Up above the hill the stars were creeping across the sky, but from the inside they could only be felt, not seen. The faint music of the winds and grasses did not penetrate here, either – against the drumming and the raucous screeches of horns it had no chance.

Miranda waved down a bottle, pouring herself some wine. Earlier that evening, this small magic would’ve gained her a stare, but by now things had changed.

‘Hey! Human!’ Bluebell flicked the creature’s ear, hard enough to hurt. ‘Hey! Hey…’

But the human was too far gone. At first, she recalled, it had looked at the dancing lights and the spells that sent things flying up in the air, and she had seen wonder in its eyes, and awe – of the magic, and of those who cast it. It had put up a fight when they caught it, tried to kick and scratch and bite all the way to the hill – but when they had taken it inside it had quieted abruptly, and only blinked in happy bewilderment at the marvelous sights. Humans were easy that way, Miranda knew from long experience: they revered magic above all else, and when faced with it melted like spring ice, and fought no more. Like those before it, it followed Miranda’s people now, and their orders, with a wretched kind of devotion; and like all that came before, too, it had obediently drunk all of the wine they had given to it. Now the influence had penetrated and subjected its mind, and it sat on the floor, staring into nothing, for the time being more or less gone from the world.

Now it moved away from Bluebell’s touch, jerking its head as if trying to shake off a fly – but the reflex was sluggish, late. Its eyes were glazed and golden; whatever color they had been earlier, now they would remain this way, changed by the spells and the experience. Only minutes before a human was to expire the color would fade to black. Perhaps it would not take very long with this particular creature, Miranda thought – the poor shape it was already in was not promising.

There was nothing to be done now that could shake the human out of this state, but Miranda knew Bluebell did not like to be ignored.

‘Let it be,’ she said, before he could do damage. Languidly she leaned back on her settee, and was glad to see that his gaze slid, instead, to her. ‘Have some wine. There’ll be plenty of time yet to play with it when it comes around, but you must not break it too soon. Others won’t like it.’

‘I guess so.’ Disappointed but distracted now, Bluebell reached for the wine – and fast as a flap of butterfly wings she saw the look in his eyes change as his eyes fell onto the musicians and the circle that was gaining speed around the leaping, growing flame.

‘Would you like to dance?’ Bluebell asked, turning bodily to face her. His mood altered completely, and as she saw the energy enervating him, the magic outlining his every move, she abruptly wanted him gone now that his impulse clashed with hers.

‘No.’ She waved a hand towards the circle, the fire. ‘There are many willing ladies there, I’m sure.’

He did not try to convince her.

‘True.’ He stood up. ‘I will go there, then.’

Quick as a snake, he slid into the throng, and after a moment she saw him catch the waist of one of the Queen’s ladies and whirl her round. It took a moment for Miranda to recognize her, to remember her name – Dittany. Now she was laughing, teasing him. Even across this distance Miranda could see the currents rise around the two, lifting them up on the waves of heat. Still, the Queen’s lot were not easy prey; and suddenly the contact was broken as Dittany darted away, leaving Bluebell suddenly behind, making the walls ring with her mirth. He chased after her as she dipped and jumped, leading and avoiding, because what worth was a man if he could not even play the game? Miranda could enjoy it, too, when it felt right, but right now it did not, and she looked away.

She did not like to admit it, but the day’s hunt had tired her more than usual. It was strange, come to think of it, how spent she was feeling after running down only a handful of humans… They had not even been worth the effort; most of them died right there, frail creatures that they were. Only one remained, and even it was likely to perish before the night was over.

The human shifted a bit, as if sensing that she was thinking about it. If she squinted, Miranda could just make out the lines of the spell that bound it and kept it mindless. She did not know this sort of magic, so the golden tracery told her nothing; but the look of it was more pleasing, at least, than the scraggly, ugly form it contained. There was an impulse of some kind in the creature – a deep, buried restlessness, caged by the influence and the wine Bluebell had poured in the human earlier. It might be fun to take the charm off and play…

There was a fresh scar running down the human’s shoulder where Bluebell’s spear had grazed it, and many smaller scratches further down from when the creature crashed through the bushes. The smell of wine it gave off was powerful; Bluebell had bathed it in wine, making it squirm and whimper when the liquid touched its wounds. Miranda did not think the appearance of the human was much improved by that bath, but then she doubted it was possible at all. With its matted hair and grimy body, striped where the sweat had formed rivulets, the human was no better than a deer or a boar – filthy, smelly, and hopelessly lost. They had tried to catch a deer, too, earlier that same day, but it managed to get away; really it had been shaping up to be a disappointing hunt, until they came across the humans.

Miranda stared up at the ceiling, where an intricate pattern of flowers and vines swirled around, lighting the room with its brilliance. The waves of heat surrounded her, pushing her up as if she were a leaf in a stream. Perhaps she would dance later, after all; perhaps she would go out and fly – she hadn’t done that in a while. It would be cold outside, rainy perhaps. An interesting change…

The human mumbled something.

‘What is it?’ Miranda asked, suddenly irritated. If the creature was regaining control of its faculties, then it could surely speak up. She used its own tongue to address it, but it didn’t appear in any way grateful for the effort, and it irked her. After all the wondrous things they had shown it, it could at least thank them by showing some courtesy. ‘What do you want?’

‘Water,’ the creature said, slightly louder.

There was none, of course. Miranda contemplated letting the human dry out – after it did not even say ‘please’, she felt slighted – but the others would not appreciate it if she destroyed their captive before time. She did not fear their anger, but they bored her when they grew resentful. Deciding, she thrust Bluebell’s abandoned goblet at the human. He could take another when he returned.

‘Have some wine,’ she said, waving the bottle down to pour.

The creature’s eyes followed her gestures this time – it was really coming around – but it said nothing, and only gulped the wine before she even finished pouring. Miranda grimaced at the untidiness. Some wine dripped onto the human’s chest, and before Miranda could stop its hand it reached and scratched vigorously.

She did not need to look at the others to feel the change in the air, the abrupt shift of the mood. Miranda heard the screeches of the instruments faltering, the pipes going shrill then stopping, and knew she had to act fast before the whole night was disrupted. She leaned down to swat the human’s hand away, then hit the wound with a wave of heat. The human shrieked and recoiled, but the magic fried the fresh blood, and she felt the others relax as the danger passed. The music picked up again.

‘Don’t do that,’ Miranda hissed at the human. It lay crumpled on the floor, weeping over its burn. ‘Your blood is not wanted here. Not in the hill. Bleed outside, if you will, but not here.’

The human stared up at her, panting from the pain. The stupid look on its face was exasperating.

‘And don’t gape at me,’ Miranda snapped, adding a kick to the creature’s side to make it understand better. It gave her foot a dull stare before raising its eyes again to her face.

‘You would let me go outside?’

At a different moment, Miranda might have answered with a riddle, to trick the human and have a laugh when it found out; but now that she wished only to rest but had been disturbed, she was not interested. Instead, she said –

‘You will go where we tell you. You will do as you told.’ It blinked, its eyes watery as if it had been staring at the sun. ‘Don’t look at me, it’s not your place to look!’

This time, the kick she aimed was harder, and the human hung its head obediently, but just as she was about to recline and return to her musings, it said again –

‘Water.’

‘Stop speaking.’ This impertinence was no fun, not when she could not kill the creature for it. Miranda stood up and gathered her skirts to leave. ‘There’s only wine. There will only ever be that. Drink this, drink the whole thing.’ She caught a jug that was drifting past and pushed it into its hands, not caring if it stained the metal. Other humans could be set to cleaning it later, when they caught more. ‘This is all you will have.’

The human apparently had a short memory, because it looked up at her yet again.

‘Thank you,’ it said, somewhat more clearly now.

But Miranda had already turned away, picking her way towards the circle.

The dance made you forget. That was the magic of it and the trap, too – once in, the temptation to remain there forever would pull hard, and no human could withstand it. She was no human, though, and here on her own ground – the ground of her kind – she did not need to fear anything. The abandon of the dance could heal, and now that in her mind anger had replaced joy, she needed just that…

Miranda came closer to the rim where the winds whipped, just tugging at her skirts, and the leaves and the out-of-season flowers whirled past. Behind, the dancers spun; and beyond them roared the fire. Feeling the music enter her blood, Miranda stepped forward – and was inside, dropping, like a stone into a pond, into the closed-off world of the circle.

Twirling and spinning to the rhythm, she observed the others across the shifting distance – the flying skirts, the whipping braids, the leaves and flowers and sparkling dust that would not settle now, not until morning. She watched the humans, few that remained of previous hunts, drawn into the circle with as much apparent will as the leaves had. Bluebell was dancing with one, spinning it around as it tried to cling to him just to keep its balance. Garbed in a dark, drab dress, this human seemed incongruous in this bright whirlpool; only its eyes, shining like polished gold, fit in. Bluebell caught a flower and put it into the human’s hair, then another, without stopping or missing a beat, but the creature did not notice. He pulled its hair – there was quite a lot of it, brilliant red in the firelight – and when the human yelped, Bluebell pushed it away and out of the circle, hard enough that its back hit the wall. It slid down and lay there for a moment, before scrambling up to its hands and knees and creeping closer to the circle once again.

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Humans could not leave the dance of their own volition – had none left, by the time they were brought in – and when expelled, always crawled back in. It was always amusing to watch the longing mix with terror in their faces as they readied themselves to step inside again, even despite all of their senses telling them not to. Miranda watched it move like a hawk, now. It stood up, trembling, reached a hand towards the vortex – whimpered as the wind pulled it – and fell in.

Miranda swooped onto it with her nails and her copper knife, stabbing and scratching, slicing the skin only to char its edges black; and as the human wept, she felt herself somewhat restored. This toy was not new – this one she could destroy if she wished. Power rose in her, making her skin tingle with excitement. Miranda dimly recalled catching this creature earlier this week, when she and the others had raided a village in the night and had taken at random, snatching humans out of their beds and away, across the fields and the woodland, and into the hill. Nothing could prevent them from doing what they willed. Nothing could stop her.

Contented now, she stepped out of the dance – and swayed, as the regular pulls of the world took over. Garnet stepped out of the shadows, stretching an arm to steady her, but she evaded his hands with a laugh. He had been waiting like this for a few nights already, and he could wait for a few more. From the reflection of herself she saw in his eyes, she knew there were leaves stuck in her hair.

‘I shall go out,’ she said to Garnet, smiling, seducing – just a little, to keep him interested and make him attend her now. ‘Fly in the moonlight, fly in the rain – whatever there is. Good night, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Any night with my lady is a good night,’ he said, his voice low. He was playing with her too, Miranda knew, and knew that he could see her knowledge; but that was as it should be. Some said this dance was even older than the circle, older perhaps than the world itself – some claimed the world was born from it, the love and the chase of the sun and moon, or the earth and sky. ‘Will you permit me to come with you?’

‘If you ask me well,’ she said, but suddenly he was staring past her.

‘What’s going on there?’

Something in his face frightened her, and she whirled around – but it was only the human, crouched on the ground, shaking and gulping and sticking its tongue out. From across the room, Aurelia was already rushing towards it; Miranda hastened over, too.

Aurelia was a mender, one skilled in repairing their fragile playthings – human or otherwise. She leaned over the coughing creature, but as her fingers moved across its skin, searching, her face grew confused.

‘What did it eat?’ she asked of Miranda. ‘What did it drink?’

‘Wine only, of course.’

Aurelia wrinkled her nose –

‘No, there’s more, I can feel it. It must’ve taken something while nobody was looking.’ She clutched the human’s shoulder, making it cry out as her nails dug in. ‘What did you steal? What was it?’

Bluebell and Garnet had come over, too.

‘It must’ve tried to kill itself,’ Garnet said, frowning. ‘We haven’t had that in a while. Such presumption –’

‘We must punish it,’ Bluebell agreed. The flowers in his hair shone bright like gems. ‘Make an example of it. A rug, perhaps?’

‘First I need to find a way to keep it from expiring immediately,’ Aurelia said, probing the human’s back, as it kept coughing and hiccupping. ‘I have to commend all of you – you’ve kept it in good order, so if only I could… What is this? I am feeling something wrong, but I’m not sure…’ She pushed and pulled a bit more, but the mystery apparently did not give, and her eyes grew darker with indignation. ‘Taking what isn’t yours – how dare you! What was it – a plant? Berries? Nightshade, perhaps? What have you done to yourself?’ Exasperated, she hit the creature’s back.

It gave the largest gulp yet, coughed – and spat out something heavy and slimy.

Miranda never even made out what it was, before the force hit her and she fell backwards. The fiddles whirred and died, the drums stopped, the music ended; with a terrible clatter bottles and jugs rained to the floor and shattered, spraying wine and shards of pottery, as Miranda tried and failed to scramble out of their way. The beautiful lights of the ceiling faded as if they’d never been, and the air around her filled with cries of shock and fright. The magic was gone, she could feel it – snuffed like a candle, and the absence made her weak, made her entire body tremble and her legs barely able to carry her. With effort, she propped herself up on her elbows – and stared in horror to where the human was standing, its back straight and its eyes somehow focused, but that was not the worst; in its hand she saw – and did not want to see – the thing of nightmares, the evil, the foul –

This could not be. How did this get in here? None of them could have missed it, not when the mere presence of it suffocated them so. Miranda knew had to get up, had to do something, but without magic her body was too feeble. The air felt thick as treacle, impossible to move in. Miranda could only watch as the human stepped past her, past the others where they lay moaning. It walked with odious ease, as if nothing was wrong – and she knew that for it, nothing was. It held the thing in its hand as if it was a mere stone, or a piece of jewelry. It would never feel the evil of cold iron. It could never understand the nature of what it brought here.

Miranda had been on hunts, had been in human villages where iron was everywhere, but under an open sky it was different, far easier to filter. They would dance around the locks and the bars, dodge the pitchforks and laugh… But here, trapped inside the hill, the abhorrent influence of it magnified and reflected back on itself, until it became impossible to fight.

Now Miranda could not even see where the human had gone. Pushing against the still air, forcing her limbs to withstand the strain, she at last managed to raise herself into a crouch and turn to look for the creature – just in time to see it raise the iron and put it to the wall.

There was no need to push, or look for a keyhole. The touch of iron would break any spell. Miranda sensed it moments before it came – the great shudder from the depths of the earth, the gust of wind to extinguish all flame. Then, as the lights died, came a great emptiness, and she knew then that the door was no more. The hill had been opened.

The influx of sound reached her as if from afar, but she knew what it meant. The humans had come in – dared come inside the hill, unwanted, uninvited, and armored with iron. She knew what their purpose would be. Humans were always envious of her kind, had always sought to destroy what they could not understand. Pain washed over her, drowning despair and determination alike, dulling her thoughts. These were hateful creatures, ignorant and ungrateful, and she knew she had to fight them – to force them out of her hill, her home; but even thinking of it took too much effort.

Miranda could not be sure for how long she’d lain there, curled on the floor. The night remained black and full of screaming, the abhorrent metal danced around, and nothing but faint starlight shone in. She saw it glint off the edges and pikes, in the countless eyes.

She had not realized how many humans there were. Dozens – perhaps even a hundred – infested the hill like lice, each with some iron in its hands. This had been planned, she could tell. Limited though human minds were, their capabilities had been enough to devise a trap.

The scent of blood filled the air – fair blood, green blood, that of her own kind. There was nothing she could save here, but there was still a chance of escape. If only she could stand, could move at all –

Glimpses of fire showed in the distance, and she reached out to it, drinking it in eagerly. Half of the torches were extinguished by this, and some of the humans yelled in protest, but Miranda ignored it; they could not have known it was her doing. With this influx of strength, she at last managed to get up.

Her body hurt where falling bottles hit it, but her vision steadied, and she could see now that most humans were congregated further away from her, where the circle had been. Around her, there were only shadows on the floor – her own people, lying there crumpled, unmoving –

Headless. A chill ran down her spine, but Miranda  moved on, propping herself on what little she could wrench out of the fires. Garnet’s head lay there, next to what looked like Aurelia’s body; and further onwards, she saw more, but in such a state that her mind shut down any attempts at recognition. Slashed and stabbed, poked and sliced they had been, in what looked like expressions of chaotic rage; and at the end they had all lost their heads to iron.

Was she the last one left? As Miranda stretched her thoughts outward, she could only feel death. Had the humans just missed her, curled on the ground as she was – had they mistaken her for an already headless corpse? Now that she had stood up they would notice her soon enough, even in near-darkness. She would have to fight her way out if she wanted to escape, to warn the others and save what could still be saved.

Yet there was not much magic to be had from those feeble fires; what little she had not taken yet would run out soon enough. Exhaustion filled Miranda’s bones, swaddling her in numb sleepiness. When the fires ran out, she would be faced with iron, and perish with the rest. It no longer seemed like such an abysmal thought; death was an escape, too. If only it did not have to be iron…

Someone gave a shout, and she knew they spotted her. Faces moved before her, and she squinted at them. In the uncertain firelight, they seemed to waver, but she had recognized one – the human that had caused it all, the one she’d given wine to, showed magic to… and this was how it chose to repay them. Its eyes were still golden, she saw now; but with all spells broken, that could not be, unless… Had they always been so – was it how her kind was tricked? Was it the fading daylight that hid its eye color from them, made them not see it wasn’t truly controlled by the spell? The iron caught inside must have rendered it impotent. If not for his flesh shielding the hateful metal, they would have known; if not for his yellow eyes…

Naked and dirty, the creature seemed a pitiful thing to her, but the other humans were looking at it in awe. It stood upright, holding a sword in both hands. Miranda squinted at the blade; the stains appeared black in this light, but she knew they had to be green.

‘Look at me,’ the human said, and its voice lashed. Behind it, its kin was watching. ‘Shall we make an example of you? Shall we make you into a rug, fairy?’

Miranda tried to draw herself up, to look down on them all, but even with the fires feeding her she could do no more than stare. When she spoke, her voice rustled –

‘You have done enough damage here. I care not what you do to me now.’

The human laughed – a mirthless sound, cold as the iron in its hands.

‘How odd that you would speak of damage – you, who have hunted us, enslaved us, murdered us, you who used us for your cruel sport. This all ends tonight. Do you understand?’

The lights were wavering. Miranda could feel the pressure of all the iron lapping at her control, waiting to consume her once she could no longer keep it at bay.

‘It was a fair exchange,’ she muttered. There were too many humans, and too much iron. What did they want? She could tell them nothing new. ‘We took you, we – we showed you the world, a glimpse of magic – don’t you love magic? Don’t you want it, more than anything? It was only fair. We gave you that, and we took… in exchange. You agreed to it all – you always do. You have no right… to complain.’

The sword flashed in the light.

Miranda knew she must’ve screamed, because her throat was sore; must’ve fallen, because she found herself on the ground again. She could recall none of it. Her shoulder hurt as if burned, and she could taste blood on her tongue. It could have been no more than a slap with the flat of the sword, but because it was iron, she could not take even that little. Sight and hearing came back only reluctantly. The torches had grown brighter.

‘…our children,’ the human was going on. He was wiping the blade now, the dirty rag making unpleasant sounds. ‘Our lives. You have stolen, tortured, murdered – and now you dare claim that it was fair?’

‘I haven’t touched your children,’ Miranda said wearily. ‘I have never even seen them. Why must you make up these –’

‘Don’t have to be mine,’ the human interrupted. ‘Someone else’s, somewhere else, at another time. It does not matter. This is not about my own loss –’

‘Then why?’ Miranda would’ve screamed if she could, but there was no hope of that now. The energy of the flames had become more slippery, and drawing on it was took more effort now. ‘You are the one who caused all this. You brought the rest of it here.’

‘I was doing the will of others as well as my own. Today’s feat is much greater than you or me, fairy.’ His voice grew stronger, more commanding; for the first time, she could see why the other humans looked at him as they did. ‘Your kind will leave our land – our world, the whole of it. We will make certain of it, one way or another. We will prevail. Today is only the beginning.’

Miranda watched the glimmers of the fire play on the sword. Starlight reached here as well, where some of the ceiling had caved in, but the torches made it nearly invisible even to her superior eyesight. There was beauty even in the glare of iron, intolerable though it was. Her neck still hurt from its searing touch. What would it be like to die from it? She was shivering, and could not stop it.

‘We will never leave,’ she said quietly, watching the human give the sword one last swipe. He considered the edge, then took out a sharpening stone. ‘There are too many of us. We are everywhere in this land – our land, not yours. We have always been, and shall always continue. We will return. We always do.’

The human gave the sword a few swipes, checked the edge, then smiled at her.

‘No such thing as always, fairy,’ he said. ‘Everything has to end someday.’

The blade rose and plunged, and then Miranda never even had time to scream.