On the third day, Colleen returns. She arrives just after lunchtime when Poppy has already gone for her walk and Altaris left me a tray of food. She enters the shop, unbothered by the dusty air or the piles of pointless things. She navigates them as though she could do so with her eyes closed.
She knows this place.
Likes this place.
A dreamy expression comes over her as she leans against the counter. She shoves aside a crate of glass bottles filled with colorful, mysterious liquid and sets her case down gingerly in its stead.
“Well, you seem right at home here,” she declares while eyeing me from head to toe. “I’m so used to seeing Poppy here, I had a right fright when I came in the other day. How have you been?”
My heart aches. I don’t know how to answer the question. Mortal customs are all so strange. Though I haven’t left the safe house in three days, I can hear the chatter from the street seep in through the walls, both in here and upstairs. Good day, they say. How are you? The answer is always the same, whether or not there is pain in their voice as they reply. Whether or not they sound tired or frail or in utter despair.
Perhaps, it is their custom. To lie.
“I am fine,” I say.
Colleen nods. “Yeah fucking right. You look pale as a ghost and exhausted, to say the least. Is the old vamp overworking you? If so, you just say the word and I’ll—” She flexes her fingers menacingly. “Give him the old zap!”
My eyes widen. “No, I am fine!” As surly and abrasive as he is, Altaris is the only one who can bring back Caspian. He promised to.
Colleen throws her head back and laughs, sending her blond curls bouncing wildly. “Don’t worry! I won’t go after him. I doubt my magic would work on him, anyway. That old vamp is a mystery unto himself. Da says he’s been here since the dawn of time, the grumpy old fart.”
“How do you know him?” Beside me, Colleen seems so much like the other mortals who pass by the windows of this shop. Radiating life in her green tunic and blue pants. Vibrant. Youthful.
The polar opposite of a home for discarded, empty vamryre.
It seems like a logical question.
Colleen’s eyes turn downcast, and she wrinkles her mouth. “My Da used to bring me here. A long time ago.”
She doesn’t want to say more. I regret even asking in the first place. There are so many rules here—though they vary from the other realm in scope and function. There, the rules are to maintain order. Give purpose.
In this realm, the rules are to respect invisible, unspoken boundaries. It’s much like navigating a new language. Learning to read without a stern, persistent Day to teach me.
It’s daunting. Yet I want to learn more.
“Besides, it’s close to the action, where the boneys patrol,” Colleen says, smiling once more. “That means plenty of grifters and scum getting injured. Plenty of wounds to heal for pay.”
“Boney?” She isn’t the only one who’s used that term. Altaris has as well.
“Think of them as the police. They govern us mundane and keep any stragglers from the other realms in check. Keep the order, so to speak. We call them boneys because if you break the rules, they break your bones. Or even take a few as a warning. Fingers. Toes. Brutal as hell, but it’s necessary.” She glances toward the door leading deeper inside the safe house. “Some of them vamps like to come here and run amok. So do the other kind, lunaria. I’ve never seen a fae before. To be fair, I haven’t met many of you other realm folk at all. Except Slyvie, but she’s been out on her own for years—”
“A fae?” I question, my eyes wide. Altaris was wrong. Full-blooded fae can leave through the portal. He was wrong. Very wrong.
“Oh, no.” Colleen shakes her head. “She’s lunaria, through and through. Moonlights, pun intended, as a bounty hunter for the boneys. Tough as nails but with a heart of gold. She’s my best client. In fact, I’m starting to think she likes the pain of the process more than anything.”
I wince at the reminder of her healing magic.
“How can you do that?” I ask her.
She raises a slim hand and inspects it in the sunlight filtering in through the main windows. “Don’t know really. Not all mundane can do tricks. The ones that can try to trace it back through their lineage. Some even claim to be descendants of fae or the like. In any case, I am what I am and it helps me make a living.”
She smooths her hands down the front of her shirt.
“I should really get back to class before another customer comes,” she says, reaching for her case. “It’s so awkward running into one. It’s a small world, n’ all. Imagine going to the post office and seeing another Altaris regular working the counter.”
She laughs, but the sound doesn’t quite seem to match her expression.
“What is a regular?” I ask. Once again, I’m toeing some invisible boundary. Colleen raises an eyebrow, but unlike the previous question, this one she doesn’t mind.
“You don’t know what people come here for, do you?” She leans toward me and makes a show of glancing over her shoulder as if to check for a vamryre lurking in the shadows. Not that it matters. They can hear us through walls and floors and yards of space. “It’s for mementos. Things you don’t want to forget. Feelings you can’t find anymore.” Her voice softens. “Good luck charms. Love spells and trinkets. Silly stuff like that. Not everyone believes the hogwash, but they show up regularly enough.”
They do. Every day, though not many, a steady stream of customers arrive and leave.
“Speak of the devil,” Colleen says as the doorbell chimes and a slender woman shuffles inside. “See you around, Niamh!”
“Bye,” I tell her as she skips out into the sun.
Then I turn my attention to the woman. By now, I’ve seen enough of the furtive figures come in and out to know my role. Stand here. Smile. Wait for them to give me a name.
She doesn’t. Huddled in a brown coat, she twists her fingers around her graying black hair. Her dark eyes dart to and fro. Almost tentatively, she finally approaches the counter. Rather than speak, she eyes the surface of the counter and waits.
“I… Name please?” My voice sounds so high-pitched. Despite two days of serving customers, I’ve rarely spoken to anyone. Anyone but the Lord Master, Day, the inhabitants of the safe house and Colleen.
The woman doesn’t seem to hear me. She continues to twirl her hair around and around. Then, she places a trembling hand on the counter. Cupped against the palm is a tiny object that she leaves behind, her gaze glued to it, hollow cheeks gaunt with tension.
“I need that fixed,” she says in a thready whisper. She nods to the object: beautiful and small. A bright blue bulb affixed to a slender white handle. “Now, please.”
I stammer. “Um, name please?”
She barely looks up from the object. “J. Green.”
I crouch below the counter and open the cupboard. Reach inside and scan the brown bags piled inside. J. Green. J. Green.
I look and look.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rising to my feet. “I don’t see anything for that name—”
“I need you to fix it!” The woman lunges for my arm. “Please! It’s just a small little rattle. I need to feel the happiness again. Please!”
“That is enough!” The bellowing voice comes from the doorway connecting the shop to the safe house. Altaris stands there, but suddenly his green eyes aren’t charming, neither is his voice. “You were warned,” he says while advancing on the woman.
She snatches her rattle from the counter and huddles in his shadow.
“Three times is the limit. You have exceeded it. You need to go.” He snaps his fingers, startling the woman into looking up. Their eyes meet—his vibrant and piercing, hers sad and bloodshot with unspent tears.
I watch in morbid fascination. It feels wrong. Yet I can’t turn away.
Something is happening to both Altaris and the woman. He looms larger while she seems to deflate. Her hands fall limply to her sides. The tension leaves her small body, making her stand taller. The haggard, pained expression on her face is replaced by a blank, empty smile.
And Altaris lords over her, speaking in a voice that resonates with more power than the Lord Master themself. “You lost your way,” he tells her. “You are lost. Turn around and leave. You will never return to this place again.”
“Yes,” the woman says with her dreamy smile. Then she turns and leaves, her rattle clutched limply in one hand.
“What did you do to her?” I ask as the bell above the door tolls. The sound is mockingly cheerful in contrast to how I feel. Cold all over.
Altaris shrugs and runs his hands along the front of his purple jacket. “That was me taking care of a pesky repeat customer. Next time anyone comes in without an order to pick up, you call for me or Poppy. Now where on earth has that girl gone?”
He storms off, flicking imaginary lint from his clothing.
Another customer arrives, but they follow the same unspoken script the others had. After they leave, another enters. As I fish their order from the cupboard, the door swings open and Poppy rushes in.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, her red hair covered by a bright green hood. “I didn’t mean to be late. I had an unexpected detour to make—oh, Daisy, this way, darling!” She waves frantically to beckon another figure who stands resolutely in the doorway.
Slight and petite, the woman wears a similar jacket to Poppy’s but in bright pink with the hood drawn haphazardly over her long, straggly hair. It too is also a shade of pink, but the color is patchy. Unnatural. Swatches of white-blond hair peek through, every bit as brilliant as Caspian’s.
But, if possible, her eyes are even emptier. Unchecked, her hood slips even further back from her face. As a result, a sizzling sound emanates from her, reminiscent of the sound a log would make when tossed onto a roaring fire. Caught in a strip of sunlight, the tip of her button nose is quickly turning red.
“Oh dear!” Poppy rushes toward her and gently steers her inside.
Unbothered, the customer before me places their payment on the counter, takes their paper bag and leaves.
“Poppy, what on earth?” Altaris’ voice rings out from the hallway though he doesn’t appear.
“I’m sorry! Daisy got out again. Luckily Scythe tracked me down and we were able to bring her back without another…incident.” She herds Daisy forward toward the safe house entrance. “Go inside, darling. Back to the basement with Ginni. That’s where your duties are, remember?”
“Well thank heavens for small miracles,” Altaris remarks sardonically. “I’ll try to have Ginni keep a better eye on her. The last thing we need is another incident. Those damn boneys are still breathing down my neck about the last one.”
“I know, Altaris!” Poppy chirps, once Daisy is safely beyond the narrow hall. “No more incidents! No more accidents!” She claps her hands and spins to face me. “I apologize for my lateness. Shall we get back to work?”
Radiating boundless energy, Poppy takes care of the next few customers before flitting around the storefront, sweeping up her imaginary dirt. It’s the dust in this place that could use cleaning. I find a rag and help her, wiping down the forgotten items, left abandoned on their various pedestals and shelves.
It’s only when an impatient Altaris appears and loudly clears his throat that I realize it’s nighttime and Poppy is gone.
“Poppy has requested the rest of the evening off tomorrow,” Altaris explains, “so you will tend to the store alone. We will stay open a little later than normal. Do you understand?”
I nod. I understand.
“Good. Now go.”
I return to my room and find Caspian unchanged, staring at nothing. I sit by his side and close my eyes. Open them. Carefully, I reach down to the floor and find the book Altaris gave me.
Huddled under the sole lamp in the ceiling, I open it.
Then I read to him.
The tale unfolding in these pages is a strange one. Not fiction—yet it must be. The recollections are too dryly written however, with every air of the historical texts in the archives.
Only wrong.
All, all wrong.
It tells of a time before the Citadel. Before the other realm, even.
It tells of creatures and beings born of blood that isn’t pure. That aren’t strictly fae, lunaria, or vamryre. Hybrids, the author calls them. Rare things. Powerful beings, capable of things beyond any sole race.
Creatures of power.
Creatures of dangerous, evil power.