The Further Adventures of a Grouchy Fae

Sonny

“I haven’t heard Jenny in almost two days now,” Claude said to me during breakfast.

It was the seventeenth of June. Only a few days left until the solstice ritual needed performing and even fewer until I had to leave for my meeting with Dr Sorrel.

My heart was aching. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay here forever with Claude. Wake up with him every morning. Get gently fucked into the mattress as he stroked my hair and told me how pretty my asshole was as he came apart above me. Head down for breakfast, watch him eat three portions of eggs royale while I stuffed my face with vegetarian bacon and glazed doughnuts. Mess about all day in the library, and the lab, and the allotment. Have the most amazing meals cooked for me each evening by two wonderful sentry fae. And then at night, get tied up, eaten out, and fucked furiously before falling asleep in Claude’s arms.

I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t have a choice. Right?

“Hmm?” I poked at my pancakes. My breakfast was lighter on fresh fruit than previous breakfasts, which was strange, because my body was craving fruit—watermelon and pineapple in particular—and Oggy and Willow hadn’t yet failed to sate my cravings.

Claude cleared his throat. “I said, Jenny’s been silent. I haven’t heard the house say anything since the night before last.”

“Oh, that is odd,” I said.

“Happens every time,” John said from across the dining room. “Every year before the summer and winter solstices the magic sort of dries up and the grass goes all brown, and the food gets”—he made a bleurgh sound and stuck his tongue out—“and the soil dries up. It’ll be fine in a few days though. Once old matey boy here does the rhizome ritual, order will be restored. Everything will be well again.”

My gaze fell outside the window, to the browning lawns. It had been hot and dry recently, but it made sense the dying land was connected to the house’s waning magic. The Wi-Fi and phone signal were non-existent. Luckily, I had already booked my taxi to Agaricus Station, my train tickets to Onyxshire and then to Remy, and had RSVPed by email to Dr Sorrel.

Claude puffed out a long sigh. I knew he was panicking about learning the lightning magic, but I wasn’t worried.

If I was being completely honest with myself, I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t. Because if he couldn’t learn it, I’d have no other option but to stay behind and help him. We’d created the lightning glamour together before, so at least there was a plan B.

It would take away my choice. “Sorry, Dr Sorrel, Claude needs me more.”

I wanted him to need me.

I wanted it to ease the guilt I felt about leaving. Which was absurd. I shouldn’t feel guilty about leaving. I was doing the right thing. For everyone. Well, everyone except Claude. And I was following my dreams.

“But I can’t hear Jenny anymore,” Claude said, pulling me out of my reverie.

John shrugged. “That always happens, too. Your father used to leave it until the very last second to arrive at Stinkhorn Manor. That way, the house would already have gone quiet and he wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

I wish I knew what Claude was thinking... feeling about this whole situation. Me leaving, him staying, being in two different countries, thousands of miles apart. Every time I asked him about it, he would come back with, “But you must go to Remy. You belong there.” Or some variation on the same line. I was too much of a coward to ask him how he felt about me. I wanted him to beg me to stay.

I would. In a heartbeat.

“Can I ask you something?” Claude spared me a look, one I couldn’t recognise, making my heart skitter all over the place. Had he somehow known what I was thinking? He pushed his chair back and crossed the room to where John was sitting. I guessed the question wasn’t for me. “What was my father like?”

That caught me off guard. John seemed to have no reaction.

“He was...” John thought for a moment and Claude sat opposite him. “I don’t know if you’ll want to hear this, but he was very well respected and well, rather beloved. He was funny. Drier than a mummy’s ass crack. Had me in stitches every time he visited. He was generous too, always brought gifts from the far reaches of the Eight and a Half Kingdoms. And he looked just like you, or rather, you look just like him, except he had a big, bushy, copper beard.”

“Did... he ever talk about me?” Claude asked.

I sucked in a breath and drew a chair up beside Claude. Under the table I reached my fingers across to Claude’s, but I didn’t take his hand. I only wanted to let him know I was there for him. If he needed me.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his fingers around mine.

“Often,” John said, and both Claude and I gasped. That was not what I’d expected him to say.

“Really?” Claude said, in as much disbelief as I was.

“Have you ever read any of his books?” John asked.

Claude shook his head. “I... couldn’t bring myself to.” He looked at me. “Have you?”

“Yes, all of them,” I admitted.

“So, you know why he was always away from the house. Why he was on his quests. You know what he was searching for.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but it felt like I was being tested on my knowledge.

Of course I had read Angus Stinkhorn’s books: The Adventures of a Grouchy Fae, , The Discoveries of a Grouchy Fae, and Yet Even More Adventures of a Grouchy Fae Despite the Fact You’re Probably Bored Stiff of Them Already. But I’d read them long before I’d known how important his son would become to me.

“He was looking for glamour,” I said, keeping my voice as quiet as possible.

But the books had never detailed the specifics of the glamour, or whether Angus had been successful in his search.

“Your father was looking for a way to keep the house alive, without the need for the ritual. He didn’t want to pass on his burdens to his son. He didn’t want you to be tied to such a restrictive life as he was, as his father before him.”

“Oh,” Claude said, nodding his head so slowly I wasn’t sure it could even be considered nodding.

“Listen, I’m not trying to justify his shitty behaviour as a father, or husband. I’m only telling you what you ought to know. He never found what he was looking for. And here you are, stuck in the same position as he was.”

Claude ran his thumb over the edge of the table. He was still nodding. “How long have you lived here, John?”

“I’m just renting a room,” he replied, but the smile that curved the corner of his mouth told me Claude was onto something, that John was being rumbled.

“How long?” Claude said.

“Sixteen years.”

Claude sucked in a breath and leaned forward in his seat. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, but it was a stop bullshitting me right now one.

John smiled, his tongue popped out. “I have notepads in my room. Hundreds, spanning back a long time—a very long time. I have a lot of notes about your father, too, if you’d ever like to flick through those.”

Claude looked at me, and I knew without him having to say anything what that look meant. He was saying, “I’m not interested in reading them, but you, Sonny, are more than welcome to take a look.”

I thanked him by squeezing his fingers tightly. He squeezed mine back.

“John, is there anything in your notes that might tell us about the rhizome ritual?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. Angus was very particular that no one other than his current flame could be present during the ritual.”

“Thank you.” Claude dropped my hand, pushed his chair back, and got to his feet. “And you’re wrong.”

John was still smirking. “How so?”

“I’m not stuck here. I’m honoured to be the one to continue the ritual. I’m not my father.” He walked towards the door. Not aggressively, but in a way that told both John and me he would not invite any further questions about his loyalty to Jenny or his duties.

I offered John a polite nod and followed Claude out of the breakfast hall.

“Three thousand and eleven,” John said. We stopped in our tracks. “That’s how many years I’ve been here. But only sixteen under my current guise. I can’t seem to leave this place either.”