Like most of the businesses on the three-block main street of the town, the coffee shop was new to Emily. When she’d left, it had been a dusty junk shop. Bright paint, high-backed booths and large, framed prints from some local artist transformed the space and were the backdrop to the chatter of teens and the whine of an espresso machine.
Julian guided Emily to a booth near the back, where some of the other kids from the court were already seated. He nodded at her reassuringly and went to the counter to order. She tried to guess who each kid was. The girl who slid out so Emily could sit next to the wall had to be Abigail; her red hair and freckles were a giveaway. She was taller than Emily, but she’d already been all legs and arms at nine. Emily sat nervously, unsure what to do with her hands. She’d never been social within her age group and her awkwardness was compounded by facing people she’d known as babies.
One of the boys peered at her through a thick tangle of sun bleached hair. “It’s you alright. He wasn’t being crazy.”
“How did you know already?”
“Ian texted us on your way here, duh.” The other boy rolled his eyes. Emily remembered that Julian—Ian, now—had fiddled with his phone as they walked, Emily trying to look casual while gawking at the town’s changes.
She tilted her head. “Texting. It’s not—it’s new to me, y’know? I’ve been gone awhile.”
“Wait to tell us until Ian gets back.” Abigail shifted on the padded bench seat to get a better look at Emily. “We might as well make formal introductions while we wait. I’m Abby, you taught me cursive. That” —she pointed at the boy with all the hair— “is Kingston, but because it’s a stupid name, we call him Stoney.”
“Only because you hate me.” He grinned at Emily. “I prefer Tank.”
Abby sighed painfully. “Nobody is going to call you that.”
“I will.” Emily looked at her hands. “You nearly blinded me with that catapult before I left.”
“Oh shit, I did.”
“I’m Michael.” The boy sitting across from Emily spoke up. “Not Mike.”
“You always wore that cape I made you.”
Michael blushed. “Yeah.”
Emily felt close to tears. The openness in how they gave their names was a balm after the Sidhe. Ian returned with drinks. He pulled a loose chair to the free edge of the table and sat with it turned around, arm draped over the back.
“It’s just a mocha, but they use good chocolate here.”
Emily sipped, composing herself. “Before I start in, I want to know how you even suspected something was weird. And what do you think you know? Do all the kids know?”
The other four exchanged glances and by some silent group decision it was Ian who spoke for them first.
“Well, like, when I was ten I would pretend to be asleep, but actually stayed up reading comics.”
“Or jacking it,” Tank cut in.
Ian fought a blush that heated his cheeks to russet. He bravely continued talking. “So, a lot of times I’d overhear the folks talking. And for awhile they were getting angry a lot and talking trash about Miss Anderson and that they’d wasted everything hedging their bets on ‘that Emily girl.’” He twisted his face, making the patchy moustache contort.
“And I remembered who you were. It was more fun when you were here. After you left, things started to degredate—”
“Degrade.” Abby corrected him automatically.
“And by that time, it was getting pretty obvious something was wrong, so I told some of the others.”
“We didn’t believe him at first. I mean we figured this little kid was just scared about his folks getting a divorce.”
Emily hid a smile with her cup. Michael was only a year older than Ian.
“But I kept annoying them about it and finally these three and Dawn agreed to start playing spy too.”
“It was fun at first.” Tank fiddled with his phone idly. “But it got weird. And the whole time they were keeping up that creepy burned lattice thing.”
“Arbour.” Abby looked distracted. “That was the key thing for me. I mean, you take weird shit about your family for granted and then one day you see it fresh and you realise how royally fucked it is.”
Ian spoke quietly. “And they never mentioned you to us after you left. I mean, we were kids, but we weren’t stupid. You liked us and took care of us and then you were gone. But you hadn’t gone to college and you weren’t dead. They would have talked about you if you were dead.”
“Is it devil worship? Are our parents Satanists?” Michael’s face was deadly serious.
“Omigod, are you a ghost?” Tank got excited, eyes flashing behind his hair. “Have you come for vengeance?”
“Wait.” Emily held up a hand. “I’m a little overwhelmed here. So, you know that something is super weird, but not exactly what, and just you four and Dawn know?”
“Totally. Hannah and Mathilde are still babies,” Ian affected a careless confidence as he drank his coffee. “They’re not even in high school.”
Emily was pretty certain that the younger girls had at least guessed that the older kids were conspiring about something, but kept that to herself. “Where’s Dawn?”
Tank waved his phone. “Volleyball practice. But I’m keeping her up to date.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you the deal. But it cannot go outside the court, understand?” Emily pulled out her serious voice and had a moment of satisfaction when the other four reacted automatically with a round of nods. She carefully drank before continuing. “Long story short, your parents are all some kind of faerie folk and during the time I’ve been gone, which was only a couple months to me, I was winning back their freedom.”
Tank swore vehemently, but not loudly enough to attract the attention of the adults that had begun to filter in to pick up coffee for their drives home.
With a practised toss of her hair, Abby explained, “We had a betting pool. Dawn won. But since she and Stoney are a thing, I bet he owes her more than ten bucks.”
Adding Abby to his cursing, Tank tried to kick her under the table but hit Emily’s shin instead.
When Emily had them settled down again, she asked Abby to let Janice know where she was. Watching the girl text, Emily shook her head in disbelief.
“There were toys like this, but they were just plastic and coloured lights.”
Abby shrugged. “Tech moves fast. It’s nothing if you grew up with it.”
Emily ran them through what had happened. The other four were full of questions and kept interrupting. Emily had to explain that the Folk didn’t perform magic constantly; instead, it seemed like they were magic, more or less.
“I wasn’t there to observe, really. So yes, Michael, it is possible that there are people I didn’t see who do magic all the time like in your books.” Emily gestured searchingly. “The impression I got was that if you’re immortal, you eventually get bored with doing things the easy way.”
When she got to killing the queen, Emily hesitated, looking at the excited faces around her. How much should she tell them about their parents? She’d so far avoided mentioning her theory about the timing of their conceptions. It wouldn’t be fair to let them know they’d probably been brought into the world as little more than a controllable variable in a larger game.
Ian picked up on her unease. “So you had to kill the queen. Was it horrible?”
“It was. It’s not—it isn’t something I ever want to do again.”
Tank cocked his head. “Did she have any last words?”
“Yes. She—” Emily swallowed and avoided their eyes. “The queen told me that the people of the court had been her agents, stirring up the civil war. That’s the bulk of why they were banished: to keep them from talking.” When Emily looked up, the others had lowered their gazes, staring into empty coffee cups.
“So.” Ian formed his words carefully. “Our parents are all bad guys?”
Emily started to reach out to touch his hand but stopped. She weakly added, “And the other people too. Mr. Jacks, Mrs. Hill—”
“What about Mrs. James? She’s always been nice to us.” Abby’s voice held a sharp note of pain. It had stopped being a game for them.
“Becky, Mrs. James, had been a scribe or some sort of historical record-keeper. She knew what was going on but didn’t stop it.”
“And let your parents be killed.” Michael’s voice was a whisper.
Emily played with the handle of her cup, feeling helpless. “About five years ago, she went to my aunt and confessed everything. Only you guys, my aunt, and Becky know that I killed the queen and what she said. And that everybody can return.”
While the others sat silently, Emily finished her story, explaining how she’d figured out how to get back. “And then I slept until just before Ian found me. I guess there’s a meeting tonight.”
“This is so royally fucked.” Tank slapped the table, making the cups and saucers jump. “Guys, we’ve got to pretend we don’t know any of this until we figure out what to do.”
The rest nodded, then Abby asked what Emily had been hoping no one would. “Do we get to go to the Sidhe too?”
Ian snorted. “Get to? Do we have to? I like it here; fairyland sounds like it’s full of assholes.”
“Pretty much.” They had all become lost in their thoughts, so Janice’s voice scared all of them, Ian nearly spilling his coffee. She beckoned Emily. “Meeting will be soon. We should go.” She eyed the others with a tired smile. “And please keep all this to yourselves for now, kids.”
They chorused a “Yes, Miss Anderson,” and Janice led her niece out of the cafe.
This post is part of The Audacity Gambit – Serialised. Learn more about when the book was first published here, see the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you: