The Fairy Gift (5 page)

I ran as fast and as hard as I could for as long as I was able, and it was only when I stopped, leaning against a dirty wooden wall to catch my breath, that I realized that I was all alone in a place I had never been before with absolutely no idea where I was.

I walked for hours.
I didn't know what time it was, but the streets were mostly deserted. I came across a few people and tried to ask for directions, but they refused to look at or acknowledge me. I knew I should have used my powers to influence one of them to help me, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Besides, by the looks of most them, I didn't think I really wanted their help. I was deep into the older, seedier part of the city and could not seem to find my way out.

I found myself wandering slowly toward an area with more traffic, and eventually made my way onto a street that was packed with people, despite the late hour. They wore all variations of dress, from wealthy to beggarly, and casually rushed about, laughing and talking loudly. I walked past several gambling houses and a few pubs with tall, intimidating men standing at the doors. I was beginning to get very tired, teetering as I walked. Then I heard a voice directed at me.

"Hey there, handsome. Looking for someone to spend the night with?" I turned. A girl stood in the doorway of a warm, but dimly-lit building, looking at me coyly. She was backlit, but I could see that she was only about my age. She looked tired, although she hid it well with a cocky stance, leaning one hand on the doorframe and perching the other jauntily on her hip.

"Sorry," I said. "But I have no money for what you're offering. If I did, I would spend it on food." I was ravenously hungry, although I had been ignoring it for the past few hours.

She pouted at me, saying with mock sympathy, "Oh …  Handsome boyo's down on his luck?"

"Yes," I said shortly. "I don't suppose you could direct me to the palace?"

She righted herself jauntily and pointed a gloved hand up a dark street to my left. "About an hour's walk that way. But they close the gates at sundown. They won't let you in at this hour—even if you're the king's long lost son!"

"The king has a long lost son?" I asked wearily.

She frowned at me. "No. That was a joke." When I just stood there, staring blearily at her, she shook her head and started to turn away, but then turned back. "Are you alright?" she asked me. "You really look awful."

"Thank you," I said. "I've had a bad day." I touched the back of my head, which had impacted the street when I had fallen. It was crusted with blood, and was numb and painful to touch.

"You've hurt yourself," she said, more seriously now. "What happened? Do you still remember who you are?"

"Yes," I scoffed. "I just don't know where I'm supposed to be."

She stared at me for a long moment, and then said, "You'd better come inside," and stood aside to allow me to enter.

"I don't have any money," I reminded her.

"I don't intend to service you," she replied. "You can find a way to repay me later. Now, come in, before I change my mind."

I nodded and ducked under her arm, into the dim light of the brothel.

It was crowded with people, men chatting with each other and with the women who lounged on soft couches and chairs, or stood against the walls, waiting for a potential customer to take notice of them. The air hung thick with incense and perfume.

"I'm Aria, by the way," the girl said, as she led me through the crowded room. I kept my eyes fixed on her blonde hair, which was piled high and haphazardly on her head, in order not to lose her in the mass of people.

"Marcus," I replied, and she spared a glance back to smile at me. She led me to the very back of the room, where an enormously fat lady was perched on a stool that was too small for her, drinking a glass of wine. She was wearing several layers of sumptuous fabrics and beads, and her hair was all perfectly arranged in ringlets and tight curls.

"Titiana," said Aria nervously, "this is Marcus."

Titiana's beady eyes fixed on me. For some reason, they were immensely terrifying. "A customer?" she barked.

"No, ma'am." Aria's voice was quiet and meek. "He's lost. I thought we might offer him a place to stay the night, or at least a meal."

Titiana drew herself up to her full height of at least six feet.

"You
thought
?" she boomed at Aria. "You thought
what
?! And how many
customers
have you managed to acquire tonight, girl? Get back out there and do your job! We can't be bringing in rats of the street! Out, out!"

Aria squeaked and fled. I moved to follow, but Titiana apprehended me with her voice.

"Marcus, was it?" She was peering at me, her small eyes even narrower than before.

"Um. Yes?"

She stared at me for a moment longer. "Hmm." She did not sound pleased, and I wondered why she didn't just kick me out. I was more than a little surprised when she instructed, "Come with me," and exited through a door to her right.

I followed her through a hanging velvet curtain into a room that was much brighter and less hazy. It was a little kitchen, I realized, with a rough wooden table at one end and a worn countertop at the other. A man stood at the sink, washing his way through a pile of dishes. He wore plain clothes, and his skin was almost black, reflecting the light of the candles in a peculiar way.

"Emie!" Titiana barked, and the man turned to face us, a soapy washcloth still in his hand.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Is there any gruel left from dinner?" She had a strange way of always sounding angry, no matter what was said.

"Uh, yes, ma'am, a little."

"Good." Titiana jerked her head at me. "Feed this." She waddled back into the front room.

Emie stared at me for a long moment. "You alright?" he asked. "Look like you don't know where you are."

"I don't," I replied, blinking at him. His features were difficult to see in the darkness, and I couldn't make out his expression.

He tilted his head, and there was a flash of white teeth in his dark face as he grinned a little. "The Parlour. A high-class brothel. Come, sit."

I did, gratefully, on one of the hard wooden chairs at the table. A few moments later, a bowl of something lukewarm and edible was placed in front of me, and I gulped it down as fast as possible without choking. Emie stared at me for a few moments, and then went back to washing dishes.

I finished eating, and then immediately felt sick to my stomach. The food seemed to have reinstated my pain receptors, and the bruises on my head and body were starting to hurt terribly. I wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Just then, the door opened, and a luminous figure swept in. It was another girl, this one all decked out in delicate silks and shimmering golds. Her blonde hair was arranged delicately upon her head and dripping with beads and jewels, almost to the point of obscuring her face. Perhaps it was my tiredness, but I immediately thought that she was incredibly beautiful.

"Titiana won't let me service any more gentlemen tonight!" she cried to Emie, obviously enraged. Then she turned, and uttered a small, "Oh," when she realized there was someone else in the room.

After it seemed that no one was going to say anything, I offered a quiet, "Hello. I'm Marcus."

"Oh," she repeated. "Hello, Marcus. What are you doing here?"

"Um." I gestured at the now-empty bowl. "Eating."

"Are you a customer?" she asked, still regarding me cautiously.

"No," I said, "I don't have any money."

"Ah." She then smiled, sweeping over to flop down ungraciously in the chair across from me, before lowering her jewelled head to the table. "Oh, dear Emie, can't you tell her she's being unreasonable?"

"I can't tell her nothing," replied Emie without turning around. "Not if I want to get paid."

The girl sighed and turned back to me. She had very bright blue eyes, lined with gold, and her face was all delicate and powdered. I couldn't fathom why it was I found myself attracted to her. Perhaps I did like women, after all? Or perhaps it was just that those big blue eyes reminded me of Adam …

I snapped myself away from that train of thought and forced myself to make steady eye contact with the girl. She giggled.

"I'm Hailey," she said, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Does Titiana know you're here?"

"Um. Yes. She's the one who brought me back here.

"Ah." Hailey's eyes went wide. "She must like you, then. Do you know her?"

"No," I began, "I—"

We were interrupted by another girl, with dark hair and eyes, peering around the curtain at us. "Hailey!" she whispered. "You have a customer!"

"Oh!" Hailey looked excited as she rose from the chair. I realized that her dress was in a different style than the other girls—it looked like something I had seen in a diagram of foreign dress back home in the Rell library:  layers of silk crossed in the front and long, flowing sleeves. Her clothing looked much more expensive than any of the dresses the other girls wore. I realized that probably meant that Hailey herself was also probably more expensive. I refused to think about that.

"You won't be happy about it," the dark-haired girl warned Hailey, as she swept from the room. Then she turned to me. "Titiana says you can stay the night. I don't know
why
, but she seems to like you. You can have the spare bedroom. Come with me."

I did as instructed, and followed her out into the front and up a winding staircase. We passed by several wooden doorways, through which some questionable noises escaped. I was still refusing to think about it. Finally, we came to the doorway at the end of the hall. The girl (she had introduced herself as Muse on the way up) opened it with a tiny silver key and ushered me in.

It was tiny, only big enough for a small single bed and an old rickety writing desk. The bedspread was badly stained—I didn't want to know from what—and the whole room smelt disgustingly musty. But it was a place to sleep, and I thanked Muse profusely.

"Don't mention it," she said somewhat sardonically. She closed the door behind her as she left, and then I was alone.

I went to the mirror above the desk and stared at myself. I looked positively haunted. My hazel eyes were wide and bloodshot, and there was a bruise forming on my left temple where one of the slave traders had hit me. Backing up and unbuttoning my shirt, I noticed that I had lost weight on my trip with Dante. I was leaner than before, although of course still perfectly muscled. I turned to inspect my back, sliding my shirt off as I did so, although I hardly needed to—the fabric had been worn right through from my being dragged along the ground. There were long, nasty-looking scrapes all up my back, and they were filled with dirt and rubble. I wondered if the scrapes would ever heal properly.

I knew I should probably find some water and a washcloth with which to clean myself, but I couldn't stomach the thought of going back downstairs and talking to anyone else. Instead, I simply stumbled to the bed and, without even bothering to lift the covers, fell onto it and into the deepest, heaviest sleep I had ever had.

I awoke to find myself tucked under the blankets.
For a moment, I thought I must have crawled under them in the night, but then as I began to move a little, testing my sore body, I realized that I was most certainly not wearing any clothes. I jumped, and then winced when my whole body violently berated me for doing so. Moaning, I attempted to slide back under the blankets, not caring how I had come to be naked underneath them—I only wanted to sleep for another week or so. Then I heard giggling.

I turned and realized that the door stood slightly ajar, and I heard the whisper of skirts and the unmistakable laughter of several girls directly outside it. They suddenly went quiet when I sat up, but I knew better than to think they had left.

"I know you're still there," I informed them, in no mood to be accommodating. "Could one of you please be so kind as to inform me as to the whereabouts of my clothing?"

There was more furious giggling, and then one of the girls burst into the room, apparently shoved in by the others. She was furiously holding back laughter and looked ridiculously shy about being in a room with a naked man, considering her profession.

"Er," she started. "It's washing day. We figured you might like your clothing washed before you left today, so we, er … took them off of you."

More giggling from the doorway.

"We tried to clean you up a bit, too," she continued earnestly. "You had some nasty cuts on you."

I realized that the numbness I had been feeling on my back was actually the presence of several bandages. I immediately felt grateful and sat up further to inspect the cut on my head, which had also been bandaged with gauze. As I did so, the sheet fell from my shoulders to pool at my waist. I didn't realize at first, until I noticed that the girl was staring at me, biting her lip in a telltale manner.

"Um." I struggled to be polite and keep my powers in check, which was more difficult to do when I could feel someone's lust directed at me. "Could I … perhaps have something to wear, until my clothes are clean?"

"Oh!" She jumped, her eyes skittering back up to my face. "Of course, I'll find you a robe." She flitted from the room, and I heard another outbreak of giggling and whispering as the girls retreated from the doorway. A few moments later, the same girl, noticeably shyer, returned with a thick red robe and handed it to me, before once again fleeing the room.

I pulled the robe over my shoulders and found my boots at the foot of my bed. Glancing once again at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered how deeply asleep I had been to not notice the girls removing all of my clothing, and then washing and dressing my wounds. I hoped they hadn't looked too closely at my body, but had I sneaking suspicion that they had. I felt rather violated.

I made my way down the stairs and into the main room of the Parlour. Empty and filled with the light streaming through the gauzy curtains, it seemed much larger and less intimidating than it had the night before. Emie had called the place a 'high-class brothel', and I found I couldn't deduce whether he had been joking or not. The couches and decorations were sumptuous indeed, but all seemed rather dated and worn at the same time. The bedrooms couldn't all be as small as mine, I reasoned. At least the girls
had
bedrooms, and some of the clientele had looked quite wealthy. I decided that Emie must have been telling the truth. Prostitution was legal, I remembered; that had to account for some of it.