Chapter one
“Are you fey?”
The man standing next to me asks his question quietly, but somehow every single person in the vicinity hears him. It is as if the words ping around until everyone nearby has been hit by them.
A deep, oppressive silence follows as every single person stops what they were doing to stare at me. A heartbeat ago, this was a noisy, busy and bustling check-out in Tesco’s. Now it has transformed into a sea of staring faces. Even the baby that was crying has fallen silent. The only motion remaining is a tin of beans rolling on the belt because the woman working the till is too busy staring at me slack-jawed to pick it up and scan it.
“No,” I scowl as I pull my hood up. Why the stupid thing fell back, I have no idea. Just my dumb luck.
“Are you sure?” insists the man who first spoke.
What a fucking inane question. As if anyone would forget they were fey or suddenly change their mind about denying it.
“Yes I’m bloody sure! If I was fey, I’d be waltzing around in silks, lording it over you all and taking whatever the hell I wanted. I would not be dressed like a homeless person and buying a discounted sandwich!”
I glare out at my audience and get a few blinks in return. It is quiet enough to hear the buzz of the fluorescent lights.
“Maybe you are undercover? Doing a security check before the grand opening this afternoon?”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd. Alarm and curiosity are brewing into something much darker. My stomach clenches. I need to get out of here before I get lynched.
I take a deep breath. “I’d be fucking shit at my job then, wouldn’t I?”
A woman gasps and covers the ears of her small child. Whatever, lady. I’m sure he has heard swearing before.
Nobody else seems bothered by my bad language, but they seem very bothered by me. Crap. This isn’t good at all. I have three options. Continue to deny that I’m fey and claim unfortunate genetics or something, perhaps throw in some confession about how much I hate our invaders.
Another option is to claim that, yes, I am in fact fey. Come to test your obedience. Now bow before me before I turn you all into snakes and steal the baby.
My gaze flicks desperately around the crowd. An ocean of stern and suspicious faces. All unforgiving. I don’t see any mercy anywhere.
I try to swallow, but I can’t. My throat has seized up. My knees are shaking. It really doesn’t look like either of those first two plans of action are going to work.
Which just leaves me with the third option.
Running away with my tail between my legs like a kicked dog. But that’s fine. I don’t need pride. It is not essential for survival. Whereas not being beaten to death is. Of all the ways to go, that seems like one of the least pleasant.
So, that’s decided then. Running away it is.
I suck in a quick breath, clutch my sandwich, turn on my heels and flee as quickly as I can without actually running. Awakening any of these bastards’ prey drives would be a disaster. Especially when it is a crowd on the very cusp of turning into a mob.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I do speed up to a run. I twist and turn, and dart down side streets as fast as I can, zigzagging away from danger until I find a peaceful alley. One last glance around shows me that there are no pursuers. I can’t hear any either. I haven’t been followed. No one else is here. I’m alone and that means I am safe.
Sighing heavily, I lower myself to a step by an old bricked up door. I made it. I have survived once more. Lived to tell the tale. Not that I’ve got anyone to tell.
A wry, bitter chuckle escapes me. My heart rate and breathing are returning to normal. The adrenaline is fading, and a despondent misery is sneaking in to take its place.
Wearily, I tilt my head up to look at the sky. At least it is not raining. And I have my cheese and ham sandwich. Things could be much worse.
With shaking hands, I rip open the packaging covering the sandwich. Then I shove the white bread and cheap fillings into my mouth. The first taste awakens my stomach and I’m reminded of just how hungry I am.
Fuck my life. This sucks so very much. I have no idea where I’m sleeping tonight. Not the faintest clue when I’m next going to eat. I stink, and my clothes are filthy. And to top it all, I was just nearly murdered by a mob.
Sitting here, trying to tell myself that it could be worse, is pathetic. This is the worst. My life has never been so dismal and there is no endin sight.
I can’t go back to Granny. She is far safer without me bringing hatred to her door. I can’t get a job because nobody is going to hire someone who looks like they are fey. I’m not going to try to claim benefits again, because that woman in the Job Centre screaming in terror at the sight of me, was enough to give me nightmares for months.
If only I knew how to turn to a life of crime, but I don’t. So that option is a complete non-starter.
