LUSHON ALOEVERA
666 Words
Maura leaned in like she was delivering a death sentence. “There. That’s him,” she hissed.
Em looked, and nearly dropped her quill. She’d noticed him the second she walked in. Even in the shadows, his long red hair caught the firelight like copper. His face was…well, it was the kind of face people wrote dirty songs about.
That’s not a man, Em thought. That’s a fae.
She immediately tried to convince herself it wasn't him. Just a coincidence. No way this was her target.
“That’s truly Lushon Alovera?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “He’s a fae?”
It was not mentioned in the contract.
…Maybe it was.
Okay, fine, it probably was. Somewhere in the middle. Or at the end. Or hidden in that cursed wall of text that made her eyeballs want to detach and roll under the nearest table.
She didn’t read the whole thing, alright?
The letters started dancing by the second paragraph. Her head throbbed. The guild should’ve just put a big glittery warning like: YOU MIGHT BE SENT TO TRACK A POSSIBLY MURDEROUS FAELING IN THE WOODS, SOME BREAD AND CAT FOOD.
That, she would’ve read.
Maura didn’t answer. Just rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “You still have time to back out. Save your future. Burn the contract. Return the gold.”
Em shook her head. “Gold’s gone,” she said, patting the worn pouch on her hip. “And my signature is written in glitter ink. It’s staying.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to the red-haired fae across the room, then back to the page. She began scribbling like a woman possessed.
Lushon Alovera. He’s a fae. A fae.
She whispered it again, under her breath, for emphasis.
Maura glanced at her work. “What in the spirits’ name are you doing?”
“Profiling my target,” Em replied.
She wrote, muttering as she went:
Hair: red and angry.
Eyes: one gold, one mechanical. It whirs.
Face: lethal.
Cheekbones and jaw: sharp as a blade. Could definitely cut a carrot.
Nose: I like it.
Mood: gloomy. Like morning rain.
Maura exhaled through her nose and pressed a hand into her face. “I knew you were an i***t. I just didn’t realize you were this level of idiot.”
Em ignored her. She was already doodling: a hooded figure with pointy ears, a tiny whirl for the eye, and cloak lines that swirled like wind.
She risked another glance at the fae. He sat in the corner, alone and still.
Em returned to her doodles, adding some fangs and tears because he looked like a dejected forest fox who lost his lunch.
Eventually, he rose. Coins clinked on the table. Em stiffened as he walked past. But he slowed, just near enough to glance down at her parchment. Her scribbles, her ridiculous little doodle, the scrawl of Lushon Alovera with sparkles drawn around his name.
He paused. Then he muttered: “I don’t have fangs.”
And just like that, he was gone. The door creaked closed behind him.
Em blinked once. Then twice. And finally wrote at the bottom of the page: Denies having fangs. Suspeshoes.
---
The cool Gladeport air hit Lucien as he stepped out of the tavern. He hadn't meant to stay long, just one drink to clear his head. But he couldn't stop thinking about that strange human girl.
He rubbed his temples, muttering, “Lushon Alovera? What in the blight is that?”
He’d heard her whisper it. It sounded like a tea blend or a cheap pastry. He didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. And the drawing… she’d actually drawn him as a sparkly, fanged fox.
“No,” he grumbled, pulling his hood lower as he walked toward the woods. “I don't have fangs. And I am definitely not sparkly.”
As he headed back to Whirwood, his name (or the butchered version of it) kept echoing in his head.
- Writer
