Page 7 of A Fae in Finance
“Where did you even hear that? Seriously.” He chuckled, shifting in his seat. He’d taken off the suit jacket and I saw the perspiration stains under his arms.
“It’s the only legend they’ve confirmed, actually,” I said. “There’s a New York City Department of Public Health advertisement campaign about it in the subways.”
Had he not seenJust Say No, the campaign they’d enacted when faerie fruit sellers started popping up on street corners? Had he not noticed their slitted pupils and their berries that gleamed golden like little spheres of sunshine?
“I don’t take the subway,” Jeff said, matter-of-factly. Of course he didn’t.
“I’ll grab us takeout,” I said.
“You’ll embarrass our hosts if you do that!” he snapped.
I gulped.
“Don’t bring any food, Miri,” he said. “We need this dinner to go well.”
Jeff stared at me, blue eyes cold like the wind between the buildings in the winter.
“O-okay,” I said, my stomach tight. I just… wouldn’t eat anything. And if Jeff wanted to get himself stuck in Faerie, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I shoved down a wave of nausea and left his office.
At lunchtime I took the elevator downstairs and stood in the courtyard of our building, staring at my phone.
My mom had called me three times that morning. I’d let the calls go to voicemail, keenly aware that her friend Mrs. Phillips’s nephew had just tragically broken up with his fiancée and moved to New York City and this meant that I was about to be conscripted into a blind date.
With a sigh, I called her back. The phone rang once before she picked up. “Good afternoon!” she said, sounding delighted. She always sounded delighted to hear from me.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, ready to derail. “I’m going to my first client dinner tonight.”
“Oh, sweetheart!” she squealed. “Are you excited? What are you going to wear?”
I groaned.
“The black suit,” she said firmly. “And don’t forget makeup.”
I pictured my mom sitting at the kitchen table and playing solitaire on an iPad.
“Do you have shoes?”
“Yes, I have shoes,” I said, scowling into the middle distance. Two young men in suits scurried past me.
“The black pumps?”
“Mom, I think Faerie is on a hill, or under a hill, or something. I’ll wear my sneakers.”
I paused, expecting her to argue.
“I had a dream about this,” my mom said suddenly.
“Witch,” I said, grinning. We’d joked that my mother was a witch for years, even before anyone knew the paranormal existed.
“Miri… be careful,” she said.
I blinked. My mother wasn’t usually this circumspect in her warnings.
“Mom, I’m always careful.” I started toward the little marketplace in the northeastern corner of our building. “I’m going to grab lunch.”
“Miriam”—usually my full name was a bad sign—“it wasn’t a good dream.”
