Page 7 of The Midnight King
When he removes his hand, Annabelle’s flank is completely healed. Not a sign of anything amiss. She chuffs and lows contentedly, as if her mood has suddenly improved.
“How did you do that?” I breathe.
“An inherited gift, of sorts. My father can heal living things through magic,” the Faerie says. “He likes creating spells in edible form, usually candies and treats. He’s excellent at making clothes, too. I’m only half-Fae, but I was born within sight of a mirrored moon by a lavender lake on the night of the seasonal shift, which makes me rather unique. I can heal animals with a touch—though healing humans is a bit more complicated—and I can create beautiful glamoured clothing or mend existing clothes. And I have other gifts as well. My older sister has always been rather jealous of what I can do. She got the wings, but I got most of the magic.” He grins at me, as if any of what he just said made sense.
“What are you doinghere?”
His lavender eyes narrow slightly. “Not even a thank you?”
“Answer the question.”
He shrugs. “It’s quite simple. You called me.”
“I did not!”
The Faerie sighs. “You have something on your person… a ring, a pocket watch, or a necklace with an inscription, yes?”
My hand goes to my chest, pressing the spot where the pocket watch is hidden beneath my dress. “Yes…”
“An old friend of my family used to make such trinkets—objects specifically designed to carry or conduct magic, even in this mortal realm. When he died, I inherited a collection of these items, and I placed spells on them so the objects will summon me when their owner has a great need. May I see yours?”
My pocket watch summoned him? I think of the inscription inside, the one I’ve read a thousand times.
Touch a tear on the face, and a kiss grants his grace.
I dropped a tear on the face of the watch, then touched it to brush it away. And somehow that act summoned this Faerie. Someone whose magic might be able to set me free.
Hope bolts through my chest like a wild horse. Hastily I set down the pitchfork and dig out the pocket watch from its restingplace between my breasts. I don’t take the chain from my neck, though—I’m too cautious to hand the object over to him.
To see the watch, the Faerie has to come even closer. He takes it gently from my fingers and opens it.
“Yes, I remember this one,” he murmurs. “I was in disguise in a rather unpleasant city, but I met a good-hearted gentleman in a local pub, and we talked for a while. He said his wife had just borne a baby daughter. He was sorry to leave his family so soon after the birth, but he had business obligations to fulfill in order to provide for them.”
Sounds like my father. A lump condenses in my throat, and tears sting my eyes.
The Faerie looks up, meeting my gaze. “We spoke of the evils of the world, and its dangers. At the end of the night, I revealed my true self to him and offered him my services, should he ever need them. He said he’d rather have me look out for his daughter in the future, in case he were ever unable to protect her. He used the term ‘godfather,’ a human tradition in some cultures, I believe. I traded him this pocket watch in exchange for some blood.”
“You took his blood?” I repeat, eyeing the pitchfork again.
“Easy there,” he chuckles. “Godstars, you’re a vicious one, aren’t you? I only took a few small vials, for use in my spells. That’s how the Fae operate—we make bargains. Something given, something gained. I did your father no harm, trust me. But on that night, I became your Faerie godfather. Once called upon, I would be ready to step in and help you through your troubles.”
A bitter, helpless laugh cracks from my lips. “I’m afraid you’ve come too late. I could have used your help years ago. Anytime in the last seventeen years, really. My father killed himself when I was nine, and ever since then, my existence has been miserable.”
“He killed himself?” The Faerie frowns. “That doesn’t sound like the man I met.”
“His circumstances changed,” I reply. “And what’s more, he never explained anything about this watch to me. If that story is true, why didn’t he tell me about the inscription? Why didn’t he explain that I could call on you?”
The Faerie looks rather rueful. “I warned him that the watch could only summon me three times, and that if the summons were wasted, I would no longer appear. Perhaps he feared that you, as a small child, might call me for some minor tragedy, like dropping your doll down a well.”
“What fool drops a doll down a well?”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen.”
“My father should have told me!” My voice is strained, growing shriller by the second as I realize that I could have escaped this torment years ago had I known about the watch. I have always been secretly angry with my father for marrying Gilda in the first place, and now I have yet another reason to rage at his ghost.
The rational part of my brain tells me Father had good reasons for not explaining about the watch when I was small—and after he married Gilda, he was bound by her commands, most likely restricted from asking anyone for help. But rational thinking doesn’t do much to ease the anger of a desperate person, and I’m as desperate as they come.
My Faerie godfather looks at me with compassionate concern. “You’re clearly in great emotional distress.”