Rhiannon Tarliq's Guide To Life

1. TO RETRIEVE A KING

"Who wouldn't be angry about someone eating all their cereal and then faking their death for three years?" Brandon asked after pouring himself a cup of tea.

They were seated around his little round coffee table, him, and his roommate from what seemed to be another time. She even looked like she was from another time.

Black made up majority of her outfit, but the fabric was unlike anything he had ever seen; especially the heavy material that made up her coat. He couldn't help but stare at the gossamer swirls that glittered like the veins of insect wings. Compared to her, he was excruciatingly underdressed, still in his cotton pyjamas pants and fluffy bathrobe.

He didn't know what to do.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked in a much calmer tone, "Would you like to take your coat off?"

She shook her head, eyes following her fingers as they traced patterns into the glass surface of the table. "You wouldn't like what you'd see." She switched to meddling with her bracelets.

Brandon didn't recognise the girl before him. The grim air of determination around her, the predatory stillness, and the way she seemed to be aware of everything around her, drinking in the plethora of information to be gleaned from the open window.

"Do you even remember my name?" His voice was almost a whisper.

Her brows softened. "You're Brandon Corrigan."

"And are you still Sierra?" he ventured cautiously.

For the first time, she looked him in the eye, her gaze sending a shudder down his spine. He recognised nothing in those eyes. The temperature of his apartment seemed to plummet as she looked around, eventually settling on his unmade bed.

"Sierra Knight is dead," she said whilst still facing away.

The planes of her face were bathed in the shadow of the soft morning light that streamed in. Brandon had woken up to her face countless times, but no matter how much he dredged through his mind, there were no similarities between the girl he fell in love with and the stranger before him.

"So what happened in the past three years? Why did you come back? Who are you?"

She stood up and Brandon shifted back in his seat. With care, she shrugged off her coat.

At first, Brandon couldn't understand what he was staring at, and then those wings spread out, translucent, like spider silk. The tips brushed against the ceiling, and they twitched ever so slightly.

"My name is Rhiannon."

Brandon's mind caved in. It hurt. He couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it. He let out a shaky breath and tried for a laugh.

"So you're a fairy now," he could not keep the trembling from his words. "Do you skip around circles and wear flower crowns?"

She was not at all appreciative of his jests.

"Circles are for magic, some spells are hard to cast and hard to control, fairy circles keep them contained." Grimly, she folded her wings. "Flower crowns are for the dead."

She flung out her hand, ending the movement with an elaborate flick of her wrist and the glass of his window shattered. Only, the glass didn't go crashing onto the ground. Instead, it was paper-like, floating down gently.

In a heartbeat, Sierra/Rhiannon lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and hurling both of them out of the window. Brandon could only shut his eyes a foot before they kissed the sidewalk.

She brought him to the underground; a world that the city of Manhattan never knew was right under them. Then she left him alone, claiming that she had been gone too long. She left him to roam the place.

Brandon he had to admit, the underground fairy society was amazing. At first, he assumed it was an interest group, but after a few hours of exploring the tunnels, he saw no one with those illuminated plastic wings.

Little glowing orbs bathed the tunnels in a warm glow, floating through the air and twinkling like the fairy lights his hardware store sold. Round doors popped out at regular intervals, most of them closed, but all different shapes.

After walking a little more, he found himself back in the main atrium, where Sierra-Rhiannon had appeared, back from her duties. She was looking into the wishing well. He frowned and made his way over to her, ducking under wings that he barely noticed.

"You can touch them, you know?" his roommate said, still in a trance as she stared at the ripples.

His confusion kept him from speaking.

"The wings," she clarified. "They're just like limbs. You can touch them."

Straightening up, she looked him over, taking in his Egyptian cotton pyjamas set. He'd always been a sucker for comfortable sleepwear.

"I suppose you'd like to go back," she said. "But you have no idea how important you are to our cause."

"Your cause?" he repeated, hoping to learn more, yet at the same time, dreading that outcome."

Sierra-Rhiannon sighed and shook her head.

"There's a war coming. Why do you think fairies are hiding underground? They don't have a choice when their enemy surrounds them."

Brandon helped her up from her kneel and followed as she headed for a corridor.

"Storm wisps are gathering and when they decide to strike, it wouldn't be just a thunderstorm." She knocked on one of the doors. "It's hurricanes we're talking about now."

The door opened and a male peered out, his ears twitching as he looked at Brandon with curiosity.

"Diarke, I've brought you a visitor. If you don't mind, he could use a change of clothes and a bath."

"Would he be staying with me?" asked Diarke, whose name sounded a lot like 'the ark' to Brandon who figured that he probably shouldn't point that fact out.

Rhiannon looked at Brandon.

"Let him roam when he's done, or should he chose to stay, let him do that."

With a light nod, Diarke motioned for Brandon to step into his apartment of sorts. Cautiously, Brandon turned to Rhiannon, for a little confirmation.

"I will see you later," she said in parting.