Another journal

You can find all the sections here.

Like most of the businesses on the three-block main street of the town, the coffee shop was new to Emily. When she’d left it had been a dusty junk shop. Bright paint, high-backed booths and large framed prints from some local artist transformed the space and were the backdrop to the chatter of teens and the whine of an espresso machine.

Julian guided Emily to a booth near the back, where some of the other kids from the court were already seated. He nodded at her reassuringly and went to the counter to order. She tried to guess who each kid was. The girl who slid out so Emily could sit next to the wall had to be Abigail, her red hair was a give away. She was taller than Emily, but she’d always been all legs and arms at seven. Emily sat nervously, unsure what to do with her hands. She’d never been social within her age group and her awkwardness was compounded by facing people she’d known as babies.

One of the boys peered at her through a thick tangle of hair. “It’s you alright, Julian wasn’t being crazy.”

“How did you know already?”

“Ian texted us on your way here, duh.” The other boy rolled his eyes. Emily remembered that Julian—Ian, now—had fiddled with his phone as they walked, Emily trying to look casual while gawking at the town’s changes.

She tilted her head. “Texting. It’s not—it’s new to me, y’know? I’ve been gone awhile.”

“Wait to tell us until Ian gets back.” Abigail shifted on the padded seat to get a better look at Emily. “We might as well make formal introductions while we wait. I’m Abby, you taught me cursive. That,” she pointed at the boy with all the hair, “is Kingston, but because it’s a stupid name we call him Stoney.”

“Only because you hate me.” He grinned at Emily. “I prefer Tank.”

Abby sighed painfully. “Nobody is going to call you that.”

“I will.” Emily looked at her hands. “You nearly blinded me with that catapult before I left.”

“Oh shit, I did.”

“I’m Michael.” The boy sitting across from Emily spoke up. “Not Mike.”

“You always wore that cape I made you.”

Michael blushed. “Yeah.”

Emily felt close to tears. The openness they gave their names was a balm after the Sidhe. Ian returned with drinks. He pulled up a loose chair to the free edge of the table and sat with it turned around, arm draped over the back.

“It’s just a mocha, but they use good chocolate here.”

Emily sipped, composing herself. “Before I start in, I want to know how you even suspected something was weird. And what do you think you know? Do all the kids know?”

The other four exchanged glances and by some silent group decision it was Ian who spoke for them first.

“Well, like, when I was ten I would pretend to be asleep, but actually stayed up reading comics.”

“Or jacking it,” Tank cut in.

Ian fought a blush that threatened to turn his cream-and-coffee skin purple. He bravely continued talking. “So, a lot of times I’d overhear the folks talking. And they were getting angry a lot for awhile and talking trash about Miss Anderson and that they’d wasted everything hedging their bets on ‘that Emily girl.’” He twisted his face, making the patchy moustache contort.

“And I remembered who you were. It was more fun when you were here. After you left, things started to degredate—”

“Degrade.” Abby corrected him automatically.

“And by that time it was getting pretty obvious something was wrong, so I told some of the others.”

“We didn’t believe him at first. I mean we figured this little kid, was just scared about his folks getting a divorce.”

Emily hid a smile with her cup Michael was only a year older than Ian.

“But I kept annoying them about it and finally these three and Dawn agreed to start playing spy too.”

“It was fun at first.” Tank fiddled with his phone idly. “But it got weird. And the whole time they were keeping up that creepy burned lattice thing.”

“Arbour.” Abby looked distracted. “That was the key thing for me. I mean, you take weird shit about your family for granted and then one day you see it fresh and you realise how royally fucked it is.”

Ian spoke quietly. “And they never mentioned you to us after you left. I mean, we were kids, but we weren’t stupid. You liked us and took care of us and then you were gone. But you weren’t dead. They would have talked about you if you were dead.”

“Is it devil worship? Are our parents Satanists?” Michael’s face was deadly serious.

“Omigod, are you a ghost?” Tank got excited, eyes flashing behind his hair. “Have you come for vengeance?”

“Wait.” Emily held up a hand. “I’m a little overwhelmed here. So, you know that something is super weird, but not exactly what, and just you four and Dawn know?”

“Totally. Hannah and Mathilde are still babies,” Ian affected a careless confidence as he drank his coffee. “They’re not even in high school.”

Emily was pretty certain that the girls had guessed, but kept that to herself. “Where’s Dawn?”

Tank waved his phone. “Volleyball practice. But I’m keeping her up to date.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you the deal, but it cannot go outside the court, understand?” Emily pulled out here serious voice and had a moment of satisfaction when the other four reacted automatically with a round of nods. She carefully drank before continuing. “Long story short, your parents are all some kind of fairy folk and I just spent what was only a month to me, winning back their freedom.”

Tank swore vehemently, but not loudly enough to attract the attention of the adults that had begun to filter in for coffee on their drives home.

With a practised toss of her hair, Abby explained. “We had a betting pool. Dawn won. But since her and Stoney are a thing, I bet he owes her more than ten bucks.”

Adding Abby to his cursing, Tank tried to kick her under the table but hit Emily instead.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.