Chapter 4
Manic Pixie Dream Boy
M ost girls wished to become princesses, and most princesses wished to be queens. The Fae Queen’s daughters wished for their mother’s position so much, they divided the courts between them, vying for more and more power. What they didn’t seem to understand was that being queen meant dealing with problem after problem and never getting a thing for one’s self.
Even when the Queen accepted a human thrall as a gift from the power-grasping son of her youngest daughter, it wasn’t for her own sake but for the benefit of all of Faerie.
All the signs and oracles said that she needed a human to bring new magic into the realm, welcoming the coming Spring, but humans were rare in her court. Taking humans through unapproved and reckless methods had led to the ruin of the Fae Courts more than once. To have a human prince given to her that met her every requirement seemed more than she could ever dream.
But humans were strange and fragile things. If she didn’t want the mortal prince to expire before his time, then she had to watch him. Feed him. Make sure he slept and wasn’t tormented too much by other fae and faerie creatures of the Darkwood.
The Queen became attached, more than she ever expected to. The human might be the only one not conspiring behind her back, if only because he wasn’t clever enough to do so.
And all the while, her magic reached new heights, fueled by his simple stories and dreams.
So she protected him. She loved him. And she commanded his every movement when they were together. But sometimes her attention was called elsewhere.
That was when he walked and dreamed.
Tabitha started her quest by the river—the one that went by the mill and powered the water wheel. She had heard the trickling of water in her dream, so she followed the flowing stream—reflecting the oranges and pinks of sunrise—until she crossed the border into the Darkwood.
And then she went a few steps more.
Her boots sank into the damp earth. The familiar thorn trees carried the first few buds of spring, and a gentle breeze danced through the grove. Her fluffy gray cat, Bandit, stirred in her arms. She looked down to find a ring of white mushrooms. A twig broke. She glanced up at the sound, and then she saw him —standing in the ring.
In her dreams, she had always known that the man she saw was Tom.
This time, she wasn’t so sure and had to mark off each of his features for some sign.
Under a thick cloak, he wore a rich tunic and leggings like an old-fashioned noble. He wasn’t tall—or at least, not much taller than her. Wiry and thin. Perhaps a bit delicate?
Like a cat. Perhaps like the fae.
That’s what she decided on first. “I’ve seen you in my dreams. Are you fae?”
He tilted his head. His shoulder-length hair was tied up in the back, besides a few stray pieces braided with beads. It was brown with a touch of red—a chestnut that fell somewhere between the princess’s bright auburn curls and Tom’s brown tabby coat.
His eyes were the same hazel.
But when he looked at her, there was an open innocence to his expression that didn’t seem right. “Do I look fae?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure himself.
She shook her head and gave a bit of a huff. “Not fair to answer my question with one of your own, but I suppose that is the way of fae.”
The man’s lips quirked with a wry smile. “Very true. They never answer any of my questions either. They just like for me to tell them stories.”
“Stories?”
He nodded. “About humans. I know a lot about humans,” he said with a certain measure of pride, like such knowledge was an accomplishment meant to be revered. “Though sometimes I tell them stories about a cat.”
This wasn’t making any sense. “They want stories about cats?” Tabitha glanced down at Bandit in her arms. When the cat was born, she had been determined to find names starting with B for the full litter after his mother Biscuit, but he truly was a lazy creature who seemed content to be carried around like a ragdoll.
“It was a special sort of cat,” the man said. “At least he was different from the kind of cats you’ll find in the Fae Realm. He couldn’t talk or wear boots or do any normal thing a faerie beast might do, but he still found ways to be clever.”
Now that sounded familiar. A bit backward and sideways, perhaps, but familiar. “Oh? Did he help a miller’s son become a marquis and slay an ogre?”
He blinked. “You already know the story?”
“Everything but the end. After he slayed the ogre, what did he do? Run off and leave everyone behind?”
The man furrowed his brow as if he really had to search for the answer. A moment passed before he spoke again. “He didn’t want to. He made a deal with a fae prince, binding them together, but he had a plan—a clever plan. A way to get back. I just don’t remember what it was.” He shook his head. He looked so lost. Tom was always so confident—even as a cat. “I suppose I never really was all that good at telling stories.”
“Do you remember his name?” she tried.
The man smirked. That seemed more like her Tom. “He was a cat. He had many names. Lots of people would just call him Puss.”
“And what is your name?”
“Tam’lin,” he said at once.
Tabitha shook her head. “That is a fae name. You’re not fae,” she said, something inside her now certain. She reached for his face, looking into his familiar hazel eyes. “Tom.”
He flinched from her at first, but only for a moment. Then he answered, “Tabitha?”
Her heart soared. He did remember her, but before her reaching fingers could make contact with his skin, he jerked back from her. She couldn’t give up. She had to bring him home. But the world seemed to spin. She grabbed for something—anything steady to hold onto in her panic.
Her knees hit the earth, chilled mud soaking through her skirts.
She had fallen through the ring of mushrooms.
And now . . . everything had changed. The greens seemed brighter. The shadows seemed deeper. The whole forest had shifted, becoming a warped reflection of what it used to be, and Tom was gone—there one minute and gone the next. Perhaps he was just another dream?
But the hand she had used to grasp out wildly when the world had started to spin now held a small colored hair bead.
Tom.