Mayfern

The thorns that looped around the Unseelie Throne seemed to pulse and contract in fear of the creature that heavily slumped backwards into them. Rosalba lifted a black, clawed hand and used the tips of her talons to draw thin lines of pressure across her temple. Above her and below, shadowed denizens of her court flit and buzzed with mild curiousity and an undercurrent of bloodlust that had become regular when their regent was angry.

To her left, slinking around the blackness to her side, appeared Blaecleah. His wings cut the air for only half a heartbeat before he settled on one of the thorns and bowed, barely the size of the queen’s palm. She glanced his way briefly.

“Is it true?”
“We confirmed that Aelfric’s attaché has been in contact. It would seem so.”

She hissed and the throbbing cloud of shadowy courtiers, solid black in the darkness, retreated just a little for fear of any misdirected rage. But Rosalba stilled herself rather than lashing out and then, after a few moments of thought, the queen tipped herself forward to stand again. Blaecleah pushed off from the throne, arcing through the air up until he was level with her cheek so that he could talk.

“My queen,” he said, “it will only be three months. We can endure.”

“Of that I have no doubt Blaecleah. Keep your men in constant contact. We will not pull back our efforts - Aelfric cannot be made to think he has won this - but I will not lose fae to his idiocy. As soon as they are awake, observe and report at once. Do I make myself perfectly clear? No more mistakes.”

Blaecleah bowed in mid air.

“Yes your majesty.”

The sign outside of The Needle and Thread Lunchroom had been caught in the rain and smudged all of Minnie’s hard work in proclaiming everyone a happy June. She supposed that she could meander outside and fill in the parts that were missing, but that would have left the establishment without its sole employee for more than a few minutes and Wallace had helped himself to free coffee refills in the past when her back was turned.

The Assembly Hall had the exact same brand of machine as she did for fueling audiences during intervals.

Wallace, however, was quite happily tapping away on his laptop, wedged into his usual corner on his own. Today he was furnished with a green, motheaten beret and Minnie knew from past experience that he only wore that hat when he felt he was really onto something. The next Andrew Lloyd Webber, no doubt. So she opted not to disturb him unless he fancied another drink or a sandwich - tuna and cucumber, as per the norm.

The lunchroom quiet, she turned her face towards the big glass fronts to watch passers-by, of which there were few. It was almost noon on a Wednesday and those that lived in Mayfern these days often commuted out to the city for their office jobs. They were probably doing sushi or Starbucks or whatever it was that people in the city did.

She wouldn’t know.

Aside from Wallace, her only customer was a small, round fellow in a suit whom she had never seen before. Her attempts at conversation had fallen flat immediately, so she had left him alone after bringing him a cinnamon danish and a tea. She had to admit she was curious at first, but he had opened his briefcase and she had caught the words ‘Crystal Games’ printed starkly across the top of a few sheets of blindingly white paperwork which answered more questions than it generated as far as she was concerned.

He had got to writing and signing and Minnie wondered if finally, finally, Amelia had decided to sell the building itself. A shame, all things considered. She really could have used her right now - they all could have.

Old, unbidden memories suddenly flit across the front of Minnie's mind and the woman frowned at herself, pushing them away and forcing herself to concentrate on the dark clouds still lingering on the horizon. The weather had been funny lately, but hadn’t it always been like that?

Rain in June was not uncommon, but the weather prediction online had been all sparkles and big animated sun cartoons. Hence she had replicated them as best she could on her now ruined sandwich board. She hoped it was not a sign of things to come. If so, she might have petitioned God to save them all, but she had long ago accepted that if God existed? He had abandoned Mayfern a long time ago.

“Amelia … please be okay,” Minnie Sullivan said anyway.