On any other day, Jewell would have enjoyed taking the long walk home to her apartment. The afternoon was brisk. That’s what her father would have termed it. Brisk. The midwinter sun hung low, setting the city blocks aglow with warm amber light.
Since her father had died, one of the few things that had brought her happiness was her dog, Oberon. In the winter, the late afternoon sun filled her living room. She and Oberon often fell asleep on the couch, both basking in the slant of light as it streamed in through her apartment windows. She should probably feel embarrassed about that, but she didn’t.
She sighed. This was some pity party she was throwing herself.
Once she got back to her apartment, she kicked off her boots and tossed her coat over the back of the sofa. Then she unpacked her takeout and reheated it in the microwave. The aromas of sharp cheese and earthy mushrooms filled the kitchen. She was hungry. Starving in fact.
She placed the food on a tray, along with a large glass of oaky cabernet, and carried it out to the living room where she allowed herself to sink into the couch. Oberon climbed up next to her, sniffing her plate before settling on the cushions. He looked at her expectantly, the shallow rim of the whites of his eyes making his glance seem mournful. “This is mine, pal,” she said. “You had your dinner.” He licked his chops in return. “Okay,” she said feeding him a cheesy mushroom. She took a big twirl of the pasta and washed it down with an equally big gulp of wine.
She let her hand rest in Oberon’s soft curly-haired ears. The dog set his head on her thigh and let out a small sigh. “We’re quite an exciting pair, aren’t we?” He shifted his eyes up toward her face but didn’t move his head from underneath the tender stroke of her fingers. Oberon moved his head closer to her lap, so that the top of his head was pressed against her ribs. He puffed an exhale out through his nose as if he might be trying to disagree with her, but knew it was pointless. She bent over and kissed the top of his head, gave his ears an extra rub. “You, my buddy boy, you possess all the qualities of the perfect mate. If only I could find a man like you. What a match we’d be. We like to do the same things, like the same kinds of food. We already sleep in the same bed.” As she stroked his fur, she could feel him relax against her completely. Would she ever feel such contentment? Probably not. She took another slug of wine. “Oh, to be fair Titania! I could be her! Without all the arguing and donkey-headed shenanigans, of course. No love-in-idleness necessary!” She leaned in close, grabbed Oberon by his jowls, lifted his head, and looked him in the eyes. “Shenanigans is a funny word, isn’t it?” He seemed to blink at her, and she let his head drop back into her lap. “What did Shakespeare say?” She paused, wanting to get it right. “Ay me! For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history. The course of true love never did run smooth.” She raised her glass again. “What fools these mortals be!” Then she took another twirl of pasta and followed it with a piece of beautiful bruschetta. She sighed, savoring each magnificent bite. It was like she’d never tasted food before. She alternated bites of pasta and salad and bruschetta until she was so full, she thought she might cry from happiness. She let her head sink back against the couch. “Titania,” she murmured. “Titania, Titania . . .” Then, as if from very far away, Jewell thought she heard the tinkling of tiny bells. She sat up and cocked her head, frozen for a moment, listening, thinking perhaps it was the television. Oberon sat up, too. All the way up, like he’d also heard something. He barked, twice, at the bookcase behind the sofa and wagged his tail. Jewell patted his head and convinced him to lie back down.
She shook her head and drank the rest of her wine.
She patted Oberon’s belly, the quiet tinkling bells she thought she’d heard forgotten. “You know, sometimes it’s better to just call it a day and go to bed. Come on pal, let’s see what tomorrow brings, okay?”
She rose. Oberon followed her into the bedroom, where he waited for her to change into her pajamas and slide into bed before he hopped up next to her. Normally, he slept at the foot of the bed, but for some reason, and Jewell didn’t care, he curled up next to her with his head on the pillow. She rolled onto her side, resting her wrist on the dog’s shoulder. “If only there was someone for me who loved me the way you do,” she whispered. “That’s what I wish.” She closed her eyes and from somewhere inside an upswelling of emotion almost overcame her. Words spilled out that she didn’t realize she knew. “O, how ripe in show / Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow . . .” she murmured. “That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow / Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow / When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss / This prince, this seal of bliss!” She hated herself for it, but she let tears dribble down her face as she fell asleep.
***
Inside the great hall of the royal palace, Titania rose from her golden throne and rushed to the window. She pushed back the heavy silken drapes and gazed over the gauzy horizon of the Realm searching for the source of the sound. But the urgent tinkling bells weren’t coming from the dewy teal leaves that rustled in the enchanted glade, nor was it coming from the charmed brook that ran through the valley. No one in the Realm would ever ring a bell. Not for her. They knew better.
“What is it?” Ondine asked. “Oh!” she said.
“You hear it, too.” Panic swelled in Titania’s chest. She turned to face her sisters and the other faeries gathered in the great hall. “Summoning bells. Who would dare?”
“Yes,” Iolanthe said. “Who indeed?”
“We all hear them,” Ondine said. She put her hands to her ears. “They’re ringing very loudly and they’re ringing for you, Titania.”
“Come,” Titania said reaching out to Iolanthe and Ondine. The other faeries, who had gathered in the chamber, chattered and clutched each other as they backed away. No one liked to be summoned, but to summon the Queen—that would take some formidable magic—and no small amount of courage. “Please, come with me,” Titania said to her sisters. “There’s strong intention behind this summoning—too much for me to resist.” Ondine and Iolanthe held on to each other but did not step forward.
“What if we can’t do what’s requested?” Ondine said. “What if we can’t get back?”
“Please,” Titania said. “You know I hate the human world, but you two. Oh, how you love your humans!”
Iolanthe pulled Ondine toward their sister. “Now is not the time to be afraid, sister. The three of us together can counter-act any spell.” Titania had started to shimmer against her will, her body phasing in and out of the light, but she was still corporeal enough for them to grasp on to. Titania fought the summons as long as she could, but the call was too strong, sucking all three of them through the thin membrane that separated the world of faeries from the world of humans.
Shimmering through the veil felt as if their bodies were being pushed through a fine kaleidoscopic sieve, disassembled and then reassembled not quite in an instant, but nearly so. Where would they be reassembled? What was behind this desperate summoning, and who had invoked Titania’s name?
They faded into existence, stumbling and groping for balance, inside a human woman’s dwelling, just behind her divan. When they saw the canine, and heard him bark twice in greeting, they knew he could see them. Reflexively each of them pressed themselves against the bookcase. The beast looked harmless enough, friendly even, but with animals one never knew.
A woman sat with her back to them staring at a strange flat box covered with moving pictures. “What kind of magic is that?” Titania whispered to Iolanthe.
“I have no idea,” Iolanthe said. She moved toward it, but Titania held her back.
“Until we know why we’ve been summoned, it’s best we stay concealed.”
It was unclear to Titania and her sisters whether the woman could see them. Usually, faeries were invisible to humans, even humans who summoned them, but not always. They could make themselves be seen, if they chose, but it required some effort, and most chose not to expend the energy unless there was a compelling reason. Titania never failed to be irritated at how faeries were frequently depicted in both ancient tales and contemporary cartoons. Faeries were not tiny bug-like creatures with wings and magic wands. They were equal in size to humans and did not have wings. What did distinguish them was their pearlescent skin, which came in a variety of shades, like humans. Faeries also had delicately pointed ears, eyes that changed color with their mood, and their natural hair color corresponded to the base element of their power. Titania’s base element was fire, but she could draw on all the elements, which was why she was queen. This also made her very powerful.
Titania took a step toward the dog and lowered her hand, commanding him to lie down, which he did. The woman sat on her couch, stroking the beast and staring at the magic box. Occasionally, she took a bite of food from a plate on the table next to her.
“It seems clear she does not have the sight,” Iolanthe said. “The animal, however, is clever.”
“Why has she summoned you, sister?” Ondine asked.
“Your suppose is as good as mine,” Titania said. “So often it’s the play, that awful, awful play. I cannot express my regret deeply enough at having revealed myself to that human William Shakespeare. And that Robin!” She clenched her fists at her side and a vermillion glow filled the room.
Ondine placed her hand on Titania’s arm. “Go gentle, sister.” Her touch sent a cooling shiver over Titania’s skin.
Iolanthe cast a glance at her sister Ondine. “We know this is why the human world vexes you so—but usually there’s no intention associated with the play, no wish strong enough to pull you through the veil. They are just actors saying lines. Master Shakespeare did not cast a spell over you.”
Titania turned on her sister sharply. “No, but Robin did, and this feels like it has the power of a spell.” She looked about the drab and colorless abode cluttered with books and trinkets and the platter of food the woman ate from. She was repulsed by the clutter, but whatever it was the woman was eating had filled the room with an intoxicating aroma. She stepped toward the plate of food and, out of view of anyone, plucked up one mushroom and then another and popped them into her mouth. The morsel exploded on her palate with such pleasurable force that she had to suppress a moan of delight. “Perhaps there is other magic at play,” Titania said licking her lips.
“What do you mean?” Iolanthe said. “The food,” Titania said. “I believe it may have been enchanted.”
“That’s not possible. By whom?” Ondine said. “Aren’t all the faeries in the Realm?”
Titania turned on her sisters. “How should I know where all the faeries are?”
“Sister,” Iolanthe said. “What makes you think the food has been enchanted? You didn’t eat any of it, did you?”
“Of course not,” Titania said. “Do you think I’d be so stupid?”
“It does smell wonderful,” Ondine said.
Iolanthe shook her head. “There is nothing magical here, save us. Only a sad woman and her dog.”
“Whatever is going on, it was strong enough to pull all three of us through,” Ondine said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt desire that fervent.” Her eyes misted over, and she blinked.
“Dear Ondine,” Titania said. “Please do not think on Palemon. He didn’t deserve you.” She squeezed her hand.
“We can’t all be strong like you, sister,” Iolanthe said. “Although we were able to resist this woman’s dinner.”
“I told you, I did not eat any of it.”
“Of course, my queen.” Iolanthe curtsied.
“Sarcasm does not become you.” Titania frowned. “If only you knew how much I envied you both. You’ve known the soaring joys and devastating sorrows of true passion, while I’ve never known true love. Only Master Shakespeare and that damned play.” She gestured to the woman sitting on the couch in front of them. “Who is this woman? What does she want from me? Surely the dog did not summon me. He cannot call through the veil, nor cast a spell. He’s incapable of desire that strong.”
“Listen,” Ondine said. “She speaks.”
“You know, sometimes it’s better to just call it a day and go to bed,” the woman said to her dog. “Come on pal, let’s see what tomorrow brings, okay?” She rose. The dog followed the woman into her bedroom, and the faerie sisters followed the dog.
“Look how attentive he is,” Ondine said. “He’s waiting for her to change into her night clothes.”
“Her body isn’t so bad for a woman,” Iolanthe said. “She’s no faerie, but her arms are slender, and her bosom is full and firm.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Probably nothing,” Iolanthe said. “It’s just human men care about these things. It’s why they always want to be with us. Because we never grow old or lose our beauty.”
“Until you give up everything for them,” Ondine said. “And then they cast you aside because they can.”
Iolanthe’s eyes snapped up. “You took your revenge on Palemon, and yet you still pine for him. I will never understand you.”
“Nor I you, sister.”
“Enough!” Titania said. “Look, the dog comforts her. His devotion moves me.” The dog had curled up next to the woman with his head on the adjacent pillow. This made the woman roll over onto her side. She rested her arm on the dog’s shoulder, let her fingers tangle in his soft fur. “If only there was someone for me who loved me the way you do,” the woman murmured. “That’s what I wish.”
As the woman spoke, an invisible force pulled Titania to the foot of the bed. Her sisters grabbed her by the elbows and held her back so that she did not go flying on top of them. The dog lifted his head slightly as if to ask, what’s the problem, faeries?
She pointed at the dog on the bed. “What is your name, beast?”
The dog did not answer but closed his eyes as the woman whispered in his ear. “O, how ripe in show / Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow / That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow / Fanned with the eastern wind, turns to a crow / When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss / This prince, this seal of bliss!”
Titania clapped her hands together in anguish. “It is the play! It’s always the damned play.”
“But listen, sister, to her intention,” Ondine said. “If only there was someone out there who loved me the way you do.”
“O, let me kiss / This prince,” Iolanthe said. “That’s not the play—not exactly anyway.”
“So now you have the play memorized?” Titania said. “I have a good memory! Why must you be so disagreeable?”
“Me?”
“Sisters, please, can we not concentrate on the task at hand?” Ondine said.
“Yes, of course. It’s a spell. She’s cast a spell and doesn’t know it.” Titania retreated to the far corner of the woman’s bedroom and crossed her arms. “What does she mean? She says these words to a dog! A beautiful clever creature, but a dog nonetheless.”
“Look how she cradles the beast,” Ondine said. “Such tender affection.”
“The kind of affection that many feel for such animals, humans and faeries alike,” Titania said. “But it means nothing!”
“Sister, did you not feel the weight of her loneliness? Her longing?” Iolanthe said. “Thy lips, those tempting cherries grow! You may think on Shakespeare with great dismay, but it was you who inspired him.”
“Yes, yes! I will not speak about Master Shakespeare.”
“Forget the play, sister,” Iolanthe said. She touched Titania’s arm, let it linger. She waved her other hand releasing a swirl of iridescent emerald faerie dust that spun up to the ceiling and then down, circling over the bed and settling on the dog as he slept. “See the woman. Feel her desire.”
“You two can see it, but I cannot. Speak it plain to me. Does she seek love?”
“Yes!” Iolanthe said. “And she wishes that her dog, this noble beast, to be a man.”
“Maybe?” Ondine said.
Titania turned on her sister. “Maybe?”
“She clearly wishes to find a mate who loves her with the same devotion,” Ondine said. “Have you ever felt such intensity of intention?”
Titania shook her head.
“And even for you, dear sister, it would be impossible to conjure a man out of thin air,” Iolanthe said.
“So, we turn the dog into the man?”
“Yes. Once spoken the wish must be fulfilled. You know this better than any of us,” Iolanthe said. Titania took a deep breath. Such magic once performed could not be undone. “This could be more mischief than magic, sisters. I may not have the power to see it through.”
“Do not doubt your power,” Iolanthe said. “You’ve performed magic more complicated than this.” “You returned me to the Realm,” Ondine said. “You restored me, made me whole. I was supposed to die an old woman, abandoned by my human husband, but here I stand.” Ondine brushed back another tear. “You are our queen for a reason, Titania. You have the power of all the elements, and we are here to help you. This woman’s desire is so strong, it called the Faerie Queen through the veil.”
“Look upon the beast. Perhaps he does not want to be a man.” Titania looked at the sleeping woman and her dog. It was a tranquil scene. Perhaps this was comfort enough. “This woman does not know what she asks.”
“Sister, don’t let your own lack of love’s joy prevent you from helping another find it,” Ondine said. “What happens after is up to her and the man.”
Titania stepped to the end of the bed. “He won’t make much of a mate. He is without testicles.”
“Oh, dear,” Iolanthe said. “They are important.”
“Unequivocally,” Ondine said. “Can you restore him? You restored me.”
Titania turned to her sister. “You were not missing anything so vital. Still.” She turned away and paced the length of the bedroom, lost in thought.
“Why would he be missing his testicles?” Ondine asked.
“It must have been some kind of horrendous accident,” Iolanthe said with a shudder. “How tragic.” The sisters fell silent, each contemplating the magic required to restore testicles. This would be a problematic series of spells and it would require all three of them.
Titania paused and looked first at Ondine and then at Iolanthe. “Clearly, we need to restore the dog,” Titania said. “To do that we’ll need Hessonite Garnet, Tiffany Stone, and Tangerine Aura.”
“So much?” Iolanthe asked. “Seems excessive.”
“Perhaps,” Titania said. “But it can’t hurt.” Iolanthe laughed, and sparkling bubbles floated from her mouth.
“What?” Titania asked. “What if we restore his testicles and because we used so many stones, they reappear the size of juju melons?”
“Oh,” Titania said. “That would not be good.” She smiled for the first time since she’d heard the summoning bells. “Let’s start with the Tangerine Aura and see how it goes.” She rested her hand on Ondine’s shoulder. “Did you bring the stones with you?”
“They are always with me, sister, you know that.” Ondine stepped away and unslung her travel pouch from her shoulder. She sat down on the floor near the foot of the bed. There she removed a series of small suede bags and a pair of delicate leather gloves. “I wish Peaseblossom were here,” she said.
“Now is not the time to think on faeries long gone,” Titania said.
“Yes, of course.” She pointed to a small black bag. “This is what we need. Shall I place it on the dog, or do we need to hold the stones?”
Titania closed her eyes and pressed her palms together. After a moment her eyes sprang open. “I’ll cast a sleeping spell on them both. Then, Ondine, you’ll need to place the crystal between the dog’s legs.”
Titania moved to the foot of the bed and took a deep breath. She’d been casting sleeping spells since she’d appeared in the world, but tonight, this whole summoning and call had made her uneasy. She could feel the portent of unintended consequences, as if there had to be other magic at play. The woman had called her name and spoken the key lines from the play. And she’d spoken them with intention, which is exactly what Shakespeare and that scoundrel Robin Goodfellow had thought would be so hilarious all those years ago. And yet, over time, the spell had seemed to weaken, as they do. She hadn’t been pulled through the veil like this in a very long time. No matter. They were here, and they would not be able to leave until the summoning’s desire was fulfilled. She held her hands out, wrists bent, palms up. A humming light appeared, oscillating through the red-violet spectrum. Titania shaped it into a single orb and pushed it gently toward the sleeping woman and her dog until it hovered over them.
“Restful spirits of earth and air, grant these two creatures, your humble servants, succumb to sleep’s sweet succor and wake not until morning’s light.” Titania flicked her fingers outward and the light dissolved, falling softly over them covering them with lavender dew.
“That should do the trick. Ondine, the crystal.” Titania took a deep breath. This spell might require a different approach and she would need Iolanthe’s strength and restraint. Ondine slipped on the leather gloves and removed the stone, which was about the size of a large peach pit, from the pouch. She approached the sleeping dog. She had to lean over the woman to reach him, but they all knew that Titania’s sleeping spell would hold them. After placing the stone between the dog’s legs, she looked up at Titania. “Remember sister, this stone has elements of iron. Not so much as to cause you serious harm, but the sensation will be very unpleasant.”
Titania nodded. This is why she’d chosen the Tangerine over the Tiger Iron, which probably would have worked better—but she would need all her strength to complete the final transformation and the Tiger Iron would make her ill. All faeries were allergic to iron. “Iolanthe hold my hand. Give me your strength.” Iolanthe reached out and took her sister’s hand. Titania slid her fingers between the dog’s legs until her fingertips touched the edge of the stone. She squeezed Iolanthe’s hand and Iolanthe turned her free hand palm up. In it a sparkling orb of chartreuse energy pulsed and sizzled. Titania’s fingertips burned but she concentrated on the stone and the dog.
“Elements of earth and fire, metal, air, and water, heed my command. Restore this gentle creature to his rightful state of being.” She inhaled sharply as the pulsing orb passed through Iolanthe and then to her and out through her fingertips.
Together they chanted: “Earth and fire blend your might, put this creature back to right. Air and earth, fire prevail, our command it shall not fail.” For a moment the dog whimpered in his sleep, and Titania was afraid that they’d hurt him, but he remained asleep. Something warm and fuzzy pushed down against her fingers. The sensation didn’t last long, but they could all see that the spell had been successful. She released Iolanthe’s hand and nodded to Ondine. “You can remove the crystal now, sister.” She smiled at them. “You were right, as usual, Iolanthe. One crystal was enough.”
“Do you think we’ve made him happy?” Ondine said as she slipped the crystal back into its pouch.
Iolanthe laughed. “As a dog, he likely wouldn’t care much one way or the other. But as a man, I’m sure he would prefer to not be a eunuch.”
“And the woman,” Titania said. “It is her wish after all.”
“It is her wish,” Iolanthe said. “But somehow, I feel as if something else is going on, too.”
Ondine grasped Iolanthe’s hand. “Yes, I feel it too. Something ancient and shadowy.” She swallowed. “Something elvish.”
Titania looked askance at her sisters. “Elvish? Don’t be ridiculous.” A white cloud of mist started to gather around Ondine’s head. “Don’t discount me, sister. You know I carry trace elements of metal with me that allow me to see and feel things others do not.”
Titania folded her arms and stared hard at her sister. “If only you could see things with a little more detail, they might actually be of some use to us.” She waved her hand near her sister’s head, dispersing the mist. “You are too dramatic, sister.”
Ondine frowned. “And you are too skeptical.”
Titania drew herself up. “Skepticism is a good quality in a ruler. Let’s proceed so we can return to the Realm. The clutter of this abode depresses me.”
“I think this animal will make a handsome man. I hope the woman is pleased,” Iolanthe said.
“He already loves her. Even in their slumber anyone can see it,” Ondine said.
“Perhaps,” Titania said. “But what kind of love? Devotion, surely. But animals love their masters like children.”
“What will happen when he becomes a man? Will his devotion be that of a child?” Ondine asked.
Titania waved her hands dismissively. “This is not our concern. I’m responsible for fulfilling the wish only. The consequences are their concern.” Titania looked at her sisters. “I think we will need some water for this next spell. And I will need you both, all your strength and probably more. I don’t believe the veil will open for us until we complete this task.” She straightened her shoulders. “I for one have already spent more time here than I would like.”
“Do you want the charoite or the malachite?” Ondine asked.
Titania closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Charoite and amethyst.” Ondine produced the stones as Iolanthe returned from the other room with a lavender glass bowl full of cold water. She set the bowl down on the floor. Ondine handed her the charoite and kept the amethyst. They each stood on one side of the bowl and leaned in over the water so that their heads touched. They grasped each other by the waist, forming a tight cone. The three sisters began by humming a choppy rhythmic tune. Discordantly at first, then coming into harmony. A swirling band of vermillion energy formed around them and from the center of the bowl of water a single strand of black energy rose up and through their heads. The vermillion ascended to combine with the black and when the two energies merged, it cycled through all the base elemental colors: green, red, white, blue, and yellow, and then transformed into a sparkling metallic gold so brilliant all three sisters had to close their eyes. Titania could feel its power as it filled the room. The choppy hum became a chant, and accompanied by her sisters, Titania spoke the transformative spell:
Now the happy dog must know,
And a woman’s gladness show.
For her wishes to come true,
We must turn this gold to blue.
The metallic gold light flashed to a glittery midnight blue, shining as if it were made of crushed sapphires.
Ancient power we command,
You to do as we demand.
Take this noble hound apart,
Bless him with a human heart.
Make his countenance as fine.
To the woman be sublime.
Ask us not the reason why,
Make it so or let us die.
Titania felt her sisters’ grip tighten. Likely they were not so happy about the last couplet. Neither was she, but these spells came to her from another place; she had no control over the wording. Together they repeated:
For her wishes to come true,
We must turn this gold to blue.
Ask us not the reason why,
Make it so or let us die.
The room filled with pulsing hues of gold and midnight and every shade in between. The light swirled and twisted, finally funneling, a gyrating vortex over the bed, swallowing the dog, engulfing him in a vermillion tornado of light and energy, shot through with electric strands of bronze and gold. In her sleep, the woman rolled over and away from the animal, her back now to the transformation occurring beside her. The room hummed and buzzed, vibrated and shook, and eventually the light faded, and the column of energy slid back into the bowl of water and away from the sisters, who collapsed into each other’s arms panting and covered with a fine film of dewy midnight sweat.
Titania regained herself first and turned back to the bed. There she found the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, sitting up, staring back at her. His skin was smooth, his limbs long and muscled, his torso lean. The hair on his head was thick and his eyes were a soft brown, the color of fall leaves in the rain. Titania moved to him and cupped his chin in her damp palm.
“Tell me your name, sweet creature.”
The man blinked, moved his lips as if he were not sure if he could speak.
“Take your time.” She smiled at him and felt her own countenance soften. She’d seen many beautiful creatures in her life, many beautiful men: faerie, elfin, and human—but this man— there was something both beautiful and somehow familiar. He tried to speak again, and Titania nodded in encouragement.
“Oberon,” he said at last. He seemed surprised by the sound of his own voice, which was silky and low, but also breathy from lack of practice. Titania blinked when she heard the name from the play. A name she’d never heard spoken anywhere else. The man smiled, revealing straight white teeth. He looked down at his body, rubbed his hands over his arms, his chest. “I?” He looked at Titania. “Did I speak wrong?”
Titania stroked his cheek. “It was the woman’s wish.”
“Jewell.” He looked at the woman sleeping beside him. “My human.”
“Sister,” Iolanthe placed her hand on Titania’s shoulder. “See how the veil thins. We need to go now. He is not for you.”
Titania turned and faced her sisters, who stood behind her, also gazing at the man in wonderment. Her chest felt tight, as if her heart might escape her ribs and burst through her own skin. “He said his name was Oberon.” Her voice trembled, and she reached out for Ondine to steady herself.
“What?” Ondine asked.
“He said his name was Oberon.”
Iolanthe took Titania’s hand. “It’s the play. You know that. It doesn’t mean anything. The woman invoked the play—that’s what brought us here.”
“Who?” Oberon asked. Titania turned back to him. “I’m Titania,” she said. She could see that her name meant nothing to him, but his face. His face said everything he did not know how to speak.
Iolanthe grasped Titania’s arm and she turned at the force of it. “Sister. He is not for you,” Iolanthe said.
“Who are you to tell me who or what is for me?” Titania wrenched her arm away and moved back toward the smiling Oberon. “What if he is for me?” She turned and looked at her sisters. “What if that’s why we’re here?”
“But that’s not why we’re here,” Ondine said. She looked at Iolanthe with some urgency.
“Sisters, our spell is cast. We must go.”
Iolanthe reached into her pouch and blew a sparkle of chartreuse faerie dust into Oberon’s face. “Forget,” she said. “Sleep.”
Oberon rubbed his eyes and fell back into the bed, his head landing softly next to Jewell’s as Titania and her sisters shimmered back to the Realm.
This is an excerpt from a novel titled More Strange Than True, 2024.
Edited by Marie Ginga
C.J. Spataro is an award-winning short fiction writer whose work has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies including Taboos & Transgressions, Iron Horse Literary Review, december, Sequestrum, and Exacting Clam. She directs the MFA in Creative Writing and the MA in Publishing programs at Rosemont College and was a founding partner of Philadelphia Stories. Her debut novel, MORE STRANGE THAN TRUE (Sagging Meniscus Press) was recently named to Reactor’s Can’t Miss Indie Speculative Books for Spring. Find out more at C.J. Spataro.