She didn’t know much about the fae, but she knew that they were tricksters.
As she turned the corner around the hallway, she stopped abruptly.
This wasn’t a normal building. And something told her she wasn’t in Massachusetts anymore. At least, not in the conventional sense. In front of her, having no business beingattached to the hallway she had just been standing in, was a huge open atrium—the glass ceiling having been long since shattered by a gigantic tree that had sprouted up in the middle of it to seek out the sunlight and fresh air above.
The ground was dry, covered in grass and lush plants. Wherever Ava was now, it hadn’t been raining. Moonlight was pouring in from overhead, illuminating the pathways around her that stretched around the gigantic tree and along the corridors that led around the rectangular space into the darkness on either side.
But it was the house that was built into the base of the tree that caught her attention. It was comically cliché. An arched door, set into the trunk, had a circular hole in it with no glass. From within, she could see firelight flickering. She could smell woodsmoke and cooking food.
Whatever the person—or creature—inside was making? It smelled incredible. Her stomach grumbled in jealous protest. But she wasn’t that stupid.
No, knocking on the door of some freakingKeeblerfae-elf-monster-thing was probably a great way to get herself killed in record time. It didn’t matter how cold, soaked, hungry, and miserable she was.
That was suicide. And that was something she wasn’t quite ready to do. Yet. Give her a few hours. Maybe then she’d change her mind.
Heading off to the right, down one of the corridors in a random direction, she froze as she heard the door to the tree creak open.
“Hello?” someone called out. “Is there—is there someone there?” It was a little old woman, maybe only as tall as Ava’s shoulder—and that was saying something, Ava was average height. She was hunched over, holding a broomstick in hershaking hand. “I won’t let you steal from me again, you brigands!” She sounded terrified.
Her hair was white, pulled back in a braid that draped over her shoulder. Her clothing was ancient—looked early seventeenth century, if not older. An old muslin dress with an apron over it. It dated to back when clothing was shapeless and functional and nothing more. But the thing that really caught Ava’s attention was the bandage that covered the woman’s eyes.
She was blind. It was clear by the way she was waving the broomstick around aimlessly. Ava wasn’tthatfar away, and it wasn’tthatdark, with all the moonlight.
Ava froze and stayed silent. Maybe the old woman would just go back inside.
“Leave a poor witch alone, I have nothing for you—and I have enough of my own problems!” The old woman’s voice cracked, close to tears. “Haven’t you taken enough from me?” She gestured at her face with her other hand, meaning her eyes.
Ava’s heart broke. She couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just walking through the atrium. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I—I’m new here?” She sounded like an idiot.
“Oh!” The old woman startled, turning to face where Ava was standing. “Oh, dearie, I thought you were one of thosebastards—come here, come here.” She waved her hand to motion Ava closer. “New here, you say?” She frowned. “Poor thing…trapped in the Web with the rest of us lost souls?”
“That’s really the name of this place.” So the strange ghostly man with the green hair hadn’t been lying about that.
“Aye, dearie, don’t—” She clicked her tongue. “You weren’t sentenced.Hebrought you.”She spat on the ground outside her house, and swore in a language that Ava didn’t understand, but shedefinitelyknew wasn’t clean. “Sounds like you’ve earned amug of ale and a hot bowl of stew from Old Braega. Come, come.”
Ava hesitated. “I’m all right.”
The old woman laughed. “Smart one, you are. Know well not to trust anyone in a place like this. I understand. But I give you my word.” She placed her gnarled hand over her heart. “On my soul, on my magic, on my name, Old Braega pledges it—your life is safe within my home.”
That…sounded damn convincing. From what little she knew about how magic worked, and how old things like that functioned, that seemed…like she meant it. She tapped her fingers against her thighs, thinking. She wanted one more assurance. “I would also like to be free to leave your home at any time.”
“Mm, now you bargain with a fae. Nothing comes for free. What will you give in return?” She leaned against her broomstick, the bristles on the end crunching slightly at the shift of her weight.
Ava took a second to think it through. What did she have that the fae would want? Especially something that was useless to her. “I have a piece of rare human technology in my bag. Something no one within this place has likely ever seen. I will give it to you in trade.” Her cellphone was useless to her anyway. “It can do many marvels.” Yeah, sure, she’d let Old Braega enjoy her entire music library.Have fun listening toImagine DragonsandKalandra, you weird old fae lady.
She wouldn’t warn the lady that it’d be rendered useless without being able to charge it in a few days. That wasn’t part of the conversation.
Old Braega tapped her chin. “We have a deal. I love a shrewd human. Come in, come in.” She waved her close and shuffled inside the tree.
With a breath, and a suspicion that she was still getting herself into a great deal of trouble, she headed inside the tree, shutting the door behind her. Manners were important. Opening up her bag, she fished out her phone. “Here you are.”
The “house” was one room, and looked precisely as she expected the hollowed out interior of a tree to look. It was circular, the walls scraped and carved out of the wood. But somehow, it hadn’t killed the tree at all. The hearth was built into the far wall, and was warped and pulled up on one side, as if the growth of the tree had misshapen it. One wall had a cot, where the old lady slept. There were two chairs, a small dining table for two, and another small table covered with herbs, crystals, and bundles of sticks and bones. Animal bones, luckily.
Everything looked roughly hewn and handmade. To call itrusticwould be doing the word rustic a lot of favors. But it felt…comfortable. Homey, in a weird way.
“Wonderful, wonderful. Place it on the table with my spell casting goods. It’s not useful to me, mind you. I have no sight with which to use it. But in trade, how grand.” She was already by the fire, scooping stew out of a large cast iron pot into a wooden bowl with a ladle. “There’s ale over there in the jug on the table. Get yourself a mug, dearie, and have yourself a seat by the fire. Let Old Braega answer your questions.”
“I thought fae were dangerous.” After placing her phone down next to the bundles of sticks, she headed to the dining table in question. There was a big clay jug sitting in the middle of it. Uncorking the top, she gave it a sniff. It smelled like beer. She had no idea what kind,but she supposed she really didn’t care. She poured herself a mug, sipping it—ittastedlike beer. She hoped it wasn’t poisoned. Or drugged.
