Another journal

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When Emily had them settled down again, she got Abby to let Janice know where she was. Watching the girl text, Emily shook her head in disbelief.

“There were toys like this, but they were just plastic and coloured lights.”

Abby shrugged. “Tech moves fast, it’s nothing if you grew up with it.”

Emily ran them through what had happened. The other four were full of questions and kept interrupting. Emily had to explain that the Folk didn’t perform magic constantly, that it seemed like they were magic, more or less.

“I wasn’t there to observe, really, so yes Michael, it is possible that there are people I didn’t see who do magic all the time like in your books.” Emily gestured searchingly. “The impression I got was that if you’re immortal you eventually get bored with doing things the easy way.”

When she got to killing the queen, Emily hesitated, looking at the excited faces around her. Could she tell them what she knew about their parents? She’d so far avoided mentioning her theories about the timing of their conceptions. It wouldn’t be fair to let them know they’d probably been brought into the world as little more than a controllable variable in a larger game.

Ian picked up on her unease. “So you had to kill the queen, was it horrible?”

“It was. It’s not—it isn’t something I ever want to do again.”

Tank cocked his head. “Did she have any last words?”

“Yes. She,” Emily swallowed and avoided their eyes. “The queen told me that the people of the court had been her agents, stirring up the civil war. That’s a good part of why they were banished.” When Emily looked up the others had lowered their gazes, staring into empty coffee cups.

“So.” Ian formed his words carefully. “Our parents are all bad guys?”

Emily started to reach out to touch his hand but stopped. She weakly added “and the other people too, Mr. Jacks, Mrs. Hill—”

“What about Mrs. James? She’s always been nice to us.” Abby’s voice held a sharp note of pain. It had stopped being a magical game for them.

“Becky, Mrs. James, had been a scribe or some sort of historical recorder. She knew what was going on but didn’t stop it.”

“And let your parents be killed.” Michaels voice was a whisper.

Emily played with the handle of her cup, feeling helpless. “About five years ago she went to my aunt and confessed everything. Only you guys, my aunt and Becky know that I killed the queen and what she said. And that they can return.”

While they sat silently, Emily finished her story, explaining how she’d figured out how to get back. “And then I slept until just before Ian found me. I guess there’s a meeting tonight.”

“This is so royally fucked.” Tank slapped the table, making the cups and saucers jump. “Guys’ we’ve got to pretend we don’t know any of this until we figure out what to do.”

The rest nodded, then Michael asked what Emily had been hoping no one would. “Do we get to go to the Sidhe too?”

Ian snorted. “Get to? Do we have to? I like it here, fairyland sounds like it’s full of a bunch of assholes.”

“Pretty much.” Janice’s voice scared all of them, lost in their thoughts. She beckoned Emily. “Meeting will be soon, we should go.” She eyed the others with a tired smile. “And please keep all this to yourselves for now, kids.”

They chorused a “Yes Miss Anderson,” and Janice led her niece out of the cafe.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.