Page 70 of Hunted By Fae
With only the sink between us, I rest my temple on the upper cabinet of glassware and watch her.
Tesni watches the darkness.
Her mouth moves around a murmur, “Fell through a bridge…”
Again, she’s just repeating words, as though trying to make sense of them, not exactly prompting me to explain.
And I don’t, because her mind is mush right now, and she can only take in so much.
Tesni can only handle so much.
She doesn’t try to throw herself off roofs or drown in liquor and pills when it all gets too much for her. She just… switches off. Something in her brain changes. Her smiles fade, and there is only that hollow gaze of hers left.
I once watched her exist on the couch for five days straight—without speaking a word. No hobbies, no reading, the TV was on, but she didn’t pay much attention to the shows. When I spoke to her, she just looked at me like I wasn’t there. And it was then I first wondered if, hundreds of years before, she would have been considered possessed, or long before that, a changeling—and killed for it.
“So you’re half fae,” she says, unsurely, and turns a frown on me, “and half human.”
I nod before I add, “I’m a halfling—and also a kinta.”
I push off the counter and start for the cabinets. I search for food. The stuff stashed in our backpacks from the Costco raid is better left untouched at least for rainier, darker days than this one.
Ramona’s duffel was left behind.
Tess had the good sense to grab her own from the bike as I unspooled the rope to share between us, to keep us together in the dark, and Emily stayed sharp—she grabbed her own duffel.
We’ll need all of that later.
And it turns out we have plenty of food here in this apartment.
The first cabinet is lined with mugs; the second is stocked full of ingredients, like flour and sugar and salt; but the third, that’s the gold mine.
I snatch the packet of fettucine pasta.
There’s more in there. A lot more.
Plastic packets of penne pasta, spaghetti, even rice. There’s a whole row of jarred sauces, and even some parmesan cheese and tinned tuna flakes and cereals.
We’ll make sure to clear out these shelves before we leave. For now, we use what needs to be cooked, boiled, because out there on the road, moving around all the time, we won’t always have the resources to bring water to a boil.
Tesni’s gaze follows me as I set the packets down on the chopping board, then rummage around for pots.
Tess is quiet, save for the occasional inhale of her cigarette, as I fill the pot, then light the gas stove—but I feel her stare scratching at my cheek.
Click, click, click.
The flames whoosh to life.
I set down the pot then pour all the fettucine into the stagnant water.
“What’s akinta?” she finally asks.
I leave the stove to do its work and hunt through the kitchen for bowls and cutlery.
This is strategy.
The more casual and at-ease I approach this conversation with Tess, the easier she might take it, like giving her space to breathe, but being right here if and when she has questions.
“A halfling born of human and fae,” I tell her. “A child that should be both—but is only human.”
