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                  Belfast

 

 

 

 

    I'M TELLING YOU, THIS TIME—" THE VOICES OF TWO SIBLINGS  echoed over the desolate, empty cobblestone road that led into a gravel driveway. Their voices flew over the rusted iron gate with strange symbols and past the old Victorian house a while back, then through the steps that creaked like a spectre not put to rest and all the windows that hovered in the elderly wood like glimmering insects. One of the pair pulled out a weathered skeleton key and hastily unlocked the gate as his inky hair blew in the wind. He hurried down the gravel without abandon, sparing no glance for the delicate architecture or the forest directly behind the house. A bird trilled a pattern of notes, the air was fresh, and few clouds obscured the gleaming sun. The front door of the manor slammed shut with vehemence, dividing the peace into little scribbles.

     Thirteen-year-old Arlais Moreau watched her elder brother go with frustration, and pulled the gate shut impatiently. She started down the driveway and happened to throw a quick look upwards. The curtains on one of the many windows were shut, give for a small slit. Arlais peered at the opening and spotted a familiar flash of dark hair the exact shade of her own and a glare from emerald-colored eyes. Leath.

     Arlais sighed and darted into the house after staring at the green canopy of the forest for a few minutes. Time to face the firing squad.

     Leath's feet came pounding down the stairs. He swiftly recovered a textbook, then looked as if he were about to dash back upstairs.

     "Leath, wait," Arlais called beseechingly.

      Leath froze, and turned around by a millimeter. "Yes?" he remarked acidly.

    "Why can't you just—"

    Leath's green eyes were enraged, but his voice was unusually calm. "Stop being ridiculous, Arlais. I don't want to hear another word from you about those goddamn stories or anything about your forest."

     "But. . ." Arlais's mind whirled for an alibi. "I have proof! I can show you, even."

    Leath's knuckles grew white on his book. "As if I'd consider going stomping through that forest. You already 'showed' me those lights, and there was nothing to see."

     "I. . ." Arlais had nothing to say to her brother's remark.

     "Quit bothering me, Arlais. I'm not going into that forest, nor do I want to hear those stories."

    Arlais's eyes followed Leath up the staircase. "Fine."

   Once she was certain Leath had shut himself up in his room, Arlais ran with palpable excitement over to the bay window in their living room. She yanked back the drapes and gazed out into their backyard.

     There wasn't really much a backyard, exactly. They had flowerbeds and then the forest. It was like civilization dissolving into wilderness for Arlais.

     Arlais had always loved going into the forest behind her house. At first, it just because she was bored and wanted something to do. But just a year ago when her mother, Anne, decided Arlais and Leath were old enough to start hearing stories— legends— Arlais's motive for going into the forest and the forest itself all seemed to change.

     Arlais Moreau's family had a penchant for telling stories that had been passed down through generation after generation of Moreaus. And the strange thing was that the stories always revolved around one thing— no matter if they were chilling or heartwarming, inspiring or depressing. They were all about faeries— faeries that specifically lived in the forest behind the house that Arlais, Leath, and Anne Moreau lived in now.

     The forest behind the old house had been there longer than anyone or anything in Belfast, Ireland. It was a place of peace and mystery.  Arlais had seen many queer things in it, always at night, whether she was looking out her window or had seen them from the cover of a tree. But every time she tried to prove that what she had seen was real, Anne and Leath dismissed it as the power of imagination.

     The only person that believed Arlais was her father, Adam Ence. But once Adam and Anne had divorced, Adam had moved to be closer to his work, which was in London. The minute Arlais had watched Adam go through the terminal at the airport, she knew there was no one left at all who would believe her. She would be alone.

 

               _____________________

 

     Arlais slouched in her seat. She disliked maths class, but hated school even more. At her middle school, she was teased, insulted, and generally the beginning of all jokes and pranks. Arlais didn't know why— she'd done everything in her power to discontinue the teasing and insults, and had tried her best to make friends. But it was like it'd been set in stone— the minute Arlais had entered middle school, the whispers started. Kids began giving her funny looks in the hallways. She'd pass a group of girls or boys and a split second late, the giggling and the talking would be up and running. And Arlais knew it wasn't a good kind of laughter. It was something strange about her, something that destined her to be an outsider.

     And then Arlais's mind bloomed with memory and she jolted upright. Her chair let out a loud, rusty-sounding squeak. Then, sure enough, the snickering erupted.

     "Mrs. Canterfield," chimed a girl. From the self-assured, mocking tone of voice, Arlais guessed it was Marianna Bridges, the smartest (and the meanest) girl around. At the school that Arlais and Leath went to, the highest point of the popularity scale equaled rich parents, intelligence, and good looks. And unfortunately for Arlais, Marianna and her friend Henry Patterson had it in the bag. Marianna Bridges was not a girl to be messed with, no matter how shallow she seemed from the outside.

    Mr. Canterfield slowly turned around from the blackboard. "Miss Bridges?"

     "Oh," simpered Marianna, twisting her hair into an even tighter bun (Maybe that's how she deludes herself into thinking that people actually like her, Arlais thought) "I was just. . . er. . . wondering what on Earth that ungodly noise was. Does someone have a pet mouse?" She took a long, false glance about the room.

     Arlais gritted her teeth. At the very beginning of eighth grade, students could go outside for break. Arlais did, but heard a small voice talking to her. When she bent down to see what it was, she saw that it was coming from a mouse. Marianna and Henry had found Arlais muttering to the mouse. The next day at school, the rumor was that Arlais Moreau was insane and had been talking to a mouse. Ever since then, Marianna had never let it go.

     The elderly math teacher squinted at his students. "Does anyone have a pet mouse? Miss Bridges would like to know."

     Arlais was so angry she felt like punching something. All the teachers favored Marianna because her family was influential, and Marianna was highly charismatic— fakely charismatic.

      Arlais raised her hand, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Whoops. That was my chair. So sorry to disturb what must be such a learning experience for you, Marianna. I guess she just can't tell a squeak of a chair from a mouse." Arlais punctuated the end of her speech with an airy sigh and a shrug, as though it really was too bad Marianna could be so dumb at times.

     Mr. Canterfield frowned. "No fighting, girls. Now, onto negative numbers. . ."

     "You little freak," hissed Marianna. Henry made the "you're dead" sign at Arlais. "You're just as mad as your mother."

     Arlais seethed with anger. "And you're so absorbed with yourself, the only reason you get good grades is because your parents are rich!"

    Arlais knew that what she'd said wasn't true.

     Marianna glared at Arlais.

     "Catfight!" grinned Henry. Both Marianna and Arlais turned angrily towards him, and he backtracked quickly. "Um, I didn't—"

     "Shut up, you idiot!" snapped Arlais. "Marianna, why don't you just go drown yourself in your collection of awards."

     "You'd better stop saying stuff like to me, or else you'll be sorry." Marianna smiled slyly, twirling a piece of her stick-straight honey-brown hair.

     Arlais laughed mirthlessly. "Why? Going to make your little robots graffiti my locker?"

     "Nope. But I know what you've been seeing. I saw you."

      Arlais decided that Marianna couldn't possibly know about the odd purple lights. "Are you adding stalking to your oh-so vast list of talents now?"

     Marianna ignored this and launched into a poor imitation of Arlais. " 'But, Leath, they're really fairies! I saw them!' "

     Arlais froze, and the bell rang. Marianna smirked darkly at her and flipped her hair condescendingly. "Let's go, Henry. I'm bored, and I want to go home."

     A red rage spread through Arlais, tinged with fear. Mr. Canterfield's water glass shattered, and a strong wind blew throughout the room.

 

             ___________________

    

  

   "Leath," Arlais said to her brother while the two were walking home.

    "What?" Leath, who was walking far ahead of Arlais, spun around. "And if it has anything at all to do with those so-called lights, I don't want to hear anything about it."

    "But I saw them again, last night!" Arlais protested. "The same purple, glowing lights!"

    Leath's emerald, feline-like eyes glared at Arlais. "Don't say a word about them in public! It was just someone playing an annoying trick with a flashlight."

    Arlais thought about it. She didn't think anyone knew what the Deep— the nickname she'd given her favorite part of the forest behind her house— was, really, or how to get into it. And she'd never seen a flashlight with a purple light in any store. So, unless the lights were traveling, which she thought seemed unlikely since they always appeared in the same place and at the same time, no one besides Arlais could've seen them. And she was certain it wasn't a flashlight acting out the part of the lights either.

    "It wasn't a flashlight. It was something else!"

    Leath sighed the exasperated sigh of an older brother. "Look, I know those stories we were told are fascinating, but they're fiction. Agreed?"

     Arlais snapped her mouth shut. She knew that Leath just wouldn't listen any longer.

    "Fine. They're fiction. Whatever," she said too loudly.

     "If you don't like what I have to say, then don't ask any more questions about it," snapped Leath, then mumbled something like, "That's what you get for playing in a forest at midnight."

      Arlais watched Leath stalk off. She didn't understand why Leath was so unbelieving of it all. They had the same dark hair, but that was where the similarities came to a halt. Leath had gotten their mother's pretty green eyes, while Arlais had Adam's blue-violet eyes. They may have looked slightly alike, but their personalities were extreme opposites. Leath was the achiever, the successful one of the family, while Arlais did anything she could to not follow his example. Leath was smart and popular and normal at school. Arlais was considered a freak of nature.  They had been close as young children, but the difference driving them apart was the stories and the forest.

     There's no one here who will believe me so I'll just have to find someone who will.

 

               ________________

  Arlais had gone past the boundaries of her backyard and into the Deep—the heart of the forest where she'd been seeing the odd purple lights. Now, Arlais had been walking for some hours, as the Deep wasn't easy to find.

     The Deep was mostly enormous, tall, elder trees that had an oddly vivid green quality to them. The canopy of green didn't obscure the velvet midnight sky and the stars— it only seemed to emphasize them. Everything seemed so alive in the Deep— the stars, the trees, even the ground that Arlais quietly walked on.

     Once Arlais was too tired to keep walking, it must've been around 11:30 PM, praying that Anne was asleep and wouldn't pick the lock on Arlais's door.  She found her favorite tree— the one with the low, strong limbs that allowed a nimble climber to pass without breaking a branch. The Deep seemed to go on forever.

      Arlais climbed to the very top of the tree, where it felt like the bejeweled sky was inches from her head. She stared down at the ground, which seemed farther away than usual, and the empty, blank stump next to it.

     Arlais blinked and nearly fell out of her tree. The lights were back, glowing, purple, and sort of frightening.

     Arlais drew back into the shadows of the branches and leaves, as the lights were drawing closer. Three branches away. . . Two branches . . . one branch. . .

     And they were gone, whooshing back to the ground, and someone popped into existence.

     The glow from the purple lights dimmed, and went out altogether.

    Arlais blinked, trying to see through the inky darkness. Fail, she thought. But Arlais could hear a voice.

   "What are they doing here?" the voice muttered quietly. "Will' o' the wisps. . ."

    The voice was obviously beautiful. It was an odd accent that was far more musical than any other voice Arlais had heard, but was strangely familiar to her.

    So far, whatever the person was saying sounded like a lot of nonsense. But when the person said the word will' o' the wisps, Arlais froze with recognition. Will' o' the wisps weren't just any random thing someone had made up— they were faeries of fate and the future, guiding people where they needed to go. And they were as real as the tree Arlais was perched in. And they were the thing she'd been seeing.

    Leath's voice rose into her mind, saying, That’s impossible but Arlais steadily ignored it, and shifted her weight forwards so she could try and get a glimpse of whoever this person was. And then the moon fell upon the person, bringing him/her into clarity.

   It was a boy. Arlais could see that now. He appeared to be fairly young, around Arlais's age. His hair was turned blonder by the moonlight, and he looked like someone who didn't belong in Belfast. But the strangest thing by far was the way something seemed to swirl about him. A silver key around his neck glinted in the ray of moonlight.

    Arlais began to climb higher. In doing so, a twig cracked under her, and the boy broke off abruptly, spinning around so fast Arlais didn't realize it had happened until he was staring right at her hiding place.

     "Who's there?" The mysterious stranger scanned the area, his sky-blue eyes drawing upwards to Arlais.

     Arlais retreated further, keeping a good grip on the limb nearest to her to avoid falling off.

      Arlais stepped on another twig by accident, and the boy spun around with an uncanny grace. He glanced suspiciously up at the branch where Arlais was holding her breath and making very little movement.

     What in the world is this person doing in here at near-midnight anyways?

     "Whoever is there, I order you to reveal yourselves by word of Queen Amaryllis of Avalon."

      Arlais stayed put, wanting to know who the boy was before she came down from the tree.

      The nightly wind carried a noise up from the ground. The stranger relaxed slightly, and before Arlais knew it, had vanished behind the oncoming line of darkened trees.

     Before Arlais knew what she was doing, she was off the tree and onto the ground, following the boy and letting curiosity get the best of her.

      Arlais followed the boy farther and farther into the woods. Twenty minutes later, nothing looked the same, and she could hear the beginnings of what was surely going to be a very noisy argument. The boy stopped, observing the conflict, and Arlais climbed another tree. If there was one time where she didn't want to be discovered, it was now.

     "No, Sorren!" came a hoarse, angry voice."Lady Amaryllis won't hear of it! I won't allow it!"

     The same Amaryllis he was talking about, Arlais decided.

     "And who are you to know? We haven't even taken it to her courts yet!" The other voice— someone named Sorren— was cool and cold.

  "I just know! I'm your superior and you need to respect that!” The hoarse voice was getting louder and louder.

     "Says who? I'm your superior. I'm the one who has the rightful privilege to this . . . opportunity."

    The word privilege was injected with more contempt then Arlais thought was possible.

     She edged forward; what was the talk of odd-sounding privileges and Healers? And the mysterious-sounding Queen?

     She could tell the cold voice had hit a nerve.

      "Might I remind you you're only here on my request? If I had known you were going to be such a little—"

     "Claude. Sorren." The boy stepped into the middle of their disagreement. "Why are you two fools arguing so loudly?"

     "Are you calling us fools because we aren't part of your aristocracy?" snapped the hoarse voice.

     "No, I was just saying that you shouldn't be talking so loudly, Claude," the boy replied coolly. "Listen, there's someone. . ."

     At this point, the boy's voice dropped so low, Arlais couldn't hear it.

     "Oh."Claude backed away from her. "We'll just let you be on your way."

     "Thanks, Claude. And remember: Talk quietly."

     "Got the memo."

     Arlais watched as Claude and Sorren quickly shuffled away, even deeper into the Deep.

     "You should be happy I saved you from them," the boy's voice said, and Arlais started, realizing that she wasn't even being covered by the tree anymore.

     "Um . . . thanks, I guess." Arlais climbed awkwardly out of the tree, her face flushing pink with embarrassment. "Did you know I was there the whole time?"

     "Not until now. I knew I wasn't the only mad one around here." The boy grinned. "I'm Orpheus. Just to take away some of your probable confusion."    

   "I'm. . ." Arlais hesitated. "Arlais" didn't feel right anymore— it felt too formal, too stiff; a name made for a queen rather than a girl who climbed trees and lived in forests and fairytales. A new place, a new name. She wasn't "Arlais" anymore.

    "I'm Lilac," she said.

     "I already know who you are. Everyone does." Orpheus's face became suddenly solemn again.

     "How do you—?"

     "You're practically famous."

     Arlais blinked. Nothing this boy was saying was making any sense whatsoever. "I'm only famous because of a stupid mouse."

     "A— what?"

    "Never mind." Like Orpheus would want to hear about her idiotic incident with a talking mouse.

     Suddenly, Orpheus tensed.

      "Too long," he muttered, mostly to himself, then said through a clenched jaw, "Listen, I have to go. But can you meet me here tomorrow, same time, same place?"

       Arlais crossed her arms. "Too long? Too long what?"

      "That I've been here. Just. . . meet me here again, okay?"

      "Fine."

      He turned to leave, and another question flew out of Arlais's mouth.

      "Orpheus.  Were those lights really faeries?"

     "Just like the stories."

     Now this is impossible. "How do you—"

     Orpheus was gone.                                                     

2: Chapter Two: New Reality

                         2    

                  New Reality

 

 

 

 

 

      ARLAIS HAD BEEN WAITING ALL DAY FOR THE NIGHT— SHE      hadn't  paid much attention to anything else but her excitement. It was odd— she didn't even know this boy with the strange name and stranger appearance. She didn't have any proof of why she should trust him. But he seemed sort of familiar— like someone you've vaguely heard about in the hallways at school, but can't place and never get to know. Leath had been extremely perceptive about Arlais's bright mood, and had asked her whether it had something to do with the forest, which worried Arlais a bit. She didn't want Leath finding what she was up to, because Leath would definitely put a stop to it.

      Arlais stared out her large window at the forest, anxiety bubbling up in her. Her window looked out to the forest, but not the Deep. The sunset bathed the entrance to the forest in a wash of gold. In a few minutes, it had sunk beyond the horizon.

      Arlais pulled a jacket out of her closet. It was almost time.

      When it was pitch-black outside, Arlais darted out the back door, yelling a hasty goodbye to Anne. Leath seemed to be upstairs— Probably studying the millionth time for the math test, Arlais thought.

      It was harder to get into the Deep that night, so Arlais crashed through shrubs, fallen branches, and undergrowth for a few hours until a adrenaline-fueled feeling coursed through her veins— the feeling that happened whenever she was in the Deep.

      Arlais climbed to the midsection of her tree by the stump that Orpheus had called "the Guardian" and clumsily tripped on an awry limb halfway, nearly falling over the side.

      And then, just like they always did, the purple lights— or will' o' the wisps— appeared, right on schedule, at the same time like they always did.

      And then Orpheus appeared into the eerie purple light.

      "What did you mean, last night?" The words were out of Arlais's mouth before she could stop herself. "About the stories. I mean, only my family knows them."

       "Not only your family knows them," Orpheus said after a moment's pause.

      "What d'you mean? Because the last time I checked, you don't go to my school. I bet you don't even live here. You don't even know me!"

       "That's a whole lot of don'ts." Once Orpheus saw Arlais's face, his grin faded. "Look, it's. . . it's complicated."

    "People have been telling me that my whole entire life," Arlais said hotly, getting frustrated. "And I'm sick of it. Try me."

  "Fine. They're not stories, they're legends."

  "Of what? Make-Believe Land?"

   Orpheus avoided that. "Do you know a lot of other people who've heard them? The legends?"

   "No. And I've always wondered why."

   "It's because. . . only Fae families know them," Orpheus said in a rush.

   Arlais stopped dead. "What?"

  "Only faerie families know them." Orpheus said it slowly this time.

  "That's. . ." Arlais couldn't think of a word to fit how she felt.

   "Ridiculous? Preposterous? Impossible? I've heard it all."

   "What do you do, go around telling people they're supernatural creatures or something? Is this a joke?"

   "No to both. This is a favor, not a joke. A favor for the Queen, to whom you cannot refuse. And believe me, this isn't the first choice of things I'd like to do. First, dumped in a strange land, then forced to play 20 Questions. . . Does that sound like fun to you?"

   "This was a mistake coming here," Arlais muttered, then said louder, "I came here only because I was curious. And I bet you aren't bullied at school. . . Don't have to deal with a broken family. Heck, I bet you're some kind of stuck-up rich kid who doesn't care about anything but himself!"

   "Broken family? Sounds like my childhood." Orpheus laughed hollowly. "My family is broken, Lilac. My parents are dead."

   "Oh." Arlais's anger diminished into a thousand little pieces. "I'm sorry."

  Orpheus split a weed into halves. "Your dad is a faerie. That's how you know the legends of Avalon."

    Comprehension dawned on Arlais's face. "Avalon? I know what that is. It's where the stories take place. It's the land of the faeries."

    Orpheus sat down. "So you've heard the oldest legends?"

    Arlais, eager to hear more, plopped down next to him. "I've heard all of them. . . and I thought they were made-up!"

   "They aren't. The stories weren't made to amuse generations of mortals. They're like the history of Avalon, the Underworld, and other places in the faerie world." Orpheus stared into the night. "When my older sister told me them, I thought some of them were nice. Like bedtime stories. And that some of them. . . some of them were like ghost stories."

    "That's what I always thought," Arlais whispered, half to herself. "So they're real? They're really real?"

    Orpheus nodded. "Real as you and I."

    The stories were about two types of faeries: the Seelies, which were like the good people of the Earth. The ones who understood and helped people and did their jobs well, the ones who lived in Avalon. The other Fae, the Unseelies, lived in the Underworld, on the other side of the boundary that lay between Avalon and the Underworld. The Unseelies were the bad Fae, the ones with nightmare-esque people and terrifying monsters that were set to awaken by prophecies.

      "That sounds. . . horrifying."

      Orpheus laughed. "Don't worry; the boundary— the Barrier, it's called— is pretty strong. It keeps Unseelies out most of the time."

    "Right. So I'm a faerie?"

   "Yep."

   "Are you one too?"

    "Yep."

    "That still sounds pretty impossible to me." Arlais crossed her arms.

     Orpheus looked at her, a half-smile on his face. "You sure are determined to see something wrong with what I'm telling you."

    "I have a genius older brother at home who feeds me scientific information for breakfast."

   Orpheus laughed. "Want proof? When you turn fourteen this morning, you'll grow wings."

   Arlais felt faint. "I turn fourteen at 6 AM!"

  "I guess you'll have a little surprise when you wake up, then."

   "How old are you, then, since you've managed to figure out my birthday?"

   "I'm fifteen. So a year older, your brother would say."

   "Oh."

    Orpheus pulled off something from underneath his shirt and dropped it, then turned away from Arlais.

   Coming out of the back of his shirt were two faintly glimmering, transparent shapes.

   Arlais picked up the discarded item— a scarf— and stared at the shapes with a mixture of curiosity and fear. Wings. "You're a faerie."

   Leath was wrong. Supernaturals do exist. . . and I'm one of them.

   Orpheus turned back to face her. "Haven't you always wondered why you're so good at climbing trees and can jump so high?  Haven't you ever been curious as to why you're different from your peers? Hasn't anything funny or strange happened to you and you don't know why?"

      Arlais racked her mind. She had always been able to jump unusually high, but had dismissed it as having strong legs and a light weight. She'd never really had any friends, and had confided to Leath that she thought the other kids were afraid of her. And the incidents. . .

      When Arlais was eight, she had been going through a no-homework phase when she refused to do her homework. She was going to land in some serious trouble if she didn't have all her missing assignments turned in by the end of a week. On the last day, Arlais still had about half of it to do. When she checked them the following morning, they were finished, complete with perfect answers.

      Then, when Arlais was ten, she was on a hike with Leath, Anne, and Adam (when her parents were still happily married). Arlais had been sitting at the side of a creek and soaking her feet in it when a snowy white owl with grey markings on its feathers appeared out of nowhere, and had begun to talk to her. Arlais had ran away, frightened, and told Adam, who'd believed every word she'd said.

      The most recent happening was the will' o' the wisp sightings, and, according to the legends, mortals couldn't see faeries like those. Arlais had never really thought about it and never bothered to put the pieces together until now.

      "But there's no one in my family who's Fae," Arlais said wildly, still in shock.

      "What about your dad?"

      "I don't know," Arlais stammered, thunderstruck. Could Adam be Fae? If so, why hadn't he ever said anything?

      "You're a faerie. I know that for sure."

      "How can you tell?"

      "The magic. I can sense it; it's rolling off you in waves."

      Arlais sighed. She was torn between disbelief and excitement, deliberating on what to feel. "I've always wished magic was real, and not that annoying 'on the inside/everyone has their own magic' kind of stuff. But now . . . the idea of magic and power. . . it scares me."

      Orpheus looked thoughtful.

      "I think the idea of magic and power is kinda cool. But that's just me."

     "What traits do faeries have?"

     "Huh?"

     "You know, like how some people have green eyes, how some have better hearing. . ."

     "Oh, that. See, most of the time, we can blend right in humans. Like humans, we have some features that are prettier or whatever, and some that are imperfect— imperfection is beauty with most things in Avalon. But the main differences are that we're smarter. Stronger. And a touch more graceful. And we can fly. But the thing is, we aren't just born with all of that— we. . . grow it, I guess. When a faerie turns fourteen, they start their Transformation. They also grow wings. Fae come into age at eighteen, where they go through the Turning. The Turning turns them Dark or Light. Sometimes the Turning happens before eighteen, though."

       Arlais had gotten over her temporary shock by now. "And are there any traits Fae are just born with?"

       "Faeries are born with sharp, clear vision and excellent hearing.” Orpheus paused for a split second, probably to let it all sink in. "There are four classes— social classes, I mean— in Avalon. The first is Volito; the second is Excelse, the third Triens, and the last one Inferus. Volito and Excelse are kind of like royalty almost, like aristocracy. They don't really like Triens and Inferus very much. The way you address people is different based on their class. You're supposed to address members of the aristocracy by Lady and Lord and Triens and Inferus by Mrs., Mr., Ms., and so on. Although once I went up to a member of Volito and addressed them as Mr."

     "Did he get mad?"

      "Well. . . yeah," Orpheus admitted. "He tried to jinx me."

      "How do you get into a class?"

      "You're usually just born into one, but you can change classes depending on what type of faerie you are."

      "Type of faerie. . . ? Like. . . pixies or something?"

      "No, I think the classes only apply to human-fae, and what kind of magic they can do. We're called human-fae because we're faeries, yet we could pass as human if we took enough precautions."

      "What class are you in?"

      Orpheus said it awkwardly, with a hatred. "Volito."

      "So you're evil according Triens and Inferus?"

      " 'Evil' is sort of a sadly true stereotype. . . But any family can be 'evil'. When people Turn, when go Dark, sometimes it makes other people in their family do the same. . . If you'd borrow my sister's book on faerie family trees, you'd see that pretty much every family has a least one Dark Fae no matter their class. But some families (even if they're Light) think that Triens and Inferus are. . . bad or something. I don't know. Some people in my family do, but I don't."

     "Oh. Okay." They were silent for a moment, and the sounds of the forest rushed on. "What class do you think I'd be in?"

    "Hopefully not the aristocracy, then you wouldn't have to deal with all the. . . the stuff."

    "What stuff?"

     "State dinners. Speeches from famous Fae. Balls. In general, just boring stuff."

     "Oh. How do the Volito and Excelse classes know who's Triens and Inferus?"

      "They ask. But you can tell by looking sometimes."

      "Are Triens and Inferus the poorer faeries? And Excelse and Volito the richer ones?"

      "Sometimes. But typically, not always."

      "What else is there to know about being a faerie?"

      "Not much. Those are pretty much the basics." Orpheus smiled. "Just remember: You'll wake up in the morning. . . not looking like you usually do."

      "Um, what am I going to say to my mom and sister? I mean,Leath's  practically a lie detector himself!"

      "Faeries are much better at lying and detecting lies. Whatever you'll say, they'll probably believe it."

      "Really?"

      "For sure."

      "Okay. Thanks." They were quiet for a minute, and then:

      "Do all Fae's wings look the same?"

      "No, everyone's are different. . . But for the most part, all faeries' wings are transparent. Some tend to be clearer, some hazier. Some are more. . . glittery than others. See you tomorrow."

      " 'Bye," Arlais said, wondering what she was to do about her being a faerie.

      And then Orpheus flew out into the night, gone like a dream. . . .