please don't kill any faeries, babe.

wolf

Wolf is scowling too when he shoulders out of the front door. Redhead catches his glowering attention for a moment, and he thinks to go after her -- even takes a step that way -- but then girl floating in the backseat catches his eye. He swerves away. Next time he looks the redhead is gone, and a fox is running into the house.

After all the other things he's seen and all the things he's still seeing, that's the least of his concerns.

Ursula gets somewhat unceremoniously squashed in the front seat as wolf flips that seat forward, climbs into the back. Cramped under the best of conditions, it's basically a sardine can when he squeezes in there. Sinks back with a grunt, all shoulders and thighs, hairy knuckles, pointed ears. Girl gets unbuckled, gathered up, pulled close. Only when they're pulling away from the house -- that madhouse -- does he shift back to his most manlike form.

There's breathing space in the backseat again. In the car, period. He gives Kenneth the address to the hotel. Ursula's apparently invited too.

--

Twenty minutes to get there. Nice little property in the burbs. Not exactly the Four Seasons, but solidly three-stars; the sort of thing midlevel business travelers might favor, with clean sheets and big desks and quiet elevators. Wolf's keycard lets them in a side door, which makes the business of carrying in a slightly-floating unconscious witch a little less dicey. Elevator whisks them up to top floor, which is still only eight.

Keycard lets them into their room too. Maid's been by and everything's all refreshed and neat. There's one big bed, which is where wolf lays his girl-with-the-eyes. Wouldn't think him capable of such tenderness but he is. He even tucks her in.

Then he pulls a couple bottles out of the minifridge. Ursula gets Coke. Kenneth gets beer. Wolf gets a bottle of water, which he chugs down thirstily.

"You back from la-la-land yet?" he wants to know of Ursula.

witch

Kenneth isn't asking questions, and isn't arguing, and isn't advising. There is a time for everything; wolves know this better than most, their bodies and spirits aligned to the seasons and the rhythms of the earth they are meant to protect. Theurges, perhaps, know it best of all. And Kenneth, young and inexperienced as he is, knows that now is the time to keep his mouth shut and drive.

Ursula isn't asking questions. She doesn't panic when she sees Rafael in that form, in part because she is still high. Or enchanted. Her eyes still sparkle. When he comes around he doesn't have to squash her or treat her rudely, even if he might want to; she fumbles with the door a bit, but she gets out so he can get in beside Devon.

Rafael catches her looking back at them, when she's back in. Mostly at Devon. She seems confused. But she doesn't say anything, either. At some point while they're driving, she has her arm along the door, her forehead on her arm, and underneath the soft rush of the air conditioning, it's possible that she is struggling not to cry.

Devon floats, though the seatbelt keeps her strapped in. About a quarter of the way to the hotel, all four of them start to see the world normally again: colors stay in one place. They don't see things that aren't supposed to be there anymore. The effect of whatever Conrad did to them with that incense (or those brownies) begins to fade.

Halfway to the hotel, it becomes clear that Devon has gradually been sinking. Her hair lays against her shoulders and the seat upholstery again. She's regaining gravity. She stirs when her body finally does settle against the seat, and she opens her eyes briefly. She's like a child on a long car ride, sensing somehow that she's near home, or an end point, or a bed.

She doesn't say anything. She shifts around a bit, tips to one side to lean on Rafael, and drifts off again.

--

At the hotel, she is able to walk, but only with help. She's not shaking, or shaken; she seems muted, exhausted beyond measure, barely able to hold onto Rafael. Perhaps he picks her up anyway. She doesn't fight him either way.

When he lays her down, she seems to be more or less returned to the waking world, but her eyes are flat, their color watery. She keeps closing them, drifting in and out. Ursula is similar, but not quite as drained. She sits down on the floor beside the bed where Devon is, evidently concerned. She is handed a Coke.

Kenneth is handed a beer, which seems to please him. He sits down closer to the window, giving them space.

Ursula looks up at Rafael, her brow furrowing. She blinks, seeming confused by his question, and doesn't answer for a moment, sorting out how she feels and what it means.

"...yes?" she eventually answers.

wolf

Wolf does not sit. He cannot sit. He is all tempest and turmoil, pacing the floor, slugging back his water like it's something much stronger. His eyes pin Ursula until she answers. And then he has another question:

"Are you for real? Are you a ... witch?"

witch

Ursula's brow stays furrowed. She nods. "...yeah. What else..."

She trails off. "What's going on? Did you come pick us up?"

She looks around. "Where's Conrad?"

wolf

He scowls. "You probably shouldn't see Conrad again."

That's all he has to say for the moment. Takes him a while to think of what else to say. How to say it.

"He's been doing something to you. Stealing something. Like a piece of your spirit or something. He called it your dreams, but I don't think he meant it literally.

"Or maybe he did. I don't know. But he did it to her too." He points: girl on the bed, barely able to keep awake. "So I need to know how you met him. And I need to know if you know who this 'Queen of Thistles' he talked about is."

witch

It's... a lot. Ursula stares at him. Then she pauses. Cracks open the Coke. She doesn't like Coke. She drinks it anyway. She tries to calibrate.

Closes her eyes and only talks when she's taken a long, steadying breath.

"I don't know what the Queen of Thistles is," she begins, because that one seems easiest, "and I met him at this Beltane group ritual... party... thing." She shrugs. "We just hit it off. The way people do."

Another drink of Coke. Across the room, Kenneth sips his beer. On the bed, Devon seems to be sleeping again.

"H...how would he steal something like that?" Ursula asks, looking up at Rafael again, looking stricken. "Why?"

There are tears in her eyes now. Again. It's a different sort of sparkle.

wolf

"I don't know how." He's still not sitting. Still not still. Moving, going to the window now, staring out. Glaring, really. "I don't even really know why. Except that he gets something from it. Hell, Kenneth here says he's some kind of fairy. So maybe it's like the fairytales. Sucks something out of you, gives him eternal youth."

He turns back. Comes across the room and sets down his emptied bottle.

"Who hosted the party?"

witch

Ursula has her head on her knees when Rafael turns around. Her arms are folded around her face. She's very quiet, but from the movement of her shoulders it's not hard to tell what's happening. Those choked little sounds. That tightly held pain, collapsing in on itself.

Still: he asks another question, and she tries to answer. She takes a shuddering breath and lifts her head, blinking away tears and wiping at her face, saying: "Just... the community, here. Witches and all."

Her throat closes up, and she lowers her head again, before a fresh onslaught of tears.

Behind her on the bed, Devon's eyes are open. She's looking at the back of Ursula's head, her hair stuck with twigs and leaves still. Devon's hand twitches. With apparently great effort, she reaches over and touches her friend's head. Wearily. Loosely. But trying to be comforting.

wolf

Must suck. Even he has the awareness to know that. Even he can take himself out of his own self for long enough to consider how it might feel, how he would feel, if he woke up somewhere and someone told him girl's not really his girlfriend, girl doesn't really love him, girl's just been draining his goddamn life-force or something like that.

Doesn't have it in him to comfort, though. Not right now. Ursula starts crying and he just turns away, angry and awkward, grimacing across the room at Kenneth.

Leaves her be for now. Goes over to where the Theurge sits. Stares out the window a little longer.

"He said something about being a knight of the Queen of Thistles," he says, low. "And she kicked him out. Probably because he's been doing this, and worse.

"Can you figure out who this Queen of Thistles is? Would your spirits know?"

witch

Kenneth is staying the fuck out of this. He is sipping his beer and hoping his stomach doesn't growl audibly while that poor girl is crying and the Ahroun in the room is mid-interrogation. Awkward.

He sets the beer down on the table and looks up. Thinks. Frowns. Then shrugs. "We could try," he says. "There may be spirits who know what's going on in faerie courts, but I don't know if they'd talk to me. But..." he hesitates on this, hoping it doesn't get him walloped: "why do you want to track down a faerie queen?"

wolf

"Because he's off the rails," wolf says -- and yes, it's a snap. "Because I don't trust him to control himself. Because I can't camp out here in Milwaukee fucking Wisconsin spying on him until he does this again or worse, and because I sure as fuck don't want to have to kill my girlfriend's new best friend's ex-boyfriend. I'm guessing you don't have a girlfriend yet," as though he had just all the romantic experience in the world, "but that sort of thing doesn't make for good relationship fodder.

"So maybe this fairy queen can rein him in. If she's already kicked him out, maybe she's not the sort who tolerates this sort of bullshit behavior."

witch

Kenneth's eyebrows raise. If he were in another form, his body language would be bristling but shrinking at once, a wolf tested but also recognizing a fight he won't win. It's not a comfortable place to be, but it only lasts for a flash, that first kneejerk of instinctive response.

When Rafael assumes he doesn't have a girlfriend, it's an entirely different sort of eyebrow raise. He leans back. He thinks.

"We can try, with spirits," he repeats, but he makes no promises more than that. "Or..."

His eyes flick to the girls briefly, then back to Rafael. He lowers his voice. "Maybe we could talk to that redheaded... fox... girl. She might not be any more forthcoming than Conrad, but she also wasn't waving around a silver sword."

wolf

Wolf stares. He glowers. He looks like he thinks this is the stupidest idea ever, and then

quite out of the blue

he barks a single laugh.

"You just want to see her tits again," he accuses. Pause. "Can you find her? Last I saw she was going back into the house."

witch

Kenneth shrugs to that. He doesn't deny it, but the truth is: he thinks it's a good idea.

And then he nods. "I think we can find her. Not with a stone, but I think we both got a pretty good whiff."

The faintest of smirks. And also: the faintest blush, which he hides with a drink of beer.

wolf

Maybe, just maybe, there's a hint of a smirk back. Which he promptly wipes off his face, "Yeah, admitting to that sort of thing is also bad relationship fodder.

"Go get the car. I'm gonna talk to them for a sec. Meet you downstairs."

On that note he parts from the young Theurge, going back to the bed. Ursula gets an awkward glance. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hand over girl's head.

"Hey," softly.

witch

"Good thing I don't have a girlfriend," he parries, but there's something to his tone that suggests he might have, like, four girlfriends. It's possible. He's too young to be thinking about things like staying with one wild-eyed girl forever, having a kid with her.

Truth be told, so is Rafael. Except for what he is. Except for how little time he might have. Except for... everything else.

Kenneth takes a swig of his beer. Well: he chugs the rest of it. No sense wasting it.

Fucking Fianna.

Then he gets up, wiping condensation off his palms on his jeans. "See you down there." He picks up the keys from the dresser as he goes. Devon doesn't even notice, doesn't realize this guy has been driving her car around and is about to continue to do so.

The door closes behind Kenneth. Ursula has turned towards Devon, sniffing, laying her head down. Devon seems slightly more awake, and the two girls are talking quietly, but not about faerie queens or fox-women. They quiet, as Rafael walks over. Ursula looks up at him, with some wariness, but he doesn't resume questioning her. Devon watches him as he sits down, and Ursula decides now is a good time to excuse herself, go wash her face, give them some privacy. She slips into the bathroom, shuts the door, and turns on the fan.

Devon closes her eyes as he touches her head. Opens them again, as though having them closed bothers her.

"I feel... depressed," she whispers, looking at the wall while he strokes her hair. "I feel empty."

wolf

Not exactly the sort of gentle, repeated stroking someone more adept at this sort of thing might do. Just a single heavy touch, his hand resting over her crown. He bends down to her. She doesn't look at him, but that's okay. He closes his eyes anyway, his brow to her temple.

"It'll be okay," he whispers, and the truth is he doesn't know if it's true. He's trusting in the word of a creature he doesn't trust. Not in the least. "Just stay here and rest. I'll be back soon."

witch

It's not the way her mum would stroke her hair, no. But it's the way Rafael touches her; it's his version of tenderness. So is the way he leans over her, covers her bodily, rests his head next to her head like an animal. That feels familiar. Comforting. Reminds her, in a dim and flickering way, what it feels like to love him and be loved by him. She sighs, sounding roughly as depressed as she said she feels, but ...closer, somehow, than she was a moment ago.

He tells her it will be okay; she can hear the uncertainty in his voice, but she thinks he's right. She's here, at least. She's with him, and he isn't frenzied. He isn't panicked. So at least something is okay. Then he says he'll be back soon.

Devon turns her head slightly, and now they are cheek to cheek, and she can't really see his eyes but she can see his eyelashes, long and dark and thick. She can smell him.

"What happened?" she whispers. "We were at this shop... Ursula knows the owner. We were in the backyard. We were... we were doing spells and..." the story is disjointed. Bewildering. "Conrad showed up. I was going to call."

Her eyes close, tightly, her brow furrowing. "I don't know why I didn't call. I don't remember what happened. There's just... flashes."

wolf

"I don't know," he murmurs. "I think he did something to you. Cast some sort of spell. Unlocked something in you, maybe, or kindled something. When I found you, you were floating in midair. You looked like you were unconscious. He looked like he was -- I don't know. Getting something from you. He kept talking about 'dreams'.

"I don't know," he finishes, weary, angry. "But I'm going to try to find out more. I'm going to try to find the one he answers to. I'm going to try to stop him from doing this to you, or anyone else."

Pause.

Softer still: "Do you want me to do anything for you? Do you want me to ... hurt him? Kill him?"

witch

She remembers some of what he tells her. Her brow smooths above her closed eyes when he mentions floating. She can still remember that feeling. That, too, is going away.

She opens her eyes when Rafael asks her if she wants him to --

"No," she murmurs, her brow furrowing, aching. "Ursula said... he's a faerie. A real one."

Devon shakes her head, her hair rustling on the hotel bedspread. "Please don't hurt him. Any of them. I don't... I don't think it was good. The way we think of good. But he didn't... he didn't hurt us."

She knows she just told him she barely remembers anything. Ursula told her she barely remembers. Ursula has also been going through this longer. Ursula also isn't a clairvoyant. Devon takes a steady breath, trying to center herself. It's hard. Her self feels small, and tired, and vulnerable right now.

"I don't remember a lot. But in the bits I can remember... I felt happy. More than happy. Euphoric."

Her voice trails off, a whisper again. The word is joyful; she sounds so sad.

"Please don't kill any faeries, babe. There can't be many of them left. Not in this world."

wolf

Wolf's laugh sounds like half a gasp, helpless and disbelieving. Lives in a world where witches and wolves are real, and even so that sentence sounds utterly surreal. Faeries. Real ones. Please don't kill any because there can't be many left.

He bends over her. He covers her with his body, his hands, his arms. He kisses her temple softly, fervently.

"Okay," he whispers back. "Okay, baby. I won't."

His arms unfold. He pushes up, pauses to pass his palm once more over her hair. "I'll be back," he says again, ending where he began. "We'll talk more."

witch

There is blood in her that remembers dark nights on empty moors, strange lights in the mist, and people who carried salt and iron in their pockets. There are parts of her soul that remember midsummer fires, dancing that would go on all night, and strange men and women from the woods who might visit, who might share their wine and their magic, leaving mortals to stumble home at dawn, their memories of the night fleeting and surreal.

These pieces of Devon are as real and as rare in this world as creatures like Rafael, one among thousands rather than one of seven billion. She thinks faeries, true ones, are perhaps rarer still. Right now especially, she is not sure what it would take for her to wish more of them to die out, to leave this world and take their wonder and strangeness with them. She is not sure what sort of world that would leave them with.

He covers her again. She closes her eyes again. She's so tired. She just nods to him.

--

Rafael leaves the hotel room, Do Not Disturb sign on the door and sturdy lock in place. Downstairs in the lot where they left it sits Devon's car, idling and AC cooling, with Kenneth behind the wheel again. He holds up the stone he had earlier, only now the hair wrapped around it isn't black; it's red.

Kenneth just grins. "Ready for a fox hunt?" he asks. And yes. He thinks he's very clever.

wolf

Snorts. Pretends like he isn't amused: "Just drive, smartass."

--

Out they go again. Away from that nice-but-boring hotel; down the arcing freeways of this little city. Maybe they go back to the house. Maybe they go lakeside. Maybe they go somewhere wholly new.

On the way there, wolf naps. Reclines in the seat and pillows his head on the seatbelt. Dozes for a little while, waking when the car slows to a stop.

wolf

Snorts. Pretends like he isn't amused: "Just drive, smartass."