trust…” Her eyes begin to glow vibrant, maniacal colours.
          A thrashing sound in the corner interrupts her planning. Neith II’s tiny orange head has poked through one of Ian’s hoodies, eye sparkling with hungry interest at the crustaceans.
Right. Neith II is not exactly famed for her courteous appetite.
          That… that might be a problem.
          "... Later." L gives her wings a slow flex as she settles into a crouch. She tries to word things carefully, hesitant over her new ‘oath.’ "So...why a wake, if… you know, if it’s not your custom?”

Madeline goes quiet, her eyes glossy and wistful. “Cuz it's wha’ she’d want.” The brownie gestures to the Hollywood posters throughout the room. “Talk to ‘at seal fer two seconds and ye’d know ‘at much.”
          “A human funeral is quite a leap from liking Katherine Hepburn” L raises her head.
          “Yeh, but she was always leapin’,” Madeline shrugs. “She liked how hoomans thought, liked how they do things. They aren’t… rigid or fixed like we are. They’s ain’t got no words or songs or rules-”
          “Oh, they have plenty of rules,” L tries to meet the brownies’ eyes.
          “But not like us,” Madeline points to them both. “Humans can lie when pressed, break promises whenever they want. They can be rude jes’ becuz it’s funny. They aren’t… bound like we are, by magic an’ ‘hospitality.’ They’s not… not ruled by stories ovvers tell, defined by how ovvers think we are.”
          “... I see what you mean.” L doesn’t really have the heart to break down such a… romantic view of humanity.
          To most of the fae she’d met, the human world was decidedly… foreign. Astraea, by far, was the least comfortable with it. L wasn’t surprised to learn that some fae were as fascinated by humans as folks like Ian and Spencer were fascinated by them.
          L runs a hand through her hair, thinking. “Is there anyone else who’d come? Who’d… get that this was what Selkie wanted? Cadogan seemed…”
          Madeline visibly prickles. “Not Cadogan.”
          L looks up at her, lifting a brow.
          Madeline’s face curls into a sneer. “Who do ye think I was hiding the sealskin from? Selkie didn’ go through all that work to get it back, didn’t sell her name fer it, jes’ for some ploughin’ feesh to-”
          “She sold her name?” L asks.
          Madeline looks at the nymph like she’s just stripped off her clothes. “Well… yeah? Duh? Ye don’t see lots of hoomans named ‘Hooman’ goin’ round.”
          “Fair point,” L nodded. It was the most Madeline had ever said about her colleague, and the relief in her voice was clear. “It’s your choice, of course, but he did say they were friends. He cared about her.”
          “Cared? Heh, he fookin’ loved her.” Madeline nodded. “An’ ‘at’s the problem. He loved her like a merrow loves a selkie. Keeper an’ Kept, y’know? An’... an’ she despised ‘at shite. Would have none of it.”
          "Oh." There’s something in the brownie’s voice. L stands up and shuffles closer, pressing her hand against the invisible wall. “... Sounds like you really knew her.”
          “Mmm,” Madeline nods, the nervous energy still bouncing her along.
          “A lot better than Cadogan.”
          “You’s could say,” Madeline nods again.
          L sighs. The question is obvious - and obviously sore, an invisible bruise in the air between them. But she knows she has to poke it. “Madeline…”
          "... Were you two together?"
          The barrier between them shimmers, its resistance easing.
          The question catches the brownie off-guard, and she looks at L with a face of… fear crossed with elation. “T-Together? Me an’ Selkie? L-l-like a, uh, a-”
          “A couple?” L tilts her head.
          Madeline’s eyes go wide. “W-we could never… I’d never… that wasn’t… who in their right mind would… heheh.” The brownie stares at the ground. A second and third braid have joined her first, though L has no idea how she spun them so quickly.
          “Madeline… I can’t talk about it, remember?” L tries to peer over the barrier as far as she can. “Your secret is impossibly safe.”
          “... We weren’t s’posed to be. I… I told her half a dozen times we’s playin’ with fire. That’d it only be a matter of time before…”
          “Before…?” L quirks her head.
          “Well, ye know. Brownies and Selkies ain’t… s’posed to mix. Both Kepts, ye ken? An’... it was even weirder, she had all these crazy thoughts ‘bout us playin’ at bein’ hoomans.”
          “Playing at?”
          “Ye know, like equals? Pokin’ at a hooman relationship, equal partners. An’... look, I ain’t here to say that Dryads got the whole world sorted, I’ve got me gripes, but… the old ways are old fer a reason, innit?”
          “Uh… you tell me,” L chuckles nervously. “This is… all new. Changeling, remember?”
          “Shit, really?” Madeline leaned a little closer to the invisible barrier. It was getting weaker by the second. “Two sorts that fae fall into. ‘Keeper’ and ‘Kept’. Always one fer the other. Merrow are Keepers. Selkie are Kept.”
          “And brownies?” L asks.
          “Well, fook me, brownies ain’t even s’posed to be in the mess,” Madeline’s laughter is joyful, relaxed. Tears peak at the corners of her eyes. “We’re Kepts of whichever soddin’ bloke owns the fookin’ house, an’ ‘at’s where our shite ends. No, uh, no romance beneath these ears.”
          “Huh. I see,” L slowly nods.
          “No ye don’t,” Madeline smirks. “But important part… I’m s’posed to above all yer ‘love’ shite. So ye can imagine me face as I’s gettin’ roped along by this absolute madwoman. Heh, ‘at’s the word fer it: ‘mad.’ Madder than a box o’ hats. Always doin’ whatever the hell she liked.”
          L shrugs, her mouth quirking into a half-smile. "Sounds like the good kind of mad to me."
Keeper and Kept…
          Astraea's face flashes again through L's mind. The faint memory of a hand stroking her hair, drawing her back to wakefulness. Offering a fruit full of shimmering golden seeds.
          “What about dryads?” L asks.
          Madeline chuckles. “Well, they wrote the rules, so ye can bloody guess.”
          L leans against the barrier, her shoulder resting against the invisible force, even as it starts to give. It’s more like leaning against an overstuffed cushion, now. Surprisingly comfortable.
          “The reason I ask,” L begins, “is that when humans have a wake, there’s usually a moment where close ones talk. A moment to remember them, to share what they meant to them with others. To reflect on how you… cared for them. In case you never really had the chance.”
          L glances up at her from under her hair. "But… it’s alright to have it just be… you and her."
          “Oh, believe me,” Madeline offers a weak smile. “I’d love for others to come. Hedrick, Trystan… maybe Cadogan, if he could quit it with the fookin’ puns. I’d love for it to have been… open. But we weren’t. We… couldn’t be. She liked the risk, the defiance of our… whatever ye’d call it… but she didn’t want a scandal. So I was jes’ her… little secret.”
          “That doesn’t sound very fulfilling.”
          “No, I liked it,” Madeline huffs, tracing a hand along the salt barrier. Their faces are practically touching. “It was nice, in its way, I jes’... Jes’ wish I could hold her hand out in the open, ye know?  Jes’ once.”
          Another flash. That last night at Cro-Mart. “Yeah,” L nods. “I know the feeling.”
          “Heh. Ye know, I can’t even leave this place unless I’m accompanied by one of its occupants?” Madeline grinned at L. “There’s the stupid magic Selkie hated so fookin’ much. And with her gone, mmm… it’s been a hot while. Yer all busy sorts.”
          “God, that sounds dreadful.” L and Madeline both lean their back against the barriers, as if they were touching heads.
          “Well, I like the Glade,” Madeline starts. “I’m proud of it, proud of me work here. An’ I like seein’ little bits of her in the nooks and corners. But… sometimes it just feels like a… a bit like a…”
          “A bit like a box,” L looks down at Ian’s little pile of crumpled possessions. Left in a forlorn heap in the corner. “And everything's just fine until you dare poke your head out of it.”
          “Exactly,” Madeline breathes out a sigh, a gentle look on her face. They both sit in silence, listening to the crabs scuttle, taking in the moment between them.
          "Oy, nymph girl." Madeline’s voice turns gruff. "Would ye be willing to escort a certain brownie someplace, uh, outside her little box?"
          L can't help but smile back, turning to look at her. “Well, the brownie has to let me out of my smaller box, first.”
          "... What was the problem with the date?" Madeline turns around, gazing with interest, smiling with actual earnesty. “Did Ian jes’ not geddit? We’re fae, we can never turn down an invitation.”
          “Well it might be rude,” L chuckles. “But I think Spencer was careful enough to let me choose, if you follow.”
          “Oh. That bloke,” Madeline grins. “Selkie was jumpin’ at the bit to corner him fer a few hours. Shoulda guessed ye’d be into hoomans.”
          “What’s wrong with-” L suddenly lurches forward. The last of the grains seems to fade away, the barrier whisping into the air like smoke. L faceplants with a crash, narrowly avoiding a stray crab.
          Madeline laughs, loudly and jubilantly, offering a hand up. “Are ye gonna take it, then? The invite?”
          A certain relish grows on the nymph’s face. Her eyes fall back to the bedroll. To Ian's phone, still charging, and the thousands of bizarre text messages held inside.
          Eighteen minutes and however much more. Certainly enough to make her revenge a cold dish. L takes the brownie’s hand, thrumming with a spark of elation.
          “Could you do me a favour, Madeline?”
          “Mads,” Madeline corrects, beaming at her.
          “... Mads,” L beams right back, picking up the phone with her free hand. “There’s a card on the vanity-”
          “This?” Crisp white paper emerges from Madeline’s pocket. She laughs mischievously at L’s confused glare. “Dupin’ ye is never gonna get old, issit?”
          “Well, you could help me be less duped in the future,” L pleads, snatching the card.
          “Absolutely not.” Madeline smirks. “Already gave me free tip, and it’s not like ye can share it or anything’.”
          “And I had just forgotten,” L replies. She holds the card up, letting the light glitter off of the embossed letters. She dials Harcourt’s number.
          Each tap feels like another hole poked through the box.

          Another glimpse of the world beyond it.

continue reading ->

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Madeline really grew on us a lot this chapter.  She's very gremlin!  It was also nice to use this as an opportunity to flesh out the world a bit more.   Learn why Selkie was called 'Selkie'.   And then all this Kept and Keeper business...

What do YOU think about our grumpy blue haired bunny?

New posts every other Friday at 12p EST!
The second part of Chapter 20: Boundaries will be posted  Friday November 25th.  

Until then, thanks for reading!
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