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  “My fault,” I said, nervous under her disapproving stare, as Nadia withdrew her hand but not her glamour from my body. “I, um.”

  “I can’t blame you for your taste, but consider courting my daughter at a sane hour of the night.” Her look silenced the retort forming on my tongue. “I’ll allow you this one strike because you seem like a good kid. I won’t even call your parents. But let’s not have a second time, all right?”

  “Understood,” I said, and then for Nadia’s benefit I added a “ma’am” that seemed to go over well. Well enough for her to give Nadia a meaningful look and then go inside, leaving us alone with the porch light on.

  Nadia stood awkwardly in her robe. “Robin…”

  “Thanks for covering me. Literally and figuratively.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t need me to do that for you, you know. You were just fine before you met me.”

  I wasn’t, though I hadn’t realized it until she showed up in my life. But I didn’t have a chance to say that to her. The words died in my throat as she leaned her head toward mine, not a smooth confident motion but awkward, jerky. Her eyes started to close. Hands at my side, I focused on my glamour, trying to make myself handsome, taller, better dressed.

  Nadia reached out and pulled the glamour from me entirely. “Stop that.”

  “What, you’ve got a thing for fuzzy legs?” I squeaked.

  She laughed. “No, you idiot. I’ve got a thing for you. Really you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be someone else for me.”

  “I’m not even the same thing as you…”

  “That doesn’t matter. I don’t even know what I am, and I don’t care. We’ll probably break up in a year, anyway. We’re in high school. So don’t sweat it.”

  I should have been offended that she talked so casually about breaking up, as though anything between us was petty and ordinary and high school. But then I realized you couldn’t break up with someone unless you were in a relationship with them, and while my brain tried to catch up to my ears, she kissed me.

  ~*~

  Lauren Liebowitz lives in Austin, Texas, which (if you listen to city marketing) is simultaneously the “live music capital of the world” and “a city within a park”—the perfect home for humans and fae creatures alike. She works as a copywriter at a small local university, but in her free time, she writes fiction, bakes too much banana bread, and leads a video game cover band in which she sings and plays flute.

  ~*~

  F.C.U.

  Jon Arthur Kitson

  Fairies don’t age like other creatures, so Orchid’s reflection in the gold bands covering the dungeon wall told him nothing. He ran a hand along his smooth face, down his sharp chin. Days, weeks, or even years could have passed since he’d been captured and imprisoned in this strange place.

  His hand dropped and, for the hundredth time, reached around his back, around the translucent wings folded against his bare flesh, and found the end of the red rope affixed to the base of his spine. The other end of the rope—the end he’d pulled from the wall only an hour earlier—dangled limply against the dungeon floor.

  It was smooth, like the skin of a frog.

  He wrapped his hand around the rope and pulled. He felt pressure, but just like all the times before, it didn’t give. He let go and crumpled to the floor.

  In the dim light, Orchid sighed. He wondered if, back in his tiny village nestled along the stream bank, the rest of the Fae already told stories about him. What did they say? Had he drifted into legend?

  Orchid thought he knew:

  There once was a fairy who wanted so desperately to know what made the sky beyond the Forbidden Mountain glow that, despite the danger, he took wing and went to see. The foolish fairy never returned.

  And, for the young girl-fairies feeling the first pangs of love, they would add:

  The woman he loved begged him not to go, but he didn’t listen. Unable to be without him, she followed. She, too, has never returned.

  Orchid remembered the day well. So well it gave him hope his time in the awful prison had been brief.

  They took to the sky as soon as the morning dew dried from their wings. Lilly, still apprehensive, turned every few minutes to watch the valley retreat behind them. She paused on the limb of an elm that marked the border of their homeland.

  “My love,” she said, holding out a hand, “are you sure about this?”

  He landed and folded his hand in hers. Gently, he kissed her cheek.

  “If you’re afraid, little blossom, you should turn back. I won’t be angry.” He looked toward the mountain. “But I have to go. I have to see.”

  “I won’t leave you,” she declared. “We belong together, wherever we are.” Her eyes followed his up the mountain. “But no one has ever returned.”

  Orchid smiled.

  “Then we’ll be the first,” he promised and pulled her into the air.

  In the dungeon, he sighed again.

  It looked like he’d made a promise he couldn’t keep.

  Lilly’s trepidation soon gave way to wonder, just as the familiar flora of the valley gave way to the unusual plants growing squat against the mountain slope. They flew through the day, buzzing around the craggy bushes and sampling the nectar of the strange new flowers. As night fell, they reached the summit. The clouds beyond glowed bright from whatever mystery lay beneath them.

  Trembling, they peered over the crest…

  … and down on a sprawling village. An impossible city of stone, metal and light.

  Then they heard voices. Much too close. Before they could dart into hiding the lightning sting of a net fell over them, then… nothing.

  Until he awoke here.

  Alone.

  Orchid’s hands balled into fists, fingers stinging against the welts on his palms from the hours, or maybe days, of pulling at the rope. The pain cleared his exhausted head. He looked around his prison.

  He only knew of dungeons from legends of the Old Times; the long ago days when the world—and fairies—still contained magic. In those times the Fae flew boldly amongst the other beings of the world. If the legends could be believed, fairies were revered for their wisdom and ability to see the hidden connections of nature. So much so, the other races sought their counsel.

  Sometimes the Fae gave it willingly; but not always.

  Countless stories told of fairies captured and forced into servitude. Many of those tales mentioned dungeons; cold, wet prisons of stone and iron.

  This dungeon was nothing like that.

  The floor and walls were not rough rock; they were smooth, unnaturally so. Orchid rapt his knuckles on the floor. A dull, hollow knock echoed back, similar to wood, but different. And it was dry. The entire cell. Not a drop of moisture in the warm air.

  Orchid stood and looked at the walls.

  They were green, but not from moss or slime, and made from the same substance as the floor. Bands of gold were pounded flat into their surface, tracing intersecting paths, all straight lines and sharp angles, over the span. Strange objects broke the golden maze at irregular intervals.

  Most of them were illuminated orbs—some blue, some green—casting shadowy light around the cell. They showed no evidence of flame or smoke and were cool to the touch. Along with the orbs, a collection of cylinders and boxes—squares and rectangles—protruded from the walls. Orchid inspected one of them.

  Black—most of the objects were, except for a few of the cylinders which were shiny metal—and smooth. Crowded silver prongs extended from its sides, like the legs of a centipede, holding it to the wall. Symbols covered its top:

  F.C.U.6723-48

  Orchid scanned the walls. All of the objects contained similar, but not identical, labels; only the F.C.U. repeated around the room.

  A curse, he guessed.

  Orchid chose one of the golden trails. His eyes followed it. The path, all of the gold paths, led to—or originated from—one spot. Orchid stared.

  A shudd
er traveled his body.

  A ring of dull gray sat in the center of the golden lines. Gingerly, he lifted the rope dragging from him like a tail and brought the end to his face. It terminated in a ring identical to the one on the wall.

  The shackle that had held him in place.

  And, he suspected, tortured him.

  While the rope had tethered him to the wall, cursed dreams swirled through his head. Bizarre images—rigid fish swimming through a night sky, the only words to describe them—blew through his mind like a hurricane. And numbers; nonsensical combinations twisted in his head and burst from his mouth. Like invading vines, they had squeezed at his consciousness, choking it away.

  Then, suddenly, they subsided. Their hold on his mind weakened and slowly he regained control of his body.

  It all stopped when he ripped the rope from the wall.

  Free.

  Orchid looked at himself in the gold bands.

  If this was actually free.

  One wall contained a rigid opening. A doorway with no door. The dim light of the orbs spilled out it, revealing a passageway as strange as his own cell. He knew he should run, complete his escape, but he couldn’t muster the strength.

  Or nerve.

  Instead, he reached out a hand and traced a line of gold. His finger tips brushed their own reflection.

  He thought of Lilly.

  “Where are you, little blossom?”

  “Orchid?”

  Her voice came from outside his cell, weak and dry. Orchid ran toward it, into the passageway without hesitation. The cursed rope rattled along the floor behind him.

  He found her in the next cell.

  Lilly laid face down on the hard floor, her radiant butterfly wings spread around her like a carpet, covering most of the space. She was naked, except for the metal ring attached to the curve of her back. A smooth, red rope—just like the one trailing from his own back—snaked from the ring and into the nearest wall.

  “Lilly!” Orchid shouted.

  She groaned, but didn’t move. On the wall, the light nearest the rope briefly glowed bright, then dimmed.

  A shiver ran down Orchid’s spine.

  Unable to fly in the tight dungeon, he carefully stepped on Lilly’s delicate wing. The scales were silky smooth under his bare feet. He loved her wings. So full of life, even laying weak on the floor. And colorful, like a rainbow on her back. He extended a foot over one of the large green dots that dominated each wing corner. From the air, when Lilly coasted on the wind, the dots caught the sun and flashed. They almost rivaled her emerald eyes, which perpetually collected light and sparkled. Always. Even on a moonless night.

  Even now, when fear should have extinguished their preternatural glow. Orchid cradled her head in his hands and gazed in her eyes.

  “Orchid,” her voice rattled like fallen leaves over stone, but her lips curled into a smile. “It’s really you.”

  “Yes, little blossom, I’m here,” he said. A lump filled his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I could feel you,” she said, “in my head.”

  “You could?”

  “Yes. But I could feel, and see, other things, too. Things I don’t understand.” Her eyes turned up. “Oh Orchid, where are we? Are we dead? Is this Hell?”

  Orchid flushed. “No!” His voice echoed through the cell. “This is not Hell. Some cruel, evil magic, but not Hell.” Then softer, he said, “They would never let you into Hell, little blossom.”

  Softly, he lowered her head back to the floor and picked himself up. Skirting the edge of her wings, he went to the wall, where the rope extended to Lilly’s back. He inspected it.

  It was the same as the one that had bound him. Two metal rings, one on the wall, the other at the end of the rope, connected to each other. Orchid wrapped his hands around the one on the rope and pulled. His hands found purchase for a moment, but then slipped. He fell backwards, sliding across Lilly’s smooth wing.

  It tore.

  Orchid stared at the palm sized section of wing that had ripped free. His stomach turned. Even if he could free her, Lilly wouldn’t be able to fly. Not until the wing healed. He couldn’t carry her, his own wings weren’t strong enough. Even if they made it clear of the tight dungeon, they would be on foot.

  Fairies traveling on foot didn’t live very long.

  “Orchid, my love,” Lilly said, making him jump, “leave me. Save yourself.”

  Fairy wings, like those of the insects they imitate, have no nerve endings. Lilly had no idea how much more hopeless their situation had just become, but still, she offered to sacrifice herself for him.

  Him; the one responsible for her imprisonment.

  Tears welled in Orchid’s eyes.

  “Don’t say that,” he said. “I’m not leaving you, Lilly. Never.”

  Careful not to further ruin her wing, Orchid stood. He entwined his hands around the rope. Legs braced wide, toes digging into the floor, he pulled.

  The rope strained against the wall. It began to give.

  Lilly’s scream pierced his ears.

  The rope, still attached at both ends, dropped from his hands. He scrambled to Lilly and lifted her head. She was stiff.

  Her distended eyes stared ahead, unseeing. They looked past him, into a void he couldn’t see. Her mouth moved.

  “One-One-Zero-One-Zero-Zero-One—”

  The numbers came without emotion, like a trance. Orchid’s eyes darted around the room. The orb above the rope glowed bright. The others around the room blinked in time with Lilly’s voice.

  “Lilly,” he yelled, inches from her face.

  “—Zero-Zero-Zero-One-Zero-One—”

  “Lilly!”

  The numbers continued.

  Frantic, he grabbed the rope and yanked. Holes ripped in the bright wing scales beneath his feet.

  It didn’t give.

  “—One-Zero-One-Zero-One-One—”

  Orchid’s clear dragonfly wings unfurled, filling the cell. They beat the air as he strained. Tattered shards of Lilly’s wing swirled like snow in a blizzard. Rainbow snow. Sweat stung his eyes and dripped down his arms, covering the rope.

  His hands slipped free.

  He collided with the wall, tripping and tumbling over Lilly’s unmoving form. His wings crunched beneath him. Now neither of them could fly. His chin dropped to his heaving chest. Quietly, barely above a whisper, he said:

  “Lilly, I’m sorry.”

  She fell silent. Either because the curse had, for now, run its course, or because she heard him. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

  The dungeon shook. A grinding squeal came from the ceiling. Slowly, exhausted, Orchid looked up. Involuntarily, his eyes closed tight as the ceiling pulled away and light streamed in.

  “Yep,” a man’s voice boomed from above, “there’s your problem. One of the Fae Cores broke free.”

  “One of the fairies?” Another voice, a woman’s, asked. “Well, can you fix it?”

  “Depends,” the first voice answered. “Let’s see.”

  A shadow fell over Orchid. His eyes opened. A hand, a giant hand, reached for him through the opening. His wings beat weakly against the wall, the shattered tips whipping uselessly through the air.

  “It’s still alive,” the man declared, seconds before his hand engulfed Orchid. What remained of the fairy’s wings crackled like autumn leaves as the hand lifted.

  The dungeon spread beneath him.

  There were no other cells but their own. Lilly laid in hers, silent and unaware of the horrors around her. The passageway that connected the cells turned then abruptly ended in the same green walls, seemingly going nowhere. Bundles of the cursed ropes—some red, but others yellow and green—filled the perimeter of the dungeon, contained by a bare, white wall. More ropes, thicker and in blacks and grays, extended from the outside. What could only be the dungeon’s ceiling sat discarded to the side. Bold, black symbols covered its top:

  F.C.U.

  “Alive; are you
sure?” the woman asked.

  “Oh yeah,” the man said. “See.”

  The giant fingers unfolded, all but the thumb, which squeezed Orchid tight against the giant’s palm. He struggled, kicking and pounding against the embrace, but the thick flesh sprang back from each strike without a mark.

  “Plenty of life left in him,” the man laughed.

  Spent, Orchid slumped against the palm. The air, much colder than inside the dungeon, quickly dried his sweat-soaked skin. He shivered and watched a rain of Lilly’s wing scales fall from him. They fluttered into the air and around the impossible room.

  This, he thought, may be Hell.

  The cavernous space was enclosed, but lit like under a noonday sun. The light came from flat, glowing panels on the ceiling. Orchid stared until his eyes watered. He turned away, and saw more lights. These were weaker and multicolored, much like the dungeon’s orbs. They covered most of the walls, blinking in their own time. The woman sat at a short counter extending from the wall. Her fingers rested next to a plank covered in symbols and buttons.

  “So, can you put it back in,” she said, “or do you need to replace it?”

  “If it stripped its cord I’ll have to replace it. But hopefully the connecter just came loose from the circuit board.”

  “Why?” Then she groaned. “Please tell me you have a spare.”

  “I’ve got spares,” he said, “in cold storage, but they’re all farm raised. This one’s wild caught.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Some. The wild ones are a little faster. They can handle a few more binary calculations per second.”

  “Whatever,” the giant woman said. She pointed across the room. “You see that line of starships? They can’t dock with the station until you fix my computer. And my shift doesn’t end until they dock.”

  “Okay, okay,” the giant man said. “Let’s see what the problem is.”

  He rolled Orchid in his palm.

  The fairy hardly felt the pressure on his back as the giant tugged at the rope. A burst of air whistled between the man’s teeth.

  “You’re in luck,” he declared. “The cord looks fine. Must of just come loose. It happens sometimes.”