Fay’s Choice

FAY

MAKE PEACE, NOT MAGIC

Mass rioting has caused a wave of tension across the country. Exactly why these events occurred is unclear. The testimony of a few witnesses mentions prejudice between the magic and the magicless monsters, resulting in a new phenomenon referred to as magicophilia. Due to systematic arrests, the Swamps of Gurnam are congested, pushing Fidr to reinstate capital punishment. President Fidr reminds us about the use of magic, and any monster seen wielding such shall be sentenced to death—faefolk exempted.

Jenny Gleamrose. "Make Peace, Not Magic." Troll's Papers. June 7.

"F

ay, you need to go back to work. You can't spend your days locked up. It's not healthy!"

I catch some metallic scuffling from under my pillow, and then my body jolts a little to the clickety-clack of a doorknob being more than just jiggled.

In a few minutes, she'll have it unscrewed. I bet my life on it.

Bang!

"What the hell, Donna! I'm trying to sleep here!"

"Open the door!"

"It's locked. Hitting it and strangling its handle won't change it!"

"Come on... Open. I said I was sorry."

My ears track a motion, probably Donna's back sliding against the door, which is the last barrier between me and this messed-up world.

"Please..."

I hurl my pillow at the door. Please? Eat my pillow, Donna. It's all you deserve! And as this bag of feathers miserably slumps from the door to the floor, I blast, "I don't open for snitches!"

Shit, I need that pillow.

As my pinched lips flap out my frustration, I slobber down my bed, crawl on my fours, snatch the thing, and climb back.

My chest feels heavy as an anvil as I huff out of breath. It's like my cardio is going downhill.

That again... I just remembered my new year's resolution to join a fitness club.

It's June.

"Please, Fay. Let me in."

I smack my face with this newly retrieved pillow, trying to shut my ears.

"I also happen to have a flower delivery for you from this bastard. What's his name? Dennis? It's lilies. A nice change from the roses he's been sending lately."

"It's Deon, not Dennis. And you can ditch them in the bin."

"They smell wonderful, and I've already put them in a vase. You could open the door, and I could place them on top of your window ledge," she sings.

"Nice try, but I'll have to decline the offer."

"Please, please, please... just go away." All I hear is myself whispering in despair.

Pray as much as you want, Fay; Donna is as stubborn as a mule.

It's too quiet...

Maybe she left?

Exhaling deeply, I finally start relaxing my muscles.

They're getting weighty, sinking deep into the mattress, my body warming up with mellowness and the comfort of sheets.

Dreams, here I come.

"As you wish. I'm off to work!"

Geezuz ducking Krist!Clutching my chest, I'm beginning to think I'm not far off from being the perfect candidate for cardiac arrest.

As her voice disentangles from my door to the entrance, Donna utters, "Call me if you need anything..."

Bang.

Trust me, I won't. I'm going to stay right where I am, in Gloomycity, where my bed is.

And honestly, I'm not mad at Donna. She probably thought well to:

·Share my financial problems with Tyke.

·Ask him toask meto move in with him.

·Call Tyke when I was at the hospital, that is before I went to my knees while tears of shame melted down my cheeks, begging her not to call my parents or, in this case, Tyke!

Still...

At least she didn't contact my father.

The mere thought of what could have happened brings a nail to my teeth.

An affidavit, depositions, and the full Ops team suspended.

And I, the victim, turned into a police rat.

No. That would have been my end.

The nervous twitch of my lip makes me realize I need to switch my attention to something else.

I turn my head to my dresser. It's a wrong turn for me. Ten bouquets, some dying, some still in bloom, and the rest withered with handwritten cards, ranging from 'I'm so sorry. Should've never tried Glow,' to 'I'm the biggest idiot,' and 'I want to die'—I chuckled when I read that one—to many more, one being Deon's most creative so far: 'I threw myself into the Hydson River thinking about what I'd done, but even the mermaids didn't want me.'

Give it your all, Deon!

I slant my attention to my mattress, squinting at my phone, buzzing inches away.

Wonderful! The timing couldn't be better. I just hope it's not Deon. One hundred and ten dramatic text messages and fifty-five missed calls, and he's still going strong...

INCOMING CALL: Dad

My father's probably wondering where I am.

I can't deal with this right now. I just can't. Scenes from that night with Deon are stuck on repeat in my head, and I can't stomach another specist lecture from Dad.

In his defense, I've been MIA at the station for three days, four if we count today, mostly dreading to walk into Deon...

I try suffocating my phone under the pillow, but it's still determined to buzz. Rolling onto my side, I dig my head under another one, hoping this little den of fluff will put me to sleep.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

It's stronger than him. He just can't help it.

For heaven's sake, it's seven a.m.!

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Done with this!

I wander my hand over the cover, trying to find the buzzing nuisance.

It's just a matter of grabbing the damn phone and losing it.

Here you are, little fucker.

In one go, I place my bets and blindly tap that green answer button, flashing the phone to my ear. "I'm okay. I'm just taking some days off. I informed HR. All is good. Please, I texted you five times already. I'm fine. Just stop calling. I beg, stop it!"

Shit, that felt so good. I could go harder, but hey, it's still my pops.

Whatever d-bag he might be. Fathers are fathers. Well, that's what my poor mother says. So, I've got to go with it.

"Bug..."

I stiffen, my foot striking my bedside table lamp with a clank. Yeah, my lazy ass is on the opposite side of the bed where feet are supposed to be. "Fay, what's that sound? Is everything okay?"

Breathe, Fay.

"Yes. How're you doing? Tyke. Hi."

How're you doing? Tyke. Hi?

Screw you, Fay!

"You've been a little quiet, so I thought I'd check in on you."

"Yeah. Thanks. All is great. I'm good. You?"

I sound like a chicken choking on corn. Where's my inhaler?

Oh yeah, handbag.

The one good thing about the hospital trip was they discovered I have asthma.

Life is a nice...

... bitch.

"Listen, Fay. I know what happened."

Mutely screaming in the void, I shut my eyes, trying to save my heart from implosion.

Who was I fooling? It was only a matter of time before he found out. "Yes... Well, see, nothing bad happened. You know what I-I mean."

"There's something I want to tell you." Tyke takes a deep breath, and it makes me take one as well.

"You..."

There, he does it again. It's this same low rush of suspense blowing out between his tusks whenever he tries to find hisFaerishwords.

"... are... hem..."

Tyke, please, just say what you have to say.

"... something special."

In light of the latter, I think it may be wise to stack up on ventolin tubs.

"I would never stop you from having fun—going out and stuff, you know—but after what happened, I want you..."

Finally, in one breath, he mutters, "I want to be exclusive, or we'll stop right here."