Ace and Half-Smile watched the man approach the House from the kitchen window.
He walked up the pebble path briskly, as if he did this every day, as if he lived in a large black-wood mansion feared by the rest. They waited for his alerting knock on the door. Once. Twice. Then Ace rushed to the entrance to welcome him in. Half-Smile waited in the shadows of the kitchen, as rehearsed.
The first thing that struck Ace was his scent: it reminded her of a freshly watered herb crop, or a tree sapling flourishing beside a roaring waterfall. He was craning his neck toward the roof, admiring the architecture, which allowed Ace a few seconds to take in his appearance properly. He was wearing a grey dress made of dull or dead leaves, hung loosely near his kneecaps. His hair was the untidiest thing she had ever seen; Ace couldn’t tell whether the twigs was a fashion statement, or if he was simply an untidy person.
The leaves on his dress fluttered as he moved in greeting. “Miss Slyspore?”
“Ace,” she put on her best smile and reached to shake a hand.
His grip was firm, his skin rough – not at all as she had expected from the waterfall image. “Grey,” he said.
The shivering leaves in his hair distracted Ace. “I’m sorry?”
“My name. Grey.”
“Oh yes. Mr. Greyleaf.”
“Just Grey is fine.”
It had been a long time since this much social interaction, and Ace was rooted to the spot, unsure of what next to say to this stranger. She had forgotten everything she had rehearsed.
That didn’t matter; without cue, Grey walked into the courtyard, hands clasped together behind his back, eyes sharp in observation. “You own this place?”
“Yes,” Ace replied. She gestured to the symbol on the door. “House of Slyspore.”
Grey paused, letting his gaze fall on her. “Slyspore,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue. Tasting it. “And … zombie?”
“Sorry?”
He pointed to something behind her.
Ace’s heart clenched. There under the kitchen’s doorframe, stood Half-Smile in all his gory glory. There was no concealing him now.
“Err – yes,” Ace began, weighing each word against their guest’s body language. “This is Half-Smile. He’s sort of a co-landlord here.”
Grey’s hands went behind his back again. He looked at Half-Smile across the courtyard. “He’s dead.”
“He – it’s a bit complicated.”
“But he lives here.”
“Rarf,” Half-Smile said in response. He tilted his head, scratched his green scalp, all the while Ace tried her best to avoid direct eye contact with Grey.
Finally, he said: “Where are my rooms?”
“Er – just upstairs. Here, let me take your luggage.” She had just finished her sentence when she saw that Grey had no luggage.
“I travel light,” he said, noticing the question in her silence.
“Of course,” she replied. “First door upstairs. All yours. You’re welcome to join us in the kitchen for meals.”
“Thank you.”
Ace felt Half-Smile’s heavy presence behind her as she watched their new guest make his way up the staircase with the flair of someone attending a formal upper-class function. The grey leaves on his dress grazed over his calves as he did so. She wondered where he had travelled from, and where would he go to from here, and what business brought him here in the first place, and what manner of creature he was.
She burned that train of thought immediately; she couldn’t be a landlord and inquisitive about people at the same time. It wasn’t in the job description, she reminded herself.
In this way, being a landlord was a lot like being a Necromancer.
“Grr?” Half-Smile’s growl was questioning. Did the new guest like his rooms?
“I hope so,” said Ace, returning to the kitchen. “We did do a good job with redecorating.”
Half-Smile’s response imitated her confidence. “Grr.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“And, the great thing is, he paid in advance. We shall have insulation before the next guest arrives.”
As she said so, cold wind blew across the kitchen. Ace frowned at the feeling. The window wasn’t even open. She looked at Half-Smile’s serene expression – well, as serene as a decaying face could look – and wondered if these sudden bouts of cold had anything to do with him.
Morning came. Ace prepared breakfast for two, after a very, very long time. Almost a complete lifetime ago, she remembered cooking for three – sometimes four, and never tired of it.
She found herself in a cheerful mood this morning. Everything was perfect in her mind. The light dribbling into the kitchen; the disquiet House now more homely, knowing her guest had slept well; the recent pay-check setting up the stage for the rest of her renovating plans. Even her fungus garden flourished enough to cater for this breakfast.
The table was set and everything was prepared, there was just one thing left: Grey. She hoped he would join them for breakfast. It was almost 10am already.
Half-Smile waddled in and basked in the sunlight. He set his mismatched eyes upon the food. At the two empty plates.
“I thought it would be nice,” Ace defended, sensing some judgment from the zombie. “Don’t you think?”
He shrugged and lapsed onto his chair.
They waited. Ace scrolled her social media feed. The top story seemed to be the count down to the days left for the CEO of MagiTech’s networth to finally surpass 999 billion Amalgam, making him the first trillionaire on earth. A trillionaire who was also a goblin. Naturally, this aroused discussion amid the political spectrum. Fae and human alike, expressed their disgust or their support.
Her eyes glazed over articles and captions to images. Fifteen minutes passed. Grey did not join them.
“Trarg.”
“I know. And the food’s gone cold.”
The sun disappeared a little overhead the kitchen now, leaving them in shade. Outside, Ace could see the neighbours chatting animatedly, routinely ignoring the House.
“I’m going to check up on him,” Ace decided.
She knocked once to announce her presence. When there was no answer, she knocked again for the sake of it before entering. The room looked like it had hardly been occupied. The bed was still made, the curtains still drawn.
“Mr Greyleaf?” She called into the room. And then remembering his wishes, she said: “Grey?”
“Good morning.”
With his arrival came that icy chill breeze. Ace turned to see Grey standing at the room’s entrance, unchanged from the night before.
“Room service?” He asked.
“Er – yes. Breakfast.”
“Great. I’ll join you.”
In stiff silence, they made their way back to the kitchen. She reheated their meal and set it before Grey.
“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” He remarked.
She sat adjacent to him, noting how his eyes seemed to sparkle like sunlight refracting through trees. “We have a bit of an insulation problem, but I’m getting it fixed soon.”
“I see,” he looked down at his plate. “More mushrooms.”
Ace felt obliged to explain herself. “I’m a fungus faery.”
“That explains the variety of mushrooms growing in the middle of the courtyard.”
“I hope it’s not a bother?”
“Oh no,” he began eating in large spoon-fills, as if illustrating how much it didn’t bother him, “on the contrary, I am fascinated. You live in a haunted mansion with an undead man. You grow mushrooms in an indoor garden. Of course, the obvious next step is to rent out your rooms.”
Ace didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm. But that wasn’t what unnerved her. Something about Grey’s presence, so close to her, triggered alarms in her mind. It was similar to the feeling of entering a forest – surrounded by specimens of a foreign kingdom.
“I don’t mean to insult,” he added. “I’m sure you have a lovely life here.”
“Don’t mind me if I ask about yours.”
A grin raised the edges of his lips. He played with the last few bits of mushroom on his plate as he spoke. “Nothing overly exciting. I’m just here to visit.”
Visit what? This boring neighbourhood? Ace wanted to ask. Instead she opted for the amiable host route. “And how are you finding the area?”
“Fascinating,” he said, and it seemed like he meant it. “Wherever else can I get a warm delicacy like this?” He flicked his bowl with a finger. The resulting clink, the way his hands moved, reminded Ace of something. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. “I doubt other fungus faeries cook as well as you do. This was great.”
“Unfortunately, I’m the last of my kind.” Too late, Ace realized how she had been lured. Again, she had that conflicting feeling; the inviting aura he had in complete contrast to the distrust she felt towards him.
His eyebrows rose in surprised. “The last of your kind,” he repeated. He waved his spoon in the air, gesturing to the House. “And this place … inherited?”
Ace only nodded, regretting this entire conversation. The temperature fell once again, making Ace shiver. It had never been this cold before, for so long. This felt almost like a tantrum; the House had been angered.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Grey said gently. “I’m just a curious person. It’s why I was out this morning. Taking a walk around.”
“Oh?” This hadn’t occurred to Ace. Perhaps he really was simply curious. In that case: “Have you visited the forest cemetery next door?”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said mid-chew. A small crown creased his forehead. “It’s sort of terrifying. Dozens of people, turned to trees.”
“Hundreds.”
“Even worse. And they all consented to this?”
“Well, everybody dies.”
“I mean,” Grey finished up his meal and set the bowl aside, “did they all agree to be trees in a forest?”
Ace thought about Half-Smile’s grave tree. “I’m sure they did.”
Grey’s expression was unreadable. “Well, now, I find that even more fascinating. Out of everything, people wish to be trees in their afterlife.”
Ace couldn’t see how that was consequential to anything. “Are you a fungus faery?” She said with a laugh. “I’ve only ever heard my kind talk about trees this way.”
He shared the joke, the twigs in his hair swayed slightly. “I’m not sure what I am,” he said.
The way he said so, his eyes drifting to the window in some long lost memory, made Ace feel a tinge of sympathy for him. She suddenly felt guilty for thinking he was anything but a gentle soul. “Half-Smile is in the same situation,” she told him.
He looked at her. “Yes, the zombie. How did you meet him?”
“Stumbled on his grave,” she said.
“Don’t tell me,” Grey leaned back in his chair. “He’s buried in this forest?”
Ace nodded.
Grey nodded in imitation. “It’s cursed. Trees.” He said the word as if it was a slur.
She repressed a laugh and made to clear up the table. Still feeling guilty, she said: “I hope your stay here is comfortable.”
“I have no complaints.” He stood, and with a last lingering look at Ace, she heard him walk out the front door.