1 ♦ "If you want to know the end, look at the beginning."

                   – African Proverb   

The boy leapt from between the rusty metal crates like a grasshopper, startling the crane operator so badly that his entire load crashed onto the harbor.

The crash caught everyone's attention; the boy held it.  Glimmering slightly in the wintery gloom, he had beauty that snared like fishhooks and wore ruined gray pajamas that looked like they'd been dragged along the ocean floor.  Surprise widened his eyes, impossibly more blue than the sea behind him.  With dock workers, students, and tourists all staring at him in cod-mouthed silence, he offered a hopeful and somewhat silly smile.

"Hello," he said weakly.

The tourists were the first to charge.

#

They couldn't help themselves, they really couldn't, but Alex knew what they'd do when they reached him, so he leapt off the quay into the North Sea. 

Cold stole his breath, punched his lungs and commingled with the disappointment that burst like ripe fruit in his stomach.  The ocean pushed him down and slammed him into the quay, maybe punishing him for jumping in without permission.  Not for the first time, he wondered if it was utterly alive – maybe more alive than people, maybe sentient and ancient and wise – but who knew? His realization that he wasn't human was all of six months old.  At this point, he was willing to believe anything.

He came up for air, slightly dazed from impact, and above him on the quay, men shouted as if that would make him return.  Wet silk clung to his skin, hampering his movements, but he dared not wait.  With the sure strokes of a boy raised on an island, he swam away from the thick, slick cement of the quay and hoped no one would jump in after him.  If he could reach the ladder across the way before his pursuers could realize where he was headed –

"He's going for the ladder!" shouted one accursedly loud sailor.

So much for that advantage.  He kept swimming – what else could he do? – as several people began to run the long way around, evidently hoping to cut him off.  But here was the ladder now; grabbing frantically at the slick ladder rungs, Alex pulled himself up onto the opposite quay and ran.

He almost ran all-out, but he didn't.  To show himself as anything but a normal human would backfire.  He had to do this like any of these people would, with his own two feet and wits. 

Multi-colored hulls highlighted the kingdom of gray-brown stone stretching off to his left, half-hidden by white silos and large tanks.  He leapt over hoses, dodged around crates and more people.  Smooth-faced warehouses merely hinted at the grand masonry beyond, all beckoning towers and narrow streets that sparkled sporadically under the midwinter sun.  He yearned to see it all.  Freedom was so close, close enough to smell, and just maybe he could lose himself among the masses of people, the myriad of cars, the sheer mad acreage of land in the outside world.  If, perhaps, he wore a bag over his head.

He left his original pursuers behind, and new ones took their place. 

"That way!"

"Where'd he go?"

"Get him!"

They couldn't help it.  Couldn't help desiring him, forgetting who they were in the wake of whatever curse he cast.  Knowing that didn't make him feel any better.

There was so much land.  He could run forever and never reach the end.  The thrill of freedom after twelve years of captivity sang in his muscles.  Twelve years, an entire lifetime; still, he turned right instead of left because leaving the ocean behind was too strange.  Acrid smells of oil and exhaust burned his eyes, and still, he ran. 

"Just stop, stop following me," Alex cried at the wind, wishing denial had power, and then he spotted the seawall.

It was rough, dark, and sloped, and neatly hid whatever was on the other side.  A quick glance behind him showed his pursuers were briefly out of sight; desperate, he flung himself toward it.  Twice his height; not a problem.  That he managed to clamber over without losing his clothes was a far greater miracle.

Here, hidden, was a village of cobbled stone.  Long, low cottages followed an uneven road to form an enormous, open square.  The central grassy area was bordered by a row of shacks, colorfully decorated with old boats and fishing implements, little plaster animals and figurines.  Bed sheets flapped dully on nearby clotheslines.  The harbor's silos were still visible, but only barely, and all the traffic sounds and smells were muted.  At the very foot of the city, here was peace.  He stood for a moment, taking it in. 

Mincing along a whitewashed wall was a small furry animal, sleek and tri-colored, with delicate ears and the careful padding step of a predator.  Alex stared, recalling the picture books he'd studied.  "A cat!" he whispered in delight.  "You're a cat, aren't you?"

It – he? She? – paused in her walk to eye him with deep solemnity.  She leapt off the wall with such grace that gravity was reduced to polite consideration, and hit the ground running.  In three seconds, she was gone. 

So that was a cat! Why hadn't his books said how beautiful they were?

"Fittie!" someone shouted behind him.  "He went into Fittie!"

His pursuers had found him.  His heart sickened.  Alex ran again, vision briefly blurred by unwanted tears.  Maybe it would be like this forever.  Maybe the only ones who wouldn't try to rape him were cats.

A path led out from the village onto a golden beach that stretched so far he could not see the end.  He raced onto it, sprinting on his toes, wondering what life would be like with only cats for company.  Half a mile down the beach, he spotted a man.

The man stood on the sand, resplendent in a fitted, blue velvet suit with very wide lapels and a black bowtie.  He looked no older than nineteen, but an eerie stillness imbued his tall, slender form with nobility that belied youth.  Evidently unmoved by Alex's plight, he watched the procession's approach with utter aplomb. 

Alex prepared to dodge around him, but the blue-suited man showed no interest in grabbing.  This behavior was so strange that Alex turned to stare as he ran past, and that's when he realized that all his pursuers were gone.

"Wha?" he squawked, and stumbled.  Curling by instinct, he flipped into a somersault and landed on his feet in a spray of damp sand, then spun, ready to run if necessary.

The blue-suited man had not moved.  Wide brown curls framed his face, not quite long enough to drift into his green eyes.  He wore an expression of slight puzzlement.  "You are not a selkie," he said with a distinctly Italian accent.

The statement was too random, the moment too charged.  Alex started to laugh.

#

Alex had never been breathless.  He'd lifted, stretched, run, and toned along with all his classmates, but when they'd reached their limit, he'd come nowhere near his own.  Just once, he stayed on the treadmill after his sore and shaky classmates left for lunch.  When dinnertime came (bringing with it the hall master, who'd interpreted Alex's absence as rebellion), he wasn't even out of breath. 

He was out of breath now.  He couldn't stop laughing, not with the exhilarating strangeness of freedom pulsing in every limb.  How could he explain run forever to someone who'd likely never had to run at all?  "I do apologize," he said, remembering his manners.  "I've been quite some time without sleep.  What was it you asked me? Am I a...  a selkie?"

"You are not," said the man succinctly.  "My apologies for the assumption.  I do hope you did not have a plan for those humans who were pursuing you?"

Those humans.  Not we humans.  Not you humans.  Those humans.  Alex had a sudden urge to bounce on his toes.  "I, ah.  Not particularly," he said, brushing sand from his arms in an attempt to look nonchalant.  "They were actually a bit of a bother."

"Excellent," said the man in the blue suit.  "Please do excuse my rudeness.  I must return to business.  Have a good day." He turned back to face the water.

A dismissal?

No, no, no, not yet!  This was the first something-other-than-human Alex had ever encountered.  We non-humans could not be lost so quickly.  "Sir, perhaps we could – "

The man suddenly lifted his hand toward Alex; it looked like a warning. 

Alex blinked.  "Sir?"

"Remain," said the man with quiet command.  A foghorn blew, and suddenly the ocean vomited a bank of roiling cloud that swallowed the harbor, engulfed the beach, and erased the world.  The man seemed to float dressed in pieces of sky; the area around him remained mostly clear, an eye in a silent storm.

Alex had lived on an island his whole life and he'd never seen fog behave like this.  Was it magic? He held his breath, hoping to glimpse whatever happened next.

Shapes formed in the haze.  A dozen seals of all sizes, grey and brown like the stone of Aberdeen, flopped their way heavily and wetly out of the water.  They were eerily silent. 

"Greetings, Nimue," said the man in the blue suit.

The center-most seal suddenly turned into a naked woman.

 Something gray and wrinkled hung from her chest to her thighs, and she pulled it away and dropped it to the sand; it landed with a plop.  "Greetings, First One," she said.

Mist curled around them their bodies, isolating them.  Distantly, the foghorn called again like a remnant from a dream, meaningless.  Invisible touches raced up and down Alex's skin; he shivered.

"Please," said the man.  "I prefer Notte."

"Of course you do.  Very funny." Nimue smiled; her eyes glinted like polished blue stone.  "You are here of your own volition? You are placing your name with theirs, giving their actions your support?"

"Yes," said Notte.

"As a friend? Or merely as a favor?"

"A favor."

Nimue laughed.  It was a horrible sound, harsh and barking and cruel.  "Well, then, Notte, I bring the blessing from the Lord of the Sea." She held out a necklace of white sea-shells. 

Notte stood where he was, implacable.

Nimue scowled.  She stalked the six steps between them and offered the necklace again. 

Notte took it with his fingertips; a slight moue of disgust flitted across his face.  "Mille grazie.  Thank you, Nimue.  Do let your lord know that his blessing was yearned for, awaited eagerly, and will be treated with the greatest of respect," he said, and inclined his head again. 

Nimue bowed, a much deeper gesture than the one he made her.  With no hint of modesty, she sauntered back to her discarded thing – which looked a lot like dead animal skin – and pressed it against her chest.  A moment later, it ate her whole. 

It grew like sentient slime, covering her from head to toe, and her body curled down as if being stuffed into a bag too small for it.  The seal's mouth lolled open and its fin-feet flopped like wet towels.  Monstrous, she splashed into the water.  The other seals barked, yawping at her as they followed, graceful the moment they were no longer land-bound.  As if it was on a kite string, the fog bank slowly drifted after them.

Alex could see his feet again.  Sounds from the city filtered toward him: distant cars and car horns; harbor machinery, banging and clattering; the tiniest snatch of a heavy bass line from a car with over-loud speakers.  No voices.  Organic sounds could not carry as far.  Slowly, he exhaled.

"She is a selkie," Notte mentioned conversationally. 

Incredible.  Was the whole world composed of non-humans? Was Libertas the only place where there were none?  "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen, sir," Alex said, heart pounding in his ears.  "Also, sir, for the record, I can definitively state that I am not a selkie."

The corners of Notte's mouth twitched.  "Among the mythos, I am Notte.  And you?"

That was an odd greeting.  "My name is Alex, sir.  It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"A pleasure.  Pardon my candor, please.  Curiosity has made me bold.  Among the mythos, what are you?"

"I'm sorry, among the what?"

Notte's eyes widened a bare fraction.  "I see," he said.  "Mythos – the collection of beings who do not share their species with humanity.  Generally, one greets another with 'among the mythos, I am...' and then one's species, followed by one's name.  Unless, of course, one is an important personage, in which case, one only follows it with one's name."

Well.  Alex bit his lip, then executed a little bow.  "Thank you, sir, and I apologize if anything I do is, ah, awkward." His cheeks burned.  "The only manners I know are human ones.  Among the mythos, I have no idea what I am, but my name is Alex." He paused.  "Sir, if you will pardon a question, how did you know I was not human?"

"There is a temporary spell on this place - one that is designed to drive humans away.  You do not seem to be aware of it, hence my question."

"Oh.  So, your statement was not made because something about me was recognizably a particular species? Sir?"

Notte raised one eyebrow.  "I am afraid not."

Damn.

Damn.

Six months of wondering since it happened.  Six months of fending off the increasingly insane people around him.  Six months of questions, of fear, of guilt – and at last, he'd found a bona-fide non-human who didn't know what he was any more than he did. 

Alex couldn't help it.  He laughed.  "That rather figures," he said, clearing his throat.  "Well, I do thank you for your time, anyway.  I must say, it's been very pleasant speaking with someone reasonable for a change."

"You do not fit in," said Notte.

"That's a terrible thing to say!" Alex blurted, staring at him.

"You require help," Notte added. 

Alex frowned. 

"I am offering you help," said Notte, a little more gently. 

Oh, here it comes.  "And what will you want in return?" Alex said.

"A mouthful of blood," said Notte, and the world seemed to slow down.

Waves slid onto the shore and retreated.  At the far end of the esplanade, four children with a leashed dog came to the edge of the sand, but the spell was evidently still in effect.  They stopped, shook their heads, and went back the way they'd come, looking dazed.  For a moment, Alex wondered if he'd heard incorrectly.  "Blood, sir?"

Notte nodded.  "A mouthful of blood."

"That's...  very specific."

"I feel it is best to be specific," said Notte.  "Otherwise, unfounded fears take root and bloom.  One mouthful, according to the size of my mouth, and no more.  Also, I do not wish for it now.  Immature platelets hold such little appeal." He twitched a smile again, as if making a joke.

Alex couldn't do anything but stare. 

Blood? He'd been prepared for a request for sex simply because adult minds focused on it so exclusively.  But blood? Was this a joke? "What, are you a vampire?" he asked, preemptively smiling.

"Among the mythos, yes," said Notte humbly, and took a little bow.

A lump grew in Alex's throat, cutting off his air, preventing him from swallowing.  "I, ah.  I thought those weren't real."

"That is reassuring news."

Well.

Alex looked toward the ocean again, breathing in time with the tide, willing his anxiety out to sea.  "A mouthful of blood, you say?"

Notte nodded.

"In exchange for what kind of help, exactly?"

"Information and protection," said Notte succinctly.

Wildness filled him.  It was his blood.  All his life, he'd been told what to do with every inch of his body, from toenails to hair.  Well, this one was his choice, and no one else's.  "Very well, sir.  I agree."

"Excellent." Notte offered his hand.

Alex looked at it.  "Is there some particular reason we need to be touching?"

"It enables us to travel very quickly," Notte said.  "Close by here are two fay kings.  They have signed a contract ending war between them; they owe to me a favor.  I believe I will take them upon their favor.  Now.  Take my hand."

Alex licked his lips.  Contact was bad; everyone always lost more sense with contact.  "I don't know."

Notte looked patient.  "If we do not travel instantly, your glow will draw every human being within sight."

"What?" said Alex, and looked down at himself.  He saw no glow.  He saw ruined gray silk over smooth white skin; he saw a body that was – if the hall master told the truth – worth a frightening sum.  However, he saw nothing that gave off light.  "I don't see a glow, sir," he said cautiously.

"Curious."

Alex raised his eyebrows.  "I suppose that is as good a word as any, sir."

Notte's lips twitched again, an abortive smile.  "Allow me to rephrase.  It is not unusual to see a hybrid of some kind, and I suspect that is what you are.  You are human enough not to see your own glow, but not so human that you respond to a spell specifically woven for them.  The curious nature of it all is that I cannot identify you.  That is more striking than you know."

Alex licked his lips again and looked toward Aberdeen.  It was a city of contrast.  Enormous skyscrapers stood next to sprawling cathedrals; there were so many things he'd seen in books.  He wanted to explore it.  He wanted to learn it all, every inch.  Education of this sort was forbidden to people from Libertas; people with ideas rarely made good slaves.  "Sir," he said slowly.  "Is there a way for me to be around human beings without suffering the loss of their sensibilities?"

Notte nodded pensively.  "I believe so."

Yes.  Alex closed his eyes, took a deep breath.  "And this can be part of what you give in turn for a mouthful of blood?"

"But of course," said Notte.  "In fact, I find it highly doubtful that you will survive to adulthood if I do not."

"Oh.  That's.  Ah.  Sobering." And unarguable.  Alex rubbed his face; he already had one accidental death on his conscience.

"Give me your hand, please."

He did, then held his breath.  Rapid travel – what was that going to be like? Swimming? Flying? Running?

Hm.  At the moment, it seemed like nothing at all.

Moments sneaked by.  Notte's expression changed from pensive and amused to puzzled and unhappy; his irises – already an unusually piercing green – seemed to brighten.  "Strange."

Good word.  "Yes, sir?"

"You have cancelled my abilities."

What? "What? I… I did what?"

Notte released his hand.  "Remain here.  I must find a new resource."

"Wait a minute!" Alex stammered.  "I didn't do anything!"

"Remain," Notte repeated firmly.  And then he disappeared.

He didn't do it all at once.  As if made of the sand he stood on, he swept away, disintegrating from top to bottom like particles of dust in a strong breeze.  His shoes were the last to go.   

Alex stared at the empty air.  "Hey! Wait! Come back, please!"

There was no reply.

Alex held himself and shivered.  It was cold and getting colder; December not a friendly month.  Ironic, really, that his resistance to the cold just served as another reminder he wasn't fully human.

He sighed.  What in the world had just happened?

Notte was gone.  He said he'd be back; all right.  Alex had been lied to before, but only time would tell with this one.  'Cancelled' his abilities? What did that even mean?

 Maybe I scared away the vampire, ha.

That wasn't funny, actually.

He stormed back and forth on the sand, thinking.  Nightfall was an hour or so away; that was a reasonable amount of time to wait for the return of a perfect stranger.  After that, he was going into Aberdeen.  Maybe he could steal a sheet from the little village with the cat, wrap up in it, and go unmolested. 

His conscience twinged.  No, he wouldn't be stealing anything.

So turning into dust was 'rapid travel,' was it? The lessons he'd been given on roleplaying vampires in his Common Fantasies classcould not possibly have been more flawed.  "He wasn't even wearing a cape," Alex muttered irritably, and drew circles in the sand. 

#

A mile from the harbor, two boys sat on a bench in the heart of Old  Aberdeen.  The rough and well-used paving stones beneath them were granite, as were the walls of the four-storey buildings on either side, as was the castle-like edifice at the end of the street.  Behind them, an elaborate stone structure loomed in ancient grandeur: six arches and a polygonal roof, all of it sculpted with leaves, faces, and animals.  A pole rose high over its center, and on top of that, a small stone unicorn sat on its haunches, reading a scroll. 

The natives of Aberdeen barely glanced at this as they went about their business.  It was backdrop; it had been there forever, would be there forever.  Even if they had looked, there was no reason to pay attention to the two pre-pubescent boys sat before it.

"Lord Jaden, you're full of shite," said the boy with the tan and the very light hair.  His lilt was Irish, but his voice was not that of a child; defiantly, he tugged his red woolen cap lower with both hands, flattening his long white braids against his cheeks. 

Jaden, who had no tan whatsoever, sighed deeply and counted to ten.  It was obvious that he did; his lips moved with each beat.  "Lord Caelan," he said, pronouncing the other's name ‘Colin.' "If you feel so strongly, then why did you agree to the terms?" Jaden's Scottish brogue was a mixture of whiskey-rough and honey-smooth, and his voice, too, was an adult's.  His waist-long black hair was tucked into his cap, which bulged.

Caelan wrinkled his nose and shook his head.  "I wasn't talking about the terms.  The terms are going to get me killed.  I don't want to talk about them.  I just meant you're full of it, is all."

Jaden looked at him unhappily. 

"Because nobody on earth would agree with what we've just decided," Caelan concluded with grim satisfaction. 

Jaden rubbed the bridge of his nose.  His outfit – trousers, button-down shirt, dinner jacket and all – was the same coal-black shade as his hair, which made the bulgy blue deerstalker cap on his head slightly ridiculous.  "Lord Caelan," he said patiently.  "This is the job of kings, doing that which is unpleasant for the sake of others.  Our agreement is necessary.  It is more than that – it is essential, or neither of our peoples will survive the coming age."

"My survival is already at stake," Caelan pointed out. 

"Nothing can change that," said Jaden stoically. 

Caelan tugged his wool cap lower.  His red hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and high-top sneakers were a little more fitting for his apparent age group, but he still hunched when a van full of tourists lumbered by, its passengers pointing and gawking through camera lenses.  The two kings looked carefully unimportant as it passed. 

Caelan pulled his knees up and hugged himself.  "Jaden, they're going to slaughter us both.  Our guts will spill all in the mud, and someone will take the filthy things home as Christmas dinner for their dogs." He sniffled.  "I can hear them already! 'What demands will you make? Nobody likes to be told what to do,' they'll say.  They're going to kill us.  They'll stuff me and lynch you."

Jaden raised his chin high.  "Our future generations will be safe.  That is my goal, and it should be yours."

Caelan made a frustrated gesture.  "Notte, you talk some sense into him.  He's suicidal."

Notte sat calmly beside them as if he hadn't just materialized in the shadow of an awning some feet away, as if – like a normal person – he'd simply gone out for an afternoon stroll.  He took a seat on the end of the bench.  Next to the small kings, he towered; his blue velvet suit was far from fashionable, but his posture lent enough dignity to make up for it.  "Suicide is foolish," he stated.  "As per your request, here is the blessing from the Lord of the Sea.  The lady Nimue sends her greetings."

"Woo!" Caelan exclaimed, and snatched the seashell necklace from Notte's outstretched hand. 

"That's the final step, then," said Jaden softly as Caelan donned the necklace over his sweatshirt.  "The contract is fulfilled.  We're done."  He leaned his head back on the bench, briefly abandoning his stiff posture in a wash of relief.

Notte produced a lacy handkerchief from somewhere in his jacket and began to clean his fingertips.  "This is somewhat off the topic, but I encountered a strange child."

"With this," Jaden said to the sky, "we end three thousand years of war.  At last.  Peace."

"It still smells a bit like fish," said Caelan cheerfully, poking the shell necklace that smiled beneath his collarbone. 

Jaden looked up and frowned.  "Pay attention! This is historic.  Our people's blood was spilled for this moment."

"I could not identify the boy's mythos," Notte continued as if uninterrupted, and both kings sat up and stared at him. 

"You? You could not?" repeated Jaden in disbelief. 

"I have chosen the form of payment which you owe to me," Notte said casually.  "I would like to bring this child to you."

Jaden opened his mouth to reply but closed it again at once.  His lips tightened into a line.  "For what purpose?

"Eh… why?" asked Caelan at the same moment.

"For safekeeping," said Notte, looking expectant.  "Your facilities are far more appropriate for dealing with a child than my own." He pocketed his handkerchief.

Jaden and Caelan glanced at one another, then back at him.  "You are aware that we are hardly without domestic troubles, contract or no?" Jaden asked carefully. 

"And that someone's going to kill me?" Caelan added. 

"Of course," said Notte with a little bow of his head.  "It is a good learning environment."

Caelan gawked at him with enormous eyes.  Jaden sighed.  "What, exactly, do you want us to do with him?"

Notte raised his eyebrows slightly.  "To provide him with the information and protection necessary to live among the mythos."

Jaden shook his head.  "Very well, First One, if that is your wish.  It shall be done.  I will take him first.  We'll trade him off as the need arises."

"Right, that's what we'll do," Caelan muttered.

"There is one other thing."

They peered at him.

"When touching him, I was unable to disintegrate," Notte mentioned.

"To… I'm sorry, he did what?" blurted Jaden.

"He appears to have the unusual ability of cancelling magic via direct touch.  He did not affect the area spells; only my own abilities, and only when we were in direct contact."

Caelan drew his knees to his chest and clutched them like a life raft.  Jaden swallowed hard.  "You… he negated your power? First One, sir, I don't think – "

"The boy will not affect you directly, so long as you are not touching him.  However, if you do not wish to accept this, I will of course take him elsewhere." Notte made a small, polite bow. 

"Shit," said Caelan.  Jaden glared sharply at him.

"Come." Notte stood.  "I see no wisdom in leaving the child alone any longer.  Go to Alba.  I will bring him to you."

Without hesitation, Caelan bolted for the stone arches behind them.  Jaden shook his head, frowned, and followed him.

#

The beach was beautiful in the evening.  It was full of quiet sounds, the ocean pulling and pushing onto shore with the susurrus of dream-whispers.  He'd grown up with it, with salt and fresh air, with cold breezes and the constant soothing tide. 

It was going to be hard to walk away from the ocean. 

He and his classmates were taught languages and manners, the body's pleasures, how to care for their hygiene and appearance so they gratified all the senses all the time, and meticulously prepared for the day when they came 'of age' at thirteen and could begin selling themselves to the very powerful and very wealthy.  Happy guests were returning guests, after all.

He was taught nothing about the countries those guests came from.  Nothing about their politics or histories or geography.  He was never shown a newspaper, radio, or television, though he was aware those things existed – such items were forbidden on the island.  Libertas was supposed to provide an oasis of peace to its guests, apart from the trials and travails of the outside world.

To the residents, the outside world was summed up in proverbs of horror.

The outside world will never help you.

The outside world will give you nothing and demand everything. 

The outside world will destroy you.

Alex took a deep, shaky breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  He refused to believe.  There had to be people in the world who cared to act for good instead of personal gain.  People who cared if others were hurting, who cared about choice and the precious nature of intimacy, who cared to retain their own dignity even in the wake of the needs of others.  Somewhere, there had to be people like him.

Could opinions be handed down like blond hair and blue eyes and other mysterious body-parts?  His answer hid out there, somewhere, in the identity of his father or at least his father's kind.

Among the mythos, what am I?

In the city behind him, streetlights began clicking on, cuing a pinched stomach-rumble.  Twenty-four hours without food; that was a new experience.  He made a face and stood.  So sorry, Notte; it was time to go.

The narrow streets of Aberdeen were darker than the open shore.  Warehouses generated little traffic, so it was easy to stay out of sight at first.  He shivered and tip-toed, peered inside parked cars with fascination, and ran when he accidentally set off an alarm.  Streetlights clicked red, yellow, and green regardless if traffic was waiting for them; long lines of colored lights and silver-tasseled garlands winked dolefully around street poles.  Limp flags hung on wires stretched overhead from window to window.  The smell of food wafted toward him; he turned toward it, and suddenly found himself surrounded by civilization.

People were everywhere: bundled for the cold, they laughed and walked and talked, eating and buying and hurrying to wherever.  Vehicles of all sizes trundled down the streets at seemingly hazardous speeds, which the pedestrians largely ignored.  Lights – so many lights! – of every conceivable color advertised food, beer, fags, clothing, and more.  Music from various storefronts competed in gleeful, faint cacophony; shoppers existed stores carrying shiny, paper-wrapped presents.  Nearly everyone smiled.

Incredible.  He closed his mouth because the condensation of his breath made it harder to see.  A bus honked abrasively.  A group of people laughed as they exited a pub together, scarves casually slung around their shoulders.

Alex looked down at himself.  Was he glowing? Would a change of clothing help?

Someone carrying far too many packages stumbled into him, and he nearly fell.  "Sorry, sorry!" she cried, bending with a grunt to rebuild her tower of boxes.  "Careful there, didn'a see y'… standin'… there." And she stared at him. 

He looked back; swallowed.  She looked so very nice; older than anyone he'd known, her hair done in a frizzy, half-dyed perm, her clothing dumpy and warm and practical.  "Pardon me," he said.  "Let me help you with those." He bent to retrieve her last two boxes.

"Aye," she said dazedly as he put them back in her arms.  She blinked once.

Alex looked around.  No one else was close enough to really see him yet – "Madam.  Please.  I need help.  I don't have much time.  I have no money – but I have need.  Please, madam.  I need a coat."

He'd heard a phrase once: laying out the fleece.  When he'd asked what it meant, he'd gotten a strange story of ancient times and deities and tests of faith, most of which fell so far outside his education that it made little sense.  The bit about tests of faith, however, he understood very well.  He stood unmoving, unblinking, holding her gaze, trying to make her see him, to see his need, his hope, not the glow or the beauty or whatever else it was that drove humans mad.  It might work.  It could work –

"You poor lamb," she said in a quiet, trembling voice, and put her packages down again.  She began rustling through them, white tissue paper crinkling, unable to keep from looking at him time and again.  "You're about the size'o me nephew.  Here." She held up a big purple coat, puffy with lining. 

"Thank you." Tears stung his eyes.  "Thank you.  I don't have a way to repay you."

"Just put it on, lamb," the woman murmured a little thickly.  Her cheeks were flushed; her breathing accelerated.

He wiped his eyes, then took the coat and pulled it on; it was still blissfully warm from the store.  He sniffled.

"Hood up.  That's what I'd do," she said shakily, then gathered her packages once more.  She looked at him one more longing moment, shivered, took a deep breath, and said, "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas to you too, madam.  Thank you."

She left nearly at a run, her square-heeled shoes clunking along the sidewalk.  Alex pulled his hood up, heart still pounding, and wiped his eyes again.  There was hope.

The coat was wonderfully warm.  Hands in his pockets, only the skin between trouser legs and slippers showing, he marched along at a pace he deemed good camouflage, trying to see everything without attracting attention.  The storefronts were unbelievable.  The food smelled so good; his stomach rumbled again, but he ignored it.  A particularly orange display of light caught his eyes, and he pulled his hood back just a few inches to peer closely at it.  Telephones littered the shelves of the storefront, decorated with little red and green bows and advertised as good gifts for the season.  He peered closer, trying to determine why the prices were so different on models that looked very much the same.

Behind him came a small but distinct click.  

Alex turned.  A middle-aged man stood on the corner, mouth agape, a camera in hand.  He took another picture with a click. 

Alex froze.  They stared at one another; Alex pulled his hood forward again, slowly.  The man swallowed and took another picture. 

Stupid, stupid, how could you be so stupid….  Hood secured, he began walking up the street again, shoulders hunched, breath even.  Five steps.  Six.  Seven.

"Get back here!" the man suddenly roared, and Alex bolted.

"Look out!" he shouted, and barreled between people as he ran up the street.  The man was chasing him.  He knew.  Felt it the way he'd felt the hall master coming for him.  Well, this would not end the way it had with the hall master.  NO one was dying this time.

"Stop running, you little shit!"

Oh, very nice.  Alex sped up.

Cars were everywhere.  He leapt into the street, trying to avoid them, dodging between quickly enough that he was in no danger of being hit – but the drivers reacted anyway.  Bleating horns and screaming tires, swerving and shouting drivers, and then a horrible, crunching sound of impact. 

Oops.  He risked a glance back.

The man ran through the chaos with his teeth bared.  His camera bounced against his chest, forgotten; he knocked over one of the drivers exiting his crashed vehicle, but did not slow down.  "Hey!" people shouted after them.  "Stop!" he shouted after Alex, ignoring them.  More people joined in the chase, including one who wore the kind of uniform that indicated security, authority.

Oh, this was not good.

"Stop! Stop that child!"

Alex ran even faster.

Too big, the city was too big, he had no idea where he was going or where he should go, if he was heading toward a dead end or the ocean or empty land.  He took a quick right, dodged around a truck, heard more people shouting, and took the first street on his left. 

Smooth-faced buildings towered on either side, windows dark.  He hurtled uphill through the shadows, past a couple shops and some very startled pedestrians, and burst suddenly into an enormous square dominated by a castellated clock tower.  Granite glinted wetly in the street lights.  A few people jogged here and there, trying to get out of the cold, and at the far end was a stone pavilion that looked like a giant's crown.

"There!" shouted someone behind him, and he ran again –

Notte appeared from nowhere, and Alex ran smack into his chest.  Notte raised one eyebrow, a look that wasn't quite chiding, and stepped around Alex.  "Remain," he said simply, and faced the oncoming crowd.

Alex felt something then; something strange and tingly, emanating from Notte like waves of cold air through a door, and he stepped back.  Shadows under his feet undulated; the few nearby lights flickered.

The approaching crowd stumbled to a halt as if coming suddenly to the edge of a cliff.

Notte stood there, his body language serene.  Whatever he was doing had the whole mob riveted to his face.  "Return," he told them all, and looking dazed, the entire lot of them turned around and did just that.  They walked away, in no hurry, and when they were gone, Notte turned back. 

"Pardon my intrusion," he said pleasantly.  "Are you well?"

Alex stared after the retreating crowd.  "How did you do that?"

"You are unharmed? I believe I told you to remain on the beach."

Well, now he felt guilty.  Alex ducked his head, shifting a little.  "I'm sorry, sir.  I was hungry, and it was dark.  And.  Ah.  I wasn't certain you would come back." He risked a glance.

For a moment, Notte frowned.  It was a terrible expression, lightning quick and just as violent; but then it was gone.  "Of course.  You do not know me.  Alex, I will say this once: I do not break my word."

"Yes, sir."

The corners of Notte's mouth turned up.  In the gloom, the shadows of his thick lashes nearly hid his eyes.  "How did you acquire the jacket?"

"I asked."

Notte's eyebrows twitched.  "I see.  You will clearly need immediate instruction.  Come with me." And he walked across the square toward the stone pavilion. 

Alex glanced around again as they walked toward it; the feeling of being chased hadn't completely faded. 

"This is a Mercat Cross," said Notte as they mounted the stairs.  "Mercat Crosses serve as an anchor of fay magic in the country of Scotland.  When you are touching one, you are invisible to ordinary humans, though not to the mythos, nor to those who have any mythos in their blood – mixed species, such as you are.  I am certain you have questions," he said, raising his hand.  "However, this is not the safest place to discuss them.  Would you be good enough to follow my lead?"

"Yes, sir."

And the man with the camera suddenly shouted and leapt toward them.

Where he'd come from, Alex had no idea; he came pounding up the thin granite steps with a knife in his hand, and that was a knife, and he had a KNIFE –

Alex leapt back, resisting the urge to fight, not wanting another death on his conscience, but before he could do more than think it, Notte moved.  Suddenly appeared behind the man, gripped his shoulder to stop his forward lunge, and punched into the man's back with his other hand.  There was a thick, meaty sound, a crunching sound.  The camera-man coughed blood, then collapsed.

"Messy," said Notte disapprovingly, and fished a handkerchief out of his jacket.

Alex stared.  Blood leaked out from the body in a black pool.  Two.  That was two.  It didn't matter that he hadn't killed this one himself, that was still two on his behalf.

"Alex."

Alex looked up.

"Please follow my lead." With that, Notte began to walk around the center pillar.

"The body," Alex whispered.

"Please follow.  It is already being handled."

Was it? Alex remembered to breathe and, numb, followed Notte in a circle.

Once.

Twice.

The third time around, Aberdeen and all its citizens disappeared.

"Uh?" Alex cried.

"I bid you welcome to Alba," said Notte, walking down the steps into a field of gray wheat that waved in the salmon sunset. 

Alex closed his eyes.

#

When he opened them, nothing changed.  Stone-colored wheat swayed in the bitingly cold breeze.  Purple mountains rose in the distance, and two silver rivers snaked down from them toward the golden shore.  There was no cloud cover here; half-buried in the sea, the setting sun smoldered against the horizon.  Alex walked down the steps in a daze; there were only two signs of civilization: the Mercat Cross and a small, round-topped table that waited patiently a few feet away from the stairs.  Two boys who looked his age stood by it, watching him expectantly.

"Alba?" Alex breathed, stepping gingerly into the broken stalks of wheat that lay flattened in a circle around the cross.  His slippers did little to keep them from pricking him.

"Alba is the world of the fay," Notte explained as he approached the table.  "The Mercat Cross serves as crossover point between it and your own."

 "The world of Alba?Are we on another planet?" Alex managed.  Something sprawled and dark lay on the beach, stark against the bright sand.

The left corner of Notte's mouth twitched.  "No."

Two deaths.  Two.  Alex rubbed his eyes, trying to focus.

"You were quite right to be concerned about this child," said the boy with black hair.  "He is dirty and disheveled."

Alex looked up at him.  "Nice to meet you, too," he snapped.

"And blond and blue-eyed.  How typical," said the white-haired boy somewhat hypocritically. 

"Eh… who are you people?" Alex said, approaching.

The black-haired one ignored him.  "And yet, he is beautiful.  Little wonder why you wish him away from the humans for a while."

"You see my glow?" Alex stopped.  "I don't.  What are you, if I may ask?"

"Allow me to perform introductions," said Notte.  "Gentlemen, among the mythos, this boy is unknown, called Alex.  Alex, among the mythos, here is High King Jaden of the Seelie Court, Ruler of Immem, Lord of the Orkney Islands, Keeper of the Key."

A king! A boy king? Well, he knew how to handle this.  "It is an honor to be in your presence, your majesty," Alex said, suddenly submissive and bowed very low. 

The boy with black hair removed his hat, and Alex forgot his manners to stare.  The boy's ears were as long as his forearm; his hair – coal-black and silky – fell to his waist.  "Alexander," he said, and that voice…

He's no child.

"Among the mythos, here is Swan King Caelan, Ruler of Mimra, Lord of the Isle of Mann, guardian of the Gate," Notte continued, nodding to the boy with white hair and lilting accent.  "They are the rulers of the fay in this area."

"Your highness, it is a great honor," Alex said, still in shock.

Swan King Caelan made a ridiculous face, crossed his arms, and scowled at the broken stalks beneath his feet.  "This isn't safe!" he accused.

Alex blinked.  "I'm… sorry?" he ventured.

"Hmph," said Caelan, and tucked his woolen hat into his coat.  His ears – as long and pointed as Jaden's – flicked up and back, irritably.  They were so thin that the sunset made them pink.

"Gentlemen, the hour is fleeting," Notte gently reminded them. 

"Of course," said Jaden, and a large, heavy scroll with ornate wooden handles simply appeared in his hand.  He lay it on the table, open; Caelan leaned over it with him.  An enormous, plumed pen appeared in his fingers, and he scribbled at the bottom of the scroll.  For no apparent reason, whatever he wrote spat out blue sparks. 

Alex gawked. 

"I am deeply relieved to be finally doing this, even if we are being ridiculously paranoid about it," said Jaden, scribbling at the end as well.  Red sparks mixed with Caelan's blue; the scroll was beginning to look incendiary.  "Besides.  We have Notte as a witness.  Nobody's going to contest him."

Notte moved forward, taking the quill. 

Am I even here? Alex looked around, still trying to shake the shock of what had just happened, and suddenly realized what lay on the beach.  "Ah," he said.  "I think that is a dead body.  Down there."

The other three glanced over.  "Oh," said Jaden.  "The kelpies haven't gotten to it yet.  That's surprising."

"I do not believe Alex knows what a kelpie is," observed Notte.  The scroll where he'd signed sparked a dark, bloody purple. 

"Kelpie?" Alex repeated dully.

"That's a kelpie," said Caelan, and pointed. 

The tide surged.  Something large and bright blue surfaced; it whinnied a high, shrill sound, and trotted onto shore.  It shook itself – a bright blue horse with no mane – grabbed the corpse between its teeth, and dragged it back into the water. 

"There you are," said Jaden, rolling up the scroll.  It vanished with a spray of golden sparkles, which faded before they hit the ground.  "Excellent timing, I must say."

"What… but…."

"Gentlemen," interrupted Notte.  "If I may? As long as the child glows, he will be unable to survive his world or ours.  My own limited abilities did nothing for him."

"Hmph," said Jaden.

"I believe," continued Notte, "that a charm of some sort does exist to help him.  Gentlemen, if you please."

Caelan took a step back.  "Oh, no you don't," he said.  "I need my charms.  All of them.  I'm not dying today, not for your sake, not for anyone's!"

Notte raised one eyebrow. 

"Caelan," Jaden murmured.  "You are embarrassing us in front of our honored guest."

"Go to hell!" Caelan shouted, taking another little hop back.

Jaden looked longsuffering.  "My apologies for this, First One," he said, and approached Alex.  He took from his pocket a small round medallion, intricately woven like lace.  "Hold out your hand, Alexander."

Alex did.  Jaden plunked it down; nothing happened.  "Is something supposed to happen?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Jaden said irritably, and snatched it back.  Softly, Notte chuckled.  Caelan took a tiny step closer.  "Try this." It was a small, sheathed dagger this time, conjured from nowhere, hanging from a leather thong.  Jaden dropped it around Alex's neck.

The thong snapped; Alex caught the sheath before it hit the sand.  "I'm sorry!" he said, holding it out.

Jaden snatched it back, scowling. 

"This appears to be a challenge," opined Notte.

Alex flushed.  Maybe he ought to ask for tips, if the entertainment was that good.

Jaden looked deeply unhappy; his ears flicked back and down, a somehow angry position.  "This will work.  For you, First One," he stated, and from around his own neck, lifted a small, thin chain with a faded brown feather hanging from it. 

Alex peered at it.  It looked a bit bedraggled; he'd seen gull feathers washed up on the beach in better condition than this.  "It doesn't have lice, does it?"

"Just put it on," Jaden snapped as Notte chuckled again, and gingerly, Alex obeyed.

Jaden stepped back, his eyes wide.

"Excellent," Notte said.

Alex felt no different.  "What? What did it do?"

"You look like a filthy humanling now,"  said Caelan from the edge of the wheat. 

"I wouldn't say you look 'just' like a human," Jaden ruminated.  "You're still far too pretty.  However, your glow is gone."

He really, really felt no different.  "Are you sure?"

"Gentlemen," said Notte.  "I must be away.  The curtain rises at five."

Caelan fidgeted, his expression haunted.  "I want to be safe," he said sadly, in the tone reserved for things-gone-by. 

"I will keep you safe," said Jaden soothing.  "First One, we thank you.  Without your assistance, compromise between our people would have been impossible.  Is there anything further we could grant you in return for your generosity?"

"No, thank you.  Any debt you owe is paid in this child."

Well, that was intimidating.  Alex poked the feather.

"You will go with these gentlemen," Notte said.  "They will provide you with what you require."

"Yes sir.  Thank you, sir," said Alex, and tucked the feather inside his shirt.  "And I do apologize.  For before.  You've had to… to do some rather drastic things for me." Guilt soured his stomach.

Notte's eyes lidded; it was a strange look, uninterpretable.  "The ill must be dealt with, Alex.  Do not fret."

The ill.  Alex shivered.

Notte turned back to the kings.  "Good luck to you both, if it isn't insulting to wish such a thing upon its supposed  progenitors.  And please," he added mildly.  "Take care of your charge." With that, he swept away, disintegrating from top to bottom like before.  His feet were the last to go; Alex wondered what would happen if somebody stepped on them. 

Caelan grinned.  "Notte is not.  Eh? Get it?" He snickered. 

Jaden glared at him, then gave Alex a look usually reserved for cold food.  "Our troops, I'm sure, are waiting for us anxiously.  Shall we?"

"Yes, sir." Alex turned and froze.  A man with greasy brown hair stepped from the shadows of the Mercat Cross, his hands stuffed into the strangely bulging pockets of his long black coat.  Everybody stared at him.

"There you are," the man said with a smile, and thrust his hands forward as if pushing an invisible wall. 

There were holes in his hands.  Twisting, strange emptiness writhed there, and darkness exploded from it in solid balls of thick and hissing blackness. 

Alex leaped back with a gasp, but the man hadn't aimed at him.  Caelan screamed and stampeded into the gray wheat field, and the darkness hissed to the ground where he'd stood a moment before and everything it touched withered, blackened, died –

"Troops!" Jaden suddenly shouted, drawing a dagger from somewhere in his dinner jacket, and a dozen boy-sized fay in red and blue came pouring out of a slit in the air like a hole cut into a curtain. 

But they wouldn't help, that wasn't enough, Alex knew it wasn't enough – "Look out!" he cried, but the greasy man had already thrust more darkness at them.  It hit them, four of them, and they just disappeared.  Screams cut off.  Vanished.  Eaten. 

There was no fear.  Alex ran toward Jaden, had to help, had to do something –

"Charge!" Jaden roared, and ran at the man with soldiers in blue close on his heels.  The greasy man hurled more globs of black in his direction, and the soldiers tumbled the king out of the way barely in time.  Alex skidded to a halt, cutting his feet on broken stalks; blood seeped through his slippers.  The blackness hit the ground with a pomp, and suddenly dispersed into mist.  Everyone became silhouettes. 

"Ha ha ha!" the greasy man laughed to the right, and someone screamed.  Where had that come from? What direction? The fog tilted everything, broke equilibrium; the earth itself seemed to til.  Alex clutching at the ground for stability.

A crunching footstep. 

Caelan.  Caelan was coming.  Caelan was stumbling, panicking, running the wrong way. 

He ran toward the man with the bottomless pits in his hands, ran blindly through the weeds and the darkness, ran past Alex with his arms over his face and tears on his cheeks –

The man raised his hands.

Alex lost his mind.

Protect. 

Caelan was going to die. 

Protect!

Alex leaped just as Caelan stumbled over himself, fell to his knees and cried out because that darkness was right on top of him –

Four white wings exploded out of Alex's back, turning his coat and shirt into shreds.  Feathered and stunningly large, they wrapped around Caelan like cupping hands before the darkness hit, and when it did –

It vanished.  The darkness sputtered and wisped and died, like a tendril of steam in a strong breeze. 

"What… what… " Caelan managed, gaping up at him. 

"Leave him alone!" Alex bellowed into the clearing mist, trying not to think about what had just happened, trying not to contemplate how his voice grew and threatened. 

"What? What?" shouted the greasy man, and threw another thick, twisting ball. 

The same thing happened.  Alex crouched over the screaming fay king, his enormous wings tightening protectively, and the blackness dissipated on impact.  Within the compass of his wings, not even the weeds were harmed. 

The greasy man made a strangled sound.  He suddenly screeched – an inhuman sound, a wounded-animal sound – and ran at them, hands out. 

Grim, Alex watched him come.  The greasy man reached for them, and Alex backhanded him with both right wings. 

The assassin went airborne. 

"After him! Now!" shouted Jaden from somewhere in the wheat, and the soldiers ran to obey.  There were cries, wet and meaty sounds, and then silence.

Soldiers crunched slowly out of the gray wheat like grim children spattered in blood.  Two dragged the new corpse down to the sea, and the rest moved toward Caelan and Jaden.  Everyone pretended they weren't staring at Alex. 

There he stood, wings out, exposed in more ways than one.  His feather necklace was all that clothed him; his trousers had been a casualty of war.  He stared back, wings curling slightly around in a self-protective gesture, and told himself not to panic.

These people were kings.  They would know what he was.

They'd know why he'd suddenly grown wings six months ago, wings that burst from his back like new teeth in blood and pain. 

They'd know why he was somehow able to hide those wings in his body again, even though each one was far larger than he was. 

They'd know his father's species.  They'd send him in the right direction.  All his questions would be answered.  They'd know.  They'd know.

Caelan pointed up at him.  "What the hell are you?" he demanded in a high-pitched voice.