spying on faeries.

Rafael

His hair is ruffled. Earlier, it was scritched. He pretends to grumble. She probably sees through it. She grabs her things and he settles back, sitting on the mattress edge to watch her go.

Wants to tell her to be safe. Knows that's insane. Says nothing; just smiles a little, crookedly, as she tells him she'll text him about lunch.

Door opens. Shuts. His eyes fall to the floor; he listens as her footsteps recede.

And then: he crosses. Slips across the gauntlet. Thinner here than in Denver. City's a little smaller. They're out in the burbs. On the other side he takes another form, slipping his skin and becoming a wolf. Stark white, long-muzzled, thick-shouldered. Fur's shorter in the summertime, but still a throwback to his ancestral home in cold lands. He takes a moment to get his bearings, and then he runs: steady and swift, heading downtown, heading toward the lakefront and its highrises, heading for a certain rich boyfriend's haunts.

Spying. Shamelessly.

enchantment

The gauntlet is, in fact, almost shockingly thin. He knew it would be easier here, some distance from the city center, their hotel surrounded by trees and residential neighborhoods. But it is even simpler than he expected, just in this room: an after-effect, perhaps, of being in his witch's presence.

Doesn't feel like her magic, though, when he crosses over into the shadow-version of their hotel room, which is hazy and mutable due to its relative newness. It's unfamiliar. It doesn't feel wrong to him, any more than anything unfamiliar feels wrong to him. It doesn't feel benevolent or malicious, really. Just... strange. He can almost hear --

-- but no. There's no music playing here. Just the strangest sensation that a little while ago, there was. Like stepping into a concert hall in that brief pause between the last vibration of a harp-string and the answering applause of the audience.

Rafael shakes it off. He runs lakeside. He runs to that gleaming tower by the water, which really does gleam and sparkle in the penumbra. And the closer he gets to that high-rise apartment of Conrad's, the more it sparkles. It almost feels tempting to stay here, just absorbing how beautiful the world looks from this angle.

Rafael's mind's eye tugs at him, pulling his gaze to the east, imagining what this all looked like hundreds of years ago, before the city was a city, before this country was a country, when the only people living here did not till the soil and herd livestock but hunted, gathered, roamed. Avoided this area when it was cold, came back when it was fertile. There would have been wolves then, too: more of them, though not his kind. His people, all the same.

His mind wanders. It takes effort to make himself focus again.

Conrad's apartment is... empty. He cannot find the man himself in evidence. The smell of him, sure, the annoying prettiness and finery of the place, but not Conrad himself.

Rafael

Empty. No one here. Smell still lingers. That, and that sense of ... what? Wonderment. Music, just out of earshot. Wolf remembers what girl said earlier, I hear music. Something like that anyway. He sniffs at the air. The ozone smell of the penumbra; the scent of water and greenery and summer and that annoyingly rich bastard. His mind is feral like this, difficult to pull to abstract places. He has trouble thinking about befores and afters; no trouble at all thinking of the now.

Little trouble with social mores, too. Feels rather little guilt as he pushes out of the umbra, lands four-pawed on Conrad's living room floor. Sniffing again, nose to the hardwood. Sniffing here, there, chasing scents all over that fancy apartment. Looking for anything out of place, anything that might strike a nerve wrong, somehow.

enchantment

The gauntlet is thin here, too. He pushes against that spiritual membrane and finds himself slip through as though crossing the surface tension of a bubble. It's just like it was in the hotel room, if not moreso. His paws hit the floor heavily, drive by momentum he did not realize he would not need.

In some ways, this bachelor's pad smells very much like Rafael's. Someone who may live more or less simply, but who has fine things nonetheless. If he were in another shape, it would seem almost familiar, but in his current form, the differences are striking: Conrad is no wolf. Conrad is not some dead, crawling thing pretending to walk around like a living man. Rafael can't find evidence of Wyrm taint.

Good wine in the little beverage fridge set into the counter. Good cheese in the real fridge. Fresh, organic fruit in the bowl on the counter. High-end cologne, more hair products than Conrad likely wants people to know he uses. Sparkling clean, because he has someone to do that for him. Just like he has someone to buy his fruit and wash his car and, well, do all the things that Rafael has people to do for him, as well.

The bookshelves are filled with, primarily, European history and various mythologies. There's a whole section of fantastical fiction, most of it actually geared quite young: maybe the books of a young Conrad, losing himself in imaginary places. Coffee table books of charming landscapes and medieval paintings and the like. Nothing seems off. Nothing seems evil.

Something different, though. Unlike anything he's ever smelled before, because it doesn't seem to have its own smell. First he thinks it's the wine, or the cheese, leading him back to the fridge. Whatever it is smells intoxicating. Alluring. A little hard to pin down. A lot hard to pin down, actually: by the time he finds where it's coming from, he's dug around in the fridge to the very back of a shelf, where he finds a few little dram-sized vials. The liquid inside is clear, but that is where the smell is coming from.

Or the feeling. It's... a feeling, he realizes, as he gets closer to the vials. It's almost like a scent, but not quite.

It reminds him of Devon.

Reminds him of yesterday morning, kissing the top of her head, trying to smell her scentless hair and scalp, after she did her reading.

Rafael

Not much room for critical thought here. Only instinct. He doesn't think twice; barely even thinks.

Just grabs one of those vials in his teeth. Crosses back to the other side. Heads back toward the outskirts, the hotel.

So yes, in other words: steals one and runs the fuck away.

enchantment

No alarms sound. No bells ring, no lights flash. He takes one of the vials, dashes back through the gauntlet, and runs back to the hotel.

It's still at least a couple of hours til Devon promised she'd text him, maybe make lunch plans. The hotel room is exactly as he -- and she, his comet of a girl -- left it, her clothes and belongings scattered across the floor, the surfaces, the bathroom counter.

And now him.

And the vial.

Rafael

Just him. And the vial. And the messy, messy room.

Wolf rises up into his man-shape. Sits on the bed. Holds that little vial between his hands, frowning, thinking. Starts to uncork it. Stops. Sniffs at it from the outside, gingerly, then lowers it.

Picks up his phone. Taps:

Conrad with you guys?

enchantment

There's not an immediate answer. After a couple of minutes he sees the dots telling him that Devon is replying.

And then her message pops up.

And it's an emoji:

😒

So... she's mad?

There's more dots. Then another message:

no, babe. like I said.

A pause.

Another message:

maybe seven times.

Which would end on a rather tense note, if not followed by a fourth and final response:

💙 you. please chill.

Rafael

Need to talk to you about him, comes the near-immediate response. Just you.

enchantment

A couple of minutes go by without response.

Then, his phone rings. Her picture pops up: did he put it there? Or did she steal his phone and put a selfie in her contact card? It hardly matters. Either way, there she is, smirking at him with those unreal eyes of hers, that smattering of freckles, that intense makeup that for some reason he likes so much.

When he picks up, he can hear her take a breath, then she's saying:

"Babe? Are we in, like... immediate danger?"

Rafael

Hesitation.

"I don't know."

Another beat.

"Don't think so. Just found something weird and need to talk to you. In person. So I can explain." He thinks a little longer. "You don't have to come back. Just as long as he's not there."

enchantment

Perhaps she hears that hesitation, because she doesn't say anything in that beat, that silence between answers. She waits.

"All right," she says, when he's done. "We can talk later about it." There's a pause on her end, too. Something is wrong, but it doesn't smack of Conrad or any of that. Feels more like standing in the hallway with her outside his apartment yesterday. Not as angry. Maybe frustrated.

Perhaps sad.

He hears her sigh.

"If he shows up," she says quietly, "I'll let you know. And if you think we're in real trouble, you let me know. But... if neither of those happen, can you just let me spend some time with Ursula?"

This pause is shorter. Smaller. And her voice is softer:

"This is important to me, Rafa."

Rafael

This time the pause is on his end. Something like a sigh, too.

"Yeah," he says. Quieter: "Sorry. Talk more later."

The call ends. Phone goes dark in his hand. He thinks a moment, then dials.

Avery's cell. Waits for it to ring. Then:

"I'm up in Milwaukee. Need to talk to a Theurge. Know anyone?"

enchantment

"S'all right," Devon tells him quietly, when he says he's sorry. She doesn't say things like that often. She wouldn't say it just to be nice. Just like he doesn't say he's sorry just to say sorry, just because it's expected, just because she might want him to. They mean what they say.

"I get it," she adds, because that's true, too. He says they'll talk more later. There's almost a nonverbal nod of agreement included when she says: "Love you."

The call ends. The air conditioning in the hotel room kicks on. And he, sitting with a vial of something he damn well knows is magical, thinks a bit about what to do. Then he calls Avery. And a couple of rings later, he hears her somewhat breathless voice.

She, of course, sounds delighted to hear from him, because she is. He can hear, however, an undercurrent of weariness and reticence. It is his only signal that she is struggling today, that perhaps she is in one of her more private places to hide from the world, and a total stranger would not hear it. He does. He has not been a stranger for a long time now, and he is one of the few in her life who might truly understand how hard she fights to overcome her madness. That she does so for the sake of her pack, for her mate, her family, for their people at large, and for Gaia.

"Rafael!" she says, as happily as one could hope to be greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's in Milwaukee, needs a Theurge. There is a break in the conversation there, where he has to assure her that he's uninjured, that his mate is well, that the need for a Theurge is not currently life-threatening, because Avery worries. Then:

"Hmm. Let me think. Could you hold for just a moment?" and there's silence for a bit while she scrolls through her contacts. Then her voice in his ear again: "I'm going to make a call. Stay with your phone, old sport."

A sudden burst of laughter: "I don't know why I just said that. I've been re-reading Gatsby. Anyway, you'll hear from someone soon. If not, I'll give you a ring back."

She hangs up. And it's a bit later when his phone rings again, several minutes. The number that flashes up on his screen is unknown. When he picks up, a different voice, male, sounding somewhat young:

"Um, hi. Is this Rafael..." hesitation, a rustle of notepaper: "Van der Valk?"

Rafael

They have never spoken about their tribe's great failing, he and his alpha. Haven't mentioned it, haven't alluded to it, haven't even really acknowledged it to one another in private or in public. Both know it's there, though. He knows there are days she can't bear to face to world. She knows he wonders if this ferocious territoriality, this tendency to grasp onto a house, a church, a patch of land and ward it against all who come might be a shadow of some greater madness still on the horizon.

They are both, in the end, still young, their blood not so choked with purity. But the wolves of Falcon's tribe burn like meteors in the sky, so brilliant, so brief.

He doesn't mention the weariness in her voice today either. He listens, mostly. He thanks her. She hangs up. He waits in the hotel room, restless, going to the window to look out, lying down on the bed a moment or two before getting up again. His phone rings. He picks up.

"Yeah," is his reply, short. Realizes a moment later he should say more: "You the Crescent-Moon?"

enchantment

"Yeah," echoes the voice, less short, more thoughtful. "Name's Kenneth." There's an awkward little pause. "So I'm in Milwaukee. You want me to meet you somewhere?"

Another beat of hesitation, then: "Actually, what is it you need? In case I need to prepare anything."

Rafael

"Don't know what I need," wolf says, which is the truth. "Got this ... vial of something. Trying to figure out what it is. Feels magical. Smells like ... no, feels like someone I know."

enchantment

"...huh."

That's what Kenneth says, after a moment. Then, rousing himself: "Cool. Um. Yeah. Where should I meet you?"

enchantment

"Yeah. Sure."

He doesn't sound sure. But he doesn't sound wary, or defensive. Just young. He gives Rafael the address, which is south of where Rafael is, outskirts, but not too far.

When he gets there, it turns out to be a trailer park. Relatively nice trailers, not terribly run-down, but it isn't where Milwaukee's elite or their best and brightest hang their hats. Down at the very end of one of the branching offshoots of the main road of the park is a rather old Winnebago. Vintage, if you want to be charming. It has rust spots here and there, yellow W stripes on the side, and an awning rolled out. Underneath that awning is a miniature lawn, real grass rather than astroturf, and a plastic Adirondack chair. There's a bicycle chained up to one of the posts of the awning.

The door of the Winnebago opens up and out comes a kid -- well. He isn't a kid. None of them are kids after they Change. He's named and ranked because Avery would send Rafael to a neighboring town rather than have him get help from an untested cub she did not know personally and quite well. But the guy coming out of the RV is on the young side, maybe just a year or so out of Fosterage, maybe not even old enough to have voted last year.

His jeans are old, but not torn or threadbare. His sneakers are cheap, but not falling apart. His hair is on the long side, but not greasy or unkempt. His eyes are green and tawny: a bright and cheerful hazel. His hair is light brown, but when he steps into the sunlight it catches the red-gold hiding in there. He has no freckles, but a tan that is part genetics, part summer.

His t-shirt features a T-rex playing arcade Asteroid.

When he steps out, he glances at Rafael's car, which is actually Devon's car, but it's still nice enough that the kid notices. He doesn't shy away, though. Walks over, offering his hand. "Hey, I'm Kenneth. Rafael?" A beat. "Yuf?"

Rafael

"I'll come to you. Got more of what you might need where you are, right?"

enchantment

[DLP! mine!]

enchantment

"Yeah. Sure."

He doesn't sound sure. But he doesn't sound wary, or defensive. Just young. He gives Rafael the address, which is south of where Rafael is, outskirts, but not too far.

When he gets there, it turns out to be a trailer park. Relatively nice trailers, not terribly run-down, but it isn't where Milwaukee's elite or their best and brightest hang their hats. Down at the very end of one of the branching offshoots of the main road of the park is a rather old Winnebago. Vintage, if you want to be charming. It has rust spots here and there, yellow W stripes on the side, and an awning rolled out. Underneath that awning is a miniature lawn, real grass rather than astroturf, and a plastic Adirondack chair. There's a bicycle chained up to one of the posts of the awning.

The door of the Winnebago opens up and out comes a kid -- well. He isn't a kid. None of them are kids after they Change. He's named and ranked because Avery would send Rafael to a neighboring town rather than have him get help from an untested cub she did not know personally and quite well. But the guy coming out of the RV is on the young side, maybe just a year or so out of Fosterage, maybe not even old enough to have voted last year.

His jeans are old, but not torn or threadbare. His sneakers are cheap, but not falling apart. His hair is on the long side, but not greasy or unkempt. His eyes are green and tawny: a bright and cheerful hazel. His hair is light brown, but when he steps into the sunlight it catches the red-gold hiding in there. He has no freckles, but a tan that is part genetics, part summer.

His t-shirt features a T-rex playing arcade Asteroid.

When he steps out, he glances at Rafael's car, which is actually Devon's car, but it's still nice enough that the kid notices. He doesn't shy away, though. Walks over, offering his hand. "Hey, I'm Kenneth. Rafael?" A beat. "Yuf?"

Rafael

Kid's so young. Wolf's briefly taken aback; feels fucking ancient in comparison, especially when he gets called yuf. There's a kick in the ass for you: when people a generation younger are standing level with you.

"Yeah." He takes the extended hand, brief, firm grip. Looks past him at the trailer, which makes him momentarily embarrassed to not only be an ancient Cliath but also a filthy rich one who still thinks he's better than other filthy-rich bastards who live in towers by the lake.

"This yours?" He nods at the trailer. "We going inside, or there a better place to do this?"

enchantment

Good handshake, for a scrawny little Theurge. Well: not scrawny. Unless he's standing next to a fucking Ahroun several years his senior, which at the moment he is, which is why at the moment he seems 'scrawny'.

Kenneth smiles. He nods his head inside. "Probably better in there. There's a buncha kin and folk in this park, but plenty of regular people too."

He turns to go, holding the door behind him for Rafael as he answers the other question: "This is actually my mom's. She's at work right now, though."

Like Kenneth, the interior of the Winnebago is not fine, is not cut from silk and supple leather, but it is clean and well-kept. There's little herb boxes at the windows and no dishes piled in the sink. The windows are open, and the cross-breeze is nice. There's a little dining nook, which is where Kenneth goes, picking up a small duffel bag as he walks that way. "So where's this vial?" he asks, setting the mini gym duffel on the table and digging through it.

Rafael

"Still live with your mom?" It's surprise that makes him ask. Then he hears the insult in it. "Don't mean it in a bad way. Just surprised."

Ducks his head to step in, but finds there's room enough inside to stand straight, if barely. Small but clean. Herbs in the windows, which he likes; reminds him of his girl. Vial reminds him too, even in the time it takes to palm it out of his pocket. He finds himself hesitant to hand it over. Forces himself to, holding it out to Kenneth.

"Maybe I better tell you the whole story," he says.

enchantment

Kenneth glances at Rafael with that question. It's not anger in his eyes, or even reproach. There's a faint frown in his brow, like he's trying to figure out if he should be insulted or not, if that's how Rafael meant it, if Rafael is one of those Silver Fangs. But whatever back he got up relaxes a few moments later. He just nods.

"We all gotta live somewhere," he says. As he looks through his bag a bit more, he adds: "Easier, with kin. Sometimes." He rummages. "We don't have a lot of money, if you couldn't tell," Kenneth adds, but any self-deprecating humor is battling with actual defensiveness. "But both my tribes are big on family taking care of family. So: Mom takes care of me. And I take care of her."

He sits finally. "Best we can, anyway."

Meets Rafael's eyes for the first time since the surprised question from the Ahroun. He looks from Rafael to the vial. He takes it, carefully, holding it up to the light with a thoughtful frown. He nods at the other wolf's words. "Maybe you better..."

Rafael

"Both your tribes?"

Came all this way to ask questions about a mystery vial and can't resist that one last question. A moment after Kenneth sits, wolf folds himself into the seat opposite him. There's a little dining table in between, dwarfed by his size, their combined rage.

"Here with my girlfriend," he says. "Visiting a friend of hers. She's living with this guy. Fancy bastard, lives downtown. Something off about him. Can't put my finger on it. He's just too interested, but it's not like he's just sniffing around or something. It's not that. He's interested in weird things. Went on and on about what a great person his girlfriend is, her personality and ... how wonderful she is or something."

Wolf grimaces. Realizes he sounds like a fucking awful human being, appalled that someone might be interested in someone else for their personality, shocked that the physical factor wasn't top of the list.

"Can't put my finger on it," he says again, grumbling now. "Can't even describe it, making it sound way more normal than it was. Anyway. Went in his house while he was out," because that doesn't make him sound like even worse of a human being, "dug around, found these little vials. Grabbed one of them and here I am."

enchantment

A nod and an offhand little smile. "Dad's Fianna. Mom's Gnawer kin. Technically I'm Fianna," he admits, "but I've got so much family on both sides, you know? Tough to balance sometimes; Stag is so proud, sometimes gets huffy that I honor Rat, too. Rat's chill, though."

He laughs. "Anyway," as he sets the vial down on the table between them. "Your story."

And then he listens. His eyebrows do lift a bit as Rafael describes Conrad being really into his girlfriend as a bad thing, but apparently this is not his first time having an Ahroun with tightened nerves trying to explain themselves. He doesn't look like he thinks Rafael is an awful human being. His head cocks to the side as Rafael goes on. Stays that way for a little while, even after Rafael has finished explaining.

"...'kay," he eventually says, and frowns, thoughtfully. He looks at the vial, then at Rafael. "Mind if I... tinker a bit?"

Rafael

Wolf makes some sort of nonverbal grunt, which presumably means no.

Adds this, though: "Be careful. In case."

enchantment

"'Course," Kenneth says, perhaps a bit too calmly, but at least he's confident.

He picks up the vial, holding it to the light again. Does what Rafael did, then, too: unscrews the little black cap, sniffs at the liquid. But more slowly than Rafael did, standing in Conrad's kitchen. He closes his eyes. He breathes in deeply. He holds that breath for several seconds, his chest unmoving.

His eyes snap open. He takes a bigger breath, more of a gasp, like someone coming up for air from a deep dive. He doesn't sound shocked, just breathless. Returns to baseline, nodding as he sets the vial down.

"Yup," he says, "that's magic, all right. Hold up."

Reaches into the duffel he was rummaging in earlier, comes out with... an acorn. Sets that down in the middle of the table, picks up the vial, and very, very carefully, hunched over like some kind of mad scientist: taps a droplet from the vial onto the acorn.

Kenneth leans back, screwing the cap back onto the vial, watching the acorn.

Nothing happens.

For several heartbeats, nothing happens, but Kenneth never takes his eyes off the acorn, like he's waiting for something.

And then it wiggles. Trembles a little, goes still: rolls gently side to side on the formica tabletop. Then it shakes again, even bouncing once off the surface, spinning when it hits again. The cap of the acorn pops open on one side, like a lid on a pot tilted to let steam out. But it isn't steam that unfurls: a thin green vine, which rapidly curls and thickens and then reveals a sprout, a bud, and then a flower bursting forth in self-delighted bloom. The flower is not quite a rose, not quite an iris, but some strange combination of both, in brilliant rose gold that even looks somewhat metallic. Yet it smells divine, all jasmine and honeysuckle and summer rain.

The flower sighs. Happily, with some relief, it sighs aloud, once,

then droops.

And wilts.

And hangs its head as petals fall to the tabletop. The emerald-colored vine shrivels up and turns brown. The brilliant petals turn brassy, curling tightly in on themselves. The vine squirms wetly now, a writhing trio of earthworms. The petals lift up and fly above the table, buzzing loudly, darting for the open windows and lightbulbs. A rank smell replaces the scent of flowers, a smell like stagnant water, like mold, then like blood and corpseflesh.

One or both of the wolves blink, at some point.

There's nothing there anymore, no flies or worms or even the scent. Just an acorn on the table next to the vial. The acorn has a huge crack down its side. The vial looks the same.

Kenneth is silent a moment. Then he looks over at Rafael.

"Yeah, so you're dealing with a faerie."

Rafael

Wolf is still staring at the acorn. The acorn that, a moment ago, was the foulest thing he'd never wanted to imagine. A moment before that, just about the prettiest. And alarmingly alive, visceral, in ways flowers never should be.

Kenneth speaks. It jars him. He starts visibly, snaps his eyes to the Theurge.

"What the fuck was that?"

enchantment

"That was faerie magic," Kenneth says. "And I'd give you a better explainer than that, but faerie magic is a lot weirder than Gifts, or hedge witchery, or even human mages. All of that magic is either tied to the natural world or at least has rules, you know?

"Faerie magic is alien," he says, jabbing his finger at the tabletop to make the point stick. "It sometimes mimics the natural world, but it comes from... somewhere else. Their world. And far as we can tell, they can do pretty much whatever they can think up. Good, bad, or otherwise."

Rafael

"That was fucking disgusting."

Wolf pushes back from the table, leaning back in his chair. Glowers at the inert, cracked acorn for a while. Has about five dozen questions but the next one that comes to mind is --

"Why did the stuff that felt like my girlfriend make that happen?"

enchantment

Kenneth's brows tug together. He looks sort of concerned, or curious, or both.

"What do you mean when you say it felt like your girlfriend?"

Rafael

Tell him the whole story, wolf said earlier. Truth is he hadn't, though. Withheld some crucial facts. Like what girl is. What her friend is.

Finds himself treading close to that epicenter again now. Doesn't take a social genius to sense his walls going up. His frown deepens; now he's looking at Kenneth, guarded.

"Just felt like her," he says. "Reminded me of her when I first picked it up."

enchantment

Kenneth doesn't look impressed. "Your girlfriend a faerie?"

Rafael

"No," snapped.

Silence. Wolf shifts. Eyes slide aside, then back.

"You say you're Fianna. Kin means a lot to you, yeah? Would protect them at all cost, as long as they weren't Wyrm-ridden?"

enchantment

This makes Kenneth straighten his back. Not defensiveness. Not anger. Rafael can almost sense the other wolf's rage rising, but not in retaliation. Something else: something strange and sacred, which only makes sense: he is a Crescent Moon, after all.

He doesn't acquiesce immediately. He is silent for a time, thoughtful.

Then he nods. "Yes, Rafael-yuf. I would."

Rafael

Just a beat then. Wolf's throat moves, a silent swallow.

"My girlfriend's a witch. And Fianna kin. Hasn't had much love from your tribe on account of the witch thing. But she's not corrupt. And her magic isn't ... that."

enchantment

The fact that Rafael's girlfriend is Fianna makes Kenneth smile, like he just got an unexpected piece of good news, or he just likes hearing More Fianna Kin Exist.

That she hasn't had much love from the tribe because she's a witch confuses him a bit, but he doesn't press it: he's already seen that Rafael is defensive of this girlfriend of his, wary, protective, and Kenneth's not going to needle him til he gets every last drop of explanation. He can tell when someone is keeping someone else's secrets.

"No," he says, "it wouldn't be. But I think what you're feeling, why it feels like your girlfriend? That's just... magic. That's what you're sensing. Right at the edge of your awareness, like a word you're trying to remember."

He thinks for a moment. "Most magic is connected to the Wyld. There are exceptions, of course, but most of it is going to feel a little bit the same, especially if you're not used to it.

"That's all it is," he assures Rafael. "It's like someone who doesn't know much about whisky thinking Jameson and Lagavulin taste basically the same."

Kenneth moves out of the dinette, standing up, with a sort of restless energy. "What just happened wasn't corrupt. Not tainted, not Wyrm. It was weird, and unsettling, and gross, and sort of mean. But it was also beautiful, and creative, and delighted, and sort of childlike. But that's the whole point, with faeries. They're amoral. They aren't good or bad the way we think of it."

He throws up his hands. "But I don't know. Maybe this fancy bastard got his hands on some faerie juju and he's pure evil. All I know is: what's in that vial is faerie magic, basically distilled down to its essence."

Rafael

Wolf, cognizant of the young Theurge's tribe, has the good sense not to mention that Jameson and Lagavulin do taste basically the same. Just grunts at that analogy. Thinks on it a while. Reaches out and picks up the vial, turning it over in his hands.

Grabbed it on impulse. Starting to think about what to do now though. Put it back? Fill it up with water? Probably be like watering down Lagavulin, he thinks, though he may or may not notice that either. Theurge sure would. He smirks to himself, then sets the vial back down.

"So there's something else," he says. "Girlfriend reads cards. To see the future. It's real, not online horoscope crap. Says he's some sort of warrior but also a thief. Well, don't know that it's him, but he showed up right after this reading. And she's been having these weird dreams. More like sleepwalking, but not, where she's talking to someone I can't see and talking about music I can't hear. You ever hear about anything like that with ... with faeries?"

The word comes out uneasily. Feels like a fucking three year old clapping for Tinkerbell, saying it.

enchantment

Kenneth shakes his head, gives a little shrug. "Honestly? It could be. Even really old Theurges don't know for sure. I don't think anyone knows much for sure about faeries, except faeries themselves."

He frowns slightly. "Makes me wonder what he's intending to steal, though."

Rafael

He has to think about it. Goes back a day, two, to that sunny morning in the motel room.

"Dreams and innocence," he recalls. "That's what the cards said. Something like it, anyway. And one more thing -- that he wanted knowledge about me. What I am."

enchantment

Kenneth doesn't say anything for a moment. His brow furrows slowly at first, then all at once.

"I think we'd better find your girlfriend."

Rafael

"What?" Naked alarm. "Why? What are you thinking?"

enchantment

Kenneth grimaces slightly, something of a wince. It isn't the flare of rage that comes with Rafael's rising tension, of course not: it's his own suspicions, his growing unease about what he's hearing.

"It could be nothing. But whether Conrad is using faerie magic or is a faerie himself: if he's a thief, and if he's trying to figure out your deal, it sounds to me like he's trying to figure out whether you can stop him from getting what he wants. And I think what he wants is your girlfriend's magic, whatever spark in her lets her do what she does.

"Faeries steal people," Kenneth says. "In stories going back to the start of stories: they take babes from their cribs and replace them with changelings, they lure youths to the woods to dance for months on end, they make people fall asleep for a hundred years --"

He stops there for a moment. "Look, I could be way off base. But faeries are much, much more powerful than people imagine. Shapeshifting. Mind control. Illusions. You name it. So I really think we should find your girlfriend."

Rafael

"Shit," is wolf's comment on the entire ordeal -- long before Kenneth is even close to finished; somewhere around where he says whatever spark in her.

And he's got his phone out, whether Kenneth is talking or not. He's swiping over to girl's contact card, which is a series of motions so familiar they've long since been engraved in his memory. He hits the green button to dial and puts the phone to his ear, grimacing because he knows she's going to be angry, he's going to sound like some sort of psycho boyfriend who can't let her have one day with her friend.

enchantment

Perhaps that is why she doesn't pick up. She was upset with him when he called earlier. She was upset with him last night at Conrad's. In the past when she's been upset with him, storming out and being gone for hours was not an uncommon reaction. Maybe she's just pissed at him now, doesn't want to talk to him. Maybe on the second ring she's looking at the phone and scowling, and on the third ring she's shoving her phone back in her bag where she can't hear it, and on the fourth ring when it goes to her voicemail he's supposed to know that she is pissed off at him, because he's acting like a psycho, and she doesn't want to talk to him.

He hears her voice in his ear. Her outgoing message. Then a beep.

Rafael

Maybe. Maybe that's all it is. Isn't to say that isn't a big deal because it is, but -- compared to the alternative, compared to any number of terrifying things he could think of right now, it's barely a blip on the map. He'd be happy if she was mad at him. He'd be happy if that was all it was.

He hangs up without leaving a message. Puts the phone in his pocket and looks at Kenneth.

"She's not picking up. I need to find her. Best thing I've got is a Questing Stone. You got anything better?"

enchantment

Kenneth shakes his head. "But I'll get started on making one," he says, scrawling a note on the fridge white board for his mom: @ work and then grabbing a weathered Jansport from above that fridge, slinging it over his shoulder as he continues: "while you drive."

Rafael

"Fuck. Come on." He slams through the trailer door. By the time Kenneth makes it through the rebounding door he's already at the car. By the time Kenneth is in the passenger's seat, he's already got the engine on. Kid barely gets his foot in the door before the car is backing up, bouncing over a curb before switching into first gear.

Whips off around the corner. Heads toward the city, because he doesn't know where else to go. Yet.

enchantment

Kenneth grabs the edge of the door, slipping out behind Rafael. He locks his home, shoving his keys in his pack as they walk to the car. He hops in, digging around in the Jansport for materials. He glances at Rafael as the Ahroun tears out of the lot and then trailer park, but decides against saying anything: what, exactly, would he say to a near-stranger full-moon with his blood up? Chill, man, I'm sure she's okay doesn't strike him as a good route to take just now.

Instead, he digs around the car a bit. Finds out with a brief back-and-forth with Rafael that this is actually the girlfriend's car. Which would explain the cornucopia of stuff that spills out of the glovebox: lip balm, eyeliner, handwipes, napkins, tampons, concert bands, and... a hairbrush. Carefully, as best he can with the car heading into Milwaukee, Kenneth draws out a long black hair from the brush. He winds it around and around the outer ring of a stone with a hole drilled in it, then ties the stone to a string, then cups it between his hands.

Kenneth leans forward, hunching over the stone, and whispers into his hands. The air in the car changes slightly, becomes heavier, as performs the rite, and that doesn't change as he loops the string over the rearview mirror. That heaviness just... moves. Drags forward. Moves with the stone, and with Devon's hair.

"West," Kenneth says, but it's the last direction he gives. The stone can guide them from there.

--

So west they go, following the stone out into initial suburbs, then farther: they pass a sign welcoming them to Brookfield, but the stone takes them off the mainroads and out into neighborhoods where the houses are separated by miniature forests, where the roads are narrow. The motions of the stone get tighter and more defined as they wind up through the tall green trees, passing fewer and fewer houses.

The stone keeps pulling them forward, then after passing one of the houses, it abruptly swings back. The road is too narrow to do anything but back up, so they do so carefully, and find themselves looking up the driveway to a large but quaint house, with sloped roofs an a rounded wooden front door. There is something gingerbread about it, an extra-large version of a cottage. It isn't ostentatious at all, but charming: there's a fountain out front where birds are splashing each other, and even as they watch, a fox lopes across the front lawn. There are thick, dark woods at the house's back.

Kenneth glances sidelong at Rafael. He misses it, but Rafael doesn't: the fox pauses. It looks directly at them. It yawns. And then it takes off again, circling to the back of the house.