“Exchange students?” repeated Jack, with a heavy sigh.
“Like I said, the Queen got blamed for the changelings. According to popular belief, she desired kids to mother. She never let circumstances stand in her way. So, when the maternal instincts overcame her good judgment, she stole away some poor mortal child and replaced him with a changeling. Then, when the urge left her, we were switched back.”
Simon chuckled. “Life was hectic but entertaining. You envisioned me and my kind as good-natured pranksters. And, so that’s how we acted. Though there were a few of us not so pleasant. The dark side of the dream if you catch my meaning.”
“Pickman’s Model,” said Jack, without thinking. “In the story, the narrator described a group of paintings dealing with the offspring of ghouls replacing normal children in a Puritan family. They all sounded pretty ghastly.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Lovecraft got it right. I’m not sure what Merlin told you, but we supernaturals are true reflections of the dual nature of humanity. Among us can be found both good and evil entities. And all possible shades between the two.”
He smiled. “Most faeries fall into that middle ground. We’re neutral unless forced to take sides. Usually, when provoked we stand with humanity. Though most people find that hard to believe. They confuse mischief with deviltry.
“Even changelings have their purposes. If I drove my foster-parents to drink, it was for a purpose.” He laughed. “An obscure purpose at times, I will admit. But for their own good, nonetheless. You have the word of Simon Goodfellow on that.”
“Goodfellow?” said Jack. “The name rings…”
“Robin,” replied Simon. “My cousin of sorts. He’s the famous one. Nicknamed Puck by Willy Shakespeare.”
“Willy?” asked Jack, but Simon was continuing with his story.
“Times changed and so did we. Like all supernatural beings, we evolved with the changes in civilization. It’s our nature to adapt. Take the King and Queen of Faeries, for example. A few years back, they moved to Las Vegas and opened up one of those quickie honeymoon chapel and hotel combos. I got a Christmas card from them last winter.
“From what I hear from my cousins, the Queen is still quite a looker. Now, though, she blends right in with the local scenery. Half the tourists in town think she’s a retired hooker or porn queen. Word is that she and Oberon plan to write a sex manual. Probably title it A Thousand Years of Pleasure. Boy, that would be a book hot enough to scorch your fingers.”
“Exchange students,” said Jack.
“Oh, sure. There’s not much room for changelings in the modern world. We’re impostors by definition. More than that, our basic nature dictates that we have to be disruptive and annoying as well. Which makes us less than welcome wherever we go.
“For a time, I played the role of the long-lost relative. That was fun, though repetitive. After a while, it was like living in one of those 1940’s screwball comedies. Maybe you’ve seen a few? They’re the ones where the husband everyone thought dead turns up the day of his wife’s remarriage?”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Fortunately, we supernaturals are hard to kill. Otherwise, the two of us wouldn’t be talking tonight. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and electrocuted more times than I like to remember. It was a lot worse, a lot worse, when I assumed the role of the long-lost heir who turns up the morning the will is scheduled to be read. Wow! Talk about imaginative ways to eliminate people.”
“Then posing as an exchange student…?” began Jack.
“…is just another variation on the theme,” said Simon, completing the thought. “Among us faeries, it’s called the ‘know-it-all gambit.’
“Each year, I transfer to another university. Using a magical interface, it’s easy to fool the school computers into accepting my phony credentials. Ditto for issuing me thousands of dollars in credit for room, board and tuition. Fortunately, nobody in the admissions office ever bothers doing background checks on foreign exchange students.”
“This ‘know-it-all’ role also explains your smug, superior attitude, I take it?” asked Jack.
“You got it, Jack,” said Simon. “It’s my duty to get on everyone’s nerves. I’m here to shake things up a little bit on campus. People need an obnoxious, ‘too-damned-smart-for-his-own-good’ character to despise. It’s healthy for the soul. Or so I’ve been told, since I don’t have one.”
“What about your popularity with the fair sex?” asked Jack. “I don’t remember that being covered in any stories about changelings I read.”
“Titania and Oberon aren’t the only ones with lust in their hearts, Jack,” said Simon, his grin widening. “I can’t help it if you humans created me with a surplus of roguish charm. And a wild streak that prompts me to use it whenever possible.”
The changeling paused, the smile disappearing from his face. “I’ve answered all your questions. Each and every one. It seems only fair to me that you do the same.”
Simon shook his head. “Rose-colored contacts and Merlin the Magician? The implications of that combination worry me. Actually, they scare the hell out of me. What’s going on, Jack?”
Jack told him.
8
“Hand me another beer, would you?” asked Simon a half-hour later. The changeling gulped down the contents of the bottle with one swallow. It was his fifth, and as far as Jack could tell, the beer had not affected the supernatural being in the least. Jack suspected it would take a tremendous amount of alcohol to dent Simon’s inhuman metabolism. A lot more than he had in his refrigerator.
With a loud burp, the changeling handed Jack back the empty bottle. After Jack’s summary of the day’s events, they had retired to his nearby apartment to puzzle out the complexities of the situation. Simon looked ready to cry. Or burrow under the cushions of the sofa and hide.
Jack’s apartment consisted of a parlor, tiny dining room and kitchenette combination, and a bedroom. A short, narrow corridor linked the rooms. Right in its middle was the door leading to the building hallway. At present, man and changeling sat on a battered old blue sofa situated in the center of the living room.
“You want to explain to me why you’re trying to drink yourself into a stupor?” asked Jack. “Things can’t be that bad.”
“They can’t?” retorted Simon. Rising to his feet, he stalked over to the icebox and retrieved another beer. Hooking the cap between his teeth, he twisted his jaw sharply, pulling the metal cleanly off the glass. “Wanna bet?”
“Would you care to be more specific?” said Jack, opening his bottle of beer with an opener. He had a feeling that he was going to need a drink. Probably several. “I’m not very good at reading minds.”
Simon shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack. You’re a nice guy and a really good math teacher. Unfortunately, neither of those traits strike me as qualifications for a champion of humanity. No offense, but you’re not the hero type. I mean, I knew St. George, Professor Collins, and you’re no St. George. His accountant maybe, but no dragon slayer. You catch my drift?”
“But Merlin said I was the only one who could save the world,” said Jack defensively. “Right before he was kidnapped he told me that straight out.”
“Then,” said Simon somberly, draining his beer bottle and handing it to Jack, “the world is in deep, deep trouble. Assuming of course that the old geezer hasn’t lost a few screws in this prediction business.”
The changeling’s tone brightened noticeably. “What do you think? Any chance the famous wizard might have bitten off more than he could swallow? Maybe we’re worrying about nothing.”