The Exile of Caswel Esmar-Box Set

Judgment of the Elders

Book One

CHAPTER ONE

I live in a cave. It’s a well-appointed cave with two big tables, sturdy chairs and a feather bed. It has geothermal heat and lighting courtesy of permanent fairy-fire globes. It could use an espresso machine, but other than that, it’s pretty sweet.

The cave’s most important furnishing, my prize possession, is a six-inch-diameter sodalite crystal ball imbued with telepathy. It is crucial for keeping track of opponents, secretive communication with a few members of the Elder Council, and reliable, omniscient narration.

They call me Interloper around here and I run an impressive spy network. But that’s enough about me. After all, this is not my story.

The morning after the Elders rendered their monumental decision, I brewed a cup of rose-hip tea (which is no substitute for espresso) and fired up the crystal ball, focusing on the small suburban community of Palmer Park on Long Island. I needed to monitor the possible consequences of the judgment. The target of my snooping sat at a breakfast bar in the efficient kitchen of a modest two-story house. The teenage blonde was clearly frustrated, confused and angry about the current situation and was taking it out on the older woman dishing up oatmeal from a pot on the stove. The youngster had a hand cupped under each breast.

Plaid? said Cass. You had to get plaid? It will show through the blouse.

Magolyn responded in her reasonable tone of voice. The bra matches the plaid of your skirt, so it won’t clash.

Cass wasn’t placated. It’s a religious school, Maggie. They won’t want to see undergarments. I thought you studied humans.

I’ve studied their history and culture. I don’t monitor underwear fashion.

While we’re on the topic, I’m not wild about the matching bikini briefs either. They feel…

A man entered from the living room. They feel like they should be covering your penis, and they’re not. Get used to it.

Cass scowled at the newcomer. Thanks for the reminder Jamil.

This was the Forest family’s very first day in Long Island, New York. Maggie, James and Cassandra were just typical Canadian immigrants making their way in suburban America… only they weren’t any of those things, with the exception of technically being immigrants. Just a day before they had been Clan Speaker Jamil Olcort te Willowwalk, his bondfast Magolyn and Caswel Esmar te Willowwalk, disgraced Knight of Whiteleaf. They were Alfarans, nobility among the Fae.

Jamil Olcort currently looked more like an overworked accountant than Clan Speaker. His golden hair was pulled into a short ponytail, allowing him to fit in at any Grateful Dead concert. His expression telegraphed his disappointment in this assignment and he knew exactly where blame for his annoyance should rest.

Don’t get huffy with me, you sorry excuse for an Alfaran. We have a lot of information to cover and by the eldest Elder’s eldest wrinkle you’ll have every detail memorized by tomorrow or face consequences. I still don’t understand why Felson didn’t get the honor of monitoring you. He’s Clan Defender and more responsible for your whereabouts than I ever was.

Jamil’s bondfast intervened before the situation escalated. Even before this unusual exile, Jamil and Caswel had engaged in heated debates about Clan politics. They were oil and water. That wouldn’t change just because Cass had a lot less testosterone now.

Jamil, please calm down. You were chosen because of your skill as a diplomat. We need to carry off an elaborate charade for fifty moons and your ability to shade the truth is invaluable. Further, the Elders know I’ve studied human culture extensively, so they probably wanted me on this assignment as much as they needed you.

If Caswel had held to his oath as a Knight of Whiteleaf, none of us would be here.

Sighing, Magolyn pivoted her attention back to her new charge. I’m afraid he’s right about that Cass, though this is the most unusual punishment the Elders have ever imposed.

Magolyn was understating the situation. The judgment was unprecedented. Cass’s mind returned to the vivid memory of the Council passing sentence in the Basin below Crescent Mound.

He recalled the stern expressions and the formal tone of the pronouncement. As the magnitude of his punishment increased with each phrase, the ground beneath him seemed to shift and the words of Elder Kaviss seemed to come from very far away. Then, even as sentence was passed and the transformation began, the calculations began to unspool in his unconscious mind. He presumed there was a way around this. He could not remain both human and female for fifty moons. There had to be a loophole and Cass was the man to find it, even if he wasn’t a man at present.

Magolyn noted Cass’s faraway expression and touched his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Don’t daydream, Cass. You need to learn our cover story. You are now Cassandra Forest. That way we can continue calling you Cass. I will be Margaret and Jamil will be James. We’ve moved here from Canada, giving us an excuse for any cultural differences.

I presume I’m a student. What do you and Dad do for a living?

Jamil bristled. Don’t call me that.

Cass decided he might just enjoy this. It’s who you’re pretending to be. I have to call you that… unless you prefer father.

Only use it in public then. I’m working as a freelance food critic, presuming I can choke down the stuff humans eat.

This job makes enough to afford a house in the suburbs?

Magolyn rolled her eyes. Of course not. The Elders have supplied us with enough gold for a bank account. We’re saying we inherited money from a wealthy grandfather. I’m going back to school to study anthropology. It’ll be interesting to hear how humans picture their own culture.

Cass gave his new mother a skeptical look. How did we secure a house on short notice?

Magolyn shrugged. The Elders had a house ready for us.

Why would they have a house in the Mortal Realm?

Jamil slapped the table. Silvanus’s leafy nethers! When the Elders say they’re sending you into perdition, but they have a place for you to live, you don’t argue with them. We just said thank you.

Cass got the point. Don’t question the Elders. Where are we, anyway?

Jamil snorted. The accurately, but unimaginatively, named Long Island. It’s near a large human city built on a small island, but mercifully not called Small Island.

Rural parts of Suffolk County contain a few Fae gates, as do many other out-of-the-way places in the Realm of Mortals. Cass had visited the New York City area before and had some familiarity with the region. He proceeded to other matters. Why pick a parochial school?

We think they still use rulers on students.

Jamil! That’s not it at all. Our Lady of Abundant Mercy had openings in the sophomore class and we thought a smaller place would be easier to manage than a large public high school.

What brand of Christian is that? said Cass.

It’s a Catholic school. We listed our religion as Unitarian. Like Canadians, they’re widely misunderstood. Furthermore, they have members who believe a host of different things so we can’t be pinned down to a particular philosophy.

Shaking his head, Jamil said, I’m so glad we Alfarans have this figured out. The one thing the Clans all agree on is the Great Mother.

Cass, for his part, thought the whole family backstory seemed convoluted. He prayed to the Great Mother that they could make it believable, but he needn’t have worried. We humans prefer having explanations rather than mysteries, so even implausible rationalizations seem better than having no clue what’s going on.

Cass decided to leave his concerns about the family’s story unvoiced. He also clammed up about a few other concerns he’d noticed while getting ready for school.

Alfarans differ from humans in several ways, including having no body hair. Cass was initially upset at having arm hair, but being so very fair rendered it nearly invisible. Leaking fluids from odd places, however, bothered him a lot. Humans purge the toxins we ingest or inhale in messy ways, whereas Alfarans have remarkable immune systems. You don’t live to see twelve hundred summers by catching every passing virus. As a human, Cass would need to carry tissues all the time.

Magolyn read his mind (figuratively, as Alfarans are not normally telepathic).

I’ll need to give you a tutorial on cosmetics and feminine hygiene.

Wait just a second. Do I have a monthly cycle?

Well…yes. The Elders wanted you to experience every aspect of the human condition.

How very thoughtful of them.

Nature itself replaces Alfarans as Elders pass away or younger members meet with fatal accidents, so they have no need to give birth. Cass was used to having natural sterility.

Jamil’s thinking paralleled Cass’s. You’d be wise to focus on observing human life and keeping a low profile. Don’t go back to flirting… we don’t want any accidents.

Cass was painfully aware that hormonal hijinks were a bad idea. He had no concept of how human women survived childbirth. The Elders’ punishment might involve experiencing many indignities of the human condition, but he’d ensure teen pregnancy wasn’t one of them. Not that he intended to avoid all awkwardness and embarrassment. He already had a plan regarding his situation and how to get out of it.

Magolyn continued. You’ll need to meet with Mr. Gunderson at OLAM for your sophomore schedule. He’s the vice principal, so try not to antagonize him.

Oh, please. It’s because I’m a charming liar that I ended up here. I think I can bamboozle the vice principal.

Jamil and Magolyn looked at each other and then back at the petite but confident girl smiling at them. Jamil broke the silence. Actually, Cass, you’ve always been forthright and blunt; valuable qualities in a Knight of Whiteleaf, but humans don’t appreciate it much. We all need to be boring and unobtrusive so nobody looks too carefully at our background. So don’t bother the humans.

Humans adore me. What about the human women I had eating out of my hand?

Magolyn answered, Your affiliated animal is a rabbit. An aura of innocence and harmlessness was your Alfaran birthright, helped along by your handsome features. You don’t have your natural gifts anymore. You will have to rely on wits.

Jamil clasped his hands. May the Great Mother have mercy.

Cass just continued smiling, ever confident that he could turn any bad situation to his advantage. I sat back to watch, knowing that life would deliver him a swift kick. At least it could no longer target his testicles.

CHAPTER TWO

While Cass readied himself for school, my focus shifted back to the gate. I had a suspicion and my observations confirmed it.

Cass and his guardians passed into the Realm of Mortals just before midnight on the last day of the new moon in early September. A certain young Alfaran air mage, however, only managed to get through the gate a few minutes before the thin crescent of moonlight rose ahead of sunrise, sealing the passageway.

Esmeralda Shafil te Glenhollow had visited the Mortal Realm on only three occasions. In each case, Caswel Esmar was the reason. The first time was two decades ago when she and Cass were entangled in a relationship. He’d wanted to visit the American Gulf Coast during the celebration of something called Mardi Gras. It had been a wild ride exemplifying all the excesses to which humans are prone. She experienced intoxication for the first time and was exhilarated. Then she experienced her first hangover and vowed never to return to the lands humans called home.

However, a scant two moons prior to this excursion, she’d come to the Mortal Realm chasing a rumor that Cass was here again. She found him cavorting with a human woman, and was consumed with jealousy, even though her relationship with Cass had ended long ago. She reported her discovery to the Council of Elders. Their verdict was a given; their punishment unexpected.

So now Esmeralda stood in a wooded grove on Long Island having packed a small bag with oatcakes, cheese, a spare cloak, and magical tools. She saw Caswel’s exile as an opportunity. He would be disoriented by new living conditions and a new body. He would have no access to magic. She intended to make him pay dearly for his betrayal, but she needed to work quickly.

Esmeralda was a sharp dresser in the Realm of Fae, favoring a green, ivory, and silver color palette, which complemented her pale complexion and raven hair. On this morning, she wore a green silk tunic decorated with silver stitching. It was stylish, by Alfaran standards, but atypical of modern human clothing. She knew she needed to blend in, but that meant dressing like a primitive. By the time she walked into the nearest small community, hazy sunshine was breaking through the pervasive cloud cover. Clothing was on display in several shop windows lining the main thoroughfare, but she was unfamiliar with human commerce. Humans once bartered for merchandise. Now it seemed they relied more on tokens of exchange, judging by the Fall Fashion Sale signs.

On her previous forays into the Realm of Mortals, Esmeralda limited her contact with the natives to avoid discovery and exposure. Accomplishing her revenge on Cass meant she’d need to successfully masquerade as a human. That required making a few polite inquiries.

She spotted a dark-skinned woman opening the door of a small, white clapboard building marked with a Christian cross. Esme was wary of this symbol, knowing that wars with cross bearers drove Fae from the Realm of Mortals centuries before. Still, she recalled Christians prided themselves on being generous when they weren’t being violent. She hoped this human would help her.

Pardon me. I’m sorry to be a bother, but I need clothing and don’t know where to get any.

The human woman looked Esmeralda up and down, clearly wondering about her mode of dress. It’s no bother, sweetie. I’m happy to help. Do you have a place to stay? How are you fixed for money?

Esme tried to explain her situation. I sleep out of doors and I have no hu… local currency. I have jewelry I might trade, however.

The dark-skinned woman shook her head. We have donated clothing. I can let you have some of that. I can also call some of the area shelters for you if you need a place to stay. I’m Carla. What’s your name?

Esme decided that polite flattery would get her fairly far in the Realm of Mortals. I’m Esmeralda and I prefer being close to Nature, thank you. I will accept the offer of clothing though. That’s very kind of you. I can get by with a skirt, a pair of blue janes and letter T shirts.

You mean blue jeans and T-shirts. You’re not from here, are you?

No, I am foreign. Esme recalled that she and Cass had pretended to be European tourists when they attended Mardi Gras. It seemed a plausible ruse, but the best laid plans of humans and Alfarans…

The woman dismissed Esme’s oddness at first, asking What size are your hips? You look to be petite.

Esme lifted her tunic above her waist. My hips are this size.

Sweetie, you’re not wearing underwear.

Underwear?

Lingerie. Unmentionables.

It took Esmeralda several seconds to recall that humans wrap their nether regions with cotton or silk to protect outer garments from stains created by the numerous secretions we exude. Alfarans have no such concerns and spend considerable time in the buff.

Yes… I will also need the underwear to… wear under the over wear. Thank you.

We don’t get a lot of underwear donations in the gently-used clothing bin. Then the very helpful Christian pushed just a little too far. I really think you should let me call some people who can help you more than I can, sweetie. I think you should see a doctor.

Esmeralda panicked.

"Evacuare" The spell surrounded the woman’s head with a bubble of airlessness. As soon as her would-be benefactor collapsed, Esme lifted the spell. She felt guilty about blatantly using magic, which risked exposing her true nature. She also hadn’t planned on assaulting random humans, but she wasn’t about to let some medicine man poke and prod her. She had no time for searching out donated clothing, so she took the woman’s shirt and skirt, leaving the tunic behind. Esme was certain the helpful Christian shouldn’t mind sharing her outfit. The fit was poor, but she made do.

Her actions worried me. She clearly was capable of reacting instinctively under pressure. That made her a loose cannon and her presence on the scene complicated things immensely.

##

The hallmark of Clan Willowwalk, aside from an encyclopedic knowledge of deciduous trees, is their direct approach to life. Caswel Esmar exemplified that philosophy. If he was curious about a topic, he would ask questions. If he formed an opinion, you’d hear about it. Polite conversation was not one of his priorities. As a result, he was a very bad liar most of the time. Still, he had remarkable luck forming short relationships with human women over the course of twenty years visiting the Mortal Realm. The secret was all in the approach and selecting the target.

Cass always posed as either a foreign visitor or country bumpkin. His impolitic way of speaking marked him as unfamiliar with urban American life. Although it repelled many people, a handful of individuals chose to mother him. Seeing a handsome man who needed lots of guidance, these women took him in, fed him, served as his tour guide, and gave him a place to stay. This worked well as long as he spent a bit of money on them and vanished after a few days.

In the guise of Cassandra Forest, he presumed he could do the same thing. He would use the Canadian immigrant story as an excuse to make open observations about his environment and cover any ignorance regarding local customs. He realized human teenagers were rarely described as nurturing, but that was all right with him. He wasn’t looking for acceptance.

Cass arrived at school with a backpack full of notebooks, writing implements, measuring devices, and a salad for lunch. Tucked away in the front zipped pocket was his secret weapon… The List. He’d compiled The List in the days between sentencing and exile and it contained all the sources of adolescent angst imaginable, at least those imaginable by an Alfaran. It was Cass’s intention to frontload his human existence with misery so the Elders would appreciate the magnitude of their punishment. The Elders were stoic, but fair-minded and he was hoping a presentation of extreme hardship would result in early parole.

The List began with Gender Identity Confusion; easy given his situation. Number two was Seeking Autonomy from Parental Authority. This also seemed simple given the particular jailers he’d been saddled with. Opposing Jamil was second nature to Cass. Three and four were Self-Esteem Issues and Body Image Problems. Given his natural self-confidence and the fact that his new female body was reasonably cute, Cass wasn’t sure how to achieve these two objectives. Poor body image required some feature to fret over, and he couldn’t identify one. He knew he could not simply pretend he was unhappy. The Elders were too perceptive for that. He needed to throw himself in front of the metaphorical train and let the pain of human adolescence crash into him. He smiled at his cleverness, which was probably a bad start.

Meeting Mr. Gunderson caused him to put thoughts of his plan aside for a few minutes. The vice principal was obviously looking for the new transfer student when Cass walked into the building.

Mr. Gunderson greeted him. You must be Cassandra Forest, our newest student. Welcome to OLAM, and welcome to America. Congratulations on moving to the best little town near the best big city in the Empire State.

Mr. Gunderson seemed extremely confident of his statement, so Cass opted to agree.

I’m sure it is, sir.

Darn right you are. Let’s not forget it. We’ve got your schedule, student handbook, and locker number in the main office. Please follow me.

Watching the retreating back of Mr. Gunderson, Cass pondered why the man seemed intimidating. Gunderson was only about five-foot-eight with a crew cut, dark blue blazer and khaki slacks; an outfit well suited to any middle manager. Cass couldn’t figure out how, only moments before, the man made him feel so unnerved. Then the vice principal swung around again and Cass spotted the difference. It was the steely-grey eyes.

You weren’t raised by Canadian hippies, were you?

Puzzled, Cass said I’ve never even met a Canadian hippie, sir.

Canada is crawling with them. They all fled the States during Viet Nam.

Cass pondered that statement trying to remember exactly when the South East Asian conflict happened. Wouldn’t those people all be old, sir?

Hey… I served in Viet Nam.

Charming Mr. Gunderson was nowhere near as easy as Cass had imagined. That was very… patriotic… of you, sir.

Darn right. Let’s not forget that.

Cass was relieved to find a young nun waiting in the front office as Mr. Gunderson passed the responsibility of orientation to someone less intimidating.

Cassandra Forest, meet Sister Patrice, the school guidance counselor. If you’re called to the office to see her, you might be okay. If you’re called here to see me, you are in deep trouble. Sister, I’ll leave our transfer student in your capable hands. Gunderson entered his office and closed the door. Sister Patrice invited Cass into a corner sectioned off by a corkboard wall. He sat down opposite the counselor at a small table.

Sister Patrice offered a wan smile. The vice principal isn’t this gruff all the time. I suspect he gets too much caffeine with breakfast, because he mellows out after lunch. But let me get to know you better. I understand you’re from Canada.

That’s right, ma’am.

The proper address is Sister, for future reference. My mother is from Toronto. Is your family from near there?

Cass froze for a second. The Canada ruse assumed no one would know anything about Canada. He tried to remember everything Magolyn told him at breakfast. Toronto wasn’t part of that briefing.

We’re from the Northwest Territories, Sister; the town of Yellowknife on Slave Lake. That’s not near Toronto… right?

Um, no, it isn’t. It’s part of the rural Northwest. But I guess you know that. Well, don’t let Long Island intimidate you. The faculty and students want you to feel part of OLAM. No one is an outsider or outcast here. We work at being inclusive.

Cass found that disappointing news. Feeling Like an Outsider was number eleven on The List. This friendly acceptance put a kink in his plans for overwhelming misery early in his exile. Cass considered cultivating a prickly personality, but wasn’t quite sure how not to be charming and outgoing.

Sister Patrice went through a short orientation talk and then, in a whisper, she said Do you think you could wear a more subdued bra tomorrow?

Cass smiled. Can you put that in writing for me?

CHAPTER THREE

Sister Patrice provided Cass with a student identification card, handbook, schedule, and combination lock with a locker number attached. He went off in search of the locker and homeroom. Stopping at number 601, he noticed a lock already secured there. Needing someone to question, Cass spotted a very pleasant-looking young man with light brown hair and blue eyes strolling down the hall, so he called out.

Excuse me attractive boy, but I think someone else has taken my locker.

Are you talking to me? the male student said, approaching another locker and twiddling the dial.

Yes I am. I’m guessing by the casual certainty of your walk and the tiny bit of stubble on your chin that you’re an older student very familiar with how things work here. Can you help me gain access to my locker?

You must either be a freshman or a transfer student; clueless but very cute.

Thank you… I think. Can you tell me who took my locker?

That’s Amanda Lipton’s locker. All these lockers are for seniors. We just established that you’re not a senior, so that can’t be your locker. Let me see your lock.

Cass handed over the bulky piece of metal and the boy examined the tag. Your locker is 109. You were looking at it upside-down. That’s a classic freshman mistake. Lowly underclassman lockers are way over there. The boy pointed down the hall.

Cass initially bristled at the young man’s casual put-downs, but quickly realized that this was exactly the type of response he’d expected from other students. Sister Patrice was wrong about inclusiveness. The List was going to work after all.

He hung his head and hunched his shoulders before responding. Oh, I see. You’re right. I was just stupid. I’ve always gotten lost easily, even at my former, smaller school. I’m sorry to have bothered you.

Peter was puzzled for a second time. First this new girl came on like a steamroller and now she collapsed like a house of cards. No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been evil to you on your first day.

Cass straightened up. Please don’t apologize.

You were so blunt at first that you caught me off guard. My name is Peter Goodkin. What’s yours?

Cassandra Forest, now go back to being mean.

I’m not all that mean, really. I hope you have a great day.

Cass turned and stalked off. Oh, for the love of brambleberry bushes. This isn’t going well at all.

Thus, the mean senior became the apologetic senior. Cass felt cursed with adorableness. Hiding his charm under a bushel basket was harder than he’d anticipated. He feared he was doomed to be popular.

Still, he managed progress on the gender confusion front. Cass objectively assessed that Peter had nice features and had perfected a swagger often attempted, but rarely mastered, by other adolescent boys. However, the new body had responded… let’s call it positively, to Peter’s presence. So the man in him was appreciative, but envious. The girl in him was interested. He thought he might get a broken heart out of this chance meeting after all.

##

Sister Regina gave Cass a tiny smile as he took a seat in homeroom. He reasoned the presiding nun must count as an Elder among humans, as she looked wise, stern and ancient in Mortal terms.

Class, we welcome a new member to the OLAM family today. Cassandra, would you please introduce yourself?

Cass looked around at the twenty-or-so faces now focused on him with varying degrees of interest. Roughly half his new classmates had pale or slightly rosy complexions like his own. The rest ranged from the color of extra virgin olive oil to milk chocolate. Both hair color and hair styles were highly variable from student to student. There were more girls than boys. Each one was dressed in a uniform appropriate to their gender.

Um, hello. I’m Cassandra Forest. Thank you.

Please stand up dear and give us a little background. Nobody here bites.

Cass stepped up to the blackboard facing the largely indifferent adolescents before him. He unconsciously smoothed his skirt down and repositioned his hands repeatedly until settling on clasping them behind him. He ignored the cold trickle of perspiration crawling down his back.

His nervousness did not stem from speaking before his new classmates. He was more a person of action than words, but he was capable of public speaking. No, his tension stemmed from the realization that he was about to start his self-sabotage in earnest. He needed to maximize alienation from these teens in order to ensure a miserable high school experience that would inspire pity from the Elders.

Hello again. I’m Cassandra. My family just moved here from a little town in Western Canada. It’s called Yellowknife. You’re all sophisticated city kids, so Yellowknife would seem boring to you. You probably think I’m boring. My mom is boring. She’s old, but she’s taking college classes anyway. My dad is an Internet blogger, which isn’t a real job like your parents have. My grandfather made money in gold mining, so we can afford to live here and pay the tuition at this school. You all pay the tuition, so you must be rich. But I’m small town rich and you’re all big city rich. So I hope you won’t spit on me or anything. He turned to Sister Regina. May I sit down now?

That would be good, Cassandra. You’re probably done. The nun scribbled a few notes in her grade book. This Canadian girl was an odd duck, but not the strangest child Sister Regina had ever taught.

##

Confident that Cass would survive his first day of high school, I decided to see what mischief Esmeralda was into.

After leaving the company of the unconscious charitable church lady, Esme reviewed the various obstacles she faced in achieving revenge on her ex-boyfriend. Finding him was not a major problem. As an air mage, she was quite competent with divination and had her scrying crystal with her. Cass, now a human, would be less likely to sense a seeking charm than when he was Alfaran.

Her gazing crystal of choice was a four-inch diameter clear quartz sphere that was fairly portable. My sodalite ball is enchanted to allow for telepathy. The bluish stone is particularly sensitive to various psychic emanations and is more responsive than quartz. Always use sodalite.

Esme realized that travel was problematic. She had affinity with hawks and could take avian form, but transporting her clothing and equipment was an issue. She needed a base of operations where she could store her things before flying over the countryside looking for Cass.

That brought her to the biggest obstacle: money. Humans, as she understood things, were all about money. They no longer bartered goods or services. If you wanted something from them you had to pay them… or temporarily deprive them of air. That ploy, however, would get noticed if she used it too often. She needed access to some cash.

She wore earrings and a bracelet that dangled tiny needles of gold and silver. Ironically, these were a gift from Caswel that she now intended to convert to local currency. She was unfamiliar with the concept of pawn shops, but hoped jewelers might purchase the set for resale.

Prior to finding any open stores, Esmeralda discovered the time honored urban survival tactic of dumpster diving. She found a lightweight cotton dress and colorful shawl cast off in someone’s garbage, adding to her meager wardrobe. Granted the shawl was torn and the dress had frayed sleeves and a small yellow stain on the hem, but they would still cover her and fend off the cold.

She wandered into a small coffee shop and seated herself at the counter. The place was crowded. A small group of men in blue denim shirts attacked plates of eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Men and women in suits collected coffee and rolls to go. A middle-aged woman wearing a paper hat and apron walked over, laying out a set of utensils in front of Esme. What can I get for you this morning?

I noticed your sign in the window.

The Help Wanted sign? The woman gave Esme the once over noting her ill-fitting clothes and leather satchel. You got any waitressing experience?

Esmeralda was confused. No I don’t. I’m an oracle but that’s not relevant. I would like to acquire a sign like that one for myself. Might I ask where you got it?

Benson’s Hardware, two blocks down on Oak Street. What kind of help are you hiring?

I’m not hiring anyone. I just need a lot of help and thought an eye catching sign might be a way to obtain it.

The waitress scowled. Do you want breakfast or not.

Will you take an earring in trade?

Get out!

Esme expected humans to exhibit barbarism and she was not so hungry that flattering the waitress was a priority. Therefore, she departed without another word, but was hailed by a young man who followed her out of the establishment. He was clad in a dark blue turtleneck and black jeans. He had short, chestnut-brown hair.

Excuse me Miss, but you seemed a little lost in there. You said you were an oracle. My name is Lucas and I have contacts in the fortune-telling trade. If you need some help…

You know people who do divinations?

I run a supply shop for New Age paraphernalia, so I have customers who buy tarot cards, rune stones, and dowsing rods.

Esmeralda’s eyes lit up. Is there money in this trade?

Lucas smiled at her. Well, not a lot. We don’t need sales help at the shop, but we are looking for someone to do card readings a couple evenings a week. How does that sound?

Esme considered the possibilities. This would give her a location to keep her things. It would also give her a source of magical equipment and ingredients. That presumed this human knew something about real magic and wasn’t just selling gimmicks and snake oil.

I usually do divination with a crystal, but I am very accurate. Will I be able to ask your customers for coin?

Lucas paused before responding. A focus on the financial was often the sign of a scam artist, but he considered her ragged appearance and reasoned she went hungry often. There was no crime in making enough money to eat.

New York is funny about fortune-telling. he said. You can’t claim to see the future, but you can charge for the amusement value. Just call it entertainment and asking for money is legal. The owner will probably want you to keep the price low however.

It seems to me your law encourages tricksters to prosper and genuine oracles to starve.

Lucas laughed. The State doesn’t believe in genuine oracles, but my customers do. He produced a business card and told her to stop by that evening for a trial run.

CHAPTER FOUR

I could see she was comfortable in the corner seat affording a lovely view of a blank wall. Joan Richards was her name. Her thoughts were completely introspective, ignoring the buzz of conversation from other tables. She’d occupied this cafeteria chair every school day since entering OLAM as a freshman. Her promotion to sophomore changed nothing about its desirability. She didn’t want other girls babbling at her, slack-jawed boys staring at her, or teachers inquiring about her state of mind. Solitude was perfect. Isolation was good.

Then Cass sat down next to her.

Hi, I’m Cassandra Forest. I introduced myself in homeroom yesterday. I don’t know if you remember.

Joan narrowed her eyes menacingly. You were memorable.

Well… good. I checked with Sister Regina and she says your name is Joan Richards.

Why were you asking about me?

I’ve noticed in homeroom and lunch period that you have anti-social tendencies and I was hoping we could be friends.

You want to socialize with me because I’m anti-social? That makes zero sense.

No, it makes perfect sense. You have perfected American teenage self-absorption. You feel put upon, overscheduled and underappreciated. Your plain appearance results in self-esteem issues. You withdraw from others to protect yourself. Please teach me to do this. If I must, I will adopt glasses and braces as you have.

Cass’s barrage of words was initially confusing, but Joan rapidly progressed from shock to outrage. Fortunately for Cass, Joan got quieter the angrier she became. Thus, it was in a hoarse whisper she retorted, You are either brain-dead or the meanest girl I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some very mean girls. Just go away.

This was not the reaction Cass anticipated. He’d assumed this downtrodden human girl would like company in her misery. He reasoned Joan’s surliness was a manifestation of inner turmoil, though he wasn’t interested in learning the causes of the girl’s distress. He just needed a template to copy. Cass hoped to master the angry attitude by emulating the child. Neither anger nor bluntness was going to sway Joan, however, so he fell back on the tried and true I’m New Here/ Please Help Me persona, hoping to gain some cooperation.

I didn’t mean to insult you. You see, I’m Canadian from a very rural place and, and…

Joan snarled Do you think I’m too dense to see you’re making fun of me? Why not just call me Four Eyes or Metal Mouth? Just get out of here.

No, please hold on a second. I’m messing this up. You see, I’m too open and friendly for big city life. I need someone to show me how to put up shields and be more introverted.

Joan stared off to one side. You don’t need my help. Scar tissue builds up. It happens for all of us. For me it started three days after I walked in here last year when the seniors tagged me with Gloomy as a nickname. Then with a vindictive glare she said Guess what they call you already.

The seniors call me something?

They give all underclass students nicknames. You’re known as Pixie.

Cass froze briefly; a look of horror on his face. Finally he whispered No.

Joan was surprised enough by this reaction to soften her approach. It’s not that bad. I’ve heard a lot worse. I mean, you are little, blond, and have spooky pale blue eyes.

Joan, being a human raised in semi-urban circumstances, had never encountered a true Pix Fae. They are tiny, winged, and have spooky eyes. They also have sharp teeth, little spears, and unpredictable personalities. Calling them animalistic is an insult to animals. They are an early version of Fae; originally having developed in the prehistoric era, and they retain wildness similar to badly-raised human toddlers. They never grow out of it. Comparing an Alfaran to a Pix Fae was the ultimate insult.

Cass was shaking. I’m nothing like a… a pixie.

I’m sorry, but ya kinda are. You even have a squeaky little voice.

It’s not squeaky. It’s sort of chirpy, like a happy bird call. It’s not annoying, is it?

It’s annoying me.

A tear trickled down Cass’s cheek. This is terrible. I’m compared to a pixie and I have an annoying voice. This could be the downfall of my social life. It might even bother teachers enough that I won’t get called on in class. It’s… it’s… perfect. His mood changed the instant he realized his Feeling Outcast goal was in reach.

Wait. You’re happy about it now?

My voice is my Body Image Problem. Vocal chords are part of the body. Joan, I could kiss you.

Please don’t.

Joan thought she’d been dealing with a mean girl, but now she believed Cass was just nuts. Freakishly unstable. Possibly dangerous. In Joan’s estimation, mean was preferable. It was something with which she’d had considerable experience. Crazy was another story. This maniac was unpacking a salad and settling in for the whole lunch period leaving Joan with nowhere to go. All the other tables were occupied by students she’d shunned for a whole year, or freshmen, who were worse.

We’re gonna’ be tight Joan. I can learn so much about misery from you. I’m sticking with you all year, unless I get paroled.

Paroled?

I mean… on payroll, like an afterschool job.

Um, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I don’t play well with others.

Exactly! You are just the role model I’m looking for. We can spend significant time together fending off other people.

How much time is ‘significant time?

Why? Am I competing with a boyfriend?

Joan swallowed hard. I’m not interested in romance with anybody. You’re not looking for a girlfriend, are you?

Not really. I just have Gender Identity Issues. And I’m Unitarian.

##

Joan was not the only target of Cass’s attentions on his second day of school. Though not interested in making large numbers of friends, he guessed he’d need a few unpopular acquaintances while navigating the choppy waters of human adolescence.

During last period chemistry lab he met his assigned lab partner, a boy named Rodger Hamilton. Rodger was tall, but gangly. After exchanging names, Rodger belatedly decided a handshake was in order. Cass felt underwhelmed by the gesture, as Rodger’s grip was flimsy and his palms perspired a lot. Cass was still reticent around human bodily secretions. Once past the uncomfortable introduction however, the boy proved he was really good at chemistry. The first lab session involved a lot of safety advice and names of apparatus. Rodger helped Cass with pronouncing unfamiliar devices and long chemical names. He was confident and unflustered, as long as he was talking science.

At the end of class, Cass attempted casual conversation. Neither he nor Rodger was good at it.

You’re very bright.

Um, thanks. I’ve always liked science, but most people find it boring. Not that you’re boring if you like science. I’m not boring you, am I?

A little. Where do you live Rodger?

Up on Baker. It’s the other side of Palmer Park, but if you aren’t from around here… I mean… not to make you feel like a stranger, but…

Do you have a girlfriend?

Excuse me.

I noticed you looking at my chest and thought maybe…

Oh no. Oh God, no. I’m just taller than you so I was looking down, but I wouldn’t… I’m very sorry you thought… I gotta go.

Cass decided that Rodger was not the kind of boy who’d break a girl’s heart, or even talk to a girl for any protracted period. The senior named Peter seemed like a better bet.

And, given that Cass longed for pain, Peter was the perfect choice.

CHAPTER FIVE

While Cass was trying to shorten his exile in the Realm of Mortals, events were unfolding in the Realm of Fae connected with his now vacant post.

Lynera Esmar stood at attention dressed in her best woolen tunic and cloak while enduring the inspection of Felson Veyar te Willowwalk, Defender of the Clan. Though she’d completed only ninety-five summers, she was skilled with bow, quick knife, and great blade. Only one Clan member could best Lynera at weapon work, and he’d just been exiled. She pushed Cass from her thoughts for fear tears would expose weakness. She could not seem frail before the Defender or he’d never choose her.

I have heard good reports about you Lynera, but there are others in the Clan with seniority and good standing with the Council. I’m sure you appreciate that our next Knight of Whiteleaf must be exemplary in every way. I cannot afford favoritism in my choice and I cannot permit even a hint of further scandal.

I am ready for the responsibility Defender. I have trained for this honor since leaving childhood and understand the full panoply of duties I must fulfill.

Felson paused in his pacing and leveled his gaze at her until she met his eyes. Though fair skinned and apple cheeked like most members of the Clan, Felson’s bright, sapphire eyes could bore through a person until he exposed their very core. How did you train for this august position Lynera?

Honesty was required of a Knight of Whiteleaf, so she dared not dissemble now. I have long watched the prior candidate at his duties.

As I thought. You were very close to Caswel Esmar. Did he train you in his philosophy as well as his weapon work?

Alfarans are not born, so much as recycled. The death of one Alfaran feeds energy back to Nature and She gifts the Realm with another infant. These babes are discovered in the wilderness and adopted by the various Clans. It’s similar to the old human wives’ tale of finding babies under cabbage leaves. In any event, this adoption process means that Alfarans don’t technically have parents, siblings or cousins; just bond name and Clan. Lynera shared both with Caswel and was the closest thing he had to a sister.

He took her under his wing while they were still saplings and she hung on his every word; emulated his every interest. She matched him stroke for stroke with practice blades. She learned all his favorite drinking songs. Her affiliated animal was even a rabbit. Lynera once thought Cass could do no wrong. She still had trouble believing he’d been exiled. He was so joyful, fun-loving and, at least to her, caring. She couldn’t imagine how someone who’d been so good to her could be so callous to humans. Why would he even visit the primitive Realm of Mortals when The Great Grove offered so many amusements?

Felson continued his assessment. I’m reluctant to remind the Elders of our disgrace by sending them a Knight so closely allied with the Exile. Perhaps after time clouds the memory you might take the post. A new Knight is appointed every two hundred moons.

I feel responsible for restoring our honor Defender. I was a close friend with the Exile, but never noticed his forays into the Realm of Mortals. It never occurred to me he was misusing the Gates. If I’d discovered his excesses, I might have convinced him to abandon his folly. I was blinded by my affection for him. Let me atone for this failing.

It was his failing, Lynera. Let him atone for it.

She bowed her head, responding as she examined the ground. Then let me compete for the honor for myself. I have the skills. Just let me prove it.

Very well, but I make no promises.

Lynera extended and bent her left leg in a small genuflection while touching her right hand to her brow. Felson acknowledged the salute and Lynera turned to go, head held high. She radiated determination. Deep down, she realized that she’d lost her shot at knighthood already, but she was determined to give Felson a demonstration that would always leave him questioning his decision.

##

Kaviss Esmar te Willowwalk joined Felson on the East Meadow where he watched candidates demonstrate their knowledge of quick knife technique. Kaviss was Clan Elder and had significant input regarding the selection of Clan Knight of Whiteleaf.

It’s an impressive crop you’ve gathered Felson. I’d have no fear putting my safety in any of their hands. Still, your youngest candidate concerns me.

Felson nodded, having anticipated Kaviss’ surprise at seeing Lynera among the competitors. The Elder knew the history of every member of the Clan and was not blind to the girl’s connection to Caswel Esmar.

I consented to review her aptitude, but I’m mostly using her to show Thensa how a quick knife should really be wielded. A little humility goes a long way. Right now, I’m leaning toward Zahus Veyar. He’s served as an instructor to my recruits and has a keen mind matched with a stoic outlook. I need someone who’ll take the job seriously.

I cannot fault your logic, but might I beg a boon?

Felson tensed, but was not about to deny an Elder. By all means.

Please let Lynera know she was not selected before the choice is announced at Council.

Felson smiled. I’d intended to do that anyway. She’s an excellent student and I have another offer for her to ease the pain.

Kaviss coughed. Another offer? You remember she’s an Esmar, don’t you?

So are you, if memory serves. Are you having second thoughts about Caswell’s exile?

Oh no., replied Kaviss. The boy needed to be taught a lesson. Despite his rather casual attitude toward duty, he’s one of the best weapon workers you’ve ever instructed and he’s capable of improvising in difficult situations. I’m sure he’ll return a changed man.

Felson laughed. I don’t see how he could avoid it.

##

I do sleep occasionally, when my operatives let me. It was three hours before dawn when a partridge pecking at my ear dragged me from slumber. I attempted to shoo it away, but it quickly morphed into an unusually chubby Alfaran from Clan Deepcleft.

Interloper, I have urgent news from one of the cavern Fae Gates.

I struggled free of my covers. It would have to be urgent to send you flying here personally, Naros. What happened?

This Gate connects to a grotto in Eritrea, Africa. The Mortal side was attacked by a Night Predator.

I was still a little groggy, so I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly. Night Predators are shape-shifting horrors from the Realm of Dreams. We don’t have any Gate connections with the Dream Realm.

Naros sighed. I’m aware of that. Someone in the Mortal Realm summoned it and sent it after the Gate. That means there’s a powerful magician among Mortals who knows where our Gate is located.

I offered him tea and a spare tunic. We discussed the state of our world for two hours. I assured Naros that I was recruiting Wardens as quickly as possible. I did not mention the more desperate plan I’d agreed to with Kaviss.

CHAPTER SIX

Esmeralda Shafil was puzzling to me. Until she’d accused Cass in front of the Elders,