"You have house fae." The exterminator shrugged at me, then started to pack his machinery. "Sorry, lad. I can't help you, fae are protected species; I'm not even allowed to remove them from your property. Try a priest, or a lawyer, depending on your goals. Good luck."
Just when I thought my life hit rock bottom, it turned out there was an entire world of bullshit hidden beneath! I lost my job when I missed one too many shifts, big deal; my parents were sick and needed help. But before I even settled into the new routine, they passed away! The assholes at the insurance firm threw legalese at me in a complex web to distract me and refused to pay a single cent. That made me lose my apartment as I couldn't keep up with the rent. All my friends abandoned me as they couldn't cope with a zombie version of me who'd lost all his faith and happiness.
And now, to add the final trash cherry to the crap sundae, I discovered that the 'simple rodent infestation,' as I initially thought, was actually a full-fledged fairy infestation! I stood there, dumbstruck, in my parents' little bungalow, with the news just delivered to my face.
"Fae. As in, winged magical creatures? Like, pixies in miniskirts that tossed glitter around?" I knew this little village was full of superstitious old folks, but the exterminator was maybe in his late thirties! "If this is a joke, your timing is awful. Listen, dude. I'm broke, jobless, and my parents just died. Can you stop FUCKING AROUND and give me a straight answer on how to get rid of rats?" He shot me a look that suggested I was the crazy one.
"Kid, I gave you an answer. Seek help from a priest or a lawyer. Or go play chess with the old-timers in the park, they might have free advice." He gave me one last pitying glance before he packed the rest of his equipment, got in his van, and drove off.
I was left dumbfounded, just staring past the invoice held in my hands. He knocked a few line items off and gave me a 'f&f discount.' At least the consultation wouldn't leave me broke, but I still didn't have a solution to my rodent problem. The paperwork informed me that there were at least three fae living on my parents' land, and who knew how many more there were? I couldn't believe this nonsense.
A few minutes later, I sat on the sofa with my head in my hands; I was sure the universe hated me. This was ridiculous. Fairies? They didn't exist. It had to be a scam. I took inventory of the facts as I recalled them:
There were small noises at night that made the dishes rattle and the furniture move. Sometimes, I found prints on the dusty bookshelves and windowsills, or even in the flour in the kitchen. My pens, needles, shot glasses, and any small items of value disappeared and reappeared somewhere else. I also saw little 'figures' that disappeared as soon as I focused on them. I was always sleep-deprived, and when I heard the little noises, my head felt heavy and I fell asleep despite myself.
To me, it still registered as a 'rat infestation.' Just a particularly annoying kind, where they didn't even chew holes in the walls. Or gnaw on the furniture. Or spread feces everywhere. Maybe it was insects, then. I sank back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling. My mind wandered off, trying to remember if I did something to deserve this kind of curse.
I knew about the superstitions and legends in the area. Maybe Mom and Dad listened to the stories and took preventative measures against 'fair folk,' but they were all nonsense. "Guess I should brush up on my chess..." I sighed and settled on a walk to the local park.
At least the weather was nice today, bright sun, a blue sky, and a cool breeze. The park wasn't too far, only a few blocks down the street. Maybe it was because of the situation I was in, but I noticed my neighbourhood's dumb eccentricities in vivid detail. An apple tied to the stairway railing. A doll nailed to the door of one house, and a jar of honey on the windowsill of another. Thread and salt grains were laid out in patterns on the sidewalks. I grew uncomfortable as I noticed the traces of lunacy all around me.
Before long, I reached the park. There was a beautiful fountain at its center, with a statue of some angel and her seven-headed snake. This village had a rich history of weird folk tales, so I paid the creepy snake girl no heed.
There were only a handful of people present in the park, but an old couple on a bench looked like they had time. Little children splashed in the shallow waters and played tag among the trees, while their parents enjoyed picnics in the shade. It was the height of summer, after all. I didn't want to disturb the family outings, so I made for the chess tables.
There was one man there, in his late sixties, just waiting for a partner. His table was strewn with mismatched chess pieces made from wood and marble, and some were painted, while others were plain. He seemed like a perfect source of information. I tried to put on my most charming smile. "Hello. Are you waiting for someone?"
He scoffed. "Get lost, kid. I'm not letting some damn brat beat me." I balked, a little confused at the old man's foul mood. He sat up straighter and looked me over. "Hey, aren't you the Andersen kid?"
"Err, yes...?" It was a small village, everyone knew everyone. Well, except for me; I spent most of my days in the city, pursuing my engineering degree. But that was all a moot point now.
"Sorry about your loss," he offered me an awkward handshake and gestured for me to sit across from him. "Your folks were good people. Awful chess players, but kind people. Here." He set up the pieces, and I gulped.
I didn't come here to play chess, but I knew better than to decline an elderly person's offer. My grandmother was a master at guilt-tripping me with the 'I'm an old woman who raised your parents' shtick, so I knew how these things worked. I sat down and, without any plan in mind, made my opening move.
The old man grinned and adjusted his glasses. "Dutch Defense. Ha! Clever. What's your name, boy?"
I wasn't that familiar with chess terms, so I didn't understand his taunt. I could tell the game was just a ruse to get me talking about my woes, so I said, "Philip Andersen." I moved my pawn again, and the old man followed suit.
"I'm Bartholomew. Call me Bart. Your father used to play with me before his condition got worse. He was shit at chess, too timid." The old man chuckled at a private joke and advanced his knight. "You're better than him. More reckless."
We kept chatting about insignificant things as we played, but his mention of my father and mother made my heart clench in pain. The old man noticed the shift in my mood and dropped the subject. Instead, he started regaling me with chess anecdotes while we played, and I was glad for the distraction. I didn't know where to begin talking about my problems, anyway.
The sun had already begun its descent by the time our game ended; he let me win on purpose. We said our goodbyes, but before I turned to leave, he cleared his throat. "Hey kid. Um, Philip. Are you keeping the wax fresh? They might return if you don't."
"What are you talking about, sir?" I was confused at his sudden change of tone. He sounded unusually serious.
"The candles in the shed." The old man looked at me with concern as if it was common knowledge. "Your folks lived by the westerly winds, lad. You're a smart boy, you should know better than to neglect that."
I felt my mind spin with the old man's cryptic words. What the hell was he talking about? "Uh, no." I shook my head and pointed at myself. "I didn't inherit that superstitious nonsense. I live by science and facts." He flinched at my dismissive tone and just shook his head with a sigh.
"Right. And let me guess: the 'rats,' or bugs or whatever, moved in a bit after they stopped tending the wax?" The way he enunciated the words made it clear he meant something else entirely, but I didn't care about his hocus-pocus. "Come by tomorrow. Bring me a cheeky bottle, won't you? My wife doesn't let me have drinks anymore, the old crone."
I agreed, left him a polite goodbye, and hurried home. All the crazy crap was finally starting to get to me. He wasn't wrong about the timing of the disturbances; they started once I'd moved back in and abandoned the upkeep of my parents' quirks. It was a harmless ritual, lighting three candles every day.
As a kid, I thought it was fun; they burned a different colour every time, and their flames would dance in the drafts. Mom kept a small shed on the premises, she let me play in there if I was careful not to touch the flame. The memory tugged at my heart, but I banished it and looked for the shed. It was covered in ivy and nettles, the old wooden door creaked when I pushed it open.
I felt around in the dark for a light switch, and the soft yellow glow revealed a room filled with keepsakes and curios. My toothbrush! Oh, and my shoes were there, too. The sneakers I couldn't find when I moved out were in my parents' shed. Why? And why were my pens here too? In the corner was a pile of pretty stones, a colourful mess of trinkets, and even a few kids' drawings I did, hung up on the wall.
There was no trace of the candles, though. Maybe I'd light a few—for old times' sake—tomorrow. Why did I feel so tired? Maybe the old man's talk of 'superstitious nonsense' creeped me out more than I realised. I couldn't stop yawning and wanted to lay down. I wasn't even hungry; I was too overwhelmed with...
Maybe a quick nap wouldn't hurt.
I felt stiff and sore. Had I really slept on the floor?! I stretched and rubbed my neck, yawning. I noticed the soft glow of daylight seeping through the cracks of the door. It was morning, so I must've spent the night here. In the shed. Alone, on the hardwood floor. I thought my joints were bad from sitting hunched over a desk in the lab, but after sleeping like this, I felt about a hundred years old!
"Fuck, my back." I groaned and slowly rolled to my knees. It hurt to stand up.
As I reached for the door handle, I noticed a small trail of breadcrumbs on the ground. That was weird; maybe some sparrows had strayed in and pecked at some purloined breakfast? But this was an outbuilding, there was no food here! Unless... the little thieves came inside yesterday, while I napped on the floor!
I swore under my breath; this was unacceptable. I needed to do something about my intruders before they ruined the entire house. Or burrowed in the walls, or something. A warm shower sounded heavenly right about now.
The steady stream of water helped loosen my sore muscles and wash away my worries. Once I stepped out of the shower, I felt like a new person. No more junk in my head about fairies and hocus-pocus; only the thoughts of vermin and a direct solution. It was still early; the old man wouldn't be at the park for at least another hour.
In the meantime, I figured I might as well prepare lunch for us and grab some beers from the store. If the man was willing to help me get rid of my pests, the least I could do was show my appreciation with a drink or two. My old bicycle was still in the shed, so I dusted it off and hit the road.
It was a sunny summer morning. A soft breeze soothed the heat a little and made the hedges and grasses dance around me as I rode past. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming; it was the epitome of 'a perfect day.' Why did I have to spend it hunting rats? By the time I reached the store, got the drinks, and returned home to pack lunch, I was once again on edge.
I mumbled to myself as I threw together some sandwiches. "What do rats hate? Cats? Onions?" A memory flashed before my eyes of a cartoon with a human-sized rodent who collected shiny stuff. I sighed and gave up. "Whatever, I'll just go talk to the old man."
On the way to the park, I felt uneasy, like someone was watching me. There were no people on the road, but the bushes rustled in the wind, and I kept catching glimpses of 'little figures,' darting behind tree trunks. Must be squirrels. As I leaned my bike against the picnic table, Bartholomew let out a hearty laugh. "About time! Did you sleep in?" His chuckle told me he didn't expect an answer. "Got any beer in that basket?"
I opened the clasps of my bike basket and plopped the little cooler down on the table, along with a few sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil. "Yup!" I popped the lid off a bottle and offered it to him. "Cheers to you."
"Heh." He downed half of his drink in one go, then let out a satisfied belch. "Rough night, mister Andersen? You look like shit." I thought he was an old sourpuss who'd never smiled in his life, but his laughter and cussing made me reconsider my first impression. He was just an eccentric old man who spoke in riddles, after all.
"Sure." I chuckled, grabbed myself a beer and a sandwich, and leaned against the table. "Got any wisdom to share on rats?"
"Fair folk," he corrected me between bites of his sandwich. He looked happy at the spread, so I took it as a good sign that our friendship was moving in the right direction. "You can hit 'em with a heavy dose of religious paraphernalia, but it's temporary, unless you get a proper exorcism in." I gulped my beer and tuned him out. He noticed my inattention and laughed. "Right, mister enlightenment! You probably think religion is mumbo-jumbo, eh?"
I downed the last of my sandwich and unwrapped another one. "I mean, kind of. Nothing bad about faith, but I need hard evidence."
He smirked at me like I just told him a stupid joke. "Hard evidence, he says! How about all the strange happenings around your bungalow. Those are pretty convincing."
I shrugged and nodded, happy he didn't comment on my lack of faith. "Yeah. Those are annoying. Which is why I'm here: how do I get rid of them?"
"Well," he belched again and drank some more. "If you want 'em gone for good, you'll need to strike a deal. And hope they're in a good mood when you negotiate. Don't look at me like that, kid, I'm serious!" The old man slapped me on the shoulder and cackled when I nearly spat out my mouthful of sandwich. "Hahaha! The candles and the shed were part of your old folks' deal. But you rendered it null and probably pissed off the seelie courts. 'S why they started acting up."
I knew he wasn't joking around because he didn't smirk or grin; he just watched me with an odd twinkle in his eyes. He was being sincere, but he couldn't be serious. "Uh-huh." I didn't see a point in continuing, but I decided to humour him for a bit longer. "Right, so. These 'fae.' Any chance I can just talk with 'em?"
"Talkin's fine if you got some tasty booze to offer." The old man nodded as he cracked open his third bottle of the afternoon. "But don't let your guard down around 'em, and don't make deals with fae. Bad news. Very bad news. Nasty, deceitful lot. That's why I'd recommend you bring in a pro. An exorcist or litigator, savvy?"
I chuckled at his advice and downed another bottle of my own. "Alright. So, what should I do to arrange a meeting with my... guests." I felt the alcohol kicking in and found it harder to speak without laughing. "Will a polite letter work? Should I offer some free snacks too?"
The old man flipped me off and grunted. "Fine, don't believe me! You'll see soon enough, you dumbass. Go burn some incense and leave a bowl of fresh milk by the fireplace."
"Sure thing!" I was drunk enough not to take him seriously, so I gave him a thumbs-up and wobbled home. "Thanks for the advice, pops!"
His advice was both bizarre and oddly specific, but I decided to follow it on a whim. I could afford a bowl of milk and a stick of incense; the real question was why. It made no sense to appease non-existent beings, yet I did it anyway. I blamed it on the alcohol. I went home and arranged everything like Bartholomew had told me to: bowl of milk on the floor by the hearth, and a stick of incense. Then, I made dinner and fell asleep on the sofa.
"Oi! Human! Oathbreaker! Wake up!" The raspy voice rang in my ears. My head was pounding, and my eyelids refused to cooperate. But when a tiny hand grabbed my nose and pinched it, I jolted awake. "Good. Not deaf!" The source of the voice floated before me in a pretty blue dress. Her wings were fast-moving blurs; I couldn't see them properly, but they buzzed like a bee's. "So. Why summon us?"
I sat up and tried to focus my bleary eyes on her. She had wavy orange hair tied in a high ponytail with a white bow, and she wasn't even half a foot tall! She had long, pointy ears, and her arms were crossed as she hovered before me. "W-who are you?" I stammered when I regained my bearings. "W-why are you in my house??" It was a strange thing: being confronted by a reality you considered bullshit until mere minutes ago.
Her green eyes sparkled with mischief and rage. She slapped me across the cheek with a loud smack. "Rude! Humans are bastard offspring! Half-bred scum!" She kept shouting at me and flying around my head while I reeled from shock and pain. "You made an oath! You break it! Deceitful creatures!"
I was stunned silent by her barrage of insults. But when she reached for my nose again, I managed to catch her. "Hey, little lady! Calm down!" She flailed and screamed in my closed fist, trying to bite me. "No! Stop squirming!" I winced as she scratched my finger; her tiny fingernails were sharp!
Was I hallucinating? Was there something in the incense? This had to be a dream; there was no way I just caught a fairy in my living room! It was the stress, insomnia, paranoia, and alcohol. Maybe the old man roofied me while we chatted! "Let me go!" The tiny woman snarled at me and struggled with renewed fervour. "Monster!"
"Shut up!" I shouted, unable to think clearly. Her shrill voice was driving me crazy! "Parlay. I'll release you if you promise not to run away or attack me." I tried to think back to the fairy tales my mother used to read to me. Right: they were 'fair,' both in appearance and in disposition. Literal-minded and incapable of lies, but they adored twisting meanings and words. I decided to specify the terms a little, to sweeten the offer. "For the remainder of the day, until dawn tomorrow."
She narrowed her eyes at me and stopped struggling. "Deal." Her voice sent chills down my spine, but I was relieved she calmed down. She was seriously giving me a headache! I released her from my grip, and she dropped to the floor with a light thud. "Rude mongrel." She grumbled under her breath as she stood up and brushed herself off. I suddenly realised how inappropriate my treatment of her was. She was tiny! The size of a mouse or a rat, no more than four inches tall! I invited her in, didn't I? Even if I hadn't believed in the dumb little milk schtick, I did the deed anyway.
"So," I began with an awkward smile. "I'm Philip Andersen. Not sure what you meant by oathbreaker or whatever, because I never agreed to anything?" She rolled her eyes at me and clicked her tongue. "Whatever your problem is, like, that's between you and my parents. Right? And they're..." my breath hitched as the thought brought up painful memories. "Well, they can't honour those deals anymore."
She stepped closer to me, and for a moment, her face softened in sympathy. "Ah. Tragic." She observed me for a minute, then sighed and extended her hand. "You humans. Liminal beings, yes? On the plane for a spell. Then off." She clicked her fingers as if to demonstrate an abrupt end. "Not so for fae." Her solemn face was quite pretty, and her deep green eyes seemed wise beyond her years. "Well, Philip Andersen. Let's talk new deal. Don't dishonour your parents' memory, hm? Humiliating oathbreaker. Leaves wax to harden, wicks unlit." She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the affront of burned-out candles. "Can we nibble, human? Me, the others, you?"
I nodded at her suggestion and pointed at the dining table. "Sure. Go ahead. Help yourself." I wondered if this was the strangest dream ever; I imagined a drunken fever dream would never make this much sense. Everything felt so real, though, and the fairy seemed to have a clear objective in mind: getting revenge on my family for some broken agreement. "Hey, excuse me?" I called out to her as she darted towards the table. She spun on her heels and hovered in midair, watching me with suspicion in her eyes. "Why did you call me 'oathbreaker'?"
"Much to discuss, human." Her solemn expression was cheapened by the obvious drool in her mouth and her twitchy hand gestures towards the table. "Full bellies make better stories! Fetch strong wine?" I nodded, because—if I was to be honest—I probably needed a drink much more than she did. The tiny fairy burst into a fit of giggles and dive-bombed the table, knocking over the plates and silverware while she rummaged through my prepared meal. "More onions, less pepper!"
Oh, so the onions were a bad idea after all.
When I returned from the kitchen, bottle of fortified port in hand, I heard hushed voices from the dining area. Three other tiny women chattered away as they set up their spots at the table; two flew while the other walked with a limp, using a cane fashioned from a pen tip. Their wings fluttered as they buzzed about, laying out the improvised cutlery and makeshift plates, but the third one was grounded and had to rely on her pen-cane.
They were all ridiculously tiny but, for some reason, it didn't phase me at all. They were dressed in fabric they had salvaged from my drawers; I had been wondering where all my lost socks went! One woman wore a long black sock as a dress, the other used a strip from my old gym shirt as a shawl; it dragged on the floor behind her like a train. The injured fairy's outfit looked like a hospital gown or a nightgown made from a silk kerchief; she was busy arranging her seat while the others finished setting up the table.
As soon as she spotted me, she grinned and snapped her fingers at the others; they all fell silent and stared at me with unabashed curiosity. "Oathbreaker! Hail!" The woman with the cane hobbled forward and gestured for me to join them at the table. "Deals were made! Wine will seal them, yes?"
I noticed the cluster of bowls on one side of the table; that must've been their share of the meal. "Yes, sure." I still had trouble wrapping my head around the whole situation, so I opted not to speak unless necessary. The injured fairy adjusted her pen-cane beneath her seat. The others clapped, so I took it as a sign of approval.
I uncorked the bottle, which made them squeal with glee. The woman who had confronted me in my sleep flitted about, whining about patience. She finally landed next to the third fairy, who'd kept quiet so far. "Wine, oathbreaker! Remember your manners!"
Right. She was right. I should start pouring; the polite thing to do would be to fill their bowls, then mine. "My apologies." I smiled and tried not to look at them directly. They were all fascinating to watch: so tiny and lively. "May I pour?"
The first fairy, with the cane, spoke up before the others had a chance. "You may!" She was excited as she watched me pour wine in their bowls; she was almost bouncing in her seat with anticipation. "Hurry! Fill yours too, human." I decided to humour her, and once the bowls were full, I set down the bottle and served myself some roast chicken. The smell made my mouth water. I looked forward to eating but... was it okay to do so? I felt uncomfortable when all their eyes followed my movements as I dished myself some potatoes.
"Err. Don't mind me." I felt like an outsider in my own house! The first fairy gulped down her drink and eagerly filled her bowl with tiny scoops of rice. The others joined her, and for a few minutes, the only sounds were of licking spoons and slurping wine. I decided to bite the bullet and get the ball rolling. "So. About our deal."
The fairy with the cane pointed her spoon at me and chewed her mouthful of food. "Yes, okay. Fine. You feel bad, right? No fresh wax, no fae lights. Yes?" When I nodded, she grinned and returned to eating. "No honour, no candles." She added, nibbling on a grain of rice like I would bite a loaf of bread.
"Well, the oath is broken." The one with the shawl mumbled in such a sad, dejected tone that it made me feel terrible for my parents. "Andersens good tenants. Little Andersen, not so much."
"Lillian Andersen was a good human," The angry little redhead grumbled and slammed her tiny hand on the table in agreement. "Agreed to rules. We had a deal! Hubert Andersen was grouchy, probably where you get it. Rude human."
The woman with the cane sniffled and sipped her wine. "This is Lillian Andersen's offspring? He's not half the man his mother was!" Her words pierced me like arrows; she had no idea how right she was. The worst part was, she spoke it like a fact, not an accusation.
The woman in the shawl nodded in agreement with her companion. "Philip Andersen lacks a mother's touch." The others giggled at her words, and it was embarrassing because it was true! "You know, right? These were fae lands first. Fae lived before humans, fae will live after. Why, then? Why do humans feel so entitled?" Her sad expression made me wonder if she had some bad run-ins with humans.
The one with the cane raised her wine bowl and beamed at the others. "Humans are always entitled! This, the seelie knew well. This, the unseelie used well!" I felt a chill run down my spine when her eyes locked onto mine. "Solemn oaths, solemn promises. This is how we fae thrive. Unbreakable trust and solidarity. Your Andersens made deals with seelie. Now the oaths are broken, yes? Think about what that means. Lucky human, lucky we moved in first."
They were talking in riddles and curses; I had no idea what they were saying. The fairy in the sock-dress stopped eating and fixed me with a knowing look. "You look confused, human." She giggled and sipped her wine; it was an oddly arrogant gesture for her size. "We eat crumbs, borrow knick-knacks. Do you want us gone?"
I shrugged and refilled my wine bowl; it was rich, but I could stomach it. "If I said yes? What would happen?"
The one with the shawl looked like she was about to burst into tears. "You know, you know? Some fae don't eat crumbs and take trinkets. Some, some eat flesh and steal souls." I shuddered at her words as a cold shiver ran down my spine. "Devour and deceive, this is their way. Unseelie fey are nightmares. Humans are blind, see only beauty! Seelie, at least, like humans. But a deal is a deal is a deal, human."
The woman with the cane cracked an amused smile and laughed. "Can you pay rent, Philip Andersen? You don't get to have opinions!" Her companions cackled along with her, and their sudden outburst startled me; they sounded like chipmunks screeching. "Want us gone? Will just find another tenant! Better hope unseelie don't move in! Bad luck for you, better deal for us!"
"I like the Andersens. Nerdy humans. Write poetry." The one in the sock-dress took advantage of my stunned silence to chime in with her own little speech. "You should write too, human." The one in the shawl shot her a disapproving glare, but she shrugged and smiled at me. "We can help with that."
The angry little redhead pointed her fork at me with an annoyed sigh. "So, new terms, then? Speak, human!" I noticed the cane-fairy suppressing a giggle while the others rolled their eyes at her remark. I wondered if they had the same confrontational relationship in private; was she their leader?
I shook my head to clear it of stupid thoughts; what kind of nonsense was that? They were fairies! Magical little creatures! It didn't matter if they were real or not, there was no way I could give them legal groundings to rent out my house! But despite my initial disbelief, the longer I spent with them, the more comfortable I became; it was kind of hard not to when they were so small and silly-looking. It didn't help that they were easy on the eyes.
"Um." I cleared my throat and refilled their bowls with wine. "Well, how does this work? Like, are we going to write up a contract or something? How does one strike a deal with the fae?" I asked my questions while I chewed a slice of roast chicken; their giggling didn't bother me anymore. They were very expressive, and I didn't mean their shrill little squeaks and chirps; they flailed and gesticulated a lot whenever they talked, and their mannerisms were adorable.
The fairy in the sock-dress was the first to reply. "Can do blood-oath, maybe. Or promise your firstborn? What worth? New deal: no child, no seed of Andersen blood. No more oathbreakers after you." She shrugged and licked her spoon clean; a tiny drop of wine ran down her cheek and made her wipe it off with her arm. "Maybe should ask others first, though. See if they want more Andersens on the land."
"Whatever." The fairy in the shawl chirped as she munched on a potato cube. She slurped her wine and hiccupped. "I miss Hubert. His poetry was funny! Not so much fun with the son."
"Dumb kid." The fairy with the cane smirked at me and sipped her wine. "Terrible deal-maker. Can't write worth his life! Hubert was fun! Made an effort." She stopped eating and looked at me with a mix of annoyance and pity. "So? Deal or no deal, Philip Andersen? C'mon!"
They all focused on me now, waiting for me to say something. The pressure was too much to handle while I was drunk on fine port! I threw up my hands in surrender and chuckled, "Fine, okay! Tell you what: since I'm a bit of a lost cause," they giggled at my admission and nodded in agreement, "I wasn't planning on having a family anyway. You can have that." They cheered at my words and the woman with the cane tried to pour more wine in their bowls; the bottle was empty.
She clicked her tongue and turned to me with a hopeful expression. "More wine? More talk? We still need to decide rent! Free reign and unlimited access: impossible! Too much value, too big a risk!"
I knew nothing about fae law, so I had no clue what she was talking about. Were they meant to offer something in exchange? "Well, I'm out of money, jobless, and I lost my old place. This bungalow's all I've got, and I won't be able to pay the mortgage for long." The four women shared concerned glances and turned back to me with tense expressions. "Any way you can help with that?"
They whispered among themselves for a while; the angry redhead seemed to be doing most of the talking. Every once in a while, one of them would hiccup or burp, then cover her mouth and blush as she tried to hide her embarrassment. Eventually, they came to a conclusion and faced me again with renewed determination. "So. Will help with that." The fairy in the shawl paused as she gave me an odd look. "On one condition: must write poetry!"
My mind was too muddled by drink to fully grasp what she said; all I could think of was: 'aww, how cute!' "Huh?" I choked out through a mouthful of roast potatoes. "Poetry? Why?"
The fairy with the shawl looked ready to cry again. "Because. I miss Andersen poetry. If you write it, it will sell. If it sells, you will make money. Keep house. Keep buying fine port and chickens." They all nodded in agreement; I was getting used to their style of making decisions through consensus. I thought it was a ridiculous condition: write poetry or lose my house? But who was I to argue with their logic?
"Alright, sure!" I chuckled and poured myself some more wine. "What if I don't write poetry? Will you... evict me?" My joke wasn't appreciated; the three fairies who'd joined later looked horrified at the prospect of abandoning their home, but the first one puffed out her cheeks in frustration and banged her fist on the table.
"Dumb oathbreaker! Bad! Stop and think, all bad things in your life. All after oath broken. Dumb!" She yelled at me in such a childish fit of rage that I couldn't help but laugh; she reminded me of a little girl throwing a tantrum. "It's luck, human. Your Andersens lived good lives, good people, loved by community. They were blessed by seelie luck. Understood? No oath, no luck." She hopped off her seat and hobbled around the table to me; I felt her tug at my pants' leg as she struggled to get my attention. "If you prefer unseelie, can force misfortune on Andersen enemies. But their deals are less fun for Andersen boy, understand?"
Her words made me shudder in fear as I remembered the fairy's earlier mention of flesh-eating nightmares. "Y-yeah, okay. Fine. I'll write some stupid poetry and buy you some wine and chicken." I felt like I was forgetting something. This all seemed too easy. Why had the exterminator suggested I get a priest or lawyer? Why did the old guy tell me to hire a pro? Well, it didn't matter; I didn't have the money or connections for that, anyway. Besides, these ladies were a lot nicer than Bartholomew made them out to be.
The words I had forgotten were buried within my subconscious mind. I couldn't recall them, so I couldn't avoid them. Old man Bart's words fell on deaf ears earlier: "... don't let your guard down around 'em, and don't make deals with fae..." But I did make a deal with them. And now, they were eager to seal it.
"Deal, then! Blood oath." The fairy with the cane hobbled closer to me and reached up to tap my nose. "Philip Andersen. Write us poems. Let us live here. No more Andersens after you." Her serious demeanour was ruined by the amused giggles of the others. I wanted to refuse her demand, but she had already pressed her tiny palms together as if in prayer. Her skin was translucent enough that I could see the veins on her wrists; they glowed and pulsated as she whispered her incantation: "Deal is sealed."
I felt a stabbing pain in my chest as if my heart was pierced by a needle. It wasn't real, but it was excruciating! "Aggh!" A sudden burst of energy washed over me as the agony disappeared. It was like I was given an adrenaline rush. Every cell in my body tingled with anticipation, like every inch of me was so eager to live that it hurt! I looked down at the tiny fairy and noticed how bright her green eyes were; they glimmered like polished emeralds in the dim light of dusk. Like the candles I once lit for my parents.
Maybe if they were ugly, or scarred, or had fangs or something... maybe if they had told me they were going to eat my flesh or steal my soul, I'd have been more cautious. But the truth was, they were pretty, innocent, and adorable little women who just wanted to read some poetry and live in peace. That was how I felt, that was why I did it. Why I lowered my guard and trusted them. Why I made another mistake that would haunt me until my dying day. That was the day Andersen Publishing was founded. The exterminator's words reached me from the back of my port-addled mind: "Try a priest, or a lawyer, depending on your goals."
"Good luck."