Lime made a rude gesture from her native island. “I don’t know what that means,” said Erskine. “Does that mean ‘No’?”
“Very astute,” said Lime. “Excellent guesswork.”
“All the times I’ve been caught by fairies in the past,” said Erskine, “I gave them something, and they let me go. So I assumed that’s how these sort of situations normally play out.”
“Well, you assumed wrong,” said Lime.
“It doesn’t have to be a complicated wish,” Erskine insisted. “Just reviving my convolvulus plant would be enough. Or, if you wanted, you could lend me a spell. Like an invisibility spell, something easy.”
“Do you ever, ever stop talking?” said Lime. “You’re interrupting my reading.” She opened her novel and turned her back.
Erskine remained quiet as Lime read: suspiciously quiet, in fact. After a certain point, Lime couldn’t stand it. She had to know what they were up to. She glanced over her shoulder.
Erskine had curled up with their paperback novel and was reading peacefully. They glanced over the top of the book and caught Lime’s eye. “Would you like to know what I’m reading?” they asked.
“I already know what you’re reading,” said Lime.
“Because you were peeping at me through the window?” said Erskine.
“N-no!” said Lime. Erskine smiled.
For the rest of the evening, the two read in silence. Eventually, Erskine said goodnight, asked Lime one last time if she would like something to eat (she refused), and went to bed.
Lime waited until she was certain the human had fallen asleep, then did what any reasonable fairy would do in her circumstances: she phased through the salt-shaker and explored her new surroundings. The Law forbid a rightful prisoner from escaping her bonds, but only if she were caught escaping. To slip one’s prison unnoticed, then return unnoticed: that much was permitted. Lime wouldn’t let the human to take her off-guard a second time.
She circled the darkened room, observing the well-worn sofa with its faded green cushions; the electric lamp; the rickety particleboard tables. A tall case housed neat rows of books, old and new, in every genre from novels to encyclopedias to do-it-yourself guides on lock-picking and astral travel. Most were ordinary human books, but not all. There were a few fairy histories among them, and a book of elfish folktales, and a runic dictionary. Among the books sat seashells, slivers of petrified wood, stones carved in strange languages, and similar trinkets. Lime could only assume they were mementos of adventures past.
Interested despite herself, Lime examined the rows of books, noting a few titles she had read already, and others she would like to read, given the chance. She fluttered down the hallway, peeking her head into a storage closet full of towels; into the bedroom where Erskine lay face-down in a pillow, fast asleep. At the foot of the bed sat a bulging, briny-smelling bundle wrapped in an old sheet: the hippocamp’s skin, presumably. An old chair supported a thriving colony of potted philodendrons; tiny bromeliads and cacti sprouted from jars of soil.
In the bedroom, there were even more books piled on shelves, stacked on the carpet, and wedged between plants. Lime felt a twinge of avarice. She saw the names of unfamiliar authors and titles of sequels she hadn’t known existed, fascinating covers and enticing summaries. She couldn’t restrain herself. She skimmed jacket flaps and rustled through pages. Surely, Erskine wouldn’t notice if one or two went missing?
There was a tap at the window, and Lime’s heart nearly popped. “Loner?” called a familiar voice. “Hey, Loner—is that you?”
Shaking the nervous sparks from her dress, Lime flew to the window and parted the blinds. A blue face beamed at her.
“It is you!” said Slugsy.
“Shut up,” hissed Lime. “The human is right there.” Slugsy nodded, and gestured for Lime to come outside. Lime phased partway through the glass, just far enough to stick her head through the window.
“What are you still doing here?” Slugsy whispered. “Did Erskine turn down your wish?”
“I’m not giving them a wish,” said Lime. “And you’ve got a lot of nerve, coming here.”
“Huh?” said Slugsy. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” said Lime. “You tricked me! You didn’t tell me the human could see us. You knew I’d get caught.”
“I figured Pipsqueak had told you,” said Slugsy. “I didn’t know he was playing a prank.”
“Liar!” said Lime. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t anyone in these woods just leave me alone!” She was practically yelling. Her throat flashed green and golden as her venom glands flared. “Why did I ever, ever leave the Library? Why did I trust either of you? I—”
Erskine let out a soft, wordless cry. Fabric rustled. Lime clapped a hand over her mouth and froze, too terrified to even think.
“Come on, dummy—hide!” said Slugsy, grabbing hold of Lime’s wrist and dragging her through the window. The two fairies huddled in a rose bush, ears pricked and antennae twitching.
“Did they wake up?” said Lime.
“Go check,” said Slugsy.
“You check,” demanded Lime.
“I can’t go in there,” said Slugsy. “I wasn’t invited.”
Reluctantly, Lime phased through the window. Inside, the bed lay empty. Erskine had disappeared.
Lime sped down the hallway, cursing. She found Erskine in the living room, mere feet from the empty salt-shaker.
“I can explain!” said Lime, but Erskine ignored her and walked into the kitchen. Utterly bewildered, Lime flew after. She circled around to the human’s face. Their eyes were still closed, and their mouth was fixed in a dreamy smile.
Fumbling sightlessly through the cabinets, Erskine snatched a bottle of black vinegar, unscrewed the top, and upended the contents over their head. They grabbed handfuls of salt and brown sugar, rubbing it into their skin, smearing it onto their face. Lime realized this was more than mere sleepwalking. “Wake up!” she cried. “Snap out of it!” She tugged at Erskine’s hair and pinched their ears, to no avail. Erskine opened the front door and strode barefoot into the woods.
“What’s going on?” said Slugsy, darting to Lime’s side. “Is the human ensorcelled?”
“They must be,” said Lime. “I keep telling and telling them to stop, and they "won’t listen.”
“But why are you following them?” said Slugsy.
“What do you mean, why am I following them?” said Lime. “I can’t just let them wander off and get killed by who-knows-what!”
“Why not?” said Slugsy. “If they die, you can go free, right?
“I’m not saying I want them to die,” she added quickly, seeing the look on Lime’s face. “Erskine’s pretty okay, as far as humans go. It’s just…”
“Are you going to help, or are you going to leave?” snapped Lime.
“Help how?” said Slugsy. “What are either of us supposed to do?” All the same, she remained at Lime’s side.
The two followed Erskine through the woods, to the banks of a muddy river. Atop the water sat an exquisite white harp of curious design, its strings quivering soundlessly, strummed by some invisible force. As Erskine approached, the harp pitched upward and an immense body emerged from the mud: a serpent with the head of a mare, and a white harp for a mane.
The horse-serpent, the hippocamp, flowed onto the bank in a wave of sea-grey scales and encircled her great coils around Erskine, who stood there bespelled and helpless. Her mouth split open, gaping from ear to ear. White fangs unfurled.