ABBY
It takes almost thirty hours and five tense conversations with strangers, but I finally manage to find out some good information on the transportation situation.
The vehicles are in fact busses, usually with a capacity of about fifty people, and the ones from Elora will begin arriving sometime today. From there, there'll be a revolving door of arrivals and departures. One of the faeries I spoke to said things will die down once the prince begins his journey to the portal, so that means I have a few days to secure a seat on a departure bus.
I run my hand through my hair, ensuring the strands are mostly in place. Almost all the women here wear their hair down, so after rinsing it in the sink last night, I put it in a loose braid so it would be neat today.
It seems to have worked, and I haven't received too many weird looks from the faeries I've encountered. Yesterday—thanks to the drying agents in the hand soap—it was a hot mess. The strands looked dry and crinkly, and I caught a few odd looks.
It's significantly better today.
I'm praying it helps, especially since I already have enough working against me. Namely, my clothes.
They stand out here, but there's nothing I can do about it. The faeries don't wear anything similar to my leggings, nor my tank top. They mostly wear loose, neutral-colored linens—even the children.
My backpack straps rub against my shoulders as I walk through the park, following the trail that will lead me into the city. I've returned to the small bathrooms several times since arriving, usually to pee or refill my water bottle.
It's been working well for me, but the park grows busy around this time and I'm worried my repeated visits will draw attention.
I'll have to slow my water intake for the next several hours.
Three children, probably around seven or eight years old, run down the path in my direction. They scream and shove at one another with loud laughs, their movements eerily smooth. I don't remember Lill being this agile when we were children, and I can't lie and say it's not a bit freaky.
If this is how athletic faerie children are at this age, it's no wonder Lill always jokes that I'd be no match against a full-grown adult. I'm pretty sure these kids could easily kick my ass if they wanted.
I slow as the children approach, but they never break their fast strides as they maneuver around me and continue down the trail. I'm willing to bet they're racing toward the playground it leads to.
Ten seconds later, two adult women come wandering down the trail.
Seeing faeries still makes my heart race, but I'm slowly becoming accustomed to it. I'm also learning how to distinguish between them. When I first arrived, I thought everybody looked identical with their bright hair and purple eyes, but it's becoming easier to spot their individual features.
These two women, though, they look similar.
Their facial structure is almost identical, and they carry themselves in a similar manner. Even the way they've clipped their hair out of their face is the same. They have to be related. Probably sisters.
The one on the left has a young child cradled in her arms, and she chats happily to the other before turning and peering down the trail where the children disappeared. I can still hear the kids screaming behind me, but it's distance.
They've covered a lot of ground, and they're probably almost at the park by now.
My heart races as I approach the women, and when they turn to look at me, I offer a polite smile. They do the same, but I still hold my breath until I've passed them. Nobody's yet questioned what I, a human, is doing here, but I'm still painfully aware that I don't belong.
They know I'm a human, and I'm terrified somebody will start asking questions. I haven't run into any other humans yet, so I know there aren't many of us here.
It takes only one inquisitive faerie to ruin everything. I haven't done anything wrong, but I'm pretty sure Lill, or her mother, is a criminal. It's the only thing that makes sense.
I don't know what the faeries would do if they learned I was associated with her.
I hurry through the park and into the city. I did a lot of surveilling yesterday, and I discovered the faeries disappear twice a day for their mealtimes. One is around lunch, when the sun is highest in the sky, and the other is later in the day, around dinner, when the sun is just beginning to set.
They also refer to it as their second and third meal, not lunch and dinner. I assume the first meal, breakfast, is done before they leave their homes for the day.
It's a weird tradition I still fail to understand.
What if they ate a big breakfast and aren't hungry when lunch comes around? Or what if they get hungry earlier in the day? Can they only eat within their specific windows?
I have so many questions, and I'm sad they're ones I'll likely never get answers to. At least, not anytime soon. Maybe Lill will be more forthcoming with her secrets when I return. I sure know I'm going to hammer her with questions.
My feet crunch against the ground as I head to the building one of the faeries I spoke to yesterday evening pointed out. She was one of the nicer ones I've talked with, and she didn't look at me like I was crazy for asking where I could go to book a departure bus to Elora.
I told her I was new to town and don't have a velx, which helped.
Telling people I don't have a velx seems to be the answer to everything. I overheard two men speaking about them yesterday morning, and when he pulled out the small piece of glass Samuel used, I realized that's what it was called.
A velx.
It's the faerie equivalent of a cellphone. Well, kind of. From the bits and pieces I've gathered, I've learned that the 'glass' is actually condensed magic. It gives the faerie using it a bit of a magic boost, allowing them to do more than they can naturally.
Either way, the faeries use them for everything, and when I tell people I don't have one, they seem to understand why I'm asking for help. They probably think I'm useless without one.
I sure feel useless without one, and it's bullshit that I can't use magic.
It sounds so fucking cool, and I would fuck shit up if I could manipulate it the way the faeries do. For me, it's nothing more than annoying flecks that float around the air.
Like fancy lint.
My palms sweat as I approach the transportation building, but my gloves wick the moisture away. My gloves have become my saving grace these past few days, and they're so comfortable I often forget I'm even wearing them.
The fact that they blend in so seamlessly with my skin doesn't help, either. I've turned on and stuck my hands under the bathroom sink with them on several times. They somehow don't affect my touch at all, so I still feel the bite of metal from the handle and the shock of cool water as if I didn't have anything on.
The only downfall is they take fucking eons to dry, so once they're wet, I'm stuck walking around with bare hands for a good hour or two.
I made that mistake twice yesterday, but now I'm extra careful.
The black glass panels surrounding the transportation building reflect my image as I approach, and I do my best not to stare at myself as I pull open the door. Everybody inside can easily see through the glass, and I don't want to get caught checking myself out.
Bright light smacks me in the face as I step inside, and I awkwardly shuffle to the right as I peer around the place.
Quiet music pours from the ceiling, the only thing preventing the building from being too quiet. It's instrumental, which seems to be the faerie's preference. Both the restaurant and glove shop Samuel brought me to only played instrumental, too.
I lick my lips, taking everything in. This place looks like a post office. Or a bank.
There's a long counter with three help booths along the far wall. They're all busy, and a short line of people are waiting their turn. There's no signage, naturally, but I assume that's where I need to be.
Directly in front of the doors, between me and the booths, is a small sitting area. It's empty, though, so I make my way around it and get in line. Maybe people take a number and sit when the place gets busy.
The faerie at the help booth on the left walks away, and everybody shuffles forward as the next in line steps forward and fills his spot.
The man behind the booth looks bored, and he rests his chin in his palm as he waits for the next in line to approach. I try to eavesdrop on their conversation, but I can't hear anything from where I'm standing.
The lady from yesterday said this was the transportation building and I could buy bus tickets here, but the lack of signage has me second-guessing everything.
Still, I force myself to wait in line.
It takes about thirty minutes for me to be next, and when one of the booths opens up, I square my shoulders and fake confidence as I make my way over.
"Hello," I say.
My voice cracks. Not ideal, but I suppose that's what I get for not using it yet this morning.
The woman behind the booth dips her chin in greeting. She's wearing her hair up, which is strange for the faeries. They almost always wear it down, and I can't help but stare at her pointed ears.
That's new.
Lill doesn't have pointed ears, and I haven't noticed anybody else with them.
The woman still has purple eyes and light hair, so I assume she's a faerie. Are there different types of faeries with different features? Or maybe she's not full faerie. I know there are trolls and wild shifters in the forest, but I have no idea if they're compatible.
Maybe they're considered different species. Like dogs and cats.
I have so many questions.
"How can I help you?" the woman asks, drawing my attention.
"I don't have a velx," I say. I start all my sentences that way. "And I was wondering if I could get an Elora bus schedule from you. I was told there should be several departures during Praxis."
I'd forgotten the ceremony's name by the time I made it here, but I've heard it no less than a hundred times since arriving. It's all everybody's talking about, so the event name is permanently ingrained in my head.
The woman behind the desk clears her throat and furrows her brows. The faeries don't often use paper, and I doubt they're frequently asked for physical schedules.
"I think I can have one made for you," she eventually says. "Give me a minute."
She turns and disappears into a door behind her booth. I lean against the counter, beyond relieved. I was terrified she'd have no idea what I was talking about or think I was crazy for asking. Having a bus schedule will be a huge help, and hopefully, she can give me some pricing information when she returns.
It takes a few minutes for her to appear, and she has a sheet of paper when she does.
She sets it on the counter between us, and I take a quick second to scan it over. It covers the next two weeks, and just as I was told, there's a huge uptick over the next several days. Once Praxis ends, it drops to one arrival and one departure a week.
I look for prices, but there are none.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the woman asks.
I nod. "Yes, actually. Can you let me know how much these cost? And how soon in advance do I need to reserve a seat?"
The woman hums, and she searches around her booth before grabbing an ink pen. I slide the paper back toward her, and she jots some numbers down.
"Anything that leaves before second meal will be one hundred and ten coins. Anything after will be one hundred and thirty," she explains. "We recommend you try and book your spot a day in advance. They fill up quickly."
Great. Now I just need to figure out how much a coin is worth. Getting ninety of them seems like a lot.
"Thanks," I say, debating asking.
How do you ask somebody to explain a financial system to you without drawing attention? I spent years studying human finances, and there's still so much I don't know.
The woman slides the paper back over, and I decide not to ask. I'll just pop into a grocery store and see how much the things there cost. That should give me a reasonable frame of reference. Then I just need to find a way to make a hundred and ten coins.
Easy. Not.
I grab the bus schedule and leave the building. The streets are about empty, signaling it's almost time for second meal. I'm excited to sit on a bench and force down a sad handful of jerky and granola.
The second the faeries return from their meals, I'm going on the prowl.
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Always on the prowl
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