Half an hour later, the Clairs were sitting around the kitchen table watching their visitor devour leftover sloppy joes.
For such a scrawny little runt, she can sure put it away, Brendan thought bitterly, watching his alleged girlfriend mopping her plate with a piece of thick white bread. He had no idea how he was going to get her out of the house. She was playing the part of the new girlfriend meeting the parents to a T. One sure way to get into his mother’s good books was to show a healthy appreciation for her cooking. Charlie didn’t demur when offered something to eat and even asked for seconds, making her a superstar in his mum’s eyes. Brendan watched, despairing, as his mother made sure the girl didn’t run out of food. His father was conducting a mild interrogation, but Brendan could tell that he was utterly charmed as well. The only one who looked unconvinced was Delia, who leaned in the doorway watching with intense interest, like a hawk examining a mouse in an open field.
“So how did you meet Brendan? At school?” his dad asked.
“Mais oui.” She stopped chewing long enough to grin at Brendan. “I ’ave just moved to the area, and Brendan was kind enough to show me around.”
Brendan glowered back. What a barefaced liar! he wanted to shout in her face, but instead he just smiled, choking back his anger.
“He hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Dad said. “I would’ve thought he’d want to let everyone know he had a girl as pretty as you.”
“Oh, come on,” Charlie said, blushing.
“I had an inkling something was up.” Mum smiled knowingly. “He was probably just embarrassed.”
Brendan kept a straight face but inside he was seething. He wanted to yell at her, Who are you, really? What are you doing in my family’s house? Get out of here!
Instead, he bit his tongue and listened as his father asked her: “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“Montreal,” she said, finally pushing back her plate. “My father is in banking. ’E was transferred.”
“I’m sure Charlie has to get going,” Brendan said, looking to move her along. He just wanted to get her out of the house before she said something that didn’t ring true for his parents. “I’ll walk you to the streetcar.”
“Brendan.” His mother glared at him. “You’d think you didn’t want us to get to know her. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“So, what are you into?” Brendan’s father asked, offering the girl a chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like music?”
She took a cookie. After popping a piece into her mouth she shrugged. “I like the music, me. I play the guitar and sing. I like busking in the street sometimes.”
“You busk?”^ 30 Brendan’s father’s eyes lit up. He loved performers like himself. “Are you any good?”
“I like to think so.” She grinned at Brendan.
“We have to jam sometime. I’ve tried to interest Brendan in music but it’s really not his thing.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said flatly, annoyed that his father would volunteer personal information.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlie said, with a wink at Brendan. “Brendan ’as a lot of ’idden talents. ’E could surprise you.”
“He already has.” Mum laughed, punching Brendan’s arm lightly. “We had no idea he had a girlfriend.”
“It’s not like that,” Brendan groaned. “We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Then, my son,” Dad said, shaking his head, “that only proves what I’ve thought all along: you’re crazy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Brendan said. “I appreciate your support.”
“I’m just saying,” Mr. Clair laughed. “If I had a girl this cute, I’d be bragging to everybody!”
“Edward,” his mother warned.
“I’m just saying!”
“Brendan,” Charlie said, giggling before he could respond, “I never imagined you ’ad such a nice family.” Brendan could tell this act of hers was working on his parents. They’d been so worried about him since they’d told him he was adopted. Finding a girlfriend would be a good sign that he was a “normal” teenage boy and not suffering some secret pain. Whoever this Faerie named Charles actually was, she was playing his parents like a violin. And that accent! She was really laying it on thick. How could anybody be fooled by it? It was up to Brendan to get her out of the house before she could cause any trouble or expose his secret. Every second she stayed was fraught with disaster.
How am I going to get rid of her? Brendan wondered.
While she chatted amiably with his parents, Brendan had time to study her more closely. She was pale of skin, like him. She had dark hair, but he couldn’t tell if her colour was natural or the result of dyes or even Faerie glamours. Her eyes were violet, lustrous, and deep. Brendan found it hard to tear his eyes from hers when she chose to hold his gaze.
If Brendan had to categorize her appearance, he would have put her in the goth/punk genre. Her hair was streaked with green and held up in a spiky mass by gel or mousse, or perhaps by Faerie means. Several silver earrings studded her ears, and her nose had a ring through one nostril. Tattoos of animals chased each other up and down her arms: stylized boars, stags, eagles, peacocks, serpents, and many others Brendan couldn’t identify. A charm bracelet dripping with skulls, pentacles, and various obscure symbols jingled on her wrist. Her eye makeup, thick black liner and green eyeshadow, hovered somewhere between Egyptian goddess and circus clown.
Brendan decided to go on the offensive. “Charlie, I don’t want to rush you, but my parents have a lot of stuff to do tonight and I have to get up early tomorrow so… ”
“Brendan!” his mother scolded. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“I have a social studies project due the end of the week!”
“Brendan… ” his father began, but Charlie interrupted him.
“Brendan is right, certainement. I ’ave also to be going.” She stood up. “I ’ope I ’aven’t imposed?”
“Never!” Brendan’s dad was on his feet in an instant, taking her hand and grasping it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Clair assured her. “But you have to come back for a proper dinner sometime soon. Not leftovers.”
“If this is the leftover, I don’t want to miss a real meal!” Charlie laughed.
“Where do you live?” Delia said suddenly. She’d been quiet the whole time, watching from the doorway as Charlie worked her magic.
“Pardon?”
“I said,” Delia enunciated slowly and clearly as though she were talking to a child or an idiot. “Where… do… you live?”
“Oh… ” Charlie stumbled for the first time. “I don’t know the city so well. It’s um… in the West End… ”
“Trinity Bellwoods.” Brendan found himself jumping to the rescue. He didn’t know why he was bailing out this interloper, but he saw the look in Delia’s eye. He had a sudden fear that allowing Delia to look too deeply might be just as dangerous for him and his secret as letting Charlie outstay her welcome. “They have a townhouse right on the park.”
Delia narrowed her eyes and nodded. “How nice for you,” she said a little snottily. Without another word, she turned and went up the stairs and didn’t look back.
“Don’t mind our Delia,” Dad said apologetically. “She isn’t big on the social graces.”
Brendan took the opportunity to get Charlie out of the house. “I’ll walk you home.”
He had to make a big show of politely taking her arm as they left his parents standing waving on the porch. As soon as they were around the corner and out of sight, he dropped the facade.
“What’s the big idea?” Brendan spat.
“Such a nice family you ’ave. Even if they are Humans.” She sounded sad. Brendan wondered why. “You’re very lucky to ’ave a family. I think they like me, too.”
“Don’t get too attached to them,” Brendan said flatly. “You won’t be seeing them again.”
“You’ve got a lot to learn about relationships,” Charlie said. “You should’ve dumped me before I met the parents.”
“Just cut it out, will you?”
“You won’t be getting rid of me so easily.” She grinned.
“I don’t want you coming around again,” Brendan snapped. “You have no business coming to my home. The place is off limits to your kind.”
“My kind? And what are you, mon ami? You are just like me. Are you gonna kick yourself out, aussi?”
Brendan pointed an angry finger at her. “And you can cut out the crappy accent, all right? You’re about as Quebecois as I am.”
Charlie quirked the corner of her mouth in a half smile. When she spoke again, all traces of an accent were gone. “Okay. Have it your way. For your information, I am from la belle province. I’m what the French Canadians call a lutin.^ 31 I really did come here from Montreal. Ever been, mon ami? It’s fun. Not like tight-assed Toronto.”^ 32
“No, I’ve never been to Montreal,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind if you just went back there right now. Besides, Toronto is awesome if you get to know it. But never mind. You can cut the girlfriend crap, okay?”
“That’s your fault. If you had made if easier, I wouldn’t have had to resort to drastic measures,” Charlie said heatedly.
“Fine! Tell me then. What are you really doing here?”
Charlie didn’t speak for a moment. They had just entered the park at the foot of Brendan’s street. She spread her arms and took a deep breath. Exhaling in a frigid cloud, she looked up at the sky. “I don’t really like cities. No stars!” She waited for a couple of joggers to pass them on the path before addressing Brendan’s question. “I’m here for the Clan Gathering. As for why I am coming to your house, I just wanted to get a look at the strange Faerie Prince who’d rather live with Humans than with his own kind.”
“Well, you’ve seen me, so get lost!”
“Not so fast.” Charlie smiled, watching the runners huff away into the night. “I kind of like it here. It’s nice to see how the other half lives.”
“You aren’t welcome here,” Brendan growled. “I’m warning you: you’d better stay away or… else.” Brendan clenched his fists and took a step toward her.
She laughed her infuriating laugh. “First of all, I really doubt you could make me do anything. Second, if you try, I’ll tell your parents your little secret. Understand?”
“I’m warning you… ”
She stood up so swiftly that Brendan barely saw her move. “NO! I’m warning you!” She raised her arms.
The tattooed animals on her arms stirred and came to life, one by one. The creatures leapt from her skin, swelling in size as they fell to the ground, growing until they ranged before her, dark, shaggy, and steaming in the cold night air. There was a wild boar with wet nostrils and razor-sharp tusks, its massive shoulders hunching as it leaned toward Brendan. Beside the boar stood a stag, its antlers almost tangling in the branches of a tree overhead. Finally, a bear reared up on its muscular haunches, pawing the air with massive claws. All three of the tattoo creatures were an inky, featureless black.
The animals crowded around Brendan, looming over him and forcing him to backpedal until his back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He felt their moist, hot breath gusting in his face. The most terrifying feature of the beasts was their eyes. They had no pupils or corneas. Their entire orbs glowed a fierce ruby red. Brendan stole a look at Charlie and saw her eyes blazing with the same eerie crimson. She saw him looking at her and smiled. In her arms she held a black animal with a long, sinewy body, short legs, and a pointy, quivering nose. Its eyes were as bright and red as blood.
“Well?” Charlie whispered. “What do you say? Are we going to be friends?” She grinned, baring her teeth. The three shadow creatures leaned closer. “Or not?”
Footsteps sounded on the path.
As quickly as they had grown, the creatures shrank back and scampered up Charlie’s legs, scrabbling and clawing up her clothing and leaping back into her skin like divers into a pool. Her skin rippled before settling into its former solidity. Only the creature in her arms remained, nose twitching. Another lone jogger approached. He saw Brendan pressed against the tree and slowed slightly, asking Charlie, “You all right, miss? Is this guy bothering you?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
The runner nodded and, with a stern look at Brendan, continued into the park.
“What is that?” Brendan whispered. “A weasel?”
“Ferret,” Charlie corrected. “Though he does come from the weasel family. Don’t you, Tweezers?”
The thing blinked once and the red eyes shifted to a more natural yellow, staring at Brendan with obvious suspicion and dislike. The ferret suddenly scuttled up Charlie’s arm and coiled around her neck.
Recovering from his fright, Brendan grunted, “He was asking the wrong person.”
“You’re afraid of little me?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
Charlie shook her head. “Non. I’m here to help you. If you’ll let me.”
Brendan shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. She’d keep hounding him until he let her have her way. He turned his attention to the creature on her shoulders. “Ferret, huh? I guess he’s kinda cute,” he conceded. “If it is a he?”
“Oui, un petit homme,” Charlie said. “His name is Tweezers.” The animal in question chittered loudly as Brendan gently scratched him between the ears. “I think he likes you.”
“I can see that,” Brendan said. “Where did he come from?”
“He comes from me. He’s one of my spirit animals. But I will explain all to you some other time. You should be getting home.” She smiled and started to jog off through the park, stopping after a few steps and looking back at him, her eyes slightly sad. “You have a nice family. You should feel very fortunate.”
“I do.”
She nodded and started off again.
“Where are you staying?” Brendan called.
“Here and there,” came the reply, and then she was gone with a lazy wave of her hand.
Brendan turned and headed for home. When he arrived, he suffered his parents’ prying questions about his new girlfriend. They were far more excited about the prospect than he was comfortable with. At last, he made his retreat to the attic. Brendan threw himself onto the bed, his head filled with the possible disasters that could arise from Charlie hanging around. He had to find a way to get rid of her.
At some point he fell asleep, in spite of his worries. With all the bizarre events of the day, he’d failed once again to talk to Harold and Dmitri.
^ 30 Busking is the art of street performing. In my opinion, busking should be avoided at all costs. If you are a performer, try to perform indoors. First of all, one doesn’t get rained or snowed on. Second, there’s usually a stage or some other sort of platform to perform from. Third, any performer who plays for spare change and the odd half-sandwich from a passerby is not really a performer at all, although I read about an eccentric French pop star who only accepts payment in the form of bacon baguettes.
^ 31 The term lutin is an ancient French name for Fair Folk. The word isn’t used in France anymore, but medieval farmers brought it with them to Eastern Canada when they settled New France. Lutins are reputed to be mischievous and playful, causing minor problems like curdling milk or tipping cows in the night.
^ 32 Toronto does have a reputation for being a little bit stuffy and boring, but only among people who’ve never actually been there.