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mmerriamMy offering for International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant's Day is a particular favorite of my own work.
"Rainfall" appeared in the February 2006 issue of the now defunct webzine Deep Magic. While it isn't considered "professional" for SFWA values of professional, I was paid money for it.
When I wrote "Rainfall" I thought I was writing urban fantasy. In retrospect, I realize this is the moment when I slipped over the urban fantasy fence and into the paranormal romance playground. I've never regretted it.
Tangent Online reviewed this story way back when. They seemed to like it. I hope you like it too.
If you would like a copy, email me at mmerriamATgmailDOTcom. I'll send it to you in .rtf format or I can send a copy of the .pdf of the magazine the story appears in.
Rainfall
by Michael Merriam
The rain missed her.
Robert had noticed an oddness about her before, but the whole 'she-is-dry-while-everything-else-is-soaked' thing settled the matter.
Robert had written her off as a little strange the previous Tuesday. She had plopped down next to him on the bus stop bench wearing a thin black T-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Everyone else, himself included, was bundled up in coats and scarves against the chill continuing to hang on into early spring. Robert started to ask her if she was cold when the number four bus roared up to the curb. They both climbed aboard, her vanishing toward the back while he took his customary seat up front with the gimps. He didn't notice where she got off, but when Robert stood to exit the bus, he was the only person on board.
She sat down next to him again the following Thursday. She still seemed unconcerned about the damp chill, but what caught Robert's attention this time was the way her skin and her short purple hair appeared to faintly glow and sparkle. Robert realized he was staring when she turned toward him and hit him with a smile. He smiled shyly back at her, acknowledging his transgression, and turned his eyes across the street.
He felt her body posture change, and he sensed her about to say something when the bus turned the corner and pulled up to the curb. This time Robert managed to situate himself in the front bench so he could see the whole inside of the bus. He set his twin canes across his legs and surreptitiously kept one eye on her. When the driver called out Thirty-Third Street, she pulled the cord and stepped up to the back door. She turned toward Robert and nodded before exiting. Robert followed her with his eyes, her purple hair making her easy to spot, until she stepped into the coffee shop on the corner.
Today it was the rain. She sat on the bench, bone dry while everyone else ended up drenched. It proved too much for Robert to ignore.
"You're supposed to be wet, you know," Robert said.
She looked at him in horror. "I am not?"
Robert shook his head. "Nope."
She closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate for a moment. Robert watched as the raindrops continued to fall around, but not on, her. The air shimmered in Robert's vision for an instant, but otherwise she remained unchanged.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Am I wet now?"
"No."
She scooted closer to him. "Would you mind sharing your umbrella?"
"Why?" he wanted to know. "It's not like you're getting rained on."
"But I am supposed to be. It would assist the illusion if I could share your umbrella."
She seemed earnest. Robert shifted his umbrella to his left shoulder, giving her partial cover.
"Thank you."
"So if you don't mind my asking," Robert said while trying to look at anything but the apparent young woman beside him, "what exactly are you?"
She cocked her head toward him. The quick, bird-like gesture made her hair bob. She regarded him with dark eyes. "I would have thought you knew the answer to that question, considering how easily you saw through my glamour."
"I'm just an observant sort," Robert replied. "So are you some kind of alien come to study the human race?"
She laughed. A delicate sound, it reminded Robert of spring breezes rustling the newly budded leaves. "I am as much of this world as you."
When the bus pulled up to the curb she climbed aboard, graceful even in so simple an act. Robert stood and, working both canes with the practiced ease of experience, climbed aboard after her. She sat on the first forward facing seat, patting the empty spot next to her. Robert dropped his quarters in the cash box and sat beside her with a heavy thud.
"I saw you go into Urban Bean last week. Do you work there?" Robert asked.
"Yes," she answered brightly. "My first real world job. But today I do not work. Today I am going simply to watch."
Robert thought about what he wanted to say next. For the first time in almost two years, his curiosity nudged him. "Could I buy you a cup of coffee?" he asked. "We could finish our conversation, if you'd like."
"That would be pleasant," she said.
"My name's Robert, by the way."
She smiled at him, looking for all the world like Mona Lisa with purple hair and dipped in pixie dust. "You may call me Zoë."
#
Robert sat in the coffee shop and waited for Zoë to finish working. Over the last three weeks, they had met every night after her shift ended. Robert discovered she actually was something akin to a pixie. She had left her family and was trying to disguise herself as a mortal woman. She slept in the various parks scattered around the city, her nature causing her to prefer the outdoors to structures and buildings. Robert gave her pointers on appropriate dress and behavior, which she mostly followed.
Zoë glided toward the small corner table where Robert sat, two steaming cups in her hand. "Good evening, Robert," she said, sitting down across from him.
Robert smiled. He kept trying to train her out of the overly formal way she spoke, telling her it clashed with the persona she desired to build. So far his attempts at changing her diction had failed miserably.
Robert took the offered cup. "Thanks." He took a sip of the frothy coffee. A hint of cinnamon touched his tongue. "It's good."
"I made it myself," she said, sounding like a happy child. "Robert, may I ask you a question?"
Robert set his cup down. The flippant quip died on his lips. Her eyes regarded him, dark and serious. "Sure, ask anything you want."
She fidgeted with her cup for a moment, then took the small butterfly clip from her short purple hair. She turned the clip over and over in her fingers. She looked up at him.
"What happened to your legs? I only ask because," she paused and wet her lips with her tongue, "among my folk you do not see such things. Either we are whole, or we cease being."
"No gimps allowed in fairytale land, huh?" Robert said quietly.
"I apologize," she said, dropping her eyes. "I did not mean to offend. My people suffer injury just as yours, but one of my kin could never survive such a terrible loss. The grief would cut too deeply."
Robert sighed and looked into his cup. "Mortals are experts at causing and surviving suffering," he whispered. "It's okay you asked, I'm not angry, I just-–" He paused and selected his words. "I lost them in an accident," he said in a calm, even voice. "A harried soccer mom with a cell phone glued to her ear didn't see me in the crosswalk. Both my legs were crushed below the knee."
"And you carried on?" Zoë asked
"What could I do? Of course I was depressed, and then angry. I even thought about killing myself, but in the end what could I do except go on?"
"I do not know if I could survive such a tragedy."
Robert reached over the table and placed his hand over her tiny one. "If you want to be a real girl, you have to learn to survive tragedy. So, may I ask you a personal question?"
"Of course," she said.
"Why do you want to live in my world so badly? If your realms are so beautiful, why would anyone want to leave?"
Zoë considered his question for several moments. "My home may be forever spring, but it is not a perfect realm." She took a deep sip of her coffee. "Everything in my world is structured, unchanging," Zoë said with a sigh. She pointed across the room to a young blonde woman decked out in clothing falling somewhere between punk and goth. "I want to be her."
"How do you know her life is any better?" Robert asked.
"At least her entire destiny has not been written in the barks of the oaks since her birth."
"And your life has?"
Zoë looked at him like he had asked if the sky were blue. "Of course. So it is for all my people. Everything I am supposed to become, my life as it should progress from the moment of my creation until the end of my existence, is spelled out plainly."
"So your people don't have free will?"
Zoë again seemed surprised at his question. "Yes, we do. We simply know in advance the important events of our existence. For instance, I know to whom I am pledged to bond with and how many children I shall produce. Our families take this very seriously. The ceremonies for our joining are planned, and a suitable dwelling for my future family is already established."
"So you're running from your destiny? Can your people change things that are, as you said, written in the trees?"
"Yes," Zoë answered simply.
"You're not telling me something," Robert said.
Zoë glanced at him over the rim of her cup. "In the tales told to us as children, there are always serious consequences when one tries to avoid fate."
"Yet you're willing to risk those possible consequences?" Roberts asked, finishing his coffee.
"Yes."
"You don't really want to talk about it though, do you?"
"No, I do not." Zoë regarded Robert. She smiled. "I would like you to take me to your home, please."
Robert's eyebrows rose. "Really?"
Zoë looked confused at his question. "Yes. I have never seen inside the dwelling place of a mortal. I did not think you would mind hosting me."
"I don't mind you coming over Zoë, it's just I'm not used to beautiful young women asking to go home with me," Robert said smiling. "Even if it is just because they've never seen the insides of a human dwelling before."
"Oh," she answered.
Robert stood and held out his hand. She took it and stood, placing her hand on his elbow as he picked up his canes and started for the door. Together, they left the coffee shop.
#
Robert wheeled to his front door, cursing softly at whoever was holding the doorbell button down.
He opened it to find Zoë standing in the dimly lit hallway, holding a pie. "Hello Zoë." Robert looked from Zoë to the pie and back again. "Where did you get a cherry pie at this time of the morning?"
"I found it," she said, stepping into the apartment.
Over the past two months Robert never questioned her seemingly random comings and goings. He enjoyed his friendship with Zoë. She could be exasperating at times, like now, appearing at his door at two in the morning bearing a possibly stolen cherry pie, but he cared for her deeply.
"So is there a special occasion of some sort?" he closed the door and wheeled his chair after her.
"Yes. We are celebrating," Zoë explained, carefully setting the pie on the coffee table. She perched on the edge of the sofa.
Robert wheeled to the kitchen and retrieved the necessary plates and utensils. "I see. What exactly are we celebrating?" he called out.
"I have secured a dwelling for myself," Zoë said as Robert returned from the kitchen and started cutting into the pie.
"Good." Robert had been teaching her about handling money, and paying for necessities. Lacking any proper identification, Zoë could only work for under-the-table pay and tips.
"You are not wearing your legs," Zoë said, nodding at his chair as she took a bite of pie.
"I needed to get them off for a bit." He pulled himself out of his chair, moving to the couch next to her. Robert raised a forkful of pie. "To new homes."
"New homes," she mumbled around a mouthful of cherry filling.
"Do you ever miss your old home?" he asked after they finished their pie.
Her eyes turned sad. "Yes, I miss my family, but I do not desire to return. I do not wish to live as they would have me live."
Robert reached over and put a reassuring arm around her. She leaned into him. She smelled of cherry pie, green grass, and spring. "I'm surprised they haven't come looking for you yet." Robert said.
"They have. But it is hard for them to see me clearly now. The longer I dwell in the mortal world, the harder I become to find."
"But?" Robert asked.
She snuggled closer to him. "But I will need to go home someday. I cannot live as a mortal forever. I am not one after all, so I must return. If I dwell over-long here, I risk forgetting who I am and fading away."
"Will I still be able to see you when you do go back?"
"Mortals should not look so deeply into faerie," she said in an unusually serious tone. "Many who do cannot stop gazing."
Robert snorted. "My name isn't Thomas."
"No. It is Robert, and I would not want you to lose yourself." She sat up straight, and regarded him seriously. "Once you look deeply into the Fair Realms, you will never be able to return to your previous state. You must be sure of your heart before you wish for such a thing."
"I wish I could see clearly into faerie," Robert replied. He looked down into her eyes. "I know my heart, Zoë."
"If that is want you want," Zoë said, closing the distance between them. She placed her lips lightly on his.
Robert felt a mild tingle pass between them. He started to pull away, but she reached behind his head and held him close. When she finally broke the kiss, Robert looked at her. "What are you--" Robert started to ask. He stopped when he looked into her eyes. They seemed larger and darker than he remembered.
She pushed him down on the couch with surprising strength.
"Hush," she said. She leaned down and placed her lips to his again, more forcefully this time.
Robert felt the tingle start again, growing stronger and more pleasant with each passing second. When Zoë pressed her tongue into his mouth, it proved more contact than Robert could handle. Conscious thought fled. He only wanted to touch every part of her. He only wanted her. Robert felt clothing being removed, then her bare skin pressed against his. The feeling pushed him over the edge.
He blacked out.
Robert woke up alone. A blanket had been thrown over his naked body at some point. He sat up and smiled. Everything seemed as bright and clear as a sunny morning after a gentle rain shower. Pulling the blanket tightly around himself, Robert moved into his wheelchair and went to the low window over-looking the apartment complex courtyard. He looked outside. There were tiny creatures, furred and winged, gliding between the trees below. Robert laughed aloud. He couldn't wait to see Zoë again. He wanted to talk about his new sight. He wanted Zoë to show him the beauty of her world.
He did not see her again for two decades.
#
Robert stood outside the doorway of the small, run down walk up apartment, one of the many older dwellings near the University that students sometimes rented. The dark creatures known as Boggals led him to this place, telling him the one who lived here might have the information he sought.
Robert knocked on the door.
A pale young woman with chin length black hair opened it. She gave him an appraising look, taking in his two canes.
"Well," she said.
"Um, I understand you might know a woman named Zoë."
"Let's suppose I do. Why should I tell you?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.
"I – she's an old friend and I just want to touch base with her, that's all."
The young woman's eyes narrowed. "So how come I've never seen you around before?"
"It's been a long time since I've seen her," Robert said evenly. "Look, let's cut the crap. I need to find Zoë. I need to ask her something, something important and private. You're my best lead in five years. If you know something, I'd appreciate the help."
The woman gave him a long look, then sighed. "I don't know where she is anymore." The woman frowned at him. "She left a couple of years ago. She used to hang out at Hidden Falls, but I haven't seen her there in months."
"Could she have gone home?"
The woman shook. "She couldn't go home. She said she'd given away her grace, and forgotten the path."
Robert felt his stomach twist painfully.
"You need to find her before she fades away," the woman hissed. "I don't want to lose her." She narrowed her eyes at him menacingly. "She's important to me."
"Then help me find her." An idea formed in Robert's mind. "Do you have anything of hers?"
The woman regarded him for a moment before coming to a decision. "Come in," she said, stepping aside to allow him entry. She pointed toward the couch. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."
Robert sat down and looked around the room. Textbooks, notepads, and art supplies lay scattered about. In one corner a computer hummed. A charcoal sketch over the desk caught Robert's eye. He knew the face in the sketch: it could only be Zoë. He scanned the room for more clues but found none.
"Here, she left this."
Robert turned to find the woman holding out a ragged black T-shirt.
Robert took the shirt. He could feel Zoë now that he held something of hers. Robert closed his eyes. He focused on his memories of Zoë, thought of her laughter, her smile. She seemed closer. He focused the sight she had given him--her grace--as the young woman called it, on the memory of Zoë. For a moment it drifted toward the woman standing next to him. It paused, as if recognizing her, then it sought farther away. It reached out for Zoë, eager to return to its rightful owner. Robert smiled and opened his eyes.
"So?" the young woman said.
"I know where she is." Robert stood and started for the door. He paused and turned to look at the young woman. "She never told me any of this. I didn't understand what she had given me." Robert smiled at her. "I didn't ask your name."
The woman frowned at him, "Tara."
"You have your mother's eyes."
"Just go to her."
Robert nodded and left the apartment.
It took him one transfer on the city transit trains to reach his destination. When he found her sitting among the flowers at the municipal conservatory, he stood quietly and observed her.
Mortal life had not been kind to Zoë. Though she seemed no older, she looked diminished to his eyes. The glow that usually surrounded her had vanished, leaving a dull finish in its place. Her hair was no longer purple: limp, dirty blonde locks hung ragged on her head. Her body seemed fragile, as if a strong breeze could break her. She might be forever young, but no longer forever spring. Autumn had settled on her shoulders, and hints of winter swirled about her.
"Zoë," he said, stepping toward her.
She looked up at him. Her mouth opened in surprise. "I remember you."
Robert sat next to her and touched her arm. She felt cold and hard. "Why didn't you come back to me? I've been looking for you all these years. Why didn't you tell me about our daughter?"
"I could not come back. They traced me to you that night. I barely managed to slip past them. I meant to come back when they stopped watching you." She smiled sadly at him. "They never stopped. Then I discovered a life growing inside me. I would not let them take our child into their realm. I meant to keep her hidden until she grew old enough to choose for herself. I used what little magic I could still work to hide us and we lived a mortal life. I am sorry Robert, but I had to protect her."
Robert gazed at her. "Why didn't you come to me afterward? I know you need to go back; you should have come to me, and taken your gift back."
"Because I forgot you. I forgot your face. I forgot your voice. I forgot you so I would never come to you, and fall into my kinsmen's trap. I forgot you so our daughter would not suffer the life they would have forced on her. I forgot until you called my name."
Robert stood and reached out a hand to her. She took it and stood up. Once standing, she slipped her hand to his elbow and they slowly ambled out of the conservatory toward the train platform. Neither spoke until they reached Robert's apartment.
Zoë walked through the door and looked around in wonder. "It looks so different."
"It is different. I've only lived here two years. Please, make yourself comfortable, I'll find us something to drink, and we can talk."
Robert stepped out of the living room, went into the bedroom and took off his prosthetics. He settled into his old wheelchair, rolled to the kitchen, and made coffee. Returning to the living room, he set the cups down on the battered old coffee table.
"You do not look different," Zoë observed.
"I've aged well," Robert said with a shrug. He looked like someone in his mid-thirties, not almost fifty.
"You have aged, yes, but slowly, far more slowly than those around you. The Fair Realms have touched you deeply."
Robert nodded. "I admit I am drawn to your world. I can see the fey as they live their daily lives right next to mortals. At night, I dream of a grand court, and the splendor of the lords and ladies who attended it."
"I feared as much," she said, setting her cup down. "I cannot take back what I have given. You have touched the enduring grace of the bright realms, and the sorrow in your soul at its departure would surely drive you insane."
"I might go mad, but without it you will fade and die."
Zoë smiled at him. "Perhaps we should leave this for later. I do not wish to argue with you this night."
Robert nodded his agreement.
"Will your family come looking for you now, demanding you fulfill your destiny?" he asked.
Zoë shook her head. "No. To take a mortal lover and bear his child proved enough to cause that oak to fall, and its bark to rot away."
"Tell me about our daughter," Robert said.
Zoë told him everything, from her surprise at discovering herself with child, to her decision to hide the child from her kin. She spoke quietly of the struggle to provide for her daughter. She told him, before the forgetting she placed on herself, she had considered leaving Tara on his door, but could not find a way to slip past his watchers. She spoke with pride of Tara's art and the university scholarship it won her. She told him about the night she left Tara; how she explained everything to her daughter. Once finished she sat staring at nothing, eyes filled with sadness.
"Out of curiosity," Robert said, "which one of her parents does Tara take after?"
Zoë graced him with a smile. "Our child has one foot in each world, but the choice to do so is her own."
"I see," Robert said. "I suppose if she's the one making the choice everything must be all right."
"Everything is as it should be," Zoë agreed with him before yawning.
"Why don't you sleep here tonight?" Robert told her. "We can sort everything else out in the morning."
"That would be pleasant," Zoë agreed. She quickly stretched out on his couch. Robert wheeled into the bedroom and found her a pillow and blanket. "Will you sit with me?" she asked.
"Of course," Robert said, taking one of her hands in his own.
"Thank you," she mumbled, falling to sleep almost instantly.
Robert looked at Zoë sleeping quietly on his couch. She seemed softer now, less sad. She had given him a beautiful gift all those years ago, but it was time he returned it to her.
Leaning over the small faerie, he softly kissed her on the lips. He felt the tingle, just as when she kissed him long ago. Robert leaned back and looked down at her. Her lips curled up into a smile and the soft glow he always associated with her returned to her cheeks. Satisfied, he wheeled over to his old club chair, transferred himself into it, and dozed off.
Robert didn't dream that night. In the morning when he awoke, all the fey beings he had grown accustomed to, all the beauty of the Shining Realms, was gone.
And so was Zoë.
#
"Nobody in the Court has seen her." Tara stood waist deep in the muddy river and gave her father the news.
"Is anyone looking for her?" Robert asked.
Tara gave him a grim look. "I've looked, and I've sought help where I could, but--" she shrugged.
"But you're about as popular in the Fair Realms as I am." Robert finished. When the Hob came to his apartment, agitated and demanding he follow it to the river, he knew something was seriously wrong. When Zoë first gifted him with the ability to perceive the Fair Realms, its denizens had been cold to him. Those few who did accept him tended to be the darker creatures, many of whom had aided Robert during his search for Zoë. In return for their aid, Robert repaid them by offering sanctuary in his apartment during times of trouble.
Robert looked at his daughter and sighed, "Tell me everything you know."
"She started to become withdrawn. It sometimes happens to elder fey. The weight of years settles about them and they disappear into themselves until they fade from existence. The others began to ignore her, and eventually her own kinsmen forced her to leave their family hall. I suppose they feared she'd gone melancholy and it might be catching. But mom isn't that old." Tara pulled her shawl tighter over her bare body. "I'm afraid she managed to slip back into the mortal world."
"And if she did, she might fade away forever," Robert sighed. "You mother may not be old, but she has spent more years dwelling in mortal than is healthy."
"Do you think you can find her?"
"I don’t know how I can, Tara. I returned her grace to her long ago. There's nothing to lead me to her now."
Tara bit her lower lip and sighed. "That's not entirely true," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Before she returned home, Mom left a small piece of her grace with you. Mom told me that you would never be able to go completely back to a mundane existence without going mad, and that a little spark of her grace would always live inside you, no matter what happened to her."
Robert had wondered at times. He could no longer see into faerie clearly, but he could sense the Fair Realm's existence just beneath his own. And fey creatures still interacted with him, if they desired. "Okay then, I'll search for her."
"Thanks, Dad. You found her once before, so I thought you might be able to again."
"I'll try. I wish you would have come to me sooner."
"I'm sorry, I didn't even know until last week."
"Well, nothing to do about that now," Robert said, rising with the aid of his canes. "Tara," Robert looked into his child's eyes, "you must realize eventually your mother and I will both be gone. I'm not young anymore. I'm crowding one hundred for all I seem barely retirement age. And your mother has seen too much of the mortal world. Her spirit is heavy with it. Someday it will become too much of a burden to bear."
"I know," Tara whispered, "but I want you both around as long as possible."
"Well, I plan to keep living, at least for today." Robert smiled at her. "One more thing, honey," he began.
"Dad, don't say it." Tara warned, her eyes laughing.
"I really wish you'd put some clothes on."
"I'm a naiad Dad, we don't wear clothes while we're working. And these days I'm always working," she finished.
"I can't help it. I'm your father, and seeing you running around naked is just--just wrong."
"Then I won't tell you about all the other stuff I do," she said impishly.
"Tara!" Robert said, scandalized. "I can't believe my own flesh and blood would act so."
She laughed before dissolving back into her river.
Robert gave the spot where she had stood moments before a last look and, with a shake of his head, turned back toward the shore. Now that he knew Zoë dwelled in the mortal realms, and that he still held a bit of her within him, he could feel her again. Robert boarded an aging hoverbus and rode the short distance to her.
He found Zoë sitting under the tallest tree in the park. Her pale skin glowed softly, and her hair was now long and the color of autumn leaves. She remained as beautiful as he remembered, but she seemed older.
"Hello, Zoë," he said.
She looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Robert, I never thought to see you again."
He sat down on the bare earth beside her. He reached up and wiped a tear away from her cheek. "Why the tears?"
"I dwelled too long in mortal. I am heavy with its sorrow. My family broke bonds with me. They say they do not know me as their daughter anymore. I no longer belong in either world." She paused, looking up. "I--I cannot hear the songs of the trees." Another tear, large and fat, rolled down her cheek.
As the tear left her cheek Robert reached out with his right hand and caught it. It lay in his palm, round and shimmering. He cupped it delicately. Though dimmed by sadness, the tear shone with the light of her being. Robert realized that the tiny piece of Zoë that he held made her incomplete.
"It's time you remembered their tune again," he said, leaning into her. He focused the last little bit of her grace within him, and wished it back to its original owner.
As the tingle passed between them, Zoë pulled away and placed one hand on his cheek. "Robert-–"
He touched his fingers to her lips silencing her. "I want to do this. I should have gotten that right the last time. If I had, you might never have come to this."
She sighed and looked Robert over, frowning. "You have aged," she said, dropping her hand.
Robert chuckled at her lack of tact. "Really? Most people say I don't look a day over sixty. I think I'm in pretty good shape for someone who's ninety-four years old." He glanced down at her. "Yes, it seems time has restarted for me. At least the years didn't rush up on me all at once."
"Tara told me," Zoë said.
"About?"
"Your wife."
"I'm surprised. Tara never seemed happy about my decision to marry." Robert stared into the distance.
"She cares deeply for you," Zoë said. "I am sorry about your tragedy."
"Thank you," Robert said, still looking at something only he could see.
"I'm glad for you," Zoë said suddenly. "I am glad you remembered your world holds a grace all its own."
Robert didn't speak for several moments, and when he did his voice held great sadness. "Have you ever loved anyone, Zoë?"
"We do not love in the way you do," she said. "Oh, we form bonds of love, deep and powerful, but you mortals, you love with your very souls."
"I never thought I'd find anything to match the Fair Realms, but I was wrong." Robert looked at Zoë. "The world is a darker place without her."
"Yet you've found the will to live on."
"For now. But everything ends eventually, Zoë." Robert looked at the ground. "Everything dies."
"But your end is not today," Zoë whispered into his ear. She reached out and took his hand. "I will come live with you, if you desire it."
Robert considered his next words carefully. "It doesn't matter what I want, Zoë," he said, though he wanted it very much. "Do you want to come with me?"
Zoë hung her head. "I cannot," she finally admitted.
Robert smiled sadly. "I understand." He looked at the small faerie. Zoë seemed brighter and more alive after just moments of holding her full grace; her hair was already changing to soft green. "Will you be able to find your own way home now?"
"Our daughter shall guide me. Once in the Fair Realms, I shall neither forget, nor fade."
"I'll come with you to the river to meet Tara."
Zoë smiled brightly at him, "That would be pleasant. It has been too long since we gathered as a family."
"Zoë, we've never gathered as a family."
"As I said, it has been too long."
She placed her hand inside his elbow. As one, they left the park, in search of a city hoverbus.
#
He sat in his antique wheelchair and remembered the smell of the morning dew on green grass and the sounds of crickets calling their mates. Most of all, he remembered the Shining Ones as they walked, stately and gracefully, among the oaks and elms. He smiled to himself. Time had finally caught up to him. At one hundred and twenty-seven years old, he knew death drew near.
"Hello, Robert," a familiar voice spoke next to him.
He smiled at her. "Zoë. I hoped to see you one more time." She looked as she did the first time he saw her at the bus stop, nearly one hundred years ago, right down to the black T-shirt and short purple hair. "I'm glad you came."
"Of course I came." Zoë sat down knelt next to Robert and took his wrinkled hand in her tiny one.
"I know why you've come," Robert said, wheezing.
Zoë squeezed his hand. "Please, let me help you."
"No," he replied. "No, Zoë, it's my time. If I let you do this it would be the end of you."
"I would be fine," she said. It pained Robert to hear the lie fall so easily from her lips.
"Tara told me," Robert said simply. "I know your life is failing. You've dwelled too long in mortal. It's killing you Zoë; you must remain in the Fair Realms. You can't stay in this world anymore, and neither can I."
They sat in silence for several moments.
"I never mastered letting raindrops strike me," Zoë suddenly said.
Robert chuckled weakly. "I think I loved you even then, though I didn't know you."
"Robert..."
"I love you Zoë. You know that, don't you?" His words came in gasps.
Zoë rose and leaned toward him. "I know Robert. I have loved you also, for many years."
"I thought--your kind didn't--love--in the mortal sense," he said, struggling for breath.
She moved closer. "They do not."
Her lips touched his.
#
The procession to the river lasted three days. The line of Fey Ones, both the beautiful and the grotesque, extended for the length of a dozen tall trees. Where they passed, silence reigned. Small animals held their voices in deference. The leaves of the trees did not sway in the wind. Even the soft rain fell silently. When the procession passed too close to a mortal dwelling, all within were struck with an overwhelming sense of sadness and many burst spontaneously into tears, though they knew not why.
The slender Shining Ones, dressed in their mourning clothes, carried her in a manner befitting one who had tasted the most precious gift mortals could give. They dressed her in the finest clothing and laid her upon a litter of intricately carved oak, surrounded by spring flowers. Her kin understood, here at the last, that she had loved and been loved in return, in the manner of mortals, who loved with their very souls. They honored that love.
The Dark Ones carried him on a litter of rough elm and hummed a melancholy dirge. At his daughter's direction, he was dressed in his favorite shirt and jeans. About him lay boughs of pine and spruce. He had befriended many of their kind over the decades, and his daughter had taken one of their number as her consort. They considered him family, as broken and ugly as they with his stumps for legs, his two canes, and his time-ravaged face.
Tara stood waiting for them at the water's edge. She asked her river to bear them away to the next world, and he readily agreed, pleased to do this small thing for her.
The bearers placed the two litters into the waters and, bowing, stepped away. The current swept them up and carried them through the mist toward the south.
The rain fell, but only around them.
"Rainfall" appeared in the February 2006 issue of the now defunct webzine Deep Magic. While it isn't considered "professional" for SFWA values of professional, I was paid money for it.
When I wrote "Rainfall" I thought I was writing urban fantasy. In retrospect, I realize this is the moment when I slipped over the urban fantasy fence and into the paranormal romance playground. I've never regretted it.
Tangent Online reviewed this story way back when. They seemed to like it. I hope you like it too.
If you would like a copy, email me at mmerriamATgmailDOTcom. I'll send it to you in .rtf format or I can send a copy of the .pdf of the magazine the story appears in.
Rainfall
by Michael Merriam
The rain missed her.
Robert had noticed an oddness about her before, but the whole 'she-is-dry-while-everything-else-is-soaked' thing settled the matter.
Robert had written her off as a little strange the previous Tuesday. She had plopped down next to him on the bus stop bench wearing a thin black T-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Everyone else, himself included, was bundled up in coats and scarves against the chill continuing to hang on into early spring. Robert started to ask her if she was cold when the number four bus roared up to the curb. They both climbed aboard, her vanishing toward the back while he took his customary seat up front with the gimps. He didn't notice where she got off, but when Robert stood to exit the bus, he was the only person on board.
She sat down next to him again the following Thursday. She still seemed unconcerned about the damp chill, but what caught Robert's attention this time was the way her skin and her short purple hair appeared to faintly glow and sparkle. Robert realized he was staring when she turned toward him and hit him with a smile. He smiled shyly back at her, acknowledging his transgression, and turned his eyes across the street.
He felt her body posture change, and he sensed her about to say something when the bus turned the corner and pulled up to the curb. This time Robert managed to situate himself in the front bench so he could see the whole inside of the bus. He set his twin canes across his legs and surreptitiously kept one eye on her. When the driver called out Thirty-Third Street, she pulled the cord and stepped up to the back door. She turned toward Robert and nodded before exiting. Robert followed her with his eyes, her purple hair making her easy to spot, until she stepped into the coffee shop on the corner.
Today it was the rain. She sat on the bench, bone dry while everyone else ended up drenched. It proved too much for Robert to ignore.
"You're supposed to be wet, you know," Robert said.
She looked at him in horror. "I am not?"
Robert shook his head. "Nope."
She closed her eyes and seemed to concentrate for a moment. Robert watched as the raindrops continued to fall around, but not on, her. The air shimmered in Robert's vision for an instant, but otherwise she remained unchanged.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Am I wet now?"
"No."
She scooted closer to him. "Would you mind sharing your umbrella?"
"Why?" he wanted to know. "It's not like you're getting rained on."
"But I am supposed to be. It would assist the illusion if I could share your umbrella."
She seemed earnest. Robert shifted his umbrella to his left shoulder, giving her partial cover.
"Thank you."
"So if you don't mind my asking," Robert said while trying to look at anything but the apparent young woman beside him, "what exactly are you?"
She cocked her head toward him. The quick, bird-like gesture made her hair bob. She regarded him with dark eyes. "I would have thought you knew the answer to that question, considering how easily you saw through my glamour."
"I'm just an observant sort," Robert replied. "So are you some kind of alien come to study the human race?"
She laughed. A delicate sound, it reminded Robert of spring breezes rustling the newly budded leaves. "I am as much of this world as you."
When the bus pulled up to the curb she climbed aboard, graceful even in so simple an act. Robert stood and, working both canes with the practiced ease of experience, climbed aboard after her. She sat on the first forward facing seat, patting the empty spot next to her. Robert dropped his quarters in the cash box and sat beside her with a heavy thud.
"I saw you go into Urban Bean last week. Do you work there?" Robert asked.
"Yes," she answered brightly. "My first real world job. But today I do not work. Today I am going simply to watch."
Robert thought about what he wanted to say next. For the first time in almost two years, his curiosity nudged him. "Could I buy you a cup of coffee?" he asked. "We could finish our conversation, if you'd like."
"That would be pleasant," she said.
"My name's Robert, by the way."
She smiled at him, looking for all the world like Mona Lisa with purple hair and dipped in pixie dust. "You may call me Zoë."
#
Robert sat in the coffee shop and waited for Zoë to finish working. Over the last three weeks, they had met every night after her shift ended. Robert discovered she actually was something akin to a pixie. She had left her family and was trying to disguise herself as a mortal woman. She slept in the various parks scattered around the city, her nature causing her to prefer the outdoors to structures and buildings. Robert gave her pointers on appropriate dress and behavior, which she mostly followed.
Zoë glided toward the small corner table where Robert sat, two steaming cups in her hand. "Good evening, Robert," she said, sitting down across from him.
Robert smiled. He kept trying to train her out of the overly formal way she spoke, telling her it clashed with the persona she desired to build. So far his attempts at changing her diction had failed miserably.
Robert took the offered cup. "Thanks." He took a sip of the frothy coffee. A hint of cinnamon touched his tongue. "It's good."
"I made it myself," she said, sounding like a happy child. "Robert, may I ask you a question?"
Robert set his cup down. The flippant quip died on his lips. Her eyes regarded him, dark and serious. "Sure, ask anything you want."
She fidgeted with her cup for a moment, then took the small butterfly clip from her short purple hair. She turned the clip over and over in her fingers. She looked up at him.
"What happened to your legs? I only ask because," she paused and wet her lips with her tongue, "among my folk you do not see such things. Either we are whole, or we cease being."
"No gimps allowed in fairytale land, huh?" Robert said quietly.
"I apologize," she said, dropping her eyes. "I did not mean to offend. My people suffer injury just as yours, but one of my kin could never survive such a terrible loss. The grief would cut too deeply."
Robert sighed and looked into his cup. "Mortals are experts at causing and surviving suffering," he whispered. "It's okay you asked, I'm not angry, I just-–" He paused and selected his words. "I lost them in an accident," he said in a calm, even voice. "A harried soccer mom with a cell phone glued to her ear didn't see me in the crosswalk. Both my legs were crushed below the knee."
"And you carried on?" Zoë asked
"What could I do? Of course I was depressed, and then angry. I even thought about killing myself, but in the end what could I do except go on?"
"I do not know if I could survive such a tragedy."
Robert reached over the table and placed his hand over her tiny one. "If you want to be a real girl, you have to learn to survive tragedy. So, may I ask you a personal question?"
"Of course," she said.
"Why do you want to live in my world so badly? If your realms are so beautiful, why would anyone want to leave?"
Zoë considered his question for several moments. "My home may be forever spring, but it is not a perfect realm." She took a deep sip of her coffee. "Everything in my world is structured, unchanging," Zoë said with a sigh. She pointed across the room to a young blonde woman decked out in clothing falling somewhere between punk and goth. "I want to be her."
"How do you know her life is any better?" Robert asked.
"At least her entire destiny has not been written in the barks of the oaks since her birth."
"And your life has?"
Zoë looked at him like he had asked if the sky were blue. "Of course. So it is for all my people. Everything I am supposed to become, my life as it should progress from the moment of my creation until the end of my existence, is spelled out plainly."
"So your people don't have free will?"
Zoë again seemed surprised at his question. "Yes, we do. We simply know in advance the important events of our existence. For instance, I know to whom I am pledged to bond with and how many children I shall produce. Our families take this very seriously. The ceremonies for our joining are planned, and a suitable dwelling for my future family is already established."
"So you're running from your destiny? Can your people change things that are, as you said, written in the trees?"
"Yes," Zoë answered simply.
"You're not telling me something," Robert said.
Zoë glanced at him over the rim of her cup. "In the tales told to us as children, there are always serious consequences when one tries to avoid fate."
"Yet you're willing to risk those possible consequences?" Roberts asked, finishing his coffee.
"Yes."
"You don't really want to talk about it though, do you?"
"No, I do not." Zoë regarded Robert. She smiled. "I would like you to take me to your home, please."
Robert's eyebrows rose. "Really?"
Zoë looked confused at his question. "Yes. I have never seen inside the dwelling place of a mortal. I did not think you would mind hosting me."
"I don't mind you coming over Zoë, it's just I'm not used to beautiful young women asking to go home with me," Robert said smiling. "Even if it is just because they've never seen the insides of a human dwelling before."
"Oh," she answered.
Robert stood and held out his hand. She took it and stood, placing her hand on his elbow as he picked up his canes and started for the door. Together, they left the coffee shop.
#
Robert wheeled to his front door, cursing softly at whoever was holding the doorbell button down.
He opened it to find Zoë standing in the dimly lit hallway, holding a pie. "Hello Zoë." Robert looked from Zoë to the pie and back again. "Where did you get a cherry pie at this time of the morning?"
"I found it," she said, stepping into the apartment.
Over the past two months Robert never questioned her seemingly random comings and goings. He enjoyed his friendship with Zoë. She could be exasperating at times, like now, appearing at his door at two in the morning bearing a possibly stolen cherry pie, but he cared for her deeply.
"So is there a special occasion of some sort?" he closed the door and wheeled his chair after her.
"Yes. We are celebrating," Zoë explained, carefully setting the pie on the coffee table. She perched on the edge of the sofa.
Robert wheeled to the kitchen and retrieved the necessary plates and utensils. "I see. What exactly are we celebrating?" he called out.
"I have secured a dwelling for myself," Zoë said as Robert returned from the kitchen and started cutting into the pie.
"Good." Robert had been teaching her about handling money, and paying for necessities. Lacking any proper identification, Zoë could only work for under-the-table pay and tips.
"You are not wearing your legs," Zoë said, nodding at his chair as she took a bite of pie.
"I needed to get them off for a bit." He pulled himself out of his chair, moving to the couch next to her. Robert raised a forkful of pie. "To new homes."
"New homes," she mumbled around a mouthful of cherry filling.
"Do you ever miss your old home?" he asked after they finished their pie.
Her eyes turned sad. "Yes, I miss my family, but I do not desire to return. I do not wish to live as they would have me live."
Robert reached over and put a reassuring arm around her. She leaned into him. She smelled of cherry pie, green grass, and spring. "I'm surprised they haven't come looking for you yet." Robert said.
"They have. But it is hard for them to see me clearly now. The longer I dwell in the mortal world, the harder I become to find."
"But?" Robert asked.
She snuggled closer to him. "But I will need to go home someday. I cannot live as a mortal forever. I am not one after all, so I must return. If I dwell over-long here, I risk forgetting who I am and fading away."
"Will I still be able to see you when you do go back?"
"Mortals should not look so deeply into faerie," she said in an unusually serious tone. "Many who do cannot stop gazing."
Robert snorted. "My name isn't Thomas."
"No. It is Robert, and I would not want you to lose yourself." She sat up straight, and regarded him seriously. "Once you look deeply into the Fair Realms, you will never be able to return to your previous state. You must be sure of your heart before you wish for such a thing."
"I wish I could see clearly into faerie," Robert replied. He looked down into her eyes. "I know my heart, Zoë."
"If that is want you want," Zoë said, closing the distance between them. She placed her lips lightly on his.
Robert felt a mild tingle pass between them. He started to pull away, but she reached behind his head and held him close. When she finally broke the kiss, Robert looked at her. "What are you--" Robert started to ask. He stopped when he looked into her eyes. They seemed larger and darker than he remembered.
She pushed him down on the couch with surprising strength.
"Hush," she said. She leaned down and placed her lips to his again, more forcefully this time.
Robert felt the tingle start again, growing stronger and more pleasant with each passing second. When Zoë pressed her tongue into his mouth, it proved more contact than Robert could handle. Conscious thought fled. He only wanted to touch every part of her. He only wanted her. Robert felt clothing being removed, then her bare skin pressed against his. The feeling pushed him over the edge.
He blacked out.
Robert woke up alone. A blanket had been thrown over his naked body at some point. He sat up and smiled. Everything seemed as bright and clear as a sunny morning after a gentle rain shower. Pulling the blanket tightly around himself, Robert moved into his wheelchair and went to the low window over-looking the apartment complex courtyard. He looked outside. There were tiny creatures, furred and winged, gliding between the trees below. Robert laughed aloud. He couldn't wait to see Zoë again. He wanted to talk about his new sight. He wanted Zoë to show him the beauty of her world.
He did not see her again for two decades.
#
Robert stood outside the doorway of the small, run down walk up apartment, one of the many older dwellings near the University that students sometimes rented. The dark creatures known as Boggals led him to this place, telling him the one who lived here might have the information he sought.
Robert knocked on the door.
A pale young woman with chin length black hair opened it. She gave him an appraising look, taking in his two canes.
"Well," she said.
"Um, I understand you might know a woman named Zoë."
"Let's suppose I do. Why should I tell you?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.
"I – she's an old friend and I just want to touch base with her, that's all."
The young woman's eyes narrowed. "So how come I've never seen you around before?"
"It's been a long time since I've seen her," Robert said evenly. "Look, let's cut the crap. I need to find Zoë. I need to ask her something, something important and private. You're my best lead in five years. If you know something, I'd appreciate the help."
The woman gave him a long look, then sighed. "I don't know where she is anymore." The woman frowned at him. "She left a couple of years ago. She used to hang out at Hidden Falls, but I haven't seen her there in months."
"Could she have gone home?"
The woman shook. "She couldn't go home. She said she'd given away her grace, and forgotten the path."
Robert felt his stomach twist painfully.
"You need to find her before she fades away," the woman hissed. "I don't want to lose her." She narrowed her eyes at him menacingly. "She's important to me."
"Then help me find her." An idea formed in Robert's mind. "Do you have anything of hers?"
The woman regarded him for a moment before coming to a decision. "Come in," she said, stepping aside to allow him entry. She pointed toward the couch. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."
Robert sat down and looked around the room. Textbooks, notepads, and art supplies lay scattered about. In one corner a computer hummed. A charcoal sketch over the desk caught Robert's eye. He knew the face in the sketch: it could only be Zoë. He scanned the room for more clues but found none.
"Here, she left this."
Robert turned to find the woman holding out a ragged black T-shirt.
Robert took the shirt. He could feel Zoë now that he held something of hers. Robert closed his eyes. He focused on his memories of Zoë, thought of her laughter, her smile. She seemed closer. He focused the sight she had given him--her grace--as the young woman called it, on the memory of Zoë. For a moment it drifted toward the woman standing next to him. It paused, as if recognizing her, then it sought farther away. It reached out for Zoë, eager to return to its rightful owner. Robert smiled and opened his eyes.
"So?" the young woman said.
"I know where she is." Robert stood and started for the door. He paused and turned to look at the young woman. "She never told me any of this. I didn't understand what she had given me." Robert smiled at her. "I didn't ask your name."
The woman frowned at him, "Tara."
"You have your mother's eyes."
"Just go to her."
Robert nodded and left the apartment.
It took him one transfer on the city transit trains to reach his destination. When he found her sitting among the flowers at the municipal conservatory, he stood quietly and observed her.
Mortal life had not been kind to Zoë. Though she seemed no older, she looked diminished to his eyes. The glow that usually surrounded her had vanished, leaving a dull finish in its place. Her hair was no longer purple: limp, dirty blonde locks hung ragged on her head. Her body seemed fragile, as if a strong breeze could break her. She might be forever young, but no longer forever spring. Autumn had settled on her shoulders, and hints of winter swirled about her.
"Zoë," he said, stepping toward her.
She looked up at him. Her mouth opened in surprise. "I remember you."
Robert sat next to her and touched her arm. She felt cold and hard. "Why didn't you come back to me? I've been looking for you all these years. Why didn't you tell me about our daughter?"
"I could not come back. They traced me to you that night. I barely managed to slip past them. I meant to come back when they stopped watching you." She smiled sadly at him. "They never stopped. Then I discovered a life growing inside me. I would not let them take our child into their realm. I meant to keep her hidden until she grew old enough to choose for herself. I used what little magic I could still work to hide us and we lived a mortal life. I am sorry Robert, but I had to protect her."
Robert gazed at her. "Why didn't you come to me afterward? I know you need to go back; you should have come to me, and taken your gift back."
"Because I forgot you. I forgot your face. I forgot your voice. I forgot you so I would never come to you, and fall into my kinsmen's trap. I forgot you so our daughter would not suffer the life they would have forced on her. I forgot until you called my name."
Robert stood and reached out a hand to her. She took it and stood up. Once standing, she slipped her hand to his elbow and they slowly ambled out of the conservatory toward the train platform. Neither spoke until they reached Robert's apartment.
Zoë walked through the door and looked around in wonder. "It looks so different."
"It is different. I've only lived here two years. Please, make yourself comfortable, I'll find us something to drink, and we can talk."
Robert stepped out of the living room, went into the bedroom and took off his prosthetics. He settled into his old wheelchair, rolled to the kitchen, and made coffee. Returning to the living room, he set the cups down on the battered old coffee table.
"You do not look different," Zoë observed.
"I've aged well," Robert said with a shrug. He looked like someone in his mid-thirties, not almost fifty.
"You have aged, yes, but slowly, far more slowly than those around you. The Fair Realms have touched you deeply."
Robert nodded. "I admit I am drawn to your world. I can see the fey as they live their daily lives right next to mortals. At night, I dream of a grand court, and the splendor of the lords and ladies who attended it."
"I feared as much," she said, setting her cup down. "I cannot take back what I have given. You have touched the enduring grace of the bright realms, and the sorrow in your soul at its departure would surely drive you insane."
"I might go mad, but without it you will fade and die."
Zoë smiled at him. "Perhaps we should leave this for later. I do not wish to argue with you this night."
Robert nodded his agreement.
"Will your family come looking for you now, demanding you fulfill your destiny?" he asked.
Zoë shook her head. "No. To take a mortal lover and bear his child proved enough to cause that oak to fall, and its bark to rot away."
"Tell me about our daughter," Robert said.
Zoë told him everything, from her surprise at discovering herself with child, to her decision to hide the child from her kin. She spoke quietly of the struggle to provide for her daughter. She told him, before the forgetting she placed on herself, she had considered leaving Tara on his door, but could not find a way to slip past his watchers. She spoke with pride of Tara's art and the university scholarship it won her. She told him about the night she left Tara; how she explained everything to her daughter. Once finished she sat staring at nothing, eyes filled with sadness.
"Out of curiosity," Robert said, "which one of her parents does Tara take after?"
Zoë graced him with a smile. "Our child has one foot in each world, but the choice to do so is her own."
"I see," Robert said. "I suppose if she's the one making the choice everything must be all right."
"Everything is as it should be," Zoë agreed with him before yawning.
"Why don't you sleep here tonight?" Robert told her. "We can sort everything else out in the morning."
"That would be pleasant," Zoë agreed. She quickly stretched out on his couch. Robert wheeled into the bedroom and found her a pillow and blanket. "Will you sit with me?" she asked.
"Of course," Robert said, taking one of her hands in his own.
"Thank you," she mumbled, falling to sleep almost instantly.
Robert looked at Zoë sleeping quietly on his couch. She seemed softer now, less sad. She had given him a beautiful gift all those years ago, but it was time he returned it to her.
Leaning over the small faerie, he softly kissed her on the lips. He felt the tingle, just as when she kissed him long ago. Robert leaned back and looked down at her. Her lips curled up into a smile and the soft glow he always associated with her returned to her cheeks. Satisfied, he wheeled over to his old club chair, transferred himself into it, and dozed off.
Robert didn't dream that night. In the morning when he awoke, all the fey beings he had grown accustomed to, all the beauty of the Shining Realms, was gone.
And so was Zoë.
#
"Nobody in the Court has seen her." Tara stood waist deep in the muddy river and gave her father the news.
"Is anyone looking for her?" Robert asked.
Tara gave him a grim look. "I've looked, and I've sought help where I could, but--" she shrugged.
"But you're about as popular in the Fair Realms as I am." Robert finished. When the Hob came to his apartment, agitated and demanding he follow it to the river, he knew something was seriously wrong. When Zoë first gifted him with the ability to perceive the Fair Realms, its denizens had been cold to him. Those few who did accept him tended to be the darker creatures, many of whom had aided Robert during his search for Zoë. In return for their aid, Robert repaid them by offering sanctuary in his apartment during times of trouble.
Robert looked at his daughter and sighed, "Tell me everything you know."
"She started to become withdrawn. It sometimes happens to elder fey. The weight of years settles about them and they disappear into themselves until they fade from existence. The others began to ignore her, and eventually her own kinsmen forced her to leave their family hall. I suppose they feared she'd gone melancholy and it might be catching. But mom isn't that old." Tara pulled her shawl tighter over her bare body. "I'm afraid she managed to slip back into the mortal world."
"And if she did, she might fade away forever," Robert sighed. "You mother may not be old, but she has spent more years dwelling in mortal than is healthy."
"Do you think you can find her?"
"I don’t know how I can, Tara. I returned her grace to her long ago. There's nothing to lead me to her now."
Tara bit her lower lip and sighed. "That's not entirely true," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"Before she returned home, Mom left a small piece of her grace with you. Mom told me that you would never be able to go completely back to a mundane existence without going mad, and that a little spark of her grace would always live inside you, no matter what happened to her."
Robert had wondered at times. He could no longer see into faerie clearly, but he could sense the Fair Realm's existence just beneath his own. And fey creatures still interacted with him, if they desired. "Okay then, I'll search for her."
"Thanks, Dad. You found her once before, so I thought you might be able to again."
"I'll try. I wish you would have come to me sooner."
"I'm sorry, I didn't even know until last week."
"Well, nothing to do about that now," Robert said, rising with the aid of his canes. "Tara," Robert looked into his child's eyes, "you must realize eventually your mother and I will both be gone. I'm not young anymore. I'm crowding one hundred for all I seem barely retirement age. And your mother has seen too much of the mortal world. Her spirit is heavy with it. Someday it will become too much of a burden to bear."
"I know," Tara whispered, "but I want you both around as long as possible."
"Well, I plan to keep living, at least for today." Robert smiled at her. "One more thing, honey," he began.
"Dad, don't say it." Tara warned, her eyes laughing.
"I really wish you'd put some clothes on."
"I'm a naiad Dad, we don't wear clothes while we're working. And these days I'm always working," she finished.
"I can't help it. I'm your father, and seeing you running around naked is just--just wrong."
"Then I won't tell you about all the other stuff I do," she said impishly.
"Tara!" Robert said, scandalized. "I can't believe my own flesh and blood would act so."
She laughed before dissolving back into her river.
Robert gave the spot where she had stood moments before a last look and, with a shake of his head, turned back toward the shore. Now that he knew Zoë dwelled in the mortal realms, and that he still held a bit of her within him, he could feel her again. Robert boarded an aging hoverbus and rode the short distance to her.
He found Zoë sitting under the tallest tree in the park. Her pale skin glowed softly, and her hair was now long and the color of autumn leaves. She remained as beautiful as he remembered, but she seemed older.
"Hello, Zoë," he said.
She looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Robert, I never thought to see you again."
He sat down on the bare earth beside her. He reached up and wiped a tear away from her cheek. "Why the tears?"
"I dwelled too long in mortal. I am heavy with its sorrow. My family broke bonds with me. They say they do not know me as their daughter anymore. I no longer belong in either world." She paused, looking up. "I--I cannot hear the songs of the trees." Another tear, large and fat, rolled down her cheek.
As the tear left her cheek Robert reached out with his right hand and caught it. It lay in his palm, round and shimmering. He cupped it delicately. Though dimmed by sadness, the tear shone with the light of her being. Robert realized that the tiny piece of Zoë that he held made her incomplete.
"It's time you remembered their tune again," he said, leaning into her. He focused the last little bit of her grace within him, and wished it back to its original owner.
As the tingle passed between them, Zoë pulled away and placed one hand on his cheek. "Robert-–"
He touched his fingers to her lips silencing her. "I want to do this. I should have gotten that right the last time. If I had, you might never have come to this."
She sighed and looked Robert over, frowning. "You have aged," she said, dropping her hand.
Robert chuckled at her lack of tact. "Really? Most people say I don't look a day over sixty. I think I'm in pretty good shape for someone who's ninety-four years old." He glanced down at her. "Yes, it seems time has restarted for me. At least the years didn't rush up on me all at once."
"Tara told me," Zoë said.
"About?"
"Your wife."
"I'm surprised. Tara never seemed happy about my decision to marry." Robert stared into the distance.
"She cares deeply for you," Zoë said. "I am sorry about your tragedy."
"Thank you," Robert said, still looking at something only he could see.
"I'm glad for you," Zoë said suddenly. "I am glad you remembered your world holds a grace all its own."
Robert didn't speak for several moments, and when he did his voice held great sadness. "Have you ever loved anyone, Zoë?"
"We do not love in the way you do," she said. "Oh, we form bonds of love, deep and powerful, but you mortals, you love with your very souls."
"I never thought I'd find anything to match the Fair Realms, but I was wrong." Robert looked at Zoë. "The world is a darker place without her."
"Yet you've found the will to live on."
"For now. But everything ends eventually, Zoë." Robert looked at the ground. "Everything dies."
"But your end is not today," Zoë whispered into his ear. She reached out and took his hand. "I will come live with you, if you desire it."
Robert considered his next words carefully. "It doesn't matter what I want, Zoë," he said, though he wanted it very much. "Do you want to come with me?"
Zoë hung her head. "I cannot," she finally admitted.
Robert smiled sadly. "I understand." He looked at the small faerie. Zoë seemed brighter and more alive after just moments of holding her full grace; her hair was already changing to soft green. "Will you be able to find your own way home now?"
"Our daughter shall guide me. Once in the Fair Realms, I shall neither forget, nor fade."
"I'll come with you to the river to meet Tara."
Zoë smiled brightly at him, "That would be pleasant. It has been too long since we gathered as a family."
"Zoë, we've never gathered as a family."
"As I said, it has been too long."
She placed her hand inside his elbow. As one, they left the park, in search of a city hoverbus.
#
He sat in his antique wheelchair and remembered the smell of the morning dew on green grass and the sounds of crickets calling their mates. Most of all, he remembered the Shining Ones as they walked, stately and gracefully, among the oaks and elms. He smiled to himself. Time had finally caught up to him. At one hundred and twenty-seven years old, he knew death drew near.
"Hello, Robert," a familiar voice spoke next to him.
He smiled at her. "Zoë. I hoped to see you one more time." She looked as she did the first time he saw her at the bus stop, nearly one hundred years ago, right down to the black T-shirt and short purple hair. "I'm glad you came."
"Of course I came." Zoë sat down knelt next to Robert and took his wrinkled hand in her tiny one.
"I know why you've come," Robert said, wheezing.
Zoë squeezed his hand. "Please, let me help you."
"No," he replied. "No, Zoë, it's my time. If I let you do this it would be the end of you."
"I would be fine," she said. It pained Robert to hear the lie fall so easily from her lips.
"Tara told me," Robert said simply. "I know your life is failing. You've dwelled too long in mortal. It's killing you Zoë; you must remain in the Fair Realms. You can't stay in this world anymore, and neither can I."
They sat in silence for several moments.
"I never mastered letting raindrops strike me," Zoë suddenly said.
Robert chuckled weakly. "I think I loved you even then, though I didn't know you."
"Robert..."
"I love you Zoë. You know that, don't you?" His words came in gasps.
Zoë rose and leaned toward him. "I know Robert. I have loved you also, for many years."
"I thought--your kind didn't--love--in the mortal sense," he said, struggling for breath.
She moved closer. "They do not."
Her lips touched his.
#
The procession to the river lasted three days. The line of Fey Ones, both the beautiful and the grotesque, extended for the length of a dozen tall trees. Where they passed, silence reigned. Small animals held their voices in deference. The leaves of the trees did not sway in the wind. Even the soft rain fell silently. When the procession passed too close to a mortal dwelling, all within were struck with an overwhelming sense of sadness and many burst spontaneously into tears, though they knew not why.
The slender Shining Ones, dressed in their mourning clothes, carried her in a manner befitting one who had tasted the most precious gift mortals could give. They dressed her in the finest clothing and laid her upon a litter of intricately carved oak, surrounded by spring flowers. Her kin understood, here at the last, that she had loved and been loved in return, in the manner of mortals, who loved with their very souls. They honored that love.
The Dark Ones carried him on a litter of rough elm and hummed a melancholy dirge. At his daughter's direction, he was dressed in his favorite shirt and jeans. About him lay boughs of pine and spruce. He had befriended many of their kind over the decades, and his daughter had taken one of their number as her consort. They considered him family, as broken and ugly as they with his stumps for legs, his two canes, and his time-ravaged face.
Tara stood waiting for them at the water's edge. She asked her river to bear them away to the next world, and he readily agreed, pleased to do this small thing for her.
The bearers placed the two litters into the waters and, bowing, stepped away. The current swept them up and carried them through the mist toward the south.
The rain fell, but only around them.
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