Tom’s office wasn’t much. He had rented a couple rooms on the second floor of one of the dilapidated buildings down town. It smelled of mould and wood rot. There were old papers everywhere. The front page banner on each of them was in Edwardian font which read: The Belligerent Journal. From the piles of papers around it looked like he didn’t sell many. I wondered how he stayed in business.

Leaning up against the walls were canvas flats, some were painted in pastoral scenes and others were wallpapered to look like the insides of a house. There was also a stack of heavy plywood and rectangular supports made for two by fours. Hanging in the middle of the room was a rack of costumes, mostly dresses, suits and uniforms. I like the red surge jacket with the gold buttons and brocade.

“You must run a theatre or something,” I joked.

“Dinner theatre, once a month we put on a show. You wouldn’t believe how much they pay. I had to cut the newspaper back. Sales of late haven’t been great. With the two I survive, pay the bills.”

He put his camera on the counter and opened up a little fridge and pulled out a carton of ice cream and a bottle coke. “Sit down, if you can find a place.”

I shoved a pile of newspapers over on a moth eaten old couch. Sitting down, the chair, having lost its springs, nearly consumed me. “Nice clothes. Where did you get the British Uniform?”

Tom turned around. He looked momentarily confused. “Oh, that old thing. I picked it up at an estate sale. Go ahead, try it on.”

He spooned two massive helpings of ice cream into two glass jugs and then filled them up with coke. They foamed to the top and over flowed.  While he was doing that, I tried on the jacket. It was roomy in the shoulders and a bit long in the sleeves, but it wasn’t a bad fit. I buttoned it up. Then I noticed the pith helmet. I picked it up and sat it on my head.

Tom turned to me and grimaced. “Not bad. Ever hear of the poem “Charge of the Light Brigade?”

I was going to say no, but the curse of my memory kicked in: “Half a league, half a league,

 Half a league onward,

 All in the valley of Death

 Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

 Rode the six hundred.”

Tom looked mildly impressed.  “Yeah, well, all righty then. You must have a lot of friends.”

I didn’t really appreciate Tom’s sarcasm. “Not really.”

“Well, kid, I don’t mind. If you’ve got a mind, use it. Here we go,” he said handing me a float, “Just one second.” He rummaged through another drawer and pulled out a couple mars bars. He peeled them and stuck them into the float. He handed me the float. “You’re going to need this, especially after what I have to tell you. Cheers.”

I drank. I had never had coke float and a mars bar for supper.

“No matter how rotten things get, this always seems to fix it.”

“You know Sherlock for long?”

“Since I was your age— you see he has a habit of taking in strays…but very particular strays, if you know what I mean.”

“You file books, at the library?”

“I could file them, but I never made it to the Discard Vault. I could see things, but that was about it.”

“So, none of this stuff is freaking you out?”

Tom shrugged and took another swig on his float. He took the bar out and bit into it. “What’s there to freak out about; reality is stranger than this stuff.”

“How so?”

He took one of the old Belligerent Chronicles from the counter and tossed it to me. On the cover  was a picture of a man, hair pel-mal, being led away in hand cuffs by the police. The guy looked insane.

“I know this story. Didn’t he try to eat the face off a dog?”

“Thought he was a zombie, took some bizarre drug. So, you see,  Sherlock’s stalker from Faery doesn’t  surprise me.”

“You think Sherlock does drugs?”

“Seems that way doesn’t he, but no, for him this stuff is real.”

“Cliodhna, she’s stalking him?”

“You don’t know who she is, do you?

”

“Cliodhna Construction.”

“No, you dolt, she’s a Queen from Faerie and she has it bad for old Ciabhan Sherlock.”

To me, the disparity in age between the two seemed to be a hindrance. “Isn’t he a bit too old for her?”

Tom almost spit out his drink. He started to laugh. “You don’t know squat do you. Of the two, Sherlock is the babe.”

“No, you’re wrong.” It was obvious that I was right.

 “You ever seen someone that old move around like he does, most of them are so crippled up all they can manage is a walker and a quick shuffle.”

“So, I’m supposed to believe she’s some ancient Queen from Faerie?”

“Believe what you will. I’m just telling you the truth,” said Tom.

I looked at the pile of papers. “It doesn’t seem that people like the truth.”

“You seem to have a good memory. What did Cliodhna say to Sherlock when he was grumbling about being old?”

Immediately I remembered exactly what she had said to Sherlock. I hadn’t understood it at the time, but now I did. “She said: ‘I can take care of that, you know, all you have to say is, I do and you can be young again.’”

“Impressive, you know what that means?”

“She can’t make him young…”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Duh, she’s a Queen of Faerie, one of the Tuatha de Danann, of course she can.”

“If she’s the Queen why doesn’t she just take him?”

He groaned. “Didn’t your dad ever teach you anything about the birds and the bees?”

“That would be tough considering he’s dead.”  I regretted the words immediately after saying them. I had no intention of making a play for anyone’s pity or sympathy.

Tom shrugged. “Death happens all the time. We all get run over by the grim reaper, kid.  Ciabhan should have died a long time ago. In fact, he wants to die, but…”

“She won’t let him.”

“Exactly. You have to understand his predicament. What would you do if you met this really hot girl. I mean she just devastates you. You’re in love. It’s great, time goes on, but she won’t give you any space, in fact, she lives in your space, inhabits it. She’s driving you crazy…”

“Ask her to leave.”

“Yeah, well, a normal girl might cry, give you a smack, swear at you, call you a creep and leave but this is a Queen from Faerie. You saw those big guys right? Do you know what they mean?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“She’s an equal opportunity employer?”

“You’re a smart guy, I can appreciate that. I used to be a smart guy.”

“What happened?”

Tom reached into a drawer and pulled out a couple liquorice sticks. He tossed me one. Didn’t he have any real food?  “It became real. It became real for Sherlock a few hundred years ago.”

“I know he’s old, but…”

“She’ll never leave him alone, you know. It’s reciprocal.”

“It’s what?”

“Reciprocal. If she leaves him alone she has to go back to her husband. Without Sherlock she can’t stay here.”

I held up my hands to signal surrender. “All right, all right, let’s just say this Faerie place exists. Then, if she’s a Queen, shouldn’t she have a lot more power.”

“There’s a lot of Queens and Kings in Faerie, dude.”

“Is this King fellow that bad that she would be afraid…”

“He’d skin her alive…no, literally. Then he put her back together and then do it over and over again just for laughs.”

“Sounds like a nice guy. And again, how does the Vault fit in?”

“If Sherlock controls it, he keeps Cliodhna away; if Cliodhna controls it, she drags Sherlock back to Faerie for a makeover.”

“Fine,” I said tersely. I was becoming progressively irritated about this talk about psychotic Faerie Queens. “Listen, all this talk about…”

“You still don’t really believe do you?”

“And you do? You’re supposed to be a journalist. Where are the facts?”

“Have you ever found yourself somewhere where you’ve never been before?  It seems fantastic, everything seems sharper, more realistic. It’s like a dream but it’s real. Then you pass through or leave it and you can never find that place again.”

I refused to answer because I knew exactly what he was talking about. When I was younger, I liked to climb, anything. One day when I was hiking through the woods I came on this gorge that had the best rock faces to climb. I climbed all day. The next day I tried to find the same place again, but it was gone. I’ve never been able to find it since.

Tom laughed, clapping his hands together. “I knew it, you’ve been to Faerie!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I have. What’s it to me?”

“The world, besides, that’s the least of your worries, lad.”

A cold feeling crawled up my back and wrapped its fingers around my neck. Somehow, I knew he was coming to this. Part of me believed him and part of me thought he was insane, like the rest of them, but what did that make me?

“What do you mean?”

“Cliodhna…she likes you.”

That cold feeling turned glacial. “That’s crazy. You saw how she reacted towards me.”

“Kid, we’re talking about Faerie here. Our rules don’t apply to them. Her snapping at you was like her saying, ‘come here lover boy and give us a kiss.’ Sherlock should have seen the danger in bringing you to Cliodhna. He should have known better.”

“Are you saying he set me up?”

Tom shrugged. “Just saying, if I was desperate to get rid of a girl, one tactic would be to set her up with another guy.”

“You can’t be serious. I mean, she’s like…how many years old?”

“Don’t know, a few hundred years, at least, maybe a thousand.”

“I’d call that a bit of an age difference.”

“You ever met someone old that behaves like an adolescent, well that’s Cliodhna. Anyways that’s just the beginning of your problems.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cliodhna is insanely jealous,” he made a little circle with his finger next to his temple, “I mean wo-ho.  She can’t stand anyone having anyone in their life other than her.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Sherlock had a family once.”

“He…they…she…” This explained the terminal sadness that seemed to underpin his loony behaviour.

“Yeah,” Tom drew a line across his neck.  “If she has taken a liking to you, whoever you love …”

There was no one. Dad was dead. Both my dad and mom’s parents were gone. I was an only child…oh, no, my mom. I stood up abruptly. “listen, I’ve got to go.”

“Sorry kid, just thought you should know…”

I ran out and down the stairs, out onto the street and into the night. The row housing we lived in wasn’t very far away. The urgency in Tom’s voice followed me.  It had gotten dark enough that the street lights had come on. It was wet out. A mist had settled onto the concrete and pavement making it glossy.  Then, I heard the sirens.

The fire truck raced by, followed by the police and then the ambulance. In the slow acknowledgement of someone stunned, I realized that the source of the excitement was coming from the row housing where I lived. I ran. I leapt over a hedge and cut across a number of lawns.

I could smell the smoke before I saw the fire. Flames were shooting up from the row housing. I counted, but I didn’t need to because I knew. Nine, eleven, thirteen, they were all on fire, but the unit that was totally engulfed by flames was thirteen, my home.

With systematic precision the Fire Fighters had hooked onto a fire hydrant and were blasting a continuous stream of water onto the flames. The police were setting up a zone to keep people out.  The water didn’t seem to be having any effect. If anything, the flames roared more.

“Mom!” I yelled searching the crowd. I saw the faces of our neighbours, and I saw the pity in their eyes. “Mom!”

I panicked. My trajectory took me through the people and towards the burning house. A policeman turned to me, but hesitated. I realized later that it was Tom’s red surge jacket that threw him. That was all I needed. I ducked and roll past him. I could feel the heat now, burning against my cheek. The flames swirled up as a section of the roof fell in.  If she was in there…

If I hadn’t been tackled from behind I would have run into the burning house and died. I will always remember what I saw then. There was someone in the burning infernal, moving in the flames. It was like a black pupil wreathed in an iris of red, but the pupil had legs, arms and a head.  It was somebody – walking towards the door. The figure was carrying someone. The flames licked around the form hungry to consume, but couldn’t touch the figure. Out of the flesh scorching flames, out of death, stepped Ciabhan Sherlock, and he was holding the unconscious form of my mother.