Page 1 of By the Fae

Chapter 1.

Goldie

I saw vulvas. Everywhere.

Most people would look at the clouds and see animals.Oh, there’s a dolphin. Oh, there’s a slightly longer dolphin.Or faces in the foliage. Eyes peeking out from leaves. Or a bear-shifter in the clothes hanging on the back of a bedroom door at night.

Not me.

I only saw vulvas.

In the bubbles of my morning Elvish chai latte. In the blue floral tile pattern of work’s bathroom flooring. In the peeling paint patch above the microwaves of the twelfth-floor break room. In flowers, in the knots and grain of wood, in the shag of the living room carpet, in the folds of pastries.

Snort. Folds.

And right then, I was staring at one of the biggest vulvas I’d ever seen. On the back of my boss’s head no less, which poked up from behind my two-seater leather sofa in my office, as she play-tested (read scrutinised) my latest project.

It had labia, and inner labia, and even a clit. I shouldn’t touch it.

I should definitely not touch it.

It was only hair. Falling in such a naturally unnatural way. And it was on my boss’s head. My boss who, based on my performance today, would decide my future within this company.

And when it came to work plus matters of sexual . . . happenings, I was already skating on thin ice.

So, I definitely shouldn’t poke the back of my boss’s head, just because it looked like a giant minge. Even if it was only to ruffle her hair and disperse the imagery.

I wedged my hands between my chair and my butt cheeks for the added security.

She paused the game, and slowly, torturously, placed the controller on the table and turned to face me. Her expression too familiar. She didn’t have to say anything. It was the firm set of her jaw, the slight downward tilt to the corners of her mouth, the poker straight line on her brow.

“Goldie,” she said with a sigh.

Might as well start looking for new jobs now. I’d heard Glamour Games were seeking designers.

“It’s wonderfully designed. Beautiful graphics.”

Ah, the old shit sandwich. “But?”

She placed her spectacles back on and patted the couch next to her. “Come, sit. I’m getting neck ache turning around like this.”

There was zero reason for August to wear glasses. All fae had perfect vision, and hearing, and sense of smell, and everything else while we were at it. Our eyesight didn’t fade with age until we were into our second or third millennia, and despite August’s silver hair, there was no way she was that old. Some of the guys at work reckoned our boss was gradually morphing into a human. Others had suggested she was simply trying to better appeal to them by appearing flawed.

In my mind, there wasn’t much to speculate on. August was a humanophile. She was dripping for the humans. Loved them. Everything about them, and their pointlessly short lives.

She even — I shuddered — hired a human four months ago.

Three hundred fae and one human in our building. Fine, not exactly an invasion, yet. But if August got her way, mark my words, she’d have us all replaced with them. With their spectacles, and hearing-aids, and their scars, and body-fat, and suntans, and pimples, and their fucking dungarees. Not that there was anything wrong with any of those things. Except the latter.

Seriously, what kind of invention was dungarees?

Okay, so maybe not all humans wore those jeans-cum-ye-olde-timey-blacksmith-aprons. Just that one contemptible human in particular.

I flopped down on the couch next to August.

“It’s not bad, Goldie. It’s well designed. As always. The graphics are spot on. The interface is clean. The assets are brilliant. Attention to detail, again, wonderful. You have a way of inserting your sense of humour into your work without it being in your face.”

Likely because I don’t have a sense of humour.

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