Lime caught a glimpse of amber light among the trees. She heard the trill of a fairy’s laugh. Her heart thudded in her chest. “If you don’t let me out,” she bluffed, “I’ll put a curse on you! I-I’ll turn you to stone! I’ll give you the pox and the palpitations and the red-hot feet! Let me go right now or you’ll pay, I swear!”
“I won’t,” said Erskine. “And you’re not going to curse anyone. You’ve done me wrong by killing my plant, and I’ve caught you, so you’re obligated to be my prisoner for sixty lunar cycles, AKA five years. I know the Law.”
Lime stared at Erskine, for the moment speechless with rage. “And how,” she said, finally, “do you, a human, know about the Law?”
“I have my ways,” said Erskine with a smirk. “But don’t worry. I’ll let you go right now if you grant me a wish.”
“I’d rather die!” spat Lime. “I’d rather stay in this salt-shaker for a hundred years! A million!”
“Really?” said Erskine. “Because I wasn’t going to ask for much.”
“Either let me go or don’t,” said Lime. “But I’m never going to grant you a wish. Never! Do your worst: torture me or snip my wings. I don’t care!”
“Geez, I’m not going to hurt you,” said Erskine. They drew Lime and the salt-shaker inside, and closed the window. “You’re really not going to grant me a wish?”
“Never and not for anything,” said Lime.
“Fine.” Erskine climbed down from the kitchen counter and sat Lime beside the sink. “Then I’ll just keep you here until you change your mind.”
“You’ll be keeping me for sixty months,” said Lime, “because I’m not changing my mind.”
“We’ll see,” said Erskine. “Anyway, who’s that yellow-orange fairy outside? Are they your friend?”
“He’s not my friend,” said Lime. “I have no friends.”
At the edge of the forest, Pipsqueak capered from branch to branch, squealing with laughter. “The other fairies haven’t been bullying you, have they?” said Erskine.
“Don’t patronize me, human!” said Lime. “I’m not some mewling little infant. No one bullies me!”
“Do you want me to run him off?” asked Erskine. “I can go throw a rock at him.”
“Just shut up, shut up, shut up!” wailed Lime. Sparks cascaded down her back. “I might be your prisoner, but that doesn’t mean I have to listen to you blather on and on!”
“It kind of does,” said Erskine, drawing the blinds, “but point taken. I’ll leave you alone for a while and make dinner, okay?”
Lime simply glared.
“Oh, but before I do,” said Erskine, “did you want anything to eat? I have honey and maple syrup and I think some leftover molasses.”
“I refuse,” said Lime. “Weren’t you going to leave me alone?”
“Alright,” said Erskine. “Just let me know if you change your mind. Not only about the wish, but about the food, I mean.” They busied themself in the kitchen, and for a little while at least, left Lime to her thoughts.
Lime huddled at the bottom of the salt-shaker, hating everything: humans and fairies and the whole world and, most of all, herself. She cursed herself for ever trusting Pipsqueak, for being slow enough—stupid enough—to be caught by a human.
Sparking like a firecracker and overwhelmed by anger, Lime felt she would explode if she couldn’t calm herself down. She tried breathing deeply, and when that didn’t work, she enlarged one of the books around her neck and began to read. At first, her eyes slid from the page. She would read the same sentence over and over, only for the words to jumble together and the meaning elude her. However, she pressed on, and began to make slow progress through the novel. The furious sparks dissipated from her body.
She didn’t know how long she had been reading when a shadow fell across the page. “Where’d you get that book?” asked Erskine.
“I’m allowed to have a book,” said Lime. “There’s no Law saying prisoners can’t have one.”
“No, I wasn’t going to take it away,” said Erskine. “I was just wondering if you had summoned it from somewhere, or what.”
“It’s none of your business,” said Lime. “Shouldn’t you be cooking?”
“I already cooked and already ate,” said Erskine. “You must have been really preoccupied not to notice. What book is it? Is it good?”
“That’s none of your business, either!” said Lime. “Why do you care?”
Erskine shrugged. “Just curious. Is it a fairy book? Is it a novel? Do fairies publish many novels? Because if they do, I’ve never had the chance to read one.”
“Fairy novels are written in Vernacular Fey,” said Lime. “You wouldn’t be able to read one even if you had it.”
“I can read Vernacular Fey and Classical Fey,” said Erskine. “They’re not that hard to learn: I mean, they’re both pretty regular, logical languages.”
“You’re a liar,” said Lime in Classical Fey, “and a despicable person.”
“I surely speak the truth,” said Erskine in the same language, “and assure you that my character is of the utmost quality.”
Lime studied the human closely. “Just who are you?” she said. “Some sort of recluse linguist? Why do you know the fairy tongues?”
“Well, I’ve always been interested in non-human peoples,” said Erskine, “and I come across a lot of fairies in my adventures.”
At that last word, Lime nearly dropped her book. “You’re an adventurer?” she yelped.
“Pretty much,” said Erskine.
In Lime’s childhood, her fellow fairies had taught her this lesson: “Humans on the whole are dull and sluggish, but there are three sorts of human you should avoid at all cost. The first are the children, who see and chase. The second are the witches, who grind our wings for potions. The third are the adventurers, who snatch our treasures and bring mayhem in their wake.” Yet how could Lime have known?
“What’s wrong with you?” Lime shrilled. “What are you doing here, acting like a normal person? Reading and pulling weeds and eating—” She glanced down at the pile of soiled dishes in the sink. “Eating whatever this is?”
“It was tofu and eggplant,” said Erskine. “I was thinking of having meat, but I know some fairies get squeamish around meat and didn’t want to offend.”
“I don’t care if you eat meat!” said Lime. “What kind of adventurer just hangs around the house all day?”
“I mean, I have off-days like anyone else,” said Erskine. “And I don’t see why ‘adventurer’ and ‘normal person’ have to be mutually-exclusive. I feel like I’m pretty normal.” They lathered a sponge with soap, releasing a pungent smell of chemicals. “Did you want to hear about my last adventure though? I just got back on Wednesday.”
Taking Lime’s angry silence as assent, they continued. “I took the train down to the semi-aquatic kingdom of Crab’s Cairn, where there’s this hidden shrine…”
Erskine blathered on about their adventure, describing the forgotten shrine with its pillars of olivine and meteoric iron; the domed ceilings inlaid with the bones of fishes; the images of celestial serpents; and the half-submerged labyrinth, rumored to be the lair of hippocamps.
“I found this enormous shed skin, which I’m pretty sure is the skin of a hippocamp,” said Erskine, putting away the last of the clean dishes and carrying Lime to the living room. “If it is, I should be able to portion it out and sell it for a good price.”
“All those jewel-encrusted idols and pillars of rare pallasite, and you pass them up for a bit of snakeskin?” said Lime.
“I’m not going to loot a shrine,” said Erskine, looking a bit offended. “That’s disrespectful.” They plopped onto the sofa and sat Lime on an end table. “Have you decided to give me a wish?”