At first, I needed to pass through Ireland. The Fae have always been uneasy around outsiders, even if those outsiders are guests they invited themselves. Perhaps especially then. And if the guest is similar enough to the Fair Folk to invoke familiarity, but strange enough to to make them uneasy? Even worse. I have been told that, from their perspective, iele are like peacocks with no feathers, trying to sing like people.

I was extremely flattered at the comparison.

As such, the Fae couldn't accept one such as me entering their territory directly. Luckily, the Emerald Isle was neutral ground, at least when it came to supernatural politics. Purely because the locals hated their neighbours so much they couldn't go to war, or everyone would lose.

'Are we there yet?' I asked, not looking at my guide.

The barghest growled. When I'd first heard who would be guiding me, I'd expected an oversized, monstrous dog, not...this. But the word 'barghest' supposedly formed as a combination of "burh" and "ghest". So, town-ghost.

The translucent, stocky man floating ahead of me seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood. But, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. He was British, after all. And dead.

"You feel like we're there?' he asked in a gravelly voice. First time he'd talked since my arrival.

'Well, no. Not really...'

'Then we ain't.'

I swallowed a cutting retort. No need to waste my voice on this grump. I needed it at its best for my upcoming performance.

The Fae were holding a celebration, though you would be hard-pressed to get an answer if you asked why. Personally, I think they're grateful the Royal Army hasn't sprayed all of their holdings with iron dust. And this time, they wanted a foreign element, someone with a new talent, a new perspective.

The Fae also had singers who could jerk emotions around like puppets on strings, so that wasn't why they asked for me.

After the Shattering, their realm, Faerie or Elfhame, was one of the first to solidify into being, because the legends about them were so old and widespread. It sent the Brits running from the mainland back to their island. You can't help beat the Nazis down when the Wild Hunt is tearing up your backyard.

Heavens, I hoped the Hunters wouldn't be present too. The Hunt's leader was always a vile bastard, whoever held the mantle at the moment, be it Odin, Gwyp ap Nudd or the Devil. At least Herne and the Erlking were getting brushed aside more often nowadays.

If you thought personality disorders were a pain, you should see that mantle getting jerked around.

The barghest plodded through the wet, misty moor, while I floated alongside him, my human mask discarded for the time being. Perhaps after this was done, I could pretend to be a lost woman. Then, when some monstrous creep came for me, I could turn the tables on him.

There were far too many of those in Northern Europe.

Eventually, we reached the Lughstone. When the Romans had come to Britannia, the Tin Isle, they had interpreted the local gods, as they were wont to do. And so, Lugh was associated with Mercury, and people started seeing him as a god of travelling. The stone, placed by Lugh himself, could grant quick passage to any realm the god knew of, if your will was strong enough.

He found the whole thing pretty amusing. Whenever he came out of the Eioch Cluster, to walk the Earth, Lugh claimed that there were worse things to be associated with than travel and Mercury.

He also claimed the Romans had been smart not to equate him with Apollo, or worse, Jupiter.

The Shattering had changed the fabric of reality, just when Einstein was starting to understand it, and teach people about it. And so it was that, besides the mundane universe we lived in, there were also an infinity of alternate realities, as well as higher dimensions, with each transcending the one beneath it like a human is beyond a drawing on paper.

And then there were the dimensionless things beyond that, born of Lovecraft's mad genius. Thankfully, most of them were too vast to perceive dimensioned space.

There were also the Clusters, macrocosmic structures that reflected the beliefs of theists. Creation could not contain so many conflicting cosmologies and supreme beings inside a single realm, so it split itself apart.

You would be surprised how many ancient people believed the world was a flat expanse of land surrounded by ocean. Though, I suppose they did not, could not, know better back then. But the old stories remained, so the Clusters formed. Named after their creator deity or force, they existed alongside our universe, linked but separate. The Kaos Cluster, the Odin Cluster, the Ra Cluster...

I had asked David, once, if he would like to visit the Yahweh Cluster. He'd claimed he was unworthy.

Still, it made one think about coincidences. About patterns and the collective unconscious. Why an underworld, middle world and world above, in so many cultures? Why so many world trees and pillars and turtles and elephants? How could ancient civilizations that had never met one another think so alike?

Perhaps there was something behind the scenes, guiding and shaping mankind's thoughts. Maybe Constantin's theory, of a multi-faceted supreme being, was not just a theory.

The Lughstone was a representation of Lugh in his triple aspect: three faces, three manhoods. There was a reason he was such a popular god.

Or, rather, several reasons.

'Well?' the barghest asked gruffly. 'Grab it.'

'Of course.' I turned to him with a sarcastic smile. 'Is there a certain part I should grab, or...'

'If ye wanna shag stone, be my guest. But do it on yer own time. I'm supposed t' drag yer arse to the Fair Folk, and I'm gonna do it.'

I touched one of Lugh's faces, and it seemed to me like it smiled. The Lughstone began to shine like the Sun, and we were gone.

Faerie was just not as I'd expected. It was greater, in every detail. The air was sweeter, the grass greener, the sun brighter, the people happier.

Because not all Fae are cold monsters obsessed with mischief and mayhem. The common people are similar enough to mankind, with much of the same fears and joys, hopes and worries, for all that they are immortal.

The Fae peasants nodded and smiled at me as I walked through the city. Their rulers must have passed along the news, because no one stopped me to demand answers from the strange, floating woman. The barghest and I walked to the middle of the city, and through the garden leading to Oberon and Titania's castle. High in the sky above us, I could see the bottom of the Hill that rose above Faerie. Symbolism made fact.

'Here's where we part,' the barghest said when we reached the unguarded, multi-coloured gate. It was so tall I couldn't see the top, even if I craned my head up, and the towers of the castle rose far higher, piercing the cloudless sky, and perhaps even the bottom of the Hill.

'I have not been in Faerie before,' I said, trying not to sound nervous. 'How am I supposed to find my way to the ballroom?'

'The monarchs will send someone fer you.'

'You are wrong, frowning one,' a new, amused voice cut in. 'They already have.'

We looked around for the source of the voice, until the clearing of a throat drew our eyes downwards.

Oh, Puck.

The little Fae, straight out of Shakespeare's play, as he liked to present himself. Oberon's informer and wetwork specialist, when he wasn't moonlighting as court jester.

Puck was looking up at me, eyes glinting with amusement, bearded face dominated by an earsplitting grin. I could not tell what he was wearing, except that it was sheer, and at times, he looked like he was naked.

"Come on now, lady mine. 'Tis coming, your time to shine." He said, turning around and walking towards the gate with a spring in his step. It opened by itself, because even doors knew better than to cross Puck.

"Since when do you talk in rhymes? You don't, in the stories." I said, pacing myself not to leave him behind, though I fully knew he could outrun me, short legs or not.

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"Ah! 'Tis, how you say, a... fleeting passion. A trend! Yes, a trend. You see, I learned of this Gaiman fellow, who was writing comical books about gods. I do not understand the term, since they were more grim than comical, but you know how humans are...anyway, this lad's works introduced me to the world of comical books! There's this one about a demon who talks in rhymes, and is appreciated by few, though he does good work. It resonated with me..."

As we travelled twisting, shimmering corridors, Puck regaled me with tales of his favourite comics, and asked if I wanted to see his Etrigan collection. I told him that maybe I would, after the ball.

The ballroom seemed to appear out of thin air as we turned a corner. The floor and ceiling looked like they were made of a myriad of giant butterfly wings, which beat when you looked at them from the corner of your eye. Fae lords and ladies gathered in cliques, taking food and drink from silver trays born by pixies who were visibly straining under the weight. Sometimes, they took the pixies themselves, and ate them alive, smiling as they screamed. The remaining pixies were then chastised for letting trays drop and dirty the floor.

My lip curled. None of this was new to me-you cannot live with my sisters and remain thin-skinned-but that didn't make it easier to stand. Maybe my songs could touch their hearts, and help them become better.

I turned to look down at Puck, but he had already left my side, moving through the crowd and mingling with everyone.

Like a shark among minnows.

I realized the ball itself hadn't started, because the Monarchs weren't present. Neither was Mab, or the Cat Sith, or any god.

Or any Hunter, thank the heavens.

I looked around, unsure where to go, who to talk to, when a raised stage flashed into being in the middle of the room. Oberon and Titania were standing on it, smiling, in all their finery. They were both tall and lean, pale and fair, and there was nothing human in their faces.

Oberon had curly, short dark hair, and looked like he was laughing at a joke only he understood. Titania had long, straight, copper-coloured hair, and was looking at her subjects with a mix of affection and pity.

'My friends!' Oberon began. 'Tonight, we have a iela among us. Coming from the wilds of Dacia, we hope her voice will bring a short succour in our long lives. After all, what is immortality, save endless time to contemplate boredom?' Dacia? He knew very well no one used that name anymore.

The crowd laughed, toasting their King, eating a few more pixies. Oberon's smile then thinned, and he spoke in a voice affecting regret.

'Sadly, the brightest stars of our court will not be attending...'

"Mab is walking mankind's dreamscape, all over Britannia." Titania said. "The midwife is performing her duty, helping give birth to man's dreams. It is said," Titania leaned forward, conspiratorially. "That she has grown tired of her kin, and now finds comfort amongst humanity..."

The crowd shrieked in outrage at that, screaming accusations, tearing at each other with nails and teeth, with cutlery and shards of broken glass. They cursed their fellows for driving Mab out with their foolish antics, with their boorish behaviour. By the time they were done, only half the crowd was standing, and none of them was unwounded. The monarchs looked upon their work, and found it good.

I find it necessary to mention that these were the Seelie Fae: the champions of good, mankind's allies in the fight against the Unseelie and the monsters in the dark beyond the fires. But, while the Seelie could be kind enough to men, their bottled up viciousness had to be unleashed somewhere. And why not other Fae?

Without another word, the Fae rulers, floated off the stage, and I reluctantly took their place. Dammmit. The ball was just starting, and I was already shaken. But I couldn't show weakness. I couldn't bleed in the water with so many sharks around.

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind, and began singing.

Not human songs-they had not called me here for that. For all that the Fae acted like we were still living in the Iron Age, they fully understood electronics. If they'd wanted human music, they'd just have looked up something on YouTube and put it on loop.

More channels than you might expect are Fae fronts, and more internet trolls actual trolls.

I sang to touch their ears and minds, because I did not have souls to work it. I sang of good and kindness, courage and charity, but they just nodded and hummed along. They were Seelie, and they understood such things, when they needed to. They wanted something more...lurid.

Oberon and Titania brought forth a child, barely a teen, in a white dress and red slippers. My heart sank at the sight of them. I knew what they meant.

This child had been stolen from a dangerous household, they said, and a changeling left behind to torment the callous parents. She was much happier here, for how could she not be?

They asked for lurid songs, and promised child would dance to them.

And I sang. I sang of war at home and abroad, of the Ottoman yoke and the Impaler's cold justice. And the Fae tore at each other, while the child danced and danced, until her feet bled, until they were redder than the slippers.

And they roarer, and urged me to go on.

I sang my throat hoarse, and the child danced and wept, until she could not stand anymore, could not catch her breath.

She fell to the floor, but still tried to dance.

When I could not sing anymore, I excused myself, blaming my raw throat, and the Fae lamented, but still applauded. With a shaky smile, I floated off the stage, and hurried out of the ballroom. The Fae cried out behind me, asking me to stay for the rest of the ball, or at least take Puck with me, if I wanted to leave. But nobody tried to stop me.

Somehow, I found my way out of the castle and into the garden. It was night, and the city was quiet as a tomb, with a cold mist hanging over it, filled with will o'wisps.

On one of the ornamental carved stones, the child sat and wept. She was not wearing the red slippers anymore, because her feet were gone.

I rushed to her, taking her hands into mine and asking what had happened, when had it happened, and why.

'Because I could not dance until the end.' And she spoke no more. She did not seem to be bleeding, or in pain, but I could not leave her here. The Fae did not mutilate valued servants, so she might as well have had 'banished' written on her forehead.

I gathered her in my arms and rushed to the Lughstone, flying high over the city, riding the winds. I would find her a place in the human world, if it was the last thing I did.

We reached the Lughstone, and I grabbed one of the faces so hard it cracked. In moments, we were back on that misty Irish moor.

The child was laughing, and at first, I thought she was laughing in joy.

Then, I looked at her face, and saw the mad grin, the feverish eyes.

'Such a bleeding heart,' she crooned in a broken voice that made my skin crawl. I tried to throw her away from me, but she clung to me like a spider. 'You thought this dreary world held the key to my joy. You though you could take me, without my masters knowing and allowing your folly. Oh, you stupid girl...'

And she laughed and laughed, aging before my eyes, until I was holding a hideous, toothless crone.

'Faerie was the only thing keeping me alive,' she hissed, sticking her wrinkled, gaunt face into mine. "I was taken seven of your decades ago, and kept young only by that realm's magics. Now, time has caught up with me. I hope you are happy, murderess."

And she laughed again, a sharp, mad sound, as she died in my arms, turning to dust, until I was holding a cracked, grinning skull.

Damn them.

Damn the Fae and their pointless, twisted games.