Song of the Fae

Chapter 2: Transformation

Chapter 2: Transformation

A tall, lean sharp-eyed man, his dark-blond hair falling over his forehead, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans entered the room and stood stock still the minute his eyes met hers.

Roshène hardly breathed under his scrutiny and looked down. Zelo’s training was too ingrained to behave otherwise.

“Roshène meet Hunter. Hunter, this is Roshène. She is in need of your assistance.”

“I’m fine. I’d better be leaving,” Roshène mumbled, too flustered to meet either of their gazes.

Kudzia patted her arm. “Your stomach says different, and I’ve got soup and fresh bread. We’ll talk afterward.”

Half the block could, in all probability, hear the sounds her belly was making and, not that she didn’t trust the woman because her gut instinct, and most times that was all she had, said Kudzia wished her well, but there were too many unknowns. Not the least the stranger named Hunter who continued staring at her.

“Hunter? Stop frightening our guest and sit down. You, too, Roshène.”

Hunter shook himself. “Pleased to meet you, Roshène.” He stepped closer and stuck out his hand.

Roshène turned to Kudzia in bewilderment.

“We shake hands when we meet people,” Kudzia told her.

“Oh.” Normally she bowed, eyes down and her palms pressed together, waiting for instructions. She inhaled and a shiver ran through her when the tall Fae clasped her hand and shook it a few times, squeezing as he did so before releasing it.

He tilted his head to the side, studying her with a strange intensity. “Where’s your name from?” he asked.

She shrugged. “My mother gave it to me, but she died a while ago.” She frowned, wanting to remember, but her mind had blanked under his questioning. No memories, no images. Nothing.

“Sit, sit.” Kudzia ladled generous portions of steaming soup into three blue bowls, insisting with generous hospitality that her guests eat up.

Roshène needed no encouragement. The soup and the nutty-tasting bread was the most delicious meal she’d had in a long time and she ignored the fog clouding her mind when she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten her fill. She’d learned that if she focused on the present, not caring about the past or the future, sometimes life didn’t hurt so much.

Kudzia ate little, barely touched her food, although Hunter made up for it, eating with quick economic movements. When he finished, he sat back, not making any comment but watching Kudzia refill Roshène’s bowl two more times before she was satisfied.

“Here, time for my special digestive tea.” Kudzia placed cups, decorated with a border of gold and blue flowers, and matching saucers on the table and poured a golden-hued fragrant tea from a matching teapot. “Honey?”

“Yes, please.” Roshène yawned, taking the cup Kudzia pushed toward her. “That was wonderful.” The food and relief from her recent frantic flight were making her sleepy. She sipped the fragrant herb tea, relishing its satisfying flavor. The next moment, her eyelids grew heavy and someone removed her cup.

When she woke, she was lying on a narrow cot in an alcove with a pink curtain, covered with rose-petalled fabric, separating her from the rest of the room. This wasn’t her bed or her room because there was always something recognizable in her surroundings that let her know this was where she’d fallen asleep. Not remembering what had happened with a client was normal, but before she attempted to pursue any of the tantalizing fog-glazed memories, she heard voices.

“Somebody has done a real number on her,” a woman said. “Layers upon layers of wards and compulsions. I can’t even begin to undo them or see the truth of her situation.”

Roshène remembered. Kudzia, that was the woman’s name.

“She looks too young...but her slender build, those cheekbones and the large eyes with those violet pupils. Is it possible? That after all the years of searching, she walks into your shop? You don’t need the Sight to see she’s scared, lost and wounded. Behind that brave front, her desperation is bone-deep.”

The man, Hunter was speaking. Yes, him, she remembered, too.

“Her power hasn’t emerged yet either,” he continued, “and she’s completely vulnerable. No one’s taught her how to ward herself. I’m not sure I’ve ever come across anyone so damaged.”

His outrage simmered in the air, and Roshène thought he sounded savage…on her account?

“I suspect she’s older than she looks,” Kudzia said. “She’s been half starved to prevent her from developing physically and the wards are to stop her from accessing her magic. She’ll have to be treated with care, but lost strays and waifs are your specialties, aren’t they? And those clothes are a testament to how he’s using her. It’s probably a mercy she’s unable to remember much.”

The pity in Kudzia’s voice pulled at Roshène. Zelo always insisted the way they looked and dressed was an essential part of their allure. Men expected the pretty women who serviced them to look a certain way, and it was their duty to satisfy. Heavy black eye makeup, deep carmine lipstick, long hair, always worn loose, and revealing skimpy outfits were the norm.

Roshène’s heartbeat and breathing increased, and she bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out as she remembered what happened before she’d accomplished the impossible, that which they all dreamed of—escape. She started counting, one, two, pausing as the curtain lifted.

“Are you feeling better?” Kudzia smiled down at her.

Roshène sat up. “Yes. I apologize. That’s twice I’ve passed out on you. You’ve been very kind, but I should go—”

“Shh. You needed to rest. Come out here and we’ll talk.”

Sitting at the table, nibbling on the warm biscuits and sipping the hot cinnamon dusted milk Kudzia placed in front of her, she wished she could stay here forever. Maybe assist in the shop? Work for food and a bed?

“Hunter here can take you to a safe place, Roshène.”

Kudzia’s words dispelled the cozy daydream. “But—”

“This person you escaped from, we believe he’s a powerful sorcerer who’s put a lot of effort and time into controlling you, so what makes you think he’ll let you go?” Hunter spoke sharply.

Before she could pull away, he gripped her chin and, without hurting her, tilted her chin up.

“Look at me.”

The compulsion was irresistible: surrender to me and all will be well, it invited. Was she always going to be so defenseless, incapable of defending herself? Then everything fled from her mind as she gazed into his eyes, and it was as if a tightly furled flower opened and bloomed, banishing all the hurt and pain. She experienced an outpouring of warmth and compassion so powerful she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.

“My, my,” muttered Kudzia, “has the mighty Hunter met his match, I wonder?”

Kudzia’s words broke the spell and Roshène flushed under the intensity of his scrutiny.

“He’ll send professional bounty hunters after you,” Hunter continued as if the moment had never been. “More than one, I imagine. And whoever this is has ways to track you. Do you think you’ll escape him, and them, on your own? I can protect you and introduce you to people who have the power to return your memories. You’re aware one of your parents must be Fae, aren’t you?”

Roshène shrugged and shrank into herself as memories of blood, her blood, dripping from her wrist into a cup came and faded. Where had her courage and strength from earlier vanished to? Hunter and Kudzia were right, but how did she know she could trust them? What if she ended up in the same situation with someone who was worse than Zelo? What alternative did she have? None. She’d go with this Hunter person and escape from him as soon as possible. At least, he’d take her farther away from here, which, after all, wasn’t that far from Zelo’s house. Jayna was still there, suffering, but if ever the chance arose to free her and the others, she promised herself she would do her best. “Okay,” she murmured. “His name is Zelo.”

“Thank you, Roshène. Knowing his name is a great help. Did you travel far?” Hunter questioned.

“I took a bus for maybe half an hour. Where am I? I…mean…what’s the name of this city?”

Hunter and Kudzia exchanged a look, but he answered calmly. “This is Ashville.”

The name meant nothing to Roshène. She might have grown up one block from Zelo’s house or lived on the other side of the country for all she knew.

“Give me an hour,” Kudzia told Hunter, standing up. “Come, child,” she beckoned Roshène to follow as she headed for the stairs. “Those clothes and that hair make you far too easy to identify even for a human tracker, and a glamour won’t work. Anyone with the Sight would spot you a mile away.”

Upstairs, Kudzia led her past a bedroom. Roshène peeked in. The bed cover, wallpaper and window curtains were the same pattern as the separating curtain in the alcove. Kudzia seemed to love roses. Even in the few hours since she’d fled, she sensed a lightening within herself because she was trained not to look inside a room with an open door; that was a punishable offense. Worry rose, and she chewed her lip as she followed Kudzia.

The tiny bathroom, the same as the kitchen and the shop, had bottles and jars on every surface: in here the contents were lotions and creams.

“Do you use all this?” Roshène clapped her hand over her mouth and froze. You never asked questions. Questions were forbidden.

Kudzia laughed. “Mostly.” She turned and took in Roshène’s petrified face. “No one will hurt you here or any more if I have anything to do with it.”

Roshène remained stiff and unmoving until Kudzia grasped her wrist. She relaxed as a wave of calm spread out from the other woman’s touch. She blew out a breath of relief as the panic receded. “I never realized magic could feel like that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, but enough of your past. Sit.” She threw a large towel onto the floor, pulled out a stool from under the sink, and gently pushed Roshène down. “From here on, your past is behind you. You have a great future ahead of you. Remember that.”

Kudzia had covered the mirror with another towel, telling her, “Just so the result will be a surprise.” She gathered up Roshène’s long black tresses, but the fine silky locks were too thick to cut all at once, so she divided it into sections and, with neat sharp snips of her scissors, lopped the whole lot off just below the ears. After which, she chopped and trimmed until Roshène’s hair was urchin short. “What’s your natural color?” she asked, gesturing for Roshène to stand as she gathered up the towel.

“I don’t know. What are you going to do with that?” Everyone knew hair could be used in spells against you for all sorts of purposes. Zelo had kept her hair waist length, trimming it himself every few months… blood and hair…his voice chanting a spell echoed from somewhere. Was he scrying for her at this minute?

Kudzia’s touch on her bare neck sent another wave of stillness through her. “Burn it. We do not practice dark magic.” She gently pushed Roshène down on the stool again and produced a small spray canister. Pulling on a pair of pink rubber gloves, she instructed Roshène to shut her eyes. “Ready?” she asked.

Roshène nodded, smiling to herself as Kudzia sprayed and liking the sensation of gloved fingers running through her newly-shorn hair.

“Okay, open your eyes, but before I show you your new self, use this to wash your face and get all that gunk off,” she thrust a bottle into Roshène’s hands, “while I fetch you a change of clothes.” A few minutes later, she returned. “Here,” Kudzia passed her a towel. “Put those on,” she pointed to a pile of clothes on the stool, “and no peeking.”

The instant Kudzia left, Roshène tugged the red dress over her head and pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans and t-shirt. Socks and a pair of sturdy ankle boots completed the ensemble. She knew it was childish, she was on the run and her freedom was at stake, but she couldn’t stop the shiver of eagerness to see her new look as she opened the bathroom door.

“Wow!” Kudzia laughed. “This way.”

Roshène followed her into her bedroom and over to a full-length mirror by the window and blinked in confusion. The reflection in the mirror, apart from the large uptilted eyes with their violet pupils, was that of a stranger. The change of color, from black to blonde, and new hairstyle, pale complexion without makeup—although her cupid bow lips were still rosy—made her unrecognizable to herself.

“Well, what’s your opinion?”

“I’m wondering if that’s me.” She surveyed the slim young woman in the mirror, putting a hand up and ruffling the short cropped damp strands, watching her reflection copy her actions.

“I haven’t glamoured you or the mirror if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you…” Something in Roshène’s face stopped Kudzia from saying whatever she was about to say. “I’m sorry. That’s obviously not—”

“Kudzia! It’s time.” Hunter, sharp and irritated, called from the kitchen.

Kudzia hugged Roshène. “His bark is worse than his bite,” she said, adding an explanation at Roshène’s confused expression. “He’s rough and tough on the outside, but that’s to keep everyone at a distance. He has a heart of gold, believe me, I know. Come and visit me again, Roshène. We’ll sit in my kitchen drinking tea, and I’ll tell you the story.”

“Kudzia!” Louder and more tetchy this time.

“Coming.”

When they clattered down the stairs, Hunter’s eyes widened at the change Kudzia had wrought as his gaze took in Roshène’s appearance from head to toe. He gave what might have been a grunt of approval. “Have you told her where I’m taking her?” he growled.

“No. Do it on the way. Just a sec.” Kudzia dashed into the front of the shop. “Here, you’ll need this.” She offered Roshène a black leather jacket. “Put it on. You’ll need it on the bike.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Hunter threw over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

“Go on.” Kudzia gave Roshène an encouraging push when she didn’t move. “Heart of gold, remember?”

Roshène turned and threw her arms around Kudzia, hugging her tight. Her face was wet when she pulled away. “Thank you—for everything.”

She stepped outside into a small courtyard, filled with potted herbs. There was no sign of Hunter, but the back gate was open and the throaty sound of an engine filled the air. “Okay, I’m coming, Mr. Heart of Gold,” she muttered, “I’ve got this.”