Page 4 of Festive with a Grumpy Fae
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The sheer scaleof my stupidity begins to sink in ten minutes later, as I stumble across Aunt Maggie’s south pasture to the patch of bush around the dam.That counts as “woods,” right?Walking across an uneven field in the dark—because fuck, it’s dark.There’s zero moon tonight—is a bumpy, not-fun experience, and I’m pretty sure it’s only pure luck that’s kept me from breaking an ankle.
I’m not changing my mind, though.Most guys my age have done a million stupid things, often involving alcohol, cars, and public sex.The least I can do is… attempt to summon a faerie to keep me company.
Wow.I’m really living up to my “wild” reputation.At least I have the alcohol part covered—I grabbed the half-full bottle of wine on my way out of the cottage.
Finally I reach the trees, and after wandering between the trunks for a minute, I find a relatively clear spot within sight of the dam.
Right.First thing: check the instructions.I dump the tote bag with all the stuff I need onto the ground, then dig out the spell book and my phone.With the light from the torch, I re-read the spell.
Face north.“How the fuck am I supposed to know which way is north?”
When in doubt, ask Google.I unlock my phone and am about to open the browser when an app catches my eye.
“Duh.My phone has a compass.”
It only takes a second to establish which direction is north, and then to kneel facing that way.
“Check.Next, lay out my beloved object.In the dirt.Which… really?Is this supposed to symbolise the sacrifices I’m willing to make?Because dirt isn’t good for books,” I grumble as I fish my well-read, dog-eared, spine-creased copy ofTiganaout of the bag and carefully set it down.It was a close call between this andPride and Prejudice, but I was reading Guy Gavriel Kay in my early teens, whereas I only discovered the glory of Jane Austen when I started working for Godfrey.
“Okay, what’s next?Ugh, the blood.Fine.”I pick up the knife.The spell called for an “iron blade,” but the best I could do was a stainless steel paring knife with a plastic handle.I have bigger knives, but I don’t trust myself with them in the dark outdoors when I’ve been drinking.And anyway, they cost a fucking fortune—who the hell decided decent kitchen knives should be so expensive, anyway?
I set aside the spell book and carefully—squeamishly—prick the tip of my index finger with the pointy end of the knife, then squeeze it until what looks like three drops’ worth comes out.I rub my fingertip along the side of the blade, holding my hand awkwardly to avoid any chance of slicing it open accidentally.
“Some of us really aren’t cut out for witchy shit,” I mutter, then heave a sigh of relief when I’m done.“Right.Now I have to stab the ground, right?”I consult the spell book again.Stab the ground, scatter my offering of wealth, and say the words.Easy.
I jab the paring knife into the dirt, then shriek when it fuckingbounces back.What the hell?
Belatedly, I remember that the ground around here is mostly clay loam, and this close to the dam, it’s more clay than loam.Aunt Maggie bitches about it every time she needs to do excavation work.Clay plus the early summer sun equals dirt that’s as hard as fucking rock.Great.Now what do I do?I’m sure if I stabbed with enough strength, I could probably get the blade into the dirt, but there’s just as good a chance of it breaking and flying up at my face.
After some consideration, I sacrifice a dribble of my wine to wet the dirt and make it a little more pliable, then instead of stabbing the knife in, I set the point of the blade into the wine-dampened ground and wriggle it until most of the blade is underground.Good enough.
Referring back to the spell book, I grab my offering of wealth—what’s left of the packet of saffron I bought last month to make risotto—and dump the contents over the book and knife.
“I call upon the darkest night—though, that would be winter solstice, and we’re like two weeks away from summer solstice, so while it might beadark night, it’s notthedarkest.So I call uponadark night to bring me one who can fill my holes.I mean need.Holy fuck, I seriously didn’t mean to say that.I donotwant this to turn out like a romantasy novel, or a monster romance.No tentacle dicks needed here, please.So…” Where was I?“Yeah.Um.Can the dark night—ha ha, that’snight, no K.I don’t need Batman.Can the dark night please bring me someone who can make me less lonely?Okay, thanks.”
I stumble to a stop and wonder if it would have been possible for me to fuck this up any more than I already have.It’s not like the spell was ever going to work, but part of me thought it might be a way to get my intentions out to the universe.Like… send out the energy that I was looking for someone to love, and maybe the world would respond to that.But I’m pretty sure that even if the world was inclined to grant wishes, it would just be laughing at me right now.
Sighing, I fall back from my knees to my arse in the dirt and reach for the wine bottle.This is what I’m reduced to… drinking alone in the bush after a failed spell to force a mythological being to be my friend.
Putting the bottle to my lips, I tilt my head back… and catch sight of the shadowy figure looming out of the trees.
three
The shriek tearsfrom my throat, and I throw the wine bottle as hard as I can.Liquid arcs as it hits the shadow with a solidthunk—which probably means I’m not dealing with some sort of shadow monster—and a string of angry swearing follows.I don’t actually understand a single word of it, but the tone speaks for itself.Swearing is swearing in any language.
I scramble to my feet, because if this isn’t a shadow monster, it’s a stranger in the woods on a dark night, and that never turns out well.
“Who’s there?”I snap, wondering if I should just run away instead.Running’s never been my forte, though, and between the uneven ground, the dark, and the wine I drank, I’d probably do more falling than running.
“What a stupid question,” the stranger retorts, sounding annoyed.Despite his obvious snappishness, his voice is smooth and resonant, the accent unfamiliar but very attractive.Impulsively, I bend over and grab my phone, turning on the torch app and shining it his way as I straighten.
He makes a hissing sound and lifts a hand to shield his eyes.“Are you trying to blind me?Put that away, you foolish boy!”
“Hey!Who are you calling a boy… or foolish?”I add belatedly.Probably should have been more offended by that, even if I can’t really argue against it right now.“Who are you, anyway?You’re trespassing.”I angle the light a little so it’s not shining directly into his eyes.I can always move it back if I need the distraction, and honestly, I want him to put his hand down so I can see his face.You know, in case I need to describe him to the police after he tries to kill me.
Probably shouldn’t have watched that documentary about Ivan Milat last week.