11. The Choice

Above Magic's Repair, Andrew showered hastily, tied back his hair, and dressed in dark ripped jeans and a maroon tee. He packed slowly and methodically, hoping it would stop his hands from shaking. All his dangerous possessions were on his bed and a black Jan-Sport slouched open as he rolled up several changes of clothes.

Sam watched him from the doorway, holding Arwen and stroking the cat's head. When Andrew pulled down the crossbow from his closet, Sam finally exclaimed, "Holy fucking shit, man. Who are you?"

Andrew extended the crossbow to Sam. "Wanna hold it?"

"No!" Sam cried, flinching back. "Are you gonna need to use that?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He took down a pack filled with extra iron bolts and jammed it into the backpack.

Sam stared at Andrew with a crease on his brow. He narrowed his eyes and said, "You know, you seem weirdly comfortable with the idea of running off with a bunch of faeries who have been trying to kill you for years."

"Ingrid never tried to kill me." Andrew zipped up the backpack. "She could have if that's what she was going for." He paused. "I mean, not to discredit the fact that she made me fucking crazy. And anyway, I think I'm just going with Micah." When Sam didn't respond, Andrew glanced warily at his assistant.

As soon as their eyes met, Sam blurted, "Dude, what if you die? Why the hell are you doing this?"

Sighing heavily, Andrew shouldered the bag and turned back to Sam. He put both hands on his shoulders and leaned down to see his hazel eyes behind his glasses. "Sam, I'm not gonna die. And I'm doing this because…" He thought for a moment. "Because I care about the situation Micah is in, about him, and about his father. Lord knows if my mother got kidnapped by my father, I would be showing up to murder him in a heartbeat."

Tears swimming in his eyes, Sam ground his teeth and then said, "Doesn't this queen eat humans for breakfast?" As Andrew opened his mouth, Sam hurried on, "Metaphorically. I'm just saying, how do you know this isn't gonna kill you?"

Andrew straightened. He smoothed his hand over his hair and then leaned against the doorway. Looking down at Sam, he shrugged and said slowly, "You're right. I don't know."

A tear raced down his cheek as Sam dropped his gaze.

Putting his arm around Sam, Andrew led his assistant into the living room and sat them both down on the couch. Keeping his arm in place, Andrew went on, "The thing is…I've had no control over any of the bad shit that's happened in my life. It's happened to me, despite me."

Sam sniffled, not interrupting.

"For the first time, I have the choice between running toward danger or not. Sure, the smart choice would be to stay home. To let Micah go by himself on a fool's errand to rescue his dad from an evil faerie kingdom. But what if he dies? And I'm just dicking around here, pointlessly existing?" Andrew shook his head slowly and said, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself, knowing I could have helped and didn't. And then what's the point? I'm dead either way."

Sam pushed his glasses onto his forehead, wiped his eyes, and sniffed again. Andrew handed him a box of tissues from the side table.

"And look at us now," Andrew added gently. "Remember my fun joke at your interview? You're the person who'll know if I die. And I value that."

"Andrew, that's incredibly depressing," Sam said with a choked laugh.

Arwen went running a second before there was a knock at the door. Andrew got up as Sam blew his nose several times. He slid back the chain on his door and unbolted it.

Micah stood on the top of the stairs, serious, unsmiling, anxious. His hair was damp and combed slightly back, and he'd put on a purple tee with a wide collar that framed his clavicle. The mulberry leaf hung from his neck, and his large earlobes stretched around wooden earrings carved to look like trees. His eyes flicked toward Sam and a frown deepened on his lips.

Then Chamomile stepped out from behind him. She held Micah's large black cat in her arms, which blinked impassively at Andrew and swished its tail. Chamomile grinned up at Andrew, the smile unfriendly, offset strangely by her rosy apple-shaped cheeks. The cat, Fadil, jumped from her arms and padded confidently into Andrew's apartment. He watched the cat pass with a blank stare and one raised eyebrow, but how could he not let his boyfriend's cat into his apartment?

Chamomile, meanwhile…she whipped her silver ponytail and heaved up her breasts in the extremely short sundress she wore, which very easily could have been a child's camisole. "What do you say, tall one? Shall we ‘hit the road,' so to speak?"

"What?" Andrew stared at her. "You aren't—"

But Micah's eyes slid shut and his lips pressed into a thin line, and that told Andrew that it was already decided.

"Let's see," said a new voice, the low timbre making Andrew's knees weak. "You've been oh so protective of this home, little fox, so it must be truly splendid." The scarlet-eyed faerie moved near Micah's shoulder; she leaned into the doorway as if Andrew's nightmares were finally coming true.

"Ingrid," Micah said through gritted teeth. "Knock it off." He shoved his elbow into her stomach, buying Andrew some space and allowing him to finally release the breath he'd been holding.

Chamomile scampered past Andrew and into his apartment as she said, "The wards you've set up are…fine." She peered at the hawthorn shag over his door. "But they would never have kept the Lady of the Bluffs out if she wanted in."

"Why can you get past them now?" asked Andrew.

Breasts bouncing as she danced around him, Chamomile sang, "I'm not trying to hurt you. Intentions matter, you tall oaf."

"That hurts," Andrew remarked, hand on his chest.

She shrugged dismissively. "Just your feelings." Prancing away, she scrambled onto his stool and stuck her fingers in the soil of his bromeliad. With a frown, she disappeared past the counter, a sage-colored hand darting up to snatch a glass with a bit of water in the bottom. Then she clambered back onto the stool and watered the bromeliad. Andrew watched her with his hands on his hips. He was dying to ask her about her name, which evoked the soothing fragrance of a cup of tea before bed, and not…this jagged-toothed, voluptuous, chaotic goblin. Even if she was watering his plant unprompted.

"I understand if they're a deal-breaker for you," said Micah, still standing in his doorway. "And you don't have to come."

"We'll be just fine without you," Ingrid said beside him, arms crossed. She had put on a silky black shirt dress and tightly braided her mahogany hair. At least with her hair back, she looked a bit less like she did in her hauntings.

"I wasn't going with because I think I'll be critical to the rescue mission," Andrew snapped.

He turned away from the door. Across from him, sitting in the hall outside Andrew's bedroom, Chamomile let Arwen sniff her fingers with an enormous smile on her face and nothing but warmth in her large eyes.

Ingrid and Micah argued in whispers in the doorway. Micah waved his hand at her and hurried into the flat, stepping out of his sneakers. He reached for Andrew's arm but stopped just before he touched him.

"She's really just a prissy princess," Micah said, jerking his chin toward the scarlet-eyed faerie. Ingrid rolled her eyes with a scoff, leaning cross-armed against the door.

Chamomile swiped the television remote from a couch cushion and started tapping buttons with her eyes round as saucers, glancing up with childlike delight every time the television did something.

"Chami, quit getting into all his stuff!" Micah exclaimed. Sam giggled.

Going back into his bedroom, Andrew zipped up his backpack and picked up his sheathed seax, the short Viking-era sword he'd picked up from eBay early in the days when Ingrid started stalking him. He weighed the well-balanced blade in his hand, letting out a long sigh through his teeth. Then he flopped onto the edge of his bed, forearms on his thighs, head drooping between his shoulders.

A dangerous rescue mission with just Micah was one thing. But trying to imagine sharing space with the scarlet-eyed faerie…his chest tightened even at the thought. She was outside his door. She…she'd done all this torment on purpose. Delighted in it.

"It smells like you in here," said that meadow breeze of a voice. "Almonds and tea."

Andrew lifted his head to look at Micah, dragged up from the muck of his rumination. He said with a faint smile, "Don't lie. It smells like old carpeting and bad wallpaper glue."

Micah grinned, glancing around the room with his arms crossed. "There's no wallpaper."

"I know. It's weird."

Looking down, Micah said with a sigh, "Andrew, I hate to say it, but I could probably use Ingrid and Chami with me in the Redwoods."

Andrew remained silent, folding his hands, digging his fingertips into his knuckles. He glanced at Micah, who quickly looked away. Andrew finally said, "I understand that. And that does probably mean it would be wiser if I didn't go. If the Redwood Queen is anything like Ingrid—"

"Which she is."

"—Then I can"t imagine I'd enjoy being around her."

Micah nodded. "I understand."

Picking up his crossbow from the bed, Andrew scrubbed its scope with the hem of his shirt, silent.

"Well," said Micah, his voice too nonchalant, light and strained like he was playing off an injury, "sorry for the change of plans. I should be back in a few days if I can pull everything off. Then maybe we can take an actual road trip. To Duluth or something. Um. See ya." He awkwardly saluted and then left the room.

Andrew loosed a heavy sigh, propping his forehead on the butt of the bow as it rested on his knee. He flexed his toes into the carpet, rolling his shoulders back.

"Wow! Andy, c'mere!" called Sam from the living room.

Still wearing his backpack, he hefted the bow onto his shoulder and stood up with grimace. When he came around the corner, Ingrid still lurked impassively in his doorway, her eyes melting a metaphorical hole in the stairwell, pointedly not engaging with anything in his flat.

On the couch, Chamomile sat with a black cat on each of her knees. Sam scratched Fadil under the chin, looking up as Andrew entered and pointing at Chamomile and Arwen.

"Look, Andy! She loves her!"

Micah crouched in front of the cats. "Who's this pretty girl? Arwen, huh? Aren't you lovely?"

Andrew blinked. "I've never told you her name."

Micah looked up sharply. "Uh."

"Holy shit," said Sam. "Can you talk to cats?"

"Er." Micah's face turned bright red. "Not exactly. But kinda."

Depositing Arwen in Micah's arms and Fadil in Sam's arms, Chamomile pranced over to Andrew, snatching his crossbow out of his hand. "This is cute. Look, Ingrid." She closed an eye and swung the crossbow around the room.

"Careful!" cried Ingrid. "Those bolts are iron, I can smell it."

"Hm." Chamomile hauled it up and aimed it at Andrew. "That's nasty of you."

Scowling, Andrew yanked on the bridge of the bow, but she didn't fight him. She let it go and ran off cackling, hiding behind Ingrid by the door.

"It's time to go," said Ingrid, frowning. "This place is giving me a headache."

Sam stood up from the couch, fidgeting with his sweatshirt strings with a wary eye on Ingrid. "Cirrus told me about her," he whispered.

"Who?" said Andrew. "Micah's sister?"

"Yeah. She called her the Goth Queen of Lilydale," he said, reverent.

Over Sam's shoulder, Micah burst out laughing, whooping with delight. He ruffled Sam's hair before he set Arwen delicately on the couch.

"All hail," sang Chamomile, crossing a closed fist over her chest. Ingrid glared sidelong at her, stoic.

First looking at Sam, and then glancing quickly toward and away from Andrew, Micah said, "Hey, uh, I wanted to leave my house keys here. And this." He had a folded half sheet of paper in his hand and a keyring dangling from his pinky. "In the event my dad and I don't make it home, you can do whatever you want with my house. This has the information you'd need." Micah set them on the counter.

Andrew's knees wobbled.

Sam blinked a few times and then pushed up his glasses. "Are you serious? Do you think you're gonna die?"

Micah shrugged. "Don't know." He went to the door, stepping into his shoes and sticking his finger into the heels to unroll the canvas. He started to lose his balance, but Ingrid's white hand shot out and pushed back on his shoulder to steady him. He didn't acknowledge her intervention except to lightly pat her hand. Then he looked into the kitchen and glared. "Chami, put his tablet down. You have your own. Let's get out of here."

Andrew hesitated, bearing crossbow, sword, and backpack, watching as Ingrid and Chamomile answered easily to Micah, even if Andrew's tablet ended up in the sink. Silently, Sam watched Andrew from the couch, chewing on his lip.

Andrew said, "Micah, could we…?" He gestured toward his bedroom.

"Oh." Micah straightened, hand on the open door, Ingrid and Chamomile freezing on either side of him as if his sentry. "Sure."

Andrew shrugged off his backpack and set down his crossbow on the kitchen island. He moved out of the kitchen, hands curled into fists. Micah followed him in silence, and once inside his room, Andrew closed the door behind them.

"Here's the thing," Andrew said quietly, leaning over Micah, reaching to touch his face but pausing just before. "It would be much wiser for me to stay home—"

Micah's expression didn't even shift. But his irises darkened, swirling from powdery lupine into deep merlot, as if the yellow light from the fixture in the ceiling had suddenly gone dim.

"—But I don't think I can do that."

Micah's irises flowed back into lavender. Andrew wondered if he knew how revealing his color shifting was.

Andrew continued, "I'm very frightened of Ingrid. Literal nightmare fuel. Because of the nightmares I've had. Of her. For years."

Knuckling his eyes, Micah sighed, "Andrew, you don't have to…"

"I know, I know. I'm getting off track. Because I'm also thinking about your father. And I can't stand what's being done to him after how many years you've sacrificed for him to make his life better." Andrew took Micah's hand. "And you both deserve to come back. To be normal again. So. I'm going to help. As long as Ingrid doesn't scoop out my eyeballs or French-braid my intestines."

"Jeeze!" Micah exclaimed.

"I had that nightmare a few times." Andrew scratched his chin. "She must be an artist type."

Silent, Micah shook his head, sighing through his nostrils and staring at the ceiling.

"Is she?" asked Andrew.

"An artist type? Yeah, kinda."

"Hurt me. Is the scarlet-eyed faerie going to hurt me now?"

"You call her the scarlet-eyed faerie?" Micah grinned, just for a moment.

"Yes. Your sister. Ingrid. Such a pretty name for…that unhinged woman," remarked Andrew, more to himself, looking down. "Is she a woman?"

"No, not really." Micah shrugged. "Anyway, absolutely not, no, she will not hurt you. You can take my word for it, but also, you can wield iron against her, and if she tries anything, use it."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

Micah said, "It'd be a natural consequence."

"Okay." Andrew nodded. He put his hand on the doorknob. "I trust you."

Micah gazed up at him for several beats, unsure, scrutinizing. But when Andrew stared back, starting to turn the doorknob, clearing his throat, Micah rubbed his neck with a sigh. "I'm becoming more and more sure that if I blow it with you, that's it. Forever alone. I'm doomed."

Andrew snickered, his ears warming, touching the turquoise fringe of Micah's hair where it fell over his brow. "Well, I was kinda hoping you'd be my boyfriend."

Micah straightened. He came a bit closer, tilting back his chin as he asked, "Oh, yeah?"

"If you're interested," Andrew mumbled, flushing.

Micah grinned. "I am."

"Then let's not waste another moment," Andrew declared. He put his arms around Micah's shoulders and squeezed him tightly. Micah grasped Andrew's chin and brought him closer to steal a kiss, pulling Andrew against him with an arm around his waist as he teased open Andrew's mouth with his tongue. They bumped into the bedroom wall, tongues dancing, gripping each other with a ferocity that suggested that the bed was beckoning them and would drag them down like a siren song if only the moment were a bit different. Andrew pressed his palms into the wall over Micah's shoulders and tore himself away, lips shining, cheeks flushed. He leaned their foreheads and their hips together and gave them a minute to come back to themselves, to cool their burning skin, to allow Micah's fingers to dig back out of where they'd burrowed into the small of Andrew's back.

"I have a boyfriend." Micah's hand slid down to cup Andrew's rear before giving it a pinch. Andrew turned crimson, biting his lip, gesturing to the door, but not before he twined his arm around Micah's neck and kissed him again. Once, twice, three times, hot enough to melt skin down to bone. Micah reached for the doorknob, grazing his lips against Andrew's neck as he did. Andrew groaned in protest that the moment had to end as he pushed himself upright on shaky legs before clasping Micah's hand.

They left the bedroom together, and when they emerged, Sam was by himself standing awkwardly by the empty doorway, arms crossed. Micah slipped past him and disappeared down the stairs.

Andrew dropped onto the floor to pull on his black Docs, lacing them tightly. He glanced up at Sam, who watched him with red cheeks and tears in his eyes. With a pinch to Sam's knee as he climbed back to his feet, Andrew fixed his ponytail and gazed at Sam with a sardonic curl to his lips.

"Please be careful," Sam warbled. He threw his arms around Andrew and mashed his face into Andrew's chest. "Please don't die."

Patting his head, Andrew said, "Wear the géas while I'm gone. Don't worry. I'll text you as much as I can. And I'll be back before you know it. Do as much or as little for the store as you want, and order food with the company card. It's in my desk drawer, the locked one."

Sam nodded. He said wetly, "Andy, you're a badass."

Andrew grinned and ruffled his hair. "Balderdash."

Locking the door behind him, Andrew clambered down the steps and out into the parking lot. The sight outside did not particularly instill him with courage. Micah and Chamomile were screaming at each other, how seriously Andrew couldn't tell, but Chamomile was cradling both Fadil and Arwen like twin babies in her arms. She was leaping out of Micah's reach like a grasshopper every time he lunged at her. Brooding under the ash tree in the lot was Ingrid, arms crossed, eyes closed.

"Chami, you don't understand how important he is to me! He's barely still coming with as it is! You can't kidnap his cat!"

Andrew noticed one of Ingrid's eyes peel open to a slit; she peered at him across the lot with the slightest twitch of her lips.

When he looked away from Ingrid, Chamomile was standing in front of him, craning her neck to peer up at him with the sky gleaming in her large, bright eyes. "You don't care, right?" she said. Arwen purred loudly against Chamomile's neck.

"Um, I mean, that's probably an over-simplification," Andrew answered.

Chamomile stuck out her cherubic lower lip. "You aren't going to say no to me though, are you?"

"Probably not," Andrew said.

Jaw dropping, Micah put his hands on his hips.

With a shrug and a smile, Andrew said to him, "I trust the will of cats and wild girls."

Under the tree, Ingrid said, "We have to take your car. It isn't made of as much iron."

Andrew blinked. "It isn't?" She remained with her arms crossed, not elaborating. He pulled out his phone, curiosity too strong, and searched the make and model of the Saturn. "Huh."

"What?" asked Micah.

"This year of Saturn was made with a plastic body." He glanced up at Micah's hopeful face and shrugged. "That's fine. But it might die on the trip." He unlocked the car and then popped open the trunk, setting his bag and crossbow inside.

Ingrid shrugged. "A worthy death." She followed Andrew, elbowing him out of her way and setting a handsome sheathed blade inside. After depositing the cats in the backseat, Chamomile appeared on his other side and put a different, shorter bow inside with her quiver. When Andrew glanced down at the goblin, she leaned toward his arm and tried to bite him.

Micah grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her away so she stumbled, her blue eyes wide. She spun around to swipe at him, but Micah blocked her wrist and glared down at her until she relented.

Micah said with a growl, "I swear that if either of you harm so much as a glorious ginger hair on Andrew on this trip, I will spend the rest of my days and all of my energy getting even with you." He crossed his arms. "He told me first he's coming with me, and he's the one I want with me. His safety is non-negotiable. If you two have any care for me, which you obviously do since you're coming on this trip, then you will respect this wish and swear not to harm him."

Chamomile wailed mournfully, "You're an absolute bore!"

"Agree," said Micah, shoulders squared, glowering up at his sister.

"Fine," snapped Ingrid. "I swear we won't try to harm him." Her eyes glinted.

"Physically or emotionally," Micah added.

Ingrid's shoulders sagged slightly. "Physically or emotionally."

"Milady!" cried Chamomile. "Must I?"

"Yes," said Ingrid.

Andrew snaked past the arguing Folk and climbed down into the driver's seat as Micah lectured his sister on needing more from her than a ceasefire. "Metaphors don't work on me. There have been no weapons fired," she was saying.

He glanced at the apartment and wondered if Sam was right, if going on this trip was insanity.

"It probably is," he muttered. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned over the engine, making a point about the delay being caused by the two faerie women.

Shortly after him, Micah dropped into the passenger seat, unsmiling, a vein visible in his temple. "I'll pay for everything for the car," he said, not looking at him. "Gas, a tune up when we're back, any emergency repairs from the wear and tear. And I'll also go bring your cat upstairs if you want. But when she's with me and Chami, she won't get spooked very easily. They'll both probably be fine." Micah stared at the seedlings from the ash tree on the windshield.

Andrew answered him with silence, watching in the rearview mirror as the faeries climbed onto the bench behind him. Chamomile helped Fadil into the shelf behind the seat against the rear windshield. He promptly began bathing himself. Arwen climbed onto the armrest between the front seats, sniffing Andrew's elbow, mewing softly. He glanced in question at Micah.

Micah looked up from the cat and then shrugged. "She just wants pets." He scratched her between the ears, down the neck and between her shoulder blades.

"All right." Andrew buckled himself in, shifted into reverse, and glanced at Micah and the women behind him. With a faint smile at Micah, Andrew said quietly, "Let's go save your dad."

Andrew was told to get on 35-E Northbound, and soon they were speeding along in the leftmost lane leaving the cities behind, bound for North Dakota. Chamomile was braiding small sections of her hair, while Arwen furiously chewed on a silvery blonde strand. In the slanting, dim light of the car, the sage-green undertones of Chamomile's skin were more apparent. Fadil was asleep with his head on Arwen's back. Next to her, Ingrid was still as a marble statue, staring out her window with an unreadable expression.

"By the way," Andrew said, "where are we going?"

"Oh," said Micah. "Sorry. It's just a vague answer so I've been avoiding it. It's my Fae side, I guess."

"Or you're just lazy," said Chamomile, kicking the back of his chair.

Ignoring her, Micah said, "We're going pretty close to the coast of Washington. It's in the Hoh rainforest. We get into her domain through Lake Sylvia State Park."

"Washington has a rainforest?"

"Yeah. But technically, the Fae territory there doesn't exist. Not since she sealed off the Redwoods that grew there so humans couldn't cut them down for lumber. She allied with the Native Quileute population out there—albeit briefly—and their shamans lent her some magic to help with the ritual."

"For such a seemingly wicked ruler," said Andrew, "that's certainly no small conservationist feat."

"I think it actually created a lot of the resentment that the Redwood Queen has toward humans, though," said Chamomile. "She turned her back on compassion or mercy for bitterness and cruelty because she was angry at what humans have done to the planet."

Andrew glanced in the mirror as the goblin pulled Arwen up against her shoulder and nuzzled the cat with her cheek. He asked, "You've heard of the Redwood Queen?"

Chamomile raised a white eyebrow. "Everyone's heard of the Redwood Queen."

"Huh. She wasn't in any of my books."

"She destroys the texts that mention her," said Ingrid. "As well as their authors."

"The historian in me weeps," Andrew remarked.

"That's what tyrants do," Ingrid said. "That's always what tyrants do. Lest the better rulers turn on them and end the cruel practices that serve them. Like her human hunts." She twitched, her neck and shoulder folding toward each other as she said with a darkened eye, "I was there when we captured Julian. I saw the moment he realized all his friends were dead. That he was about to die a different kind of death."

Micah's fingers curled around his knee hard enough that his knuckles blanched.

"She's not just apathetic," Ingrid finished. "She's sadistic."

"I didn't realize you dislike her as well," said Andrew.

"I have decades of reasons to hate her," admitted Ingrid.

"Is that why you left and came to Lilydale?"

Ingrid was silent for a moment. "No. I left for Micah."

Micah smiled, but the expression was bittersweet. Chamomile had been right, when she'd said last month that Ingrid would do anything for him. He'd known that, but in a way that he took it for granted, treated it like a given. Now that seemed selfish of him. She dropped everything to come with him even though she didn't think going back to the Redwoods was a good idea. She was even sort of obliging him about Andrew, and had stopped actively antagonizing him.

"Wait, wouldn't that make you two a prince and a princess?" Andrew asked.

Ingrid scoffed. "I was called the Ruby Daughter."

"More lately, the Goth Queen of Lilydale," giggled Chamomile.

"I don't even know what a goth is."

"You don't need to," said Chamomile, poking Ingrid's cheek. "You're living it."

Andrew glanced at Micah. "What was your title?"

He stared out the windshield as if Andrew hadn't spoken. The silence was thick and awkward for a few breaths and bumps of the car over potholes in the road. Andrew tapped his thumb on the wheel, regretting the question.

Softly, Ingrid answered for him, "The Redwood Queen didn't allow the use of any titles for Micah. If anything, people called him halfling."

Andrew shook his head. "But she had you intentionally. Why would she then dishonor you like that?"

Micah remained silent and frozen but for a very faint shrug of one shoulder.

"That's why he's my Nightshade Boy," said Ingrid. Her white hand snaked around the back of Micah's seat and tugged on his earlobe. The gesture shook him loose; he pulled his head out of her reach and managed a faint smile. Ingrid explained, "People overlook him, but at their own peril."