Corks pulls on my hair to wake me. I am tired, yesterday lasted too long.

“Go away. Need more sleep.” I mumble into my pillow.

He doesn’t.

“If I am your treasure why pull my hair?” I continue to reason with the little guy, still talking into the pillow and hoping he will go away.

“Treasure lazy. Sleep-in plenty. Big day, big night. Up.” He chirps happily at me.

Surprised I ask, “What about tonight?”

His answer sucks, “Later with coven will tell. Now move, move.”

Groaning I get up to dress and find different clothing waiting for me. Not only clothing but a tall woman in a long green dress with gold Celtic patterns woven throughout the garment. Parts of the hem fall in tatters, very different from the rest of the garment. Her golden-white hair looks as delicate as a spider’s web. Her skin is an unusual pale white, but it is her face that is fascinating.

How can a woman look beautiful, scary and kind?

With a slight bow of the woman’s head she speaks. “My name is Corrigan and I will see to your proper attire.”

Propper attire? Holy crap, this is etiquette school all over again.

I ask, “Is there a reason I need help picking out my clothes?”

She stares at me not saying a word for many seconds. I notice the gold of her eyes while waiting for her answer. “The position of your father and grandfather.” Is her simple answer, looking like she doesn’t understand the need to ask.

I continue my questioning, not caring if she understands the reasoning. “Who sent you?”

Like Tamyson, she doesn’t blink or give indications of her thoughts. “You require the help, I am here.” And Corrigan turns to pull out clothing.

Curious I walk the few steps to the table as she lays out clothing.

“It is interesting the ideas humans have about Elven clothing.” She murmurs.

“How did you find that out?” I ask.

Corrigan puts on a self-satisfied smirk on her face, “Males. They haven’t changed. A pretty face, a little ‘help’ and they give you everything.”

Scared I ask, “Are they still alive?”

Now Corrigan looks irritated, “Yes, I did not drain them of all their blood. Just a little sip.”

Great... only a little blood.

“Exactly what kind of fae are you?” I ask.

“I am a Glastig, a water fearie.” She answers.

“Oh,” I said and realize that is a stupid reply and I do not understand what a Glastig is.

Looking at the clothes is a little intimidating. “Are you sure this is necessary?” I ask again.

Stopping and staring at me in that fae strange stillness and silence Corrigan answers, “Your clothing places your ranking in the court. You represent the fae in this region. You and your coven will reflect the ideas, expectations and quality that only the fae can bring.”

I represent the fae of the area?

Then I smile, “Jadis and Circe are going through the same thing?” With her affirmative nod I feel better. Can’t wait to see how they look.

I end up dressed in an outfit I would love for Halloween, but not every day. It is beautiful and feels great. I know how to wear expensive clothes, but grandmother is conservative, and this outfit didn’t check the conservative box.

Instead of slits on each side of the skirt they cut the material out, exposing both my legs to the bottom of my thighs. The top hugs my body and stops at the tops of my breasts. The sleeves attach at the side of the corset and hang around my upper arms. Their only purpose is decoration. Corrigan adds soft suede knee-high sandals and braids my hair away from my face. Standing, Corrigan moves me to the mirror and as I look at myself she adds a decorative circlet around my forehead with small delicate chains sweeping back along my hair.

I gasp at my image. My new Elven features standout; almond-shaped eyes tilted up at the corners, small tips at the ends of my ears and my olive skin color is lighter. The material of the dress is blue, gold and silver. My features were nice prior to the transformation, but now I have a delicate look. A strange delicate look.

My features fit my new life... strange and exotic.

Leaving my room I find Circe and Jadis waiting for me.

“Holy crap,” is all I say.

Jadis looks undecided about her clothing while, Circe preens like a cat.

Clearing my throat I tell Circe, “You look like a sex goddess... a scary sex goddess.”

Circe wears a body suit that laces up the front. The sides ride high above her hips, exposing most all of them, while sleeves fall off the shoulder and conform to her arms with laces holding them tight. A choker graces Circe’s throat with chains attaching to the top of her bodysuit. They highlight the expanse of exposed breasts. At the very bottom of her exposed hips hangs a skirt. It hangs low enough to expose the creamy white skin. The skirt opens in the front displaying a thigh-high laced shoe strapped to the bottom of the bodysuit, like a garter belt. She wears a circlet around her forehead. The entire outfit is in green, gold and black.

Beaming and running her hands down the sides of her body Circe purrs, “I love it.”

“You look like an evil sorcerous for a movie.” Is my only reply.

I move my gaze to Jadis, “And you look like the good witch.”

Jadis’s uncertain look grabs mine, “I love it, but I do not think it is appropriate for the Oregon weather, none of our outfits are good for this weather.”

Corrigan breaks into our conversation, “Gwen’s fae heritage protects her from cold and heat. We spelled your materials to protect the coven from weather.”

Looking at Jadis I tell her, “It’s gorgeous. Like Disney princess and a good witch mixed.”

Pastel material wraps Jadis’s upper body. Peek-a-boo cutouts expose her waist, abs, and tops of her breasts. The skirt of the dress are panels of shear material. Separating to top for the skirt are solid panels of pastel material hugging her hips. The dress hints of a Valkyrie. Wing like accessories wrap the hips and surround the breasts. Jadis wears matching sandals and a circlet around her forehead.

Corrigan nods her head at us and leaves the cottage. Behind her fly small winged pixies.

I ask, “Where did the pixies come from?”

“They helped us dress.” Jadis and Circe explain.

Jadis reminds us of the time, “It is lunch. Lets eat and figure out what is going on. It would have been nice if Corrigan had stayed to explain the clothing.”

While we gather food and tea, I explain what Corrigan told me about the clothes.

Cork appears next to my plate and picks through my food and dips his beak into my teacup, sipping as he eats.

Remembering what he said earlier I ask, “Cork, why is tonight important?”

Cork stops munching on bread, letting crumbles fall and explains, “Tonight ask Fearie to come. Make place for fae, make place for treasure.” He goes back to eating.

Tamyson arrives at our cottage and without knocking enters. “It is time to prepare for tonight.”

I ask, “Can you explain more about tonight?”

With a nod of his head, “Today is Mabon. It is special to witches and wizards. It acknowledges the dark, it is time to feast and this is the perfect night to open yourselves to the fae and ask it to you. We will ask for a hollow hill, a sithen, or a form a fearie to form for our needs. Tonight we establish Gwen’s court. If Fearie answers, this is our power base. This is protection from outside forces.”

Looking at my grandfather in his Phooka form with the long horns and white eyes I have to wonder what we are inviting to us. But, I know that Tamyson wants us stronger and I believe that we need this.

Circe asks, “What do we need to do?”

Tamyson nods his head and directs us outside. “Take each other’s hand, while I lead you through the Fearie of old. Cork will protect the rear of our line.” And appearing in his protector form, he grabs Jadis’s hand.

We end up in a line starting with Tamyson, then myself holding Circe’s hand and then Jadis with Cork at the end.

Tamyson continues, “Do not let go, watch and see Fearie for what it is.”

Circe exclaims, “This will be so cool,” as we follow Tamyson between.

We stand on a dark and dank bank of a bog. Frogs crock and hop around our feet. The gnarled trees have black moss hanging low to the ground. These trees grow from small islands of muddy moss covered islands dotted throughout the bog.

As Tamyson leads us through the area on semi-dry paths, I see strange creatures. A winged girl with the legs of a frog squats on a huge toad stool smiling at us before she launches herself in to the water. A gnarled tree twist its trunk around to peek at us from under one of its branches. With a sucking sound, we watch as the tree’s roots pull from the mud and the tree moves towards us slowly. I can see the hungry look in its wooden eyes. Tamyson keeps us moving.

Walking out of the bog and into a still dark forest we see the winged fae playing in flowers and around toad stools. There are many without wings. All are naked and thin. Unbelievable thin. They have human shapes but foreign at the same time. Some stand at 6 inches while others stand at 5 feet. As the winged ones approach my face I see greed, hunger and a playfulness. Not a combination I understand.

One stands out. Her skin matches the dusky background, making it hard to distinguish all her features. Her ears are very long, with pointed ends and stick out and backwards from her head. Wide eyes and check bones taper around large full lips into a small chin. Flowers, small insects and bugs swarm around her body. Tiny fae lie curled on her shoulders. The fearie is covered in such a way that she looks like her body is exuding from the forests edge. Her naked body steps out of the brush and trees observing our passage. She stands there in her naked beauty. Foreign, scary beauty.

Walking towards a stream, hunched old women in tattered dresses wash clothes against the large rocks. One reaches into the water and pulls a human man’s arm out with his body slowly following. As she lifts his body towards her, she leans over the wrist and drinks. Having her fill, she passes the floating body to the next washer woman. Blood runs down their faces as they partake in the human’s blood and flesh.

I gag and I hear Jadis and Circe do the same. I can’t release my hands to cover my mouth or eyes because of Tamyson’s warning. Thankfully, he moves us along.

Our next step between leads to the outside of a grass-covered mound. It has a small door leading in. There is no way that we, let alone Tamyson, can fit through the small opening. Bending his 7 foot body in half, Tamyson reaches out and with two fingers gingerly pulls the door open.

The door grows in height as he pulls it open. Tamyson stands upright as the door grows. Walking inside is a complete shock.

At one end of a long table a king with lords and ladies to either side are feasting. I see a shimmer around our group as we step inside. We walk around the huge festival of Fae. In front of the feasting nobility an assortment of fae sing, dance and play instruments. It is a mishmash of strangeness.

The little folk wear a riot of colors, looking like court jesters. Jugglers interweave themselves between the dancers. One fae plays a set of reed pipes, while dancing on cloven hooves. He has the legs of a goat but his upper body looks like a mans. Everyone is merry and throwing back drinks.

We can’t hear anything. Looking at Tamyson I ask in a whisper, “Why are we surrounded by sparkles and why can’t we hear anything?”

Tamyson continues leading around the room and answers, “We are in the old country and this is our king in a hollow hill. They are moving at a different time frame, I aligned ours with this time frame and am keeping the fearie magic away. Your coven mates might decide never to leave this place once they hear the music and taste the wine. A night here might be ten of your years.”

As we head to leave the king looks me directly in the eye and nods his head. I nod mine back... I mean that’s the only courteous thing to do... right?

Holy flip, the king acknowledged my presence.

Once outside, Tamyson closed the door. We watch it shrink as the door closes. When he stands upright again, the door stands its original one foot.

Our next step between bring us back to our cottage. The sun is setting; the light is dim with the typical misty Oregon weather. Fae are everywhere caring items from the cottage, making a line disappearing into the forest.