Chapter 1

Tuatha Dé Danann, Elves, Fae, fair folk, fairies—I used to believe in them. All those fluffy cotton candy stories they feed little girls. They sounded magical and wonderful, with wings fluttering around, waving their wands and making dreams come true. Absolute lies! Every story you’ve ever heard about a fairy is a lie. They do have magic, but they’re not magical. They are every bit as evil, conniving, manipulative, and barbaric as humans. They hide it behind a beautiful face and pointy ears. The Fae live for power and conquest. Greed rules them; it’s in their veins. Their uncontrolled vanity is really what started all of this.
No human has ever become a Fae. No Fae has ever become human. We are two different races, incompatible, or so I’d been led to believe. I should back up and start from the beginning.
This is how all fairy tales start.
Once upon a time, there was a girl… I’m the girl, and my name is Sarah.
It was Tuesday. I remember it was Tuesday because I always go to youth group on Tuesdays. It was a chance for me to hang out with my friends, and play sports and games. I love games, any game. I love to compete, to win. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about my parents giving me a hard time if I stayed out late. I was supposed to leave youth group before ten and be home by ten-thirty. The walk home from church didn’t take long, but I took my time about it.
Sometimes, my friends would walk with me. That’s when I had friends. I lost my friends. I’m not an asshole. They didn’t stop being my friends because they hated me; they’re just dead. Lots of people died.
*****
The sun was fading from the sky. It was summer twilight, that time when it didn’t get dark till ten o’clock at night. I’d left church a little later than I had intended, and I walked home in the growing gloom. The last few wisps of sunlight disappeared. Off to the side, I caught the edge of a man-shaped shadow dash away into the darkness. The only sound to follow the deepening shadows was the neigh of a horse.
I shook my head. That’s silly! Horses don’t live in the burbs. The echo of hooves clapping on cement rang down the side road. A moment later, a loud crack cut the air and a round, flat, dark objects appeared in the sky. Beings rode on them like it was straight out of a comic book. They appeared tall and well-built with long, white hair.
I stood transfixed by a sound in the background; not a sound, a song. Three blocks down the street, one of these things landed. Twenty beings jumped off, and from a distance, they looked human. The longer I stared, the more differences I picked out—the willowy gait of their walk, the lightness of a jump, or the floating quality of a step all done silently except for the singing.
An inhuman song emanated from their lips, and the descending darkness increased the luminescence of their skin. My body stood locked in fascination.
One of them raised his arm and brandished a long thin object from behind his back. Light from a streetlamp flashed off an edge. There was only one thing that shone with such clarity—steel.
He was carrying a sword. I mean, it was 2020, for god’s sake. People didn’t run around with swords. Whoever he was, his menacing presence held me, bound in rapt attention. The volume of the singing increased, along with the beating of my heart. The sound held my body and mind frozen. Then he turned away, freeing me from my trance.