Lost Child of Fae Ch. 01

There exists, beyond this mundane world of ours, another world where magic thrives and mortals tremble.

--from Introduction, Whispers of the Wildborn

"MRREEAAOOOWWW!!"

The cat's cry woke Lena several minutes before her alarm would have done. It always did. She yawned and stretched the weariness from her limbs, blinking in the brilliance of the morning sun. Not only had the damn thing learned to preempt her wakeup time, but it had also started pulling the curtain back and hooking it on the edge of her dresser. As far as Thorn was concerned, it was breakfast time and she was getting up.

"Oof!" she grunted as the cat leapt up and landed directly on her belly. "I must be overfeeding you, you little monster!"

She reached behind its ear and tickled it there, feeling the strange horn-like bump beneath its fur. She'd wondered about it at first, but it didn't seem to bother him. Over time she stopped worrying. Now it felt normal, just a part of her friend. Mostly.

It was only a year ago that Lena had found Thorn. He'd gotten into her nursery and was crouched among the bushes at the back of her yard when she'd seen him. He was hissing and growling, hardly inviting approach, and yet slowly he'd allowed her to come near. She fed him a piece of meat from the sandwich she'd been eating and that was all it took. Since that day, she hadn't been able to shake him.

Not that she really wanted to, even if he was demanding and sometimes aggressive. In other words, she thought, a typical cat.

"I said 'Get out of bed and give me some chicken!'"

Lena chuckled. She often imagined the second, more insistent, growl the cat made to be actual speech. It wasn't of course; he was just a cat. Yet it always had that edge to it that sounded more sentient than bestial.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," she said, shaking her head in mock frustration as she climbed out of bed.

Thorn's tail flicked once as if approving of her obedience.

Lena padded to the kitchen without dressing. She enjoyed the feeling of the morning air against her skin. It reminded her of rituals in the night breeze, skyclad and connecting with the goddess, even if it was just the touch of the AC she was feeling now. Besides, why worry about clothes? She still had to shower, and she lived alone anyway. Who was going to ogle her? The cat? She chuckled at the thought as Thorn weaved between her legs, almost making her stumble. He gazed up at her and mewled.

Opening the fridge she took out the bowl of raw chicken pieces she'd shredded last night and placed a good handful on a plate for him. She'd thought it strange at first when he'd refused any food but meat and even then would only eat cooked meat if raw was unavailable. In the end she'd decided it was probably more natural for a predator to eat like that anyway and not really more expensive than top quality cat food.

She set the plate on the floor and watched as Thorn attacked his food. The way he tore at the meat always made her think of an apex predator from Whispers of the Wildborn, not a mere cat in a suburban garden.

Next came the coffee. If she needed anything each morning it was her coffee machine and a double-shot espresso packet. Nothing shook her awake quicker than the dark, bitter strength of her morning brew. She set up the machine and headed for the shower. It would be ready by the time she was done.

Lena ran her shower hot and painful. When she felt the water pound on her skin, almost scalding her, it seemed to ignite every nerve with life. Most would find it too much, but it always seemed to give her a near spiritual awareness of the world around her. She wondered if it was similar to the way scourging had been used by mystics and monks of older times.

It did make her showers quick though. A few minutes to soap her face, her limbs, her body and then wash it off with the steaming water. Another couple of minutes of shampoo and conditioner to tame a wilderness she passed off as effortless. And then she was out, gasping as she let her nerves slowly stop sizzling.

Once done she grabbed her coffee and headed back to her bedroom to dress. It was a warm day so a simple summer dress was all she really needed. Well, that and some shoes. Bras had always felt too constricting when she'd tried them so she no longer bothered. As to underwear, she considered that useful for part of the month, but otherwise pointless.

She took a deep draft of coffee and reached for her favourite book on her altar. It was a collection of fairy tales and folklore, not the cleaned-up Disney versions, but original works from around the world. Brothers Grimm sat alongside tales of the Baba Yaga, Vodoun folklore and indigenous tales related to travellers. She used to have an even better book of dark fae tales, Whispers of the Wildborn, but she hadn't seen it since childhood. At least, not physically. These days the tales haunted her dreams every night.

As she read she reached for the tarot deck next to her earthenware pentacle and cut it. A quick reading each morning was another habit she'd gotten into. She drew three cards while murmuring a prayer to the divine and lay them out one after the other.

The Nine of Cups landed in the present position. Said to be the wish card it was the sign that things were going well, a sign of contentment and success. Lena reflected on how accurate it was - she'd been through a difficult time when she'd started her nursery but it was finally profitable. She may not be in a relationship, but she felt at peace with just herself and Thorn. Even spiritually she seemed to have reached a place of satisfaction.

The Page of Swords lay reversed in the immediate future. It seemed out of place. The card indicated poor thought, aimlessness and broken dreams. In business it represented someone who was not following their own decisions and perhaps drifting. She considered whether she'd grown complacent with the way things were going but no, that didn't feel right. Perhaps then it was the indicator of a lover playing mind games. Her eyes flicked towards Thorn and she chuckled. "Are you up to mischief, you little devil?"

The cat stared at her unblinking.

Finally, the Lovers card took up the middle future. Again, inverted. Two naked humans stood beneath the gaze of an archangel while a serpent tempted them. Upright it would have indicated love, sex and the need to make life-altering choices. Inverted it still did, but with a much darker tone. It wasn't a nice card to follow the reverse page, but she had hardly drawn the cards with any serious sense of seeking. It could be telling her she had been a solitary for too long, worshipping and living alone when there was a world out there to explore.

Lena shrugged. "Well, at least the present looks fine, Thorn," she said. "I guess we should get on with the day."

Redgrave Plants and Seeds was a relatively small nursery with a good local reputation. Lena's mother had passed it down to her when she retired a few years ago and she had inherited her mother's touch with plants at the same time. Cold, disease and pests never harmed the things she grew and her customers often told her their plants were still flourishing many years after each purchase. It wasn't a busy store, but provided enough of an income that she didn't need to worry. More importantly, it meant she was working directly with the Goddess's natural world. She couldn't imagine a more fulfilling life.

The morning passed peacefully, with only a few customers coming to see what she had available. It was a chance to relax and enjoy the company of her favourite shrubs and flowers. Thorn, as always, took his position at the back of the yard, and watched what was happening with dispassionate interest.

Mr. Wintergreen stopped by around noon. It was a part of his daily routine - visit his wife, then her favourite store on the way home. He was carrying the small stool he always took with him on his visits.

"Afternoon, Frank," she said. "How are you today?"

"Pretty good," he replied. "Just back from my visit."

"Nice, so how is she?"

"Quiet as always," he said. "I can read to her for hours and she never says a word. But I know she hears everything."

Estelle, Frank's wife, had died over three years ago. Since then, Frank had been to her grave on a daily basis. He would spend hours sitting next to her headstone reading books from her favourite fantasy series aloud. His behaviour often drew questioning glances from people passing by, and so did the degree of sexuality described in the stories. As to his statement that Estelle was quiet, there were some who found it grotesque. Lena knew differently. There were things in the world to object to, but a loving ritual between a widower and his wife was not one of them. Silent presence had been her nature when Estelle had been alive. Confirming it now was Frank's way of maintaining the connection.

She lay her hand on Frank's gently. "She may not speak," she said. "But she always communicates."

"Yes," said Frank, his eyes shining with sweet reflection. "She does, bless her."

"I want a dozen red roses."

A credit card rapped on the counter between Lena and Frank Wintergreen. It was held in the perfectly manicured hand of a young and obviously wealthy woman. She was slim, attractive, and self-entitled. Lena didn't even look at her.

"So, Frank, I was thinking maybe you'd like a special bouquet to lay on Estelle's grave tomorrow to mark her birthday."

"Oh I couldn't afford that," said the old man.

Lena looked at him, remembering all the ways that Estelle had improved her community when she'd been alive. She volunteered at the soup kitchen, read to kids at the library, and ran an email support list for the elderly. Frank was there with her always.

"My gift. You forget, Estelle and I share our birthday, albeit a few years apart."

"That's... not necessary," said Frank. He had tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I'm in a rush," said the credit card.

Lena lowered her voice and held his hand for a moment. "Let me pull something together. Estelle would like that."

She began to walk around her nursery, picking out flowers as she went. "Lavender as a base for devotion... Rosemary for remembrance... a pale pink rose for each of you to symbolize your deep, abiding love... Hey, Frank, Estelle loved white irises didn't she?"

"She did," said Frank with a smile. "She said they were never as pure as I was. She always did give me too much credit."

"He's not even BUYING the flowers!" snapped the rich woman. "I'm ready to pay already!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am." said Lena. "I'm busy with another customer right now. I should be with you in about an hour or so."

"An hour?!?" the woman cried out. "What the hell? Don't you want to make money?"

"I can understand if that's too long for you to wait." Lena gave her a look that had nothing to do with warmth or respect. "I can heartily recommend Benson's Blooms on Archer Way. Their cuttings might even still be fresh by the time you decide to be a decent person."

"WHAT?! How dare you!"

Gathering the last of the blooms for the bouquet Lena returned to the counter. "No. How dare you? You think you're special because you have money? You're the least special person I've met in weeks. Now, as I say, Benson's Blooms is open. I suggest you go there."

"I want to speak to your manager!"

"You are."

With a cry of annoyance the woman pivoted on her heels and stormed out.

"I could have waited," said Frank, looking apologetic.

"You could," said Lena. "And that's why you didn't."

Frank laughed. It was nice to hear that. Since Estelle had died his laughter had been a lot less frequent.

"Aren't you afraid to lose the customer? She probably won't come back."

Lena stared through the gate to the retreating woman's back. She was already climbing into an SUV, preparing to leave. "No, she definitely won't. Frank, do you know who shops here regularly?"

"Me?" he said with a shrug.

"Definitely you - any time you can. It's sweet the way you honour your wife's life like that. Then there's the Jensen twins, Millie and Casey Williams, Don Travis, and even the local department store manager likes to pop in sometimes for flowers for the staff room. That woman? She's never been in before. And I'm pretty certain she's not new in town. Which means she's just passing through. Besides, I'd rather stay true to myself than to the dollar. Don't worry, I have enough."

"You always were a good woman," said Frank. "Well, I have to go. Take care."

The last customer left as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Lena stretched, luxuriating beneath the cooling rose of the evening sky. Days were beautiful fire, bringing life and joy, excitement and connection, but it was the darkness that made her feel truly whole and truly herself. Starlings soared overhead, their shrieks demanding she return home. She turned the sign to CLOSED and locked the gate behind her, slipping the key into the pocket of her dress. It had been another good day, bringing what she needed to feed her body. Now it was time to nourish her soul.

She crossed the gravel path back toward the house, her sandals making light scuffing sounds against the stone. Thorn trailed behind her, maintaining a silent vigil at her back. As they reached the house, he vanished into the tall ornamental grasses that lined the edge of her patio, hunting gnats in the twilight's chill.

Once inside, she lit some incense and turned the lights low. It was a mix of sandalwood and spiced pomegranate; there was no mystical symbolism to it, simply a fragrance that brought her peace. A glass of red wine made a nice treat alongside the plate of cold meats, cheese and fresh vegetables she'd left for her supper. As she ate, she turned on an ambient natural sounds playlist and picked up her journal. It was old, thick and bound in hard leather. She'd had it for years and it had become as much a part of her as the clothes she wore.

She took a long sip of wine, let it settle on her tongue, and began to write. The gentle caress of pen over paper teased her thoughts into ink, leaving memories and reflections to consider later. Sounds, emotions, sights and scents. The tapestry of her life wrote itself into her history.

When she turned the page, something slipped free.

It was a flower, its translucent silver petals glowing faintly like the aura of the full moon. It was strange not only in its shine, but in its petals too: ten of them, in 3 rings. The first was of 5 petals forming the full circle around the head. Then 3, forming another full ring above them. And at the top, two hemispherical petals formed the final enclosure. Prime numbers, thought Lena, and ten in total - the number of completion. Whatever this flower was, it wasn't of this world.

She was curious. Not afraid, but puzzled by the nature of the plant before her. It felt magical, but not the weak sensation that tingled at the base of her spine and top of her head when one of her spells was working. This was of a far different order, real and raw. She picked up the flower and gasped as she felt something jab her finger. Cursing slightly she raised the injured digit before her and looked at it. There was a minor cut, as if she'd been pricked by a thorn. But there was no blood. And the flower had no thorns.

She looked back at it with a frown, wondering how this could be. Then she noticed a drop of red seeping from the head of the flower.

"You're not from here, are you?" Lena said.

She took the plant into her bedroom and lay it on her altar. At once the two candles lit, as did the incense in her censer. It didn't smell like anything she'd experienced before though - a mix of fresh sod and smoke, tinged with sulphur and the undercurrent of rain. She'd found a source of magic, or more accurately, it had found her.

Lena removed her dress and settled before her altar, skyclad, and let her soul reach for the Lord and Lady. She did not call the four quarters, nor surround herself with a magic circle. This wasn't a night for ritual, but for meditation. A night she could seek understanding and connection with the source before her. Slowly she sank into the depths of herself.

As the world about her dissolved into shadow, the flower glowed ever more brightly. It floated in front of her, twisting in the air as if floating in a gentle current. A shining tendril, slender yet unbreakable, grew between them, linking Lena and her mystical bloom. She smiled at the rightness as she recognized herself in the head.

"I am thou," she murmured. "Thou art I."

One by one she felt her chakras open.

At the top of her head, the crown grew in understanding. There was nothing to fear here. There was no strangeness. There was only truth and that truth was her.

From her forehead, intuition surged. The magic in the air was sympathetic - where one thing was another not a mere symbol. A stone sparking in a river was a star, a doll was a person, and the bloom on the altar... was her and a world beyond at the same time.

Her throat spoke a new reality into being even as her body sat in silence. The world was changing, but not in any definite way. Before it had been something she had lived in, now it was something she was passing through.

In her chest, her heart swelled with identity and belonging. All her life she had been driven by questions and curiosities, but now answers were due and they were going to shatter her world.

Next was her solar plexus, the seat of personal power. It was growing, expanding, becoming something she'd never known. It felt like she held the power to an entire world, perhaps even a universe, within herself.

Her groin burned with something primal and inhuman. Sex had always been both a pleasure and a sacred act to her, but this was different -- hungry and demanding. It spoke of needs she had never understood and it would claim her whether she resisted or not.

Only the root chakra stayed closed, as if she was no longer rooted, no longer connected to the world.

Slowly she rose from the depths of trance to full awareness of the room she knelt in. A slick pulse lingered between her thighs--trance-born, elemental. The sacral chakra had claimed its due. Shivering slightly she opened her eyes.

On the altar, the candles and the censer were unlit. The strange flower was absent too, as if it had never existed. Instead Thorn sat there, watching her impassively as she bowed her head and let the remnants of the meditation fade. She rose slowly, unfolding each limb as she did and stroked Thorn's sleek fur.

"That was different," she said with a chuckle. "There's a change coming... and you know it, don't you?"

Thorn rubbed his head against her hand and meowed possessively. She led him to the kitchen, putting down a plate of food for him. She took a sip of wine and felt it slide down her throat, grounding her in the world she knew. But now her soul throbbed with knowledge that there was more than this. Much more.

As midnight approached, Lena prepared for bed. She pulled up her favourite independent news broadcast on her laptop. It was important, she felt, to stay grounded in what was happening in the world and not drift entirely into her local community and spiritual practice.

"Things are intensifying in the Middle East as Western troops enter the Gaza Strip..."

She sighed. Sometimes it seemed like the world at large only had bad news to impart.

The screen flickered. A sharp hiss of white noise tore through the broadcast, distorting the anchor's voice and shattering the image for a heartbeat. A moment later, the picture was clear once more... but it had completely changed.

The newsroom was gone. A throne room had taken its place: elegant and majestic in a way that made Lena's breath catch. A king stood dressed in shimmering silks of gold and green, his hand entwined with a queen wrapped in layers of dark satin that seemed to swallow light. They didn't move. They simply stared out of the screen. She could feel their gaze personally, intensely. They were staring at her.

They spoke in unison. Their voices twined together: ambrosia and citrus, sweet and sharp, like sunlight caught in storm clouds. She couldn't look away.

"We are the King and Queen of the Fae," they said, "and we bring you good cheer."

"There is a child of our courts, long lost to us in the mortal world. Now, the time has come to welcome our kin home."

They paused for a moment, staring at her. She'd always felt different from those around her, even to those she loved. Her spells were more powerful and more often successful than those of other Wiccans in her circle. Now she knew why. She wasn't merely touched by magic -- she was magic. She was fae.

"Those of you hearing this message have already been touched by fae magic. But among you," the Queen said--

"--is the one we seek, a child born of both our courts" the King finished. "The lost child of Fae."

Not just any fae, Lena thought. She was both seelie and unseelie. And now she was to go home.

"We invite you to join us tomorrow evening for a ball -- a celebration of your nature, and a claiming of your birthright."

"The way will be clear when the time is right," they said in unison. "Come. Join our merriment. Find your place among our noble ranks."

The Queen curtsied. The King bowed.

"It will be a night you will never forget," they promised. "With glorious food... and entertainment for all of us."

A ball, she thought. So there were others out there... but they weren't the one. She was. She knew it. Why else had her parents shared the original fairy tales with her since childhood? Why else had she found the magic bloom and experienced such a meditation? As if she needed further proof, tomorrow was her birthday. Her gaze met Thorn's and she saw awareness in his eyes that shouldn't be on a cat's face. "You know, don't you?"