Karen was deeply lonely, so I tried to visit a few times a day.
“Sure, Karen.” I pushed through the door into our shop, my heart sinking at the sight of it. I had nothing left to sell—the potions and herbs had all been ruined.
My heart squeezed. I’d be starting from scrap.
Gina was still sitting on the countertop. “The microwave’s not working.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. How much did microwaves cost these days?
I dropped the plastic bags on the counter, regretting my attempts to buy healthy food. Should have gone for the Victoria sponge, or maybe McDonald’s. We needed something to liven up the atmosphere a bit.
“We’re going to have food, and a cleaning party,” I declared.
Gina brightened. “Sounds fun. Can we invite some fit blokes?”
“It’s not really that kind of party.” I began scaling one of the old bookshelves, knocking over a mason jar of basil as I did. The basil was supposed to protect us from scrying, but somehow, the assassins had found us anyway.
“Why not?”
“Um, because we don’t know any, and also we’re basically fugitives trying to lay low, and also the shop smells like a corpse. But maybe I could conjure some visions of partygoers while we start scrubbing everything down. Illusions. It can look like a real party.”
On the top shelf, the battery-powered record player was unscathed by the flood.
She cocked her head. “Illusions of fit blokes. Is that how you’ve managed to stay single all these years? You just conjure up a delicious piece of arse to drool over when you’re feeling lonely?”
I pulled the record player off the top shelf, holding it carefully as I climbed down. I’d grabbed an old Elvis album—probably not Gina’s favorite, but she didn’t yet understand that music from the nineteen-sixties and seventies was the pinnacle of human achievement. Some of my best years were spent in Nashville, Tennessee, listening to the amazing music.
“No, Gina. That’s not how I’ve managed to stay single. I’ve managed to stay single because I have come to realize that nearly all men are garbage. Also, I think I scare them.”
“Your attitude towards men is because of your mum, isn’t it?” she asked. “Your mum screwed you up.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “No, she was plenty wise, and she did not screw me up. I am not screwed up. And that’s the end of that discussion. It’s time for Elvis.” I slid the record player onto the countertop, and loaded up the record. I turned it on and placed the needle onto Suspicious Minds. The music crackled through the air, and I closed my eyes, trying not to think about how I’d pay for food next week. I had to focus on the problems I could actually fix.
As the music lit up the room, I pulled out the haul of food onto the countertop. “We’ve got good tunes, food, and a bit of magic. And clean underwear. Everything we need.”
“Luxury. Couldn’t ask for more.” Gina pulled out a plain piece of bread and started chewing on it with a half grin. “Delicious meal you’ve put together.”
I closed my eyes and conjured up a spell for illusion. My magic hummed and vibrated around the place, and images flickered around us… My subconscious was projecting images of my home—distant memories from a place that no longer existed. They were images from a ball by the seaside, of fae draped in silks and jewels—harvested from my oldest memories.
And others from my more recent memories shimmered into view alongside them—the woman who sold crepes from a food truck nearby, who always made me laugh with her complicated handshakes. The local Jack the Ripper tour guide, who lingered a little too long on the phrase ripped from vagina to breastbone. The elderly woman who pulled pints in the nearby pub, the one who amused herself by saying “Fancy a lap dance?” to horrified customers.
Gina beamed at me, her mouth half full of plain bread. “Who are these lovely people?”
“Just random people from my memories.”
“I recognize some of them, but not the ones in the long gowns.” She whistled. “You knew some super posh people, didn’t you? In your old life?”
“Like, a hundred years ago.” No idea why they were popping up now. They were from a life I’d long since abandoned. My mind had just sort of produced them on autopilot.
I crossed behind the counter into the hallway and made my way to the bathroom. The mirror was still untouched by the water, and I caught a glimpse of myself—my blue hair caked with mud, streaks of dirt on my face. My green eyes shone out brightly from all the muck.
I did what I could to wash off my face and hair in the sink.
Then, I turned to the tub. With the tap on, I washed off my face and my hands, my legs. I did what I could to clean off my body. Then I got to work on scrubbing down the ceramic. This would be ground zero for the cleaning effort. Everything would go in and out of the tub to rinse off the muck.
When the tub was clean enough, I crossed back into my room to change into the clean value-brand undies and tank top. The baggy cotton hung off me.
I glanced at a blue hula-hoop hanging on the wall, still clean. The record player started playing A Little Less Conversation, and I had to take the hula-hoop down, just for a second. I put it around my hips, then started swinging them for a moment. Ahhhh… normalcy again. If hula-hooping in baggy underwear to Elvis could be considered normalcy.
“Ooooh… this bloke is lovely.” Gina’s voice floated over Elvis’s melodious singing. “Who’s he? Please tell me you got off with him.”
I pulled off the hula-hoop, and I popped my head around the corner. “It’s unlikely I got off with anyone, Gina. I’ve hardly gotten off with—”
I froze at the image.
There, flickering in our filthy little shop, was the fae I’d killed earlier—the one who’d glowed with the unearthly light of an angelic king, his skin burning gold like a lantern. All the other images seemed to fade into the shadows around him. The music seemed to slow down and grow deeper, reverberating over my skin. It was like Elvis was melding with the assassin’s sad song.
“Who is he?” Gina repeated. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating cereal.”
“That’s not the phrase, and you’re too young to have anyone in bed.”
“I’m not that young,” Gina protested.
Perhaps in the human world, seventeen was nearly grown up. But for a fae like me, seventeen was a baby.
“So who is he?” She asked.
I grabbed a packet of strawberry gum off the countertop, popping a piece into my mouth. “That’s one of the assassins I killed tonight.”
“Oh, shit. And you knew him?”
My entire body felt cold. “I hardly spoke to him. Not sure why my mind conjured him.” This image felt like a slap in the face from my unconscious, two men I wanted to forget.
My stomach tightened, and I crossed out of the room, unwilling to dwell on these thoughts any more.
I’d done what I needed to do. Just like I always had. I had to look out for myself and Gina, and it was as simple as that.
She frowned at me. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Language! And I’m wearing our temporary wardrobe. I got you some.”