“walking down your authentic path can be one of the loneliest roads to travel on because the longer you’re on it, the more you realize that only a select few will be compatible with who you are with no mask on.”
...What happens if I put a full twenty dollars into the urban fantasy vending machine?
it's been on the backburner for over a year, so nothing fresh, but for twenty dollars in the urban fantasy vending machine, here is a short vignette I haven't touched in a year and a half
The room was crisp and bright, all sharp edges and polished monochrome. The sun shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, refracting off the sparkling glass and steel spires that carved out the skyline and focusing with almost suspicious precision directly into my eyeballs. I slumped down further in my chair and squinted across at the empty desk. Everything was too damn bright.
“Can I get you anything, detective?”
The voice that rang out from behind me was innocent and musical. The woman it belonged to was not.
I scowled. “Absolutely not.”
“Suit yourself.” I could hear the indulgent smile. “The coffee’s very good, you know. I don’t settle for anything less than the best.”
“I’m sure.”
“And with a nose like yours, I’m sure you already knew.”
Water boiled, and a rich, bitter scent coiled through the air. It was good. Probably that Blue Mountain stuff, or - no. It had to be Turkish. Of course she’d do Turkish.
I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled harshly. There was no way around it - I was exhausted. I’d hit the 48-hour sleep dep limit back on Saturday and had been burning through raw determination ever since. It was damn stupid of me, frankly. I probably couldn’t even handle arithmetic right now, let alone solve a mystery.
But it’d be real stupid of me to accept a drink from the most notorious poisoner in history, so I was just going to have to deal with it.
I reluctantly opened my eyes and the world blurred back into focus as a tall figure briefly eclipsed the dazzling display of sun-sparkled skyscrapers. A coffee cup settled on the desk with a soft clink. There was a rustle as she settled into the high-backed chair and leaned forward. The sun caught in her golden braided bun and played across the shoulders of her elegant black suit. Pale, slender hands clasped the coffee cup with practiced precision.
“So,” Medea said. “How can I help you today?”
Her eyes were honey-gold. Granddaughter of Helios, the myths had said, and the sun certainly seemed to be in the habit of favoring her. Her corporate empire dealt in energy. Geothermal, hydroelectric, solar, even nuclear - all those shiny, clean alternatives that were slowly outcompeting the old oil-burning models. Her power stations were already keeping the lights on for half of the eastern united states. It was a hell of a niche she’d carved out for herself, and like everything else she’d ever done, she was stunningly good at it. Then again, for a demigod princess and compulsive social climber, the world of corporate politics must’ve felt like a home away from home.
Her gaze was steady and level, like I wasn’t cutting into her busy workday. Like she had all the time in the world.
Well. She did, didn’t she?
I sighed. “There’s a new drug on the streets.”
“Is it Tuesday already?”
“This one’s different.” I rubbed my eyes. “Right now, they just think it’s a hallucinogen.”
“And?”
“It’s not. It shows what’s really there.”
The coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. “How much?”
“Can’t tell for sure. Sounds like they’re seeing fairies, sprites, goblins, standard hidden world stuff… but I’m pretty sure it cuts through glamour. Might even go deeper, start showing shifter’s true forms.” I leaned back. “The secret world won’t stay secret for long if the users and abusers start comparing notes. I was half-tempted to take some of the stuff myself just to find out how much they know, but I’m not exactly a neutral test subject.”
“Yes, between your physiology and your temperament, that would be very unwise.” The clink of her cup cut off my half-hearted retort. “Do you have any mortal friends who might be willing to take the plunge?”
I barked a bitter laugh. “All my mortal friends are wizards or cops.”
“Unfortunate. I see why you came to me.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers together. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Damn. Damn. Why was I surprised?
“That kind of potion isn’t really my style anyway,” she said. “Illusions and the breaking thereof are rather… outside my typical wheelhouse.”
“I know, I know.” I rubbed my eyes again. “I didn’t think you were making the stuff. I just hoped maybe you knew something. Nobody knows where it’s coming from.”
“The Goblin Market?”
“Obviously some people are dealing it through there, but I don’t have a supplier.”
“Tricky.” She leaned back. “What’s the delivery method?”
“That’s the weird part. It’s topical.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Unusual. No ingestion or injection?”
“No.” I dug into my jacket pocket and pulled out the scuffed stainless steel tin, then dropped it on her desk. “Kid up in Wicker Park saw me, dropped this and ran. Broad daylight. I wasn’t even changed.”
“You do cut an intimidating figure regardless.”
I scowled. “I don’t know what he saw.”
She nodded once, then gestured at the tin. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” I sank deeper into the chair.
She delicately picked up the tin and traced a nail around the lid. “The container is mundane.”
“Yep.”
She turned it in her hands, the battered metal catching the light. Then she cracked the lid.
I braced myself and squeezed my eyes shut. The smell was overwhelming and utterly unidentifiable - syrupy, sickly, wormwood and petrichor and rot. The headache I’d been nursing intensified.
I heard her sniff. Lucky woman. She had to try to smell the stuff.
“Otherworldly ingredients.” There was a click and the smell dissipated. I risked cracking an eye open. She’d replaced the lid and was staring at the container pensively.
“What do you think?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should be asking you. If I want to identify the makeup of an unknown mixture, I need a full lab and the favor of Hekate. You just need your nose.”
I groaned. “All I know is it’s weird and I hate it.”
“Weird?”
“Weird! I can’t pin it down. It almost smells like something, but” - I waved my hands vaguely - “it’s all wrong.”
Medea stared for a moment, then set down the tin. “Detective, have you ever been to fairyland?”
“I assume you’re not being euphemistic,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“No. I’m referring to the realm of fairy. Built on the ruins of Tír na nÓg, ruled by the Fairy Queen, land of glamour and illusion, home of the people of the hills. You must be familiar.”
“Of course I am.”
“But you’ve never been there?”
“I don’t do otherworld travel if I can help it.” I sat up. “Why?”
Medea idly traced a finger over the tin. “The bones of the fairy realm are very real, but for the most part, the realm is a beautiful illusion starving for reality. Your senses are entranced by a perfect, glamorous experience, but your body and soul waste away. Surely you’re familiar with the harmful effects of fairy food?”
“On paper.” I glanced at the tin. “You think this is some kind of illusion?”
“Just the opposite.” She tapped the lid sharply. “Fairyland is nothing more than the eternal dream of the Fairy Queen, but Tír na nÓg is as real as you or I. A land of promise and plenty, lost to ruin when its link to this world withered away. Its denizens fading to shades, its fruits and flowers rotting and decaying where they grew.”
I frowned. “This… this isn’t your area. Why do you know so much about this?”
She sighed. “Really, detective. Did you really think, over three thousand years, I stayed entirely in the mediterranean?”
“No, of course not-“
“After my flight from Athens I broadened my horizons significantly. I have visited the realm of Fairy several times.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, after the Tír fell to ruin, the quality of ingredients I could acquire plummeted rather dramatically. Gossamer illusions make for poor potions.”
I tried to cut through the fog in my head. Things were coming together. “You… think this was made in fairyland?”
“I think it was, at minimum, made from fairyland.”
“The smell… is odd. Like a floral perfume gone wrong. Rot making everything sweeter.” I scowled. “Not an illusion. Illusions don’t smell that bad.”
“Good,” she said. “Then some industrious denizen appears to have scoured the far edges of Fairyland to acquire ingredients from the ruins of the Tír.”
i wonder if i ever (really) made you happy, or if i was just convenient—just there. i wonder if i was the anchor you needed until it became too much, until the weight was unwanted, and you remembered how to live without me.
