7. The Ward

"Here," said Micah, reaching into a small paper bag and hooking his finger through a copper chain. He lifted out a necklace with a vial dangling from it that was a bit shorter than Andrew's pinky. Squinting against the beams of sunlight trying to blind him, he explained, "Chami and I came up with a variant of a géas that should work on me."

They sat at a small metal table on a patio which was wedged onto a cordoned off city street between two cafes. The temperature was just a hair above chilly, the sun bringing a blanket of warmth as it rose into a cloudless sky. By all means, it was the kind of day that kept Minnesotans around even through the winters that transformed the Twin Cities into a frozen wasteland.

Micah was wearing a floral button-up rolled to his elbows and fastened to his throat, making Andrew in a striped polo look shabby by comparison. Even if he'd been dressed nicer, though, he was still no match for Micah's striking features and his sun-soaked amethyst eyes. It put to rest any brief notion Andrew had of rejecting Micah after their trip to the bluffs. He simply couldn't entertain the possibility of never seeing him again.

Their skinny waitress set down enormous fluffy pancakes in front of Micah and a vegetable omelet in front of Andrew, and then refilled Micah's coffee cup. Micah gave the waitress a bright smile of gratitude, making her giggle and shove her glasses up her nose. Andrew snorted under his breath. He lifted his own mug and sipped experimentally before making a face and setting it aside.

"Not good tea?" Micah asked as he blew on his coffee and took a sip.

"Most restaurants don't offer good tea," Andrew said. "This place might seem posh, but it's no exception." He cringed, embarrassed to show his tea snob side.

"Oh. Well, you should come and test mine. My shop has twenty-six loose leaf blends," said Micah, puffing with pride.

"I should warn you," Andrew said, pausing before a bite of omelet, "not even your cute face will make me lie about tea."

Coffee mug in both hands, Micah blinked, grinning crookedly. "You think I'm cute?"

Andrew daintily wiped his lips and cleared his throat. "Anyway. Why would a faerie help you with this? Especially after I stuck a sword in her face. I did less than that last time I was up there and got five years of terror for my trouble."

Micah cocked his head.

Andrew grimaced. "It was all a misunderstanding."

"All right then," said Micah with a raise of one dark eyebrow, "keep your secrets."

"Frodo." Andrew grinned. "Nice."

"Anyway, I've known Chami for ages, and as unhinged as she is, she's never steered me wrong or turned me down when I've asked for help," Micah explained. "So it doesn't matter how she feels about you. Plus, I don't actually think she cares that you stuck a sword in her face. She probably thought it was entertaining."

With a slight nod, Andrew gestured to the necklace that lay on the edge of the table near Micah's arm. "Can I see it?"

Micah picked it up and draped it across Andrew's palm. Burgundy liquid sloshed against a tiny stone and a stained blossom within the small glass tube, which was wrapped in coiled copper and looped onto the chain.

Twisting off the little cork stopper, he wafted the vial under his nostrils. It smelled coppery, a bit like potpourri, and something…wilder, something more like a feeling than an object. Andrew popped the cork back into place. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

Micah nodded and explained, "It's made to ward against me and any powers I might use to affect you by using my blood like a blueprint." Micah unfolded a piece of crumpled paper dense with a spidery scrawl that seemed to be a numbered list. "Basically, we did some science fiction shit to my blood with copper and electrodes, and then combined it with some magical shit like a chunk of iron, some tourmaline for protection, and a rowan blossom. It gave me hives when I touched it, so I think that's a good sign?"

Blowing out his cheeks, Andrew raised his brows and said, "Blimey. How long did this take you?"

Micah scratched his cheek. "Oh, I don't know."

Andrew waited, tapping his fingers on his arm.

With a grimace, Micah said, "All right, I mean, I was up all night, but it's really not a big deal. I have plenty of other opportunities to sleep."

"That's sweet." Andrew smiled.

Silent, Micah blushed deeply.

Andrew lifted the necklace, fumbling with the clasp, pricking his short thumbnail as he unhooked it. His fingers tangled with his hair as he tried to put it around his neck. Frustration and embarrassment forced a little growl from him.

"Here." Micah stood and edged around the table. Crouching, he lifted Andrew's hair gently out of the way and draped it over his shoulder. Then he placed his hands over Andrew's and pinched the clasp so the necklace clicked easily into place.

All Andrew would have to do was turn his head for his lips to brush against the muscled column of Micah's neck. The vial bounced against the hollow of his throat as Micah's fingers tickled the nape of his neck, falling beneath the curtain of his hair.

Smelling blooming lilacs and freshly-cut grass, Andrew caught his breath to trap the scent in his lungs while Micah leaned back and fixed him with his concerned violet gaze.

"What's wrong?" murmured Micah.

Andrew curled his fingers into fists to stop himself from reaching for Micah. "You don't need Fae charm to take my breath away."

The corners of Micah's rosy lips curled. He glanced down to where his hands still rested along the slopes of Andrew's shoulders. Andrew was lean, but firm muscles twitched under Micah's palms. Micah caught his lower lip between his teeth and then whispered, "Can I kiss you?"

When Andrew gave him a faint nod, honey-stained eyes wide and color on his high cheeks, Micah tilted his head and leaned close, touching their lips together. Micah cupped Andrew's cheek in his palm, holding his breath lest he break the spell that hung between them, sweet and intimate as it was.

Moving away with a sigh, Micah dropped back into his chair, blushing from his neck to his forehead and wearing a silly grin. He took a hurried bite of pancake and then said around it, "I did not come here planning that, just so you know."

"I believe you," Andrew said breathlessly, taking a sip of his tea and immediately grimacing as the taste soured his tongue and overwhelmed the mulberry sweetness from Micah's lips. "Damn." He set his spoon on the rim of the cup so he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Micah kept staring at his pancakes, his smile slowly fading. Somber, Micah looked up and said, "It's important that you know that it isn't in my nature to be deceptive. Literally."

Andrew blinked. Then he nodded faintly. "All right."

"I was evasive with you only because I wasn't sure you knew about the Folk. I have a duty to protect Lilydale's residents. And obviously I'm not in the habit of confessing that I'm not human."

"I understand," Andrew said with a nod. "I feel similarly about Sam. He didn't mean to run into a faerie up there. And I want to make sure nobody from Lilydale will bother him like they have me."

Micah shook his head. "Sam will be fine. Chami won't bother him. She hardly ever leaves Lilydale."

Picking at his cuticle, Andrew remained otherwise motionless as he said seriously, "Understand, though, that if anyone tries to charm Sam again, I won't stay my hand."

Micah didn't flinch. "Understood."

"Which leads me to another question," said Andrew.

"Shoot."

Eyes fixed on Micah's handsome face, Andrew wondered where to look to tell if Micah was reacting. If he flinched, or tried to lie. "You did use Fae charm on me at the Squire. Right?"

Micah nodded, combing his fingers through his jewel-bright hair. He squirmed, but he held Andrew's gaze.

The confession was…comforting, oddly. A cool breeze on his face. Everything was out in the open now. Andrew asked, "Did you do it on purpose?"

Humorlessly, Micah laughed and shook his head. "I don't know how to use magic on purpose."

"Then what happened?"

"My best hypothesis is that I wanted to kiss you so bad that it turned into a physical influence," Micah said, dropping his head in embarrassment.

Andrew caught a giggle in his throat, swallowing it for later, in private. "Aw."

"Ugh." Micah covered his face.

Chin in hand, grinning, Andrew basked in Micah's bashfulness. It was something to relish following the fear which had woken him after the night at The Squire. Sobering, he observed, "But you can lie. You're not fully Fae."

His face still crimson, Micah picked up his white ceramic mug of coffee, poured a bit more cream in it, and took a long drink. "Yup." He lifted the silver creamer cup. "Half n' half." He made a face like he'd bitten into a lemon. "My dad lives with me. He's Pakistani. And my mother…" Looking down, he set aside the creamer and stirred the coffee in silence.

With a too-bright smile, the waitress stepped up next to Micah and asked, "How is everything?"

Micah remained as he was, his thoughts elsewhere, staring at the table.

Andrew glanced up at her and said after a moment, "It's all perfect. Thanks." The waitress cast one more look at Micah, disappointed, it seemed, not to catch his eye. As she hurried off, Andrew gazed across the table at Micah, whose fingers curled into a fist on the table, knuckles blanched. Andrew reached over and touched the back of his hand. "I don't want to know."

When Micah looked up, his eyes were stormy and dark as wine. "What?"

"If your mum makes you feel like that, you don't have to talk about her. I get it. I promise."

Micah raked trembling fingers through his hair. He looked back up with a tremulous smile. "I invited you out so you can ask questions. I wasn't supposed to have stuff that was off-limits."

Andrew nodded slowly. "Parental trauma is different."

Micah picked at his pancakes with his fork. "I've never talked about any of it," he admitted.

"You should get a therapist," Andrew said sagely. "Then you can make off-color jokes about how shitty your mental health is, like I do."

"Noted." Micah grinned. "You're really cool with it?"

"Gallows humor? Absolutely."

Snorting, Micah glared at the sky and said, "My Fae half, you nerd."

"Well, does it make you want to hurt me?"

Incredulous, Micah declared, "No! What?"

"Then why would I care?"

The incredulous look didn't really fade. "I guess…I…"

With a sigh, Andrew explained, "I already knew about the Folk before we met. And I'm a nihilist."

"O—kay…?"

"That means I'm willing to take risks others may not. I'm ambivalent about death. If something is worthwhile to me, that's all I need to know."

"Ah. I see." Micah grinned. "Very romantic, aren't you?"

Andrew looked down. "I don't have any experience with romance," he said quietly, running the pad of his index finger around the rim of his dismal teacup.

Micah held out his hand across the table, palm up with an invitation. "That's okay." Andrew set his hand in Micah's and flushed when he squeezed him. "How can I show you I'm interested in you?"

Andrew's skin tingled. He stammered, "I-I don't really know."

Affection turning his tone sweet as strawberries, Micah said, "Look at that. I was beginning to think you never get nervous."

Embarrassed, Andrew started to pull his hand away, but Micah pressed down with his thumb. Andrew mumbled, "Oh, no. Attention makes me feel all turned around." When Micah remained silent, Andrew stole a glance at him.

Eyes dancing, Micah searched Andrew's face so carefully it made him squirm. Finally, he asked hopefully, "Can I take you on a real date?"

He nodded. "I'd like that."

Micah's grin made the sunlight seem dim by comparison.

Two curving steps led up to an old red door outside Amore Coffee on the corner of Smith. The sun glared down overhead at high noon, just like always when Micah met with Ingrid within the city limits.

The bell jangled when he pulled open the outer screen door. He went smiling up to the counter, scanning the room past the bar to see if he could catch a glimpse of Ingrid's curls. No such luck. Micah ordered a heart-shaped banana bread and an iced espresso and paid in cash he'd gotten from tips at the tea shop. The shop pulled him further and further in without any sign of his sister until he was around back from the bar where few patrons ventured. Back here, the conversations were hushed; there was no need to compete with the hiss of the milk steamer.

Scarlet eyes tracked him as soon as he came around the corner. His sister sat at a small round table, her blood-red lips curled in a smile as she held her small ceramic mug aloft in her long alabaster fingers. She was draped in a silky black shift that settled low on her chest beneath a necklace she made herself of a chunk of rough garnet set in aged bronze. Her burgundy curls were so tight they almost coiled, settling around her shoulders like a rusty corona that obscured the sharp tips of her ears. She wasn't actually very good at disguising her feelings and was obviously excited to see him, bobbing in her seat and suppressing a smile.

Guiltily, Micah dropped into the seat across from her and stuck his straw in his drink.

She set down her cup with the tiniest clink. "So, it takes a bargain with your lover for you to agree to see me?"

"Dude, Chami and I have been over for, like, a decade." Micah bit his banana bread and said with his mouth full, "Keep up, Red."

Ingrid scowled, her shoulders slumping, eyes on the food stuffed in his cheek like she wanted to reprimand his manners. Instead, she said emphatically, "Come back to Lilydale, Nightshade Boy."

Micah took his time responding, chewing slowly until the bread was mush in his mouth. It was mostly to provoke her. She lifted her fingers to fuss with her necklace but caught herself as if remembering when he'd teased her for being fidgety. Finally, Micah said, "I have a job."

"Which you don't need," said Ingrid.

"And my dad," Micah said. She looked away. She didn't share the same father as Micah, only their mother. Resting his chin in his palm, Micah said, "It would be easier to see you if every conversation didn't result in you demanding that I come to Lilydale. It's a bit tiresome."

"Tiresome?" she repeated, lip curled. "What's tiresome is that you spurn the place where I expected you to be with me when we left Washington together. I did not expect you to try so hard to avoid me. It makes me…" Her voice trailed off, but her expression was transparent, her eyes looking a little too glassy and forlorn, colored the pink of a sunset.

Micah shut his eyes with a sigh. "It's complicated, Ingrid." He looked past her out the windows and watched a couple walk by arm in arm. "But I'm afraid it's more complicated now. I'm…yeah…I'm afraid."

Scarlet eyes snapped back to Micah's face. She asked with dangerous stillness, "Who do I need to kill?"

He grinned. "Thanks, but it's me that I'm worried about. I don't—um, well, last month I met this guy and I charmed him on accident."

She blinked, and then her lips curved in a tight smile. The expression was too familiar, too like their mother. Micah looked away. "You gave me a fright," she said. "I thought something bad happened to you."

Grimacing, he took a swig of his drink. "I'm not excited about it, Ingrid. I never wished for this. I just want to be a normal person."

She scoffed.

"I know, I know. You can't relate. But if I can charm people, what if that's not all?"

Ingrid was quiet, using her canine tooth to scrape her painted lip.

He said after a moment, "Our mother had to know I wouldn't be powerless, but she always treated me like I was. When we left, I was ready to act like she was right."

Ingrid twirled a curl around her finger, frowning, letting it bounce into her cheek before curling it again.

"Is it any surprise that I've been so ready to deny my Fae side?" asked Micah. "When you think about it, both my parents wanted me to. Aren't you supposed to believe what your parents tell you?"

"I wish you wouldn't," she said quietly. "It isn't hard to smell the magic on you."

Micah blinked.

"And if your nature is awakening," she went on, fixing him with a pointed stare, "then wouldn't it be safest for you to be among the Folk?"

Sighing heavily, he slumped against the back of his chair and leaned his head back, glaring at the copper plated ceiling. "Ingrid, come on."

"No, you ‘come on!'" exclaimed Ingrid. "Why must you insulate yourself in the city? After growing up in the Redwoods—"

"This is the exact same argument we had five years ago," Micah snapped, sitting up, leaning across the table. "Why don't you hear me when I talk to you? I can't live like you. And also—" He gestured sharply and said with an edge to his voice, "Why exactly would I want to? I know how casually you all hand out Fae-spelled foods. You've got to know that based on how my dad was treated in the Redwoods, I'm not going to take kindly to that. Anything to say about that, Lady of the Bluffs?"

Ingrid's gaze cooled, shifting from warm scarlet to deep blood-red. "I am not responsible for the choices of greedy humans."

"That's lazy," Micah told her. Ingrid sat back. Her expression hardened. Sighing, Micah muttered, "Sorry."

"You're not like them," Ingrid said coldly. "Humans."

"I'm not like you, either," Micah said immediately.

"You're right." Ingrid narrowed her eyes. "You're a child."

Micah's mouth fell open. "You're petty!"

"What are you so afraid of?" Ingrid pressed. "What is so undesirable about being Fae?"

Picking at the lid on his cup, Micah thought about it. He'd never put it to words. He'd never thought he would have a choice to be more than human. "It's the Queen. What if power makes me as cruel as her?"

They faced each other in silence. Two decades of shared history with their mother crowded between them like an oily cloud of billowing smoke.

Finally, Ingrid said gently, "Hurting isn't the only way to be powerful. It was just our mother's way."

"Was she always like that?" he asked. "Or did the hatred grow in her?"

Ingrid frowned.

Micah shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's just better this way."

Rising with a sigh, she gazed down at him with disappointment. "Come and find me when you quit with the denial." Then she spun around and vanished into a sunbeam.