There. That’s my part of the bargain upheld.
I’ve just tucked the bag beneath my cloak when I hear soft steps coming from behind me. I don’t know if I would’ve picked up on them ordinarily, but after being chased by the mysterious rider—and the way the imps basically confirmed that the Shadow Realm is especially dangerous for a human like me—I’m definitely on edge. A fairy could fart in these woods and I’d hear it.
I wish I had a weapon. It’s the only thought running through my head as I think about whether or not I want to look behind me. I traded an apple away for a cloak that’s supposed to help me hide in the shadows, but I should’ve offered a third one if they traded me a pair of scissors or a heavy hammer that I could protect myself with. But they didn’t and I decide I’ll swing my heavy bag of faerie fruit if I have to right before I slowly turn around.
The first thing I notice is the fiery red embers that seem to be floating in the air a few feet away from me; it’s at hip-height, maybe a little higher, closer to my belly button. I hear a strange sucking sound before the spot in the darkness brightens, followed by a rough, croaking voice that says, “Ah. And there she is.”
My heart stops.
“Who… who’s out there?” I ask, my voice shaky, my eyes searching the darkness. All I see is the red speck but, even in Faerie, I know that fire can’t talk. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you know me?”
If I did, I wouldn’t have asked.
There’s a striking sound, a pop, then a spark. A match bursts into flame, the orange light reflecting off of a wizened face with a long nose, bushy white eyebrows, and pupils as big and black, as shiny as a pair of marbles.
The match goes out, leaving only the red speck that I finally realize is the burning tobacco nestled in the pipe he’s holding in his knobby hand. Darkness falls again.
That’s okay. Turns out I do know him.
“You… you’re the little man from the inn.”
“Man?” he sniffs, offended. “No, girly. I ain’t no man. Ol’ Grimly’s a gnome, he is.”
Grimly. That’s right. He told me that’s what he was called when I accidentally joined him at his table in Hildy’s inn. I was fresh out of Siúcra, anxious to meet up with Rys again, and I sat down at the nearest booth, hoping that the rest of the patrons would stop watching me so closely. I thought it was empty. I was wrong. The little man—well, gnome—was sitting on the far side of the bench, seemingly hidden beneath a pile of old laundry and dirty rags that, on closer inspection, turned out to be his clothes.
I don’t remember seeing him in the inn when I left with Saxon. After I scooted out of Grimly’s booth, I talked to Hildy and went upstairs to a rented room to wait for Rys. Even though the Seelie who came looking for me at the inn was Saxon and not Rys, hours had passed since I spoke to Grimly. He might’ve still been in the inn, but why?
And what the hell is he doing here now?
I ask him that, feeling my stomach drop when Grimly says, “Looking for you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you owe me a favor.”
I do? “What? Hang on, how did you even know how to find me?” I walked through a hidden fairy circle in the Seelie Court and ended up in the Shadow Realm. No one should’ve been able to find me, especially not so soon. “How did you get here?”
“It was easy. I watched you sneaking out with that other Seelie guard and I was thinking that you might try to leave without ol’ Grimly calling in the favor you owe him. I couldn’t have that. So, you see, I followed behind you and his lord and watched you go through the fairy circle. The fae left once you was gone so I jumped right behind you. After that”—the red dot jumps as the hand holding the pipe lifts up to his face—“I just followed my nose. Sniffed you out, I did. Saw you mingle with the imps. Waited for the human and here you are.”
Welp. I did ask.
But I don’t get it. “And you did all that because I owe you a favor?”
“That’s right.”
“But I don’t.”
“‘Course you do.”
I think I would remember doing something so stupid. When it comes to the faerie folk, never give your true name—which is why I go by Elle here instead of Helen—and, unless you know what you’re doing, never, ever owe them anything. To the fae, there’s no such thing as a “favor”. It’s a contract, a bargain, or a debt—and it’s basically a blank check for them to cash in. And, from what I understand, the price is always super high.
“I—”
He cuts me off with a snuffling laugh, then a perfect mimicry of my voice carries on the air.
“Thanks.”