Monster Garden

  And that’s the story of how I reflex-kneed a fae in the balls for the very first time.

  -8-

  Dane’s eyes stop watering about halfway down First Avenue.

  “I warned you,” My voice is high and thin as I desperately try to hide my chocolate-stained pants with my sweater while still avoiding Dane in a four-foot radius in all directions. “I said I was scared of you.”

  “You didn’t warn me about your knee surgery,” He snarls. “In which you clearly got your human bone replaced with diamond.”

  “Y-You’re being dramatic,” I avoid a pair of sharply-dressed businessmen eyeing us suspiciously. We’re in the expensive part of town, with all the Givenchy’s and Prada and other name brands, and while Dane fits right in, I look like the disheveled girl off the street he picked up.

  “I’m being dramatic?” Dane’s voice turns to glass knives. “You’re the one who kneed me so hard the entire galaxy flashed before my eyes.”

  “You were -“ I blush ten shades of red and hiss. “You were pressing your dick on me!”

  “And according to your thoughts, you weren’t entirely not-enjoying it,” He drawls.

  “Hello? Earth to not-Earth Mr. Fae? You’re the one with freaky human-attracting pheromones. For all you know I could’ve hated it! Any thoughts you read are under the influence, and not my real feelings. Have you ever thought about that? That maybe all those girls you sleep with at the club are actually not genuinely into you, just your magic spell or whatever?”

  “Of course I’ve thought about that,” He scowls. “And then I stopped. Because it made my head hurt.”

  “But not enough to make you grow a conscious, apparently,” I sigh. “Where are we even going?”

  “There,” He points to a store with a sleek black front and a name I can’t even pronounce. “And for your information, even if I didn’t have my glamor, women would still flock to me for my looks. So I don’t see the issue, here.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I groan. Liking someone for who they are obviously isn’t a thing in the fae realm, and even less for someone like Dane, who thinks all you need is hate to fuck. “Nevermind.”

  I walk into the store, the smell of expensive perfume hitting my nose first. The inside is all white tile, with perfectly lit displays of sleek clothes that look way too small for me. A woman immediately walks over and smiles at me sweetly, that too-sweet please-get-out-of-my-store smile.

  “I’m afraid we’re closing early today, ma’am.”

  “Are you?” Dane slides between us, flashing his own deadly-cool smile at the woman. “That’s a shame, because I came here specifically to get her some new clothes.”

  He plucks out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and fans himself with them lazily, staring the woman dead in the eyes as if daring her to say anything more. You can see the exact moment his ‘glamor’, as he called it, hits her - her eyes glaze over and her postures softens instantly as she waves us in with a smile.

  “That’s just fine. Let’s get you started with your measurements, shall we?”

  While she’s wrapping me up with measuring tape, I hear Dane call out to the back of the store;

  “Quinn? You still here?”

  “Yes,” Quinn’s blue curls appear over a rack as he straightens, coming around with a heaping armful of clothes. He sees me, that same mild expression on his face as always, neither happy or mad to see me. “I thought you might try these on first.”

  He plops them on the couch in front of me, and the lady immediately whirls and starts to thumb through them, trotting off to replace the too-big or too-small ones with ones that’ll supposedly fit me. She works so fast she’s a blur, and I marvel at how quick she can walk in heels.

  “Quinn, you’re here too?” I ask.

  “Obviously,” He drones. “I wasn’t going to let Dane take you here and dress you all himself - you’d come home with a full wardrobe of club clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Dane fingers the hem of a dress on a rack absently. Quinn gives me a look, and for once I know what it means on his usually unexpressive face - it’s the ‘my point exactly’ look.

  “You brought me here to buy me clothes,” I say slowly. “Because you think buying someone expensive stuff is how you apologize?”

  Dane frowns. “Is it…not?”

  I breathe out so fast my bangs flutter. “You can’t just buy your way into an apology!”

  “But it helps,” Quinn offers.

  “Listen,” Dane starts. “Quinn told me it’d soften you up -“

  I scoff and cross my arms over my chest.

  “ - But that’s not the only reason I’m doing it. Your dress. The daisy one. The one you wore to the club.”

  “What about it?”

  “You said it was the only one you had.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  He runs a frustrated hand through his nest of white-blonde hair. “I might not know human apologies, but I know a girl shouldn’t be forced to wear only one dress every time she wants to look nice.”

  “I have my work uniform, too -“

  “You should have more than just one daisy dress, and a work uniform,” He interrupts smoothly. “You should have things that you like wearing. Things that make you happy.”

  Happy? Clothes had been such a low priority for me ever since I graduated - food and tuition and rent was where I put all my chips. I only ever spent money on clothes when I needed new underwear, or socks, and I made do with my high school shirts and jeans, even if I had to squeeze now to get into them. It’s true my shirts were so faded you could barely see the logos anymore, and all my pants had a hole somewhere, but shopping here?

  “This is too expensive,” I catch a glimpse of a single shirt’s tag and my eyes bug out. “Can’t we go somewhere cheaper?”

  Quinn sniffs. “I’d rather not -“

  “We can,” Dane says. “After we find you a dress, here.”

  “But it’ll be way too expensive. I’m not blowing my wages on this place -“

  “I’m buying it,” He asserts. “Consider it part of my apology.”

  “I told you, apologies aren’t made with money.“

  “Fine. Consider it not part of my apology. Consider it a gift. From a…“

  “Friend?” Quinn offers.

  “Enemy,” I say. Quinn grins in his quiet way, and Dane chuckles.

  “Alright. A gift from an enemy it is.”

  If my life was a movie, there’d be a dress-picking montage here. But it isn’t, and so it’s a whirl of Dane demanding I come out in every unflattering slip of silk he picks out. I expect him to scrutinize me, or make fun of the way my arms look or how lumpy my butt is, but all he does is ask if I like it or not. If I say no, he sends me back into the changing room with a new pile of dresses, picked out by Quinn, of course.

  “We’re going through every single one in the store until we find one your picky ass likes!” He calls.

  “We’re gonna be here a long time,” I shout back.

  “That’s fine. I’m not the one who has to get changed a thousand times over.”

  “Oh I’ll kill him,” I mutter to a new dress. “I’ll kill him and bury the body in this pile of clothes.”

  I never went to my own prom - I got the whooping cough the day before and thought my world as going to end because I missed it. But the world didn’t end, and my parents didn’t say it, but I know they were slightly relieved about not having to buy me a prom dress. For some reason this feels like prom dress shopping, but with even more stress attached to it. I don’t want a prom dress, which is what all these look like - I just want something simple that fits me well, and is a pretty color.

  I pull the new dress up and I immediately notice how nice it feels - it hugs my body perfectly in all the right places and flows on all the other places. And the color isn’t bright or bold; a simple pinkish-cream fabric that’s so soft it feels like I’m petting one
of those cashmere goats. I’ve never been a fan of pink but this color is so sweet and light it steals my heart away. I pull it over my shoulders, the sleeves like long, graceful bells, and I swear at no one - it’s got a zipper.

  “Can someone help me?” I call for the lady who’s zipped me up every time, but this time it’s not the lady at all. It’s Dane, his broad shoulders and tall frame looking almost constricted in the tiny changing room, bringing with him that intoxicating smell of gin and rosemary.

  “Turn around,” He demands, and I groan.

  “Can’t you just get the lady -“

  “You’re going to see me in all my naked glory in a few days, anyway,” He starts. That’s what you think, bud. “Seeing a bit of your back skin won’t kill me.”

  “If I knee you again, it’s your fault,” I flush as I turn around. “Because I’m not giving you permission to touch anything on me but the zipper.”

  “I get it, Your Beastliness.” His long fingers find the zipper easily, and he pulls it up to the top in one fluid movement. “There.”

  I pivot, the skirts flowing with me as I do. Holy shit - in the mirror it looks so beautiful. I look like a totally different person; the half-sheer fabric makes me look like a dream, the tiny sequins in the low-cut bodice making vines and roses that glitter in the light whenever I move. It’s neckless, showing off my shoulders, which I think are the nicest parts of me, and the sleeves are floatier than angel food cake and I love it.

  I turn again, expecting to see Dane gone, but he lurks, looking me up and down.

  “This one,” I steel my chin. “I don’t care what you say. I don’t care if it makes me looks childish or naive or whatever - I want this one.”

  There’s a long moment when he doesn’t talk; and between the silence his gemstone eyes roam my whole body, the whole length of the dress and back again. I feel like he’s eating me, somehow, consuming me down to the bones in that piercing predator way he had when we first met and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are - a few inches more and he’d be pressed against me again, all warm and hard.

  Shut up, brain, I internally sigh, tired of my own shit by now. You’re just high on his pheromones. Fae-romones? Perfect pun. Ten out of ten stars to me.

  “If you don’t get out right now, I’ll yell,” I stop congratulating myself and threaten Dane. This snaps him out of his weirdness, and he flashes his eyes up to mine and then away, strangely jumpy.

  “Change out of it, then, and bring it to the counter.” His voice is hoarse, but he quickly clears his throat and darts out of the changing room. I peel the dress off slowly, thinking - do fae get colds? Probably not, right? Vil would’ve told me if they did.

  When I’m decent I walk out with the dress in my arms, showing it to a curious Quinn. He nods approvingly.

  “The color will suit you. And the cut is very flattering for your neckline, considering you have a large head to account for.”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re super good at compliments?” I lilt. Quinn makes that pleased-with-himself little smile again.

  “Just you.”

  I pile the dress on the counter and the lady rings it up, making doe-eyes at Dane the whole time. Quinn’s glamor must not be as strong, but they definitely still hit her, because she smiles at him dreamily, too, when he takes the dress bag.

  “I can carry it, you know.”

  “Your fingers are shaking,” Quinn argues. “You’ve done enough today, I think.”

  “I’m warning you - I don’t appreciate being treated delicately.”

  A shadow passes over Quinn’s face. “It’s an inevitable reaction to want to protect something precious, is it not?”

  I gulp. “I’m not -“

  “You are a pure, unadulterated font of Brightness,” Quinn argues gently as the two of us watch Dane hand over the cash to the lady. “That is rare to find. I didn’t believe your Brightness to be so strong when I first met you, but my feeding proved me wrong.”

  “I’m flattered -“

  “Don’t be,” Quinn deadpans. “You are simply very important to me.”

  I’m struck speechless, and then a laugh bubbles up in my throat. “You fae are so fucking weird.”

  “Let’s go,” Dane nears us, stuffing his cash away in his leather pants pocket.

  “Where?” I frown.

  “You tell me. Wherever it is, it better have something to replace those rags you’re wearing.”

  “You made me come in these rags in the first place!”

  “Not yet,” He drawls, voice like sugar and razors.

  “You’re disgusting,” I blurt. He laughs, scaring a passing businessman.

  “Likewise, little beast.”

  ****

  I manage to steer the two high fae away from First Avenue and up to Fourteenth, where there’s a clean and tidy thrift store I’d always longingly browsed on my days off. Quinn complains quietly about the quality of the clothes, but then he finds the vintage section and shuts up, paging through their peacoats eagerly. Dane boredly picks up anything he can find - old cowboy boots, a clock shaped like a mouse eating a piece of cheese. I half-expect him to pick up the girl working at the counter who’s shooting him some serious lovestruck looks, but he just follows me around picking up weird shit and putting it back down.

  Satisfied with my basket full of new(ish) shirts and a few well-fitting pairs of jeans and sweatpants, I head to the counter. Dane tries to pay again, but I use the cashier girl’s crush against him, insisting I pay instead. She takes my money first and glowers at me, clearly unenthused Dane’s willing to spend money on me at all - bingo. Faeromone-induced-jealousy manipulator, thy name is May.

  I call Mom and Dad before I head home, lying through my teeth about how well I’m doing at work, how I’ve got a secretary job at a health clinic, now. It’s part of my master plan - if I told them I didn’t need help with college all of a sudden they’d get suspicious, so I’m laying the groundwork now. Jasmine texted me, too, asking if I was free on Sunday to get lunch and I text her back with ten thousand excited emojis.

  I’m so caught up in texting Jasmine I only faintly hear Quinn and Dane talking on the curb.

  “Isn’t he one of them?” Quinn asks.

  “No. Just a boy hanging out with the wrong crowd. Altair and I told him to go before it started,” Dane says.

  “He looks so terrified,” Quinn sounds remorseful, and that’s what makes me look up. There, on the other side of the street waiting at a bus stop, is someone I recognize. Not at first, but the more I stare the more it comes back to me - a guy with a red mohawk that’s half grown-out, flopping to one side. A pierced eyebrow. I’d seen him in the apartment building, smoking outside my upstairs neighbor’s door. He was their friend, I think. He’s looking over at us. No, not all of us - just Dane. His eyes are wide with something I can only describe as sheer fear, his lips trembling and his skin drained to a pale greenish color.

  “It’s a pity I can’t wipe his memory,” Dane muses. “Or I would.”

  “Wipe his memory of what?” I ask. Dane doesn’t look at me, Quinn shooting me a sideways glance for just a second. “Why is he so afraid of you?”

  No one answers me but a police siren. When it passes, I don’t let them get off easy.

  “You were at his friends’ party, weren’t you? That night we met.”

  Dane still doesn’t say anything.

  “Did you know those guys moved?” I ask. “My landlord told me they just up and left out of the blue in the middle of that exact same night. You and Altair wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

  Dane finally makes a sound - a scoff - and the wind ruffles his white-blonde hair.

  “Quiet, little beast. Before you dig too deep.”

  If he won’t give me answers, I’ll just have to go to the source. I start crossing the street, but Dane calls after me;

  “You won’t like what you hear.”


  I resist the urge to shout back that I haven’t heard anything out of his mouth that I like so far and ignore him, sidling up to the guy with the mohawk. When I get close enough to talk he jumps away, to the opposite end of the bench.

  “Don’t! Don’t get any closer. Y-You’re the girl from the downstairs apartment, aren’t you? And you’re with him,” He stutters.