William knew his faerie myths and he knew them well. His parents had never questioned why specifically these so entranced him -- hyperfixation, the therapist had said -- and, thus, they let it be. But he knew the answer as to why. They weren’t myths. The raven-and-bone, stardust-and-silence girl in his guest bed proved that much.

If he were a fool, he would have called her beautiful. As he saw her again in his mind’s eye, all of her features conspired to create a concoction of wild, stay-on-the-path danger, and ethereal, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allure. When most people heard the word ethereal, they would have thought of white, chiffon things, of angels and wishes and wisps.

But there she was, and she was shadow. Black-silk locks with the shade and sheen of ravens’ wings, ghost-pale and pointed face, freckles dusted like stardust across her cheeks. A lace of scars crept up her collarbone from beneath the sleeveless tunic she wore, olive suede pockmarked with cuts, perhaps from arrows or blades or claws. The tunic draped down to her hips, an athlete’s form, lithe and ready to leap and run. He had not dared to question what was packed into the pockets of her pants, a touch of ordinary among everything else -- cargo pants, ripped across the knees. Her clothing still bore a crust of dried blood, but with her skin clean and hair combed, something within himself had shifted. It was a simple sense, just one second changing to another. She stopped looking dangerous and started looking... pretty.

For a length of time that he could not specify, William had stood halfway slumped against the wall. He was mere inches from the door and perched upon one of the few non-creaking places on the floor, certain that she would hear him if he took one wrong step. Retrieving the first aid kit now would bring disaster. It would just have to wait, for that was how things went with the fae. With her injury, she couldn’t have physically hurt him, but he was still at the mercy of far worse things than a beating. Far more permanent things.

A chill skittered across his skin, perhaps from the cold air, and perhaps from unease, which lurched about the corners of his consciousness like a lame beast, snapping at hapless thoughts that wandered too close. They morphed into a story: he’d make a mistake and anger her. Then, he’d hear pan-pipes and drums, always, even as he slept. And then, one day, he’d wake up with pointed ears and an almost-Irish accent just like hers.

Reality jolted into place when his phone buzzed. Blinking away his waking nightmares, William slid it into his hand and scowled when it kept buzzing. Thomas’ name appeared across the screen, and with a huff, he accepted the call. Besides his mother and father, it seemed that nobody else who knew William would dare call instead of texting.

Even so, he couldn’t keep the snap out of his voice. “What?”

Thomas’ response was immediate; rushing conversations and activity filled the background. “Really, Will, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Ever so slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, and inched to the other side of the hall, where, thanks to it being the center of the house, the floor had settled.

“I’ve known you long enough to know that’s a load of bull.”

Free hand upon the wall for support, he stood. “It’s not bull. There’s a first time for everything.”

“You’re trying to tell me to shut up without saying the words ‘shut up’.”

“No, I’m not. Don’t worry about it.”

“Will...” Thomas’ words trailed off, and he heaved a sigh. “That phrase never fails to make me worry more. You forgot our Skype call again.”

The beginning of a headache pulsed behind his temple. “I’m busy with that assignment.” When he received no answer, he added, “My botany report.”

“I’m not... I’m not sure that’s the truth. Did something happen?”

Without meaning to, guided by some force beyond the realm of control, he glanced to the guest bedroom door. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay... I’m going to be nearby soon. This Tesco’s muffin selection is awful. I’m going to yours.”

The unease-beast lumbered into the middle of his mind, and William half-expected to hear it laugh. “Thomas...”

“I could stop by, if you want --”

“No!” He’d said it too quickly, with too much force. The ensuing silence made him wince.

As the possibility of Thomas finding the girl was almost overwhelming, his friend relented. “Alright. Alright, just promise we can talk in the next... two days?”

“Fine. Two days.” His reply came out subdued, followed by a slow exhale, and the bubbling mix of dread and frustration stilled. “One more thing.”

“What is it?”

“If... if I’m busier than normal, or distracted, I’m still fine. It’s not a big deal.”

There came another silence and another wave of anxiety to make his stomach turn.

“Will, if something’s happened --” William hung up, left alone with his lies.