Halloween DWP Fic, Part One
A/N: Written for the all_hallows_fic ficathon, so you know it's going to be very much out in left field. It was supposed to be scary, but I'm pretty sure I only managed creepy, so there you go.
Also, I'm not going to tell you what my prompt was until the end, because I don't want to ruin the plot completely.
Title, obviously, comes from Hamlet. Sorry, Will.
Summary: Miranda's acting strange. Really strange. And Andy gets caught up in the middle of something that's beyond imagining. Seriously AU. And yeah, some femslash stuff.
Warning(s): Here's your warning -- this is a weird-ass story, so there's weird-ass stuff.
Rating: R, I think. Basically, not for the sensitive and/or easily confused. Nothing very sexy, though.
Disclaimer: As if.
More Things in Heaven and Earth, Part One
by: Hayseed (hayseed42@gmail.com)
"Emily!" Miranda shrieked from her office. "Emily, I need you immediately!"
Andy exchanged a scowl with her co-worker, neither of them budging from their seats.
"It's your turn," Emily hissed.
Rolling her eyes, Andy just ruffled through a folder on her desk. "She wants you," she said flatly. "I can tell by the intonation."
"Emily!"
"And the rage."
With a murderous glare, Emily flung herself from her chair and stomped into the office. "Yes, Miranda," she said sweetly, "so sorry for the delay, Miranda. What can I do for you?"
The instructions were rattled off so quickly that Andy didn't have a chance of hearing them from all the way across the lobby, but she could tell from the way Emily's posture faded from ramrod straight to slumped defeat as she moved out of Miranda's line of sight that it was bad.
The whole thing was bad lately.
Miranda was never fun to work for, of course, but over the last week or so, she'd gone from 'unreasonably demanding' to 'evil overlord.' Paris was still more than three months away, but Emily had been driven to two hysterical fits over the trip plans in less than forty-eight hours.
If Andy was reading the expression on her face correctly as she emerged from Miranda's office, fit number three wasn't too far off.
While Emily had borne the brunt of Miranda's ill temper, Andy wasn't immune. Her left eyelid had started to twitch uncontrollably whenever she heard Miranda's soft voice, dangerously drawling her name. Last time, she'd had to spend six hours retracing the route Miranda walked two weeks earlier in an effort to find a lost earring. The earring later turned up in Miranda's handbag.
"Can I help?" Andy asked quietly as Emily dropped back into her desk chair with a loud sigh of defeat.
"Unless you have the number for the prince of Norway's direct line, I don't think so," she said, putting her head in her hands.
Andy blinked. "What the hell does she want with the prince of Norway?"
"I don't know," Emily moaned. "Maybe she wants to know if Norwegian Starbucks serve their lattes any hotter than the American ones. Lord knows, she had plenty to say about that as well."
With only a slight eye roll, Andy picked up the phone and punched in a number that had become hatefully familiar. "Cheryl," she said into the receiver, injecting as much fake happiness as she could into her voice, "I need... yeah, the usual. Can you have someone run it up? Just put whatever you want on the card." Cheryl said something that made Andy laugh, bitter and short. "Go ahead, embezzle away. Yeah, it's been a bad day. Thanks, Cheryl."
Emily shot a vicious look at the glass walls of Miranda's office. "Maybe we could spike it with tranquilizers. I'm sure Serena's got something in her bag. She's like a one-woman pharmacy."
"Emily," Andy exclaimed, shocked.
"What?" she asked defensively. "She's clearly out of her mind."
"She might hear you..."
Her answering smile was nowhere near pleasant. "Do you know, Andrea? I don't even care any more. Nothing's worth this."
"But Paris--"
"I don't even want to go any more," Emily said dully. "Because I'd have to go with that." She jerked her head toward the office.
"Emily, you don't mean--"
Again, she cut Andy off. "I do, actually. Congratulations, Andrea, you've just won a fabulous all-expense paid trip to Paris, courtesy of the most wicked woman alive. What are you going to do next?"
"Maybe you should take the rest of the day off," Andy said as delicately as she could. "I can take care of the list, and you'll feel better once you've gotten out for a while."
She flashed that creepy, dead smile again. "I suppose you couldn't hear what she was saying, then. No running off and forcing Andrea to take care of your dirty work for you, Emily," she said in a fair imitation of Miranda's flat tones. "Seems you've made quite an impression."
At a loss, Andy tried to keep her mouth from falling open. "Emily, I'm so..."
"Don't," Emily said, holding up a hand. "It's not your fault, actually. And don't make me say that ever again."
She pushed the door to the townhouse open as quietly as she could. It had become a game of sorts -- was it actually possible to drop off the Book without Miranda ever knowing she had been here?
The clacking of her heels on the marble hall of the foyer had made it difficult at first, but Andy realized by her second or third visit that she could sort of slide her feet across, making her steps nearly silent.
She almost made it this time.
She'd gotten the dry cleaning in the closet and put the Book on the correct table and was on her way out the door when Miranda sashayed into the hall and glared at her.
"Andrea," she said evenly. The 'why am I being forced to look at you?' was unspoken but obvious.
"Good evening, Miranda," Andy replied in her most pleasant worker-bee voice. "Sorry to disturb, but I was just leaving."
There was a long pause, in which Miranda's expression shifted from put-upon to demanding. "You may fetch my coat," she said in a lofty tone, looking in a nearby mirror to pat at her hair. "I am going out."
It finally registered what Miranda was wearing.
It was black. And it was tight. She'd always known Miranda was attractive, but she hadn't realized until that moment that she was actually hot.
Andy blinked. "Oh... okay..."
With shaking hands, she fished a red Chanel out of the closet and offered it up.
Miranda just sighed.
Why was she doing this? Andy wondered, putting the red back and selecting a long black number. She had no idea who the designer was, but when she held it aloft, Miranda deigned to slip it on.
"Is... is Stephen going to meet you there?" Andy heard herself ask from a long way away.
Clearly she was in a suicidal mood tonight.
But instead of leaping down her throat for asking about her personal life, Miranda just gave her a slow, sexy smile. "Stephen is... gone."
Andy wanted to ask, she really did, but her self-preservation instinct finally kicked in and kept her mouth wisely shut.
Weirdly, however, Miranda went ahead and answered anyway. "He was inferior," she tossed over her shoulder as she went out the door. "I don't know what I ever saw in him."
The door closed, and Andy just stood in the foyer, her mind whirling with confusion.
Who was that and what the hell had she done with Miranda Priestly?
"...and then she just walked out," Andy said. "It was totally weird. I mean, she just doesn't talk to people like that, and especially not me. She hates me."
"Andy..." Nate began.
But she was on a roll. "And what's up with her lately, anyway? She's been on such a rampage. I mean, I haven't been home before midnight once this week. And I'm so wound up all the time that I can't sleep."
"Andy!" he tried again.
"And then this mess with Emily. She wants me to go to Paris instead of her. And after all that fuss about how she's the one who gets to have the big payoff with Fashion Week and everything. I think she's going to quit, Nate, I really do. And then who gets stuck with the whole fucking thing?"
Finally, Nate reached over and grabbed her shoulders. "Andy," he said one last time, leaning close and giving her a reproachful look.
"Sorry," she said with a sheepish smile. "It's just been... rougher than usual."
He was silent for a moment, but she could see a thunderstorm building in his eyes, and it made her sad. She loved Nate, and she hated hurting him, but did he expect her to be able to just turn Miranda off when she got home?
"Why don't we just go to sleep?" he asked quietly. "We can talk in the morning."
But we won't, Andy realized as she allowed him to lead her into the bedroom. I'll have to leave for work before you even wake up.
Nothing was right any more.
This time, Miranda was in the foyer as Andy attempted to sneak in. She glanced up from applying blood-red lipstick and offered Andy another one of those smiles that sent a thrill up her spine. Whether it was fear or lust, Andy wasn't certain, but she sure as hell wasn't going to think about it.
"Andrea," she murmured, turning away to gaze at herself in the mirror.
"Um... hi," she said, trying not to make it a question. She put the Book on the table and shoved the bag of dry cleaning into the closet, doing her best not to make eye contact with Miranda.
She was in all black again. But there was a lot less of it. Andy tried not to stare at all the exposed skin and failed miserably.
"My coat," Miranda said, running a fingernail around her lips. She was probably checking for stray lipstick, but Andy had never seen anyone turn it into an erotic act before.
On autopilot, her hand reached into the closet and yanked out a coat at random. It turned out to be the same one from the week before. Wordlessly, she held it out and sucked in a breath as Miranda slid herself into it, coming so close to Andy that her hair brushed against Andy's nose. She smelled like musk and alcohol and Andy tried not to tremble.
Miranda turned around and Andy saw that her collar was wildly askew. "Um... Miranda, your collar..."
"Well," she said, tilting her head upwards, "fix it."
With hands shaking so badly she was afraid of accidentally slapping Miranda, she grabbed the lapels and pulled them into place. "Okay," she said, voice cracking. "That's better."
Quick as lightning, Miranda leaned forward and kissed Andy's cheek. "Thank you, Andrea," Miranda whispered, her breath hot on Andy's skin and her tongue flicking out briefly to touch the lipstick outline she'd just made.
Eyes wide, Andy felt her knees turn to water. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Miranda stepped away and gave her that terrifyingly sexy smile again. "Have a good evening, Andrea," she said in a throaty voice.
"Um... yeah," Andy stammered with a gulp, flinging herself out of the house and down the front steps in a single motion, wondering whether or not it counted as sexual assault if she wanted Miranda to do it again.
When she was far enough away to feel safe again, Andy stared up at the townhouse, a hand pressed against her face, still feeling the ghost of Miranda's kiss.
The next morning, Miranda stormed into the office, flung her coat and bag at Emily, and offered Andy a bright smile. "Andrea," she said slyly.
She tried not to blush.
"Well, well," Emily said in a catty voice as she put the coat in the closet. "Look who's off the shit list today."
Andy just sighed and rolled her eyes. "Shut up, or I'll make you go to Paris with her."
Three days after that, she lost the coin toss with Emily and had to go in to take down the afternoon list of impossible tasks. Her stomach twisted with fear, she stood in the middle of Miranda's glass office, her eyes firmly on the pad of paper, pencil poised at the ready.
But Miranda did not speak.
Andy wasn't going to look up for anything. She was too scared of what she'd see if she did.
"I need a meeting with Nigel," Miranda said eventually. "The November shoots are atrocious. And the menu for the final luncheon in Paris is simply unacceptable. Clearly, Andrea, your French is not comprehensible to the chefs. I've said over and over that foie gras is too provincial to be served at..."
Her pencil came to rest as Miranda trailed off. Unable to resist, Andy glanced up and froze in place.
Miranda's hands were curled into fists at her sides, and her eyes were wide and filled with an odd expression. They locked gazes, and Miranda took a shaky step forward. "Andrea..." she whispered.
Andy came close to running out of the room in panic.
"...help me... please..." Miranda said, so quietly that she almost didn't hear it.
She gasped and dropped her pencil.
The only way she could describe what happened next was to say that a shudder went all over Miranda's body. Her posture restored itself to its familiar haughtiness, and she arched an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Andrea?" Miranda asked primly.
"I... you..." she stammered, unable to piece together what she'd just seen.
In the end, she just stooped and picked up the pencil.
"No, Miranda," she said, trying to regain her composure. "No problem at all. I apologize about the menu, and I will convey your orders to the chefs on staff. No foie gras."
Miranda flapped a hand at her. "That's all."
She did something very shameful four days later. Instead of running the Book right up to the townhouse and dealing with whatever weirdness Miranda was dishing out, she waited in the bushes for Miranda to come out, sweep down the stairs, and down the street.
After making sure Miranda was completely out of sight, Andy hurried up the stairs and found that the house had been left unlocked.
With a little headshake, she opened the door and went about her duties.
One of the twins was sitting at the foot of the stairs when she looked up from closing the closet door. To her credit, Andy didn't so much as flinch. She just pasted a friendly smile on her face and gave the girl a nod. "Hey," she said.
"Do you know where Mom went?" the twin asked.
Andy shrugged. "She was gone when I came in."
"She goes out every night now," the child said quietly. "And she doesn't talk to us any more. And she said something that made Stephen leave and never come back. Do you think she's going to make me and Caroline leave like that?"
Unable to answer, Andy just stood in silence while Cassidy walked slowly up the stairs. When she left, she made sure the front door was firmly locked.
The next morning, Andy called the twins' nanny. Between the two of them, they made arrangements for the twins to stay with their grandmother until further notice.
It took more than a week for Miranda to notice that she was living alone. Once she did, she just made a snide remark about turning the twins' rooms into a guest suite.
That was the night Andy decided to follow her.
Miranda didn't leave until nearly midnight, which was good because the Book was running late. Andy debated calling Nate and telling him she was going to be out for a while but decided not to -- the inevitable fight just wasn't worth it. More to the point, Miranda would probably hear her from her position in the bushes.
Allowing Miranda a good hundred-foot lead, Andy tried to keep her pace controlled and casual as she strolled after her. She'd dressed for the occasion, wearing all black, as Miranda was, and bundling her hair up in a black cap she'd snatched out of the Closet on her way over. And she barely stumbled at all as her stilettos threatened to catch in the sidewalk cracks.
Andy permitted herself to reflect ruefully on the fact that her new lifestyle might be prettier, but it was a hell of a lot less functional.
The club was so exclusive it didn't even have a sign out front. In fact, if she hadn't seen Miranda sashay in, Andy would have taken it for just another hole in the wall.
The bouncer glanced at her, sighed, "You'll do," and opened the door. She was so relieved that she forgot to be offended.
And worst of all, it was almost totally pitch black. The only lighting came from the bar itself, which had dim fluorescents installed inconspicuously around its edge. Andy stood in the doorway for several minutes, simultaneously allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness and trying to see Miranda.
She found her at the bar, holding a martini glass filled with something red, smirking at a young, dark-haired woman sitting on her left.
While Andy watched, Miranda allowed the woman to lean in and suckle on her collarbone. At the same time, an equally young man walked over and very casually ran his hand down Miranda's side.
Andy's jaw dropped. But she had the presence of mind to move closer.
"You look pretty tonight," she heard the woman tell Miranda over the loud house music. "I see that you are better behaved as well."
Miranda just took a sip out of her glass and gave the woman a smoky-eyed smile.
"Come now, Lyra," the man said in a petulant sort of voice, "it's my turn. You've had your fun, and I want to have a go."
"You will do as I say, Acheron," the woman -- Lyra? -- snapped. "And I say that your turn is forfeit." She put a possessive hand on Miranda's shoulder.
"But..."
"She is mine," Lyra said. "Mine, I tell you. Go find your own pet and leave mine alone."
Andy gasped. Still, Miranda said nothing.
"You never let me have any fun," Acheron said sulkily.
"Go away, Acheron, before I cut out your eyes and use them for martini olives." Clearly dismissing the man, Lyra turned to Miranda and offered her a kind smile. Well, it was sort of kind. The kind of smile Miranda usually gave someone before she moved in for the kill. "Speaking of, my darling, would you care for another drink?"
Again, Miranda just gave her that slow, sexy grin.
Lyra moved away and Andy decided it was now or never.
"Um... Miranda?" she asked quietly, creeping up to the bar. "Miranda, are you okay?"
Miranda turned on her with a cold expression. "Go away, Andrea. My personal life is none of your business." Her eyes were stormy and full of fear.
"But," she began.
"No," Miranda interrupted, grabbing her wrist. Andy winced as she felt the fingernails graze her skin. "You need to go. Now."
"Miranda, I--"
The hand tightened and Andy could see the extreme anxiety in her eyes. "Andrea," she said in a strangled voice. "You do not understand with whom you are interfering. Stay away from me."
And with that, Miranda let her go. Wide-eyed, Andy stumbled backward, nearly knocking someone over. "I'm sorry," she said automatically. "Clumsy of me..."
"No problem," Acheron said smoothly. "No problem at all, my dear. It was obviously my fault. Allow me to buy you a drink to make up for it."
Her gut seized with fear and all Andy wanted to do in that moment was flee. Go find your own, she heard in the back of her mind. Go find your own pet and leave mine alone.
"N-no," she stammered. "No, that's okay. I've got to go."
Before Acheron could respond, she turned and all but ran. Once she was out of the bar and back under the flickering streetlights, she saw that Miranda had grabbed her wrist so hard that her fingernails had actually broken the skin.
The next night, it was her turn to wait up for Nate to come home. He stumbled in around three in the morning, reeking of cheap beer and cigar smoke, which set off warning bells in Andy's head.
Nate didn't smoke.
"Where... where were you?" she asked, trying to sound inquisitive and friendly instead of accusing and panicked. "Boys' night with Doug or something?"
He glared at her. "God, Andy, don't be such a bitch about it!" And apparently unwilling to discuss the matter further, he stumbled into the bedroom. The squeak of mattress springs and the subsequent snoring told her all she needed to know.
Except that Nate didn't get drunk all that often. And when he did, he wasn't an angry drunk.
Something strange was happening.
"Fuck," she muttered to herself. "First Miranda goes all funny, and now Nate? I don't know if I can take it any more."
"Nigel, I think I'm losing my mind," Andy said quietly at lunch two days later.
"You're losing your mind?" Nigel asked primly. "The Queen Bee herself came marching in and took over the November shoot."
"Well... she always has a lot of input into shoots," she said, wondering at her sudden urge to defend Miranda.
Shaking his head, Nigel stabbed angrily at his salad. "She doesn't usually take the camera away from the photographer. And the pictures... my God, Andy. I swear, she's about two steps away from White Coat City."
"What do you mean?"
"I can show you easier than trying to tell you," he said, fumbling around in his shoulder bag and pulling out a stack of proofs.
Shocked, Andy flipped through photo after photo, her stomach sinking as she took in each shot.
A girl, dressed in what could only be described as a dominatrix outfit, straddling another girl, who by all appearances was naked, and biting at her neck. The girl who was being bitten had an expression of ecstasy in her eyes, and her mouth was frozen open in a silent scream.
A young man lying spread-eagled on the floor as a woman wearing a bra and garter belt brought a stiletto heel toward his face. The man's hands loosely covered his genitals but managed to convey extreme arousal all the same.
A woman splayed suggestively between the legs of another woman, her face dangerously close to the woman's crotch. Her tongue protruded obscenely from her lips, and Andy couldn't decide whether she looked more like a jaded whore or a strangled corpse.
There was nothing tasteful here. Nothing that said Runway. It was pornography, pure and simple.
She stared up at Nigel.
"Like I said, sweetie," he told her, taking the pictures out of her limp hands. "White Coat City."
Three days later, Miranda disappeared.
The first thing Andy did was go back to the club.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing Andy actually did was cancel all of Miranda's appointments, send a hysterical Emily home for the interim, and tell Nigel that he had free reign with the Book until Miranda's return. It took two whole days to get everything settled.
Nigel was perfectly capable of running the magazine in Miranda's absence. And if he needed her, he could always drag Emily in with promises of anti-anxiety meds and being in Miranda's good graces upon her return.
But for now, Emily was a sobbing wreck and Andy definitely had other places to be.
The police weren’t interested. After all, Miranda's marriage had just fallen apart and her kids had more or less just been taken away. "We get this sort of thing all the time," the bored detective said. "She'll come back after she's done licking her wounds. Or she'll wash up somewhere downstream. Either way, we'll find her sooner or later."
She had decided that stories about creepy young women in strange bars wouldn't be anything the police would listen to.
Also, she couldn't get the image of Miranda's face, as white as her hair, floating in the cold water, sightless eyes staring up at the sky, out of her head. But that couldn't be true. Miranda couldn't be dead. She'd know if Miranda was dead. Somehow.
Andy knew it was stupid. She knew it was something out of a horrible made-for-TV movie. But she couldn't just stand idly by and let all this weirdness go unaddressed.
Something awful had happened to Miranda Priestly, and if she wasn't going to do anything about it, no one would.
So she went to the club.
It wasn't nearly as intimidating in daylight. The bouncer wasn't there, and when she went inside, the overhead lights were on, turning the creepy room into a boring industrial storage space.
There was a man wiping glasses and giving her a surly look. "In case it wasn't obvious from the sign on the door," he said, "we're closed."
"I was actually looking for someone," Andy said, willing her voice not to shake. "My... friend." She nearly choked on the word.
"Well, girlie, I'm the only one here, and as nice as you seem, I don't know you from Adam," he said sarcastically.
Andy tried not to roll her eyes. "She comes here at night," she said, keeping her tone even. "You'd recognize her -- she's got totally white hair, and she's always wearing black."
Regarding her with what she could only call a careful expression, the man just shrugged. "I don't work nights," he said briefly. "I just clean up during the day. Come back and ask later."
"Thanks," she spat. "You've been really helpful."
As she turned the doorknob to leave, the man called out over her shoulder. "Hey, girlie! Maybe your friend doesn't want to be found. You ever think about that?"
She kept her mouth shut and left.
Later that evening, she dressed up in her sexiest couture and made her way toward the club again. Maybe the night-shift bartender would be in a more receptive mood if she looked like she'd be adequately... thankful for his assistance.
Nate hadn't been at home. Of course, they'd barely spoken to each other since that night he came home drunk, so Andy didn't give it much thought.
The bouncer at the door gave her a friendly smile, but before she could go in, a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back down the stairs.
"Hey," she said angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Andrea Sachs," she heard someone say quietly in her ear. "You cannot go inside."
"What do you mean?" she asked, giving her arm a tug. "I've got to find my friend."
The voice was uncomfortably close. "You will not find her in there," it said. "Only oblivion awaits. Oblivion and certain death."
Andy went very still. "Who are you?" she asked quietly. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?"
With a great deal of fear, she finally turned around to face whoever it was.
He was smiling at her. It was not a pleasant smile, but he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "My name is Gareth. And I know you because Acheron and Lyra are looking for you, and so everyone is."
Still not satisfied, Andy took a step away from him. "How can I possibly trust you?"
"You can't," Gareth replied, friendly enough. "But I am the only one who can help you get your friend back. The other people who could show you the way are the same people who want to kill you."
She hadn't been expecting that one. "Kill me?" she echoed, hearing her voice squeak.
"Come now, Andrea Sachs," Gareth said, "is this really a conversation you wish to have on a public street?"
Speechless, Andy found herself unable to reply.
"Andrea Sachs, you have two choices," Gareth said in a solemn voice.
"I do?"
They were at the townhouse. She didn't want to have to attempt to explain Gareth to Nate, and she couldn't think of anywhere else that would be totally empty. So she pushed away the useless crime scene tape, unlocked the door, and invited him in.
"The better choice is to just forget your friend." He paused for her to make an inarticulate noise in protest of that notion. "I promise you, child, you have no idea what you are in for. There are monsters in this world that you have never dreamt of. Your other choice is to face them."
"Down the rabbit hole, huh, Alice?" Andy asked wryly.
Gareth's grin was just as unsettling here as it was out near the bar. "More like down a black hole and into a lion's den. I will not lie to you, Andrea Sachs. They want to kill you, and if given a chance, they will."
She sighed and stalked into the kitchen, randomly opening cabinets until she found a clean glass. "You keep saying they. Who are they?"
"Eight days ago, you went into a nightclub," Gareth said. It was not a question. "And you met Lyra and her brother, Acheron."
She remembered the way their hands had possessively touched Miranda and felt sick all over again. "Yeah," she said in defiance, filling the glass with water and taking a long drink. "Although I didn't really meet them. I ran into the guy, though. Like, literally."
"You were watching them," he continued. "And they knew you were watching. They have eyes and ears in places you would not believe, and so they now know who you are and that you want something that belongs to them."
"I do?" she echoed dumbly.
He made an impatient gesture with an elegant left hand. "Do not be stupid, Andrea Sachs. I am speaking of the woman. Their new pet."
Tightening her hands around her water glass, Andy had to remind herself that Gareth was trying to help her. "Pet?" she said quietly. "Miranda isn't anyone's pet."
"Lyra does what she pleases," he replied. "She takes what she wants."
"And she wanted Miranda?" Andy wondered aloud. "But why? Why her?"
Gareth shrugged. "Why not?" he replied. "I have heard that she is exceptionally attractive. And Lyra enjoys bending strong wills to her own in particular."
"Attractive..." Andy echoed. "But she's... she's Miranda. She doesn't... she's not like that."
"And yet you yourself are willing to die for her," Gareth said softly.
It hadn't quite sunk in until just now. "Die?" she asked. "What sort of person is this Lyra? She thinks Miranda's her pet and she wants to kill me? How the hell do people like that even exist?" It didn't sound real.
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, Andrea Sachs, do you still think you are dealing in the world of humans?"
It was as if the whole universe hiccupped.
"Humans?"
Suddenly, Andy felt very afraid. Clearly, she was trapped in Miranda's townhouse with a crazed madman she'd invited in of her own accord. Maybe he'd already killed Miranda and was looking for victim number two.
On impulse, she threw the water glass at Gareth as hard as she could.
Only to feel the fear settle more completely into her stomach as he smoothly caught it and shook his head deprecatingly at her. "Nothing is solved by violence," he said gently. "Your denial will not help you."
"I could call the police," she said in a trembling voice, fumbling around in her handbag for her cell phone. "If you hurt me, they'll know."
And there was laughter again, and it was just as chilling as it had been before. "I am possibly the one being on the whole of the Earth who will not harm you, child," Gareth said, lips twitching. "There may be no love lost between our races, but you can help me get what I want, and so you are safe. For the time being."
It was not as comforting as he'd perhaps intended it to be. Andy swallowed nervously. "Can you maybe explain from the beginning?" she asked quietly. "Everything you say only confuses me more."
"We should sit for a while, then," he said. "It will be a long telling."
"But Miranda..."
"Your friend will be where she is for some time yet. Unfortunately, Andrea Sachs, a day will not make a difference." Gareth just shook his head.
"Could... could you maybe just call me Andy?" she asked carefully, moving into the den and sitting on the sofa. "I mean, you don't have to use my full name all the time, you know. It sounds kind of weird."
He chuckled and followed suit, settling himself in a nearby chair. "I apologize. The naming tradition among my people is unlike yours, and we tend to use true names with those whose trust we are hoping to earn. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."
"I trust you." And in that moment it was true. "At least, I trust that you're here to help me and Miranda. After that..." Andy trailed off suggestively.
As she'd hoped, he took it as his opening. "My people have existed in secret alongside yours since the beginning. We have built a single, great civilization while we have watched yours rise and fall. My people are long-lived and we possess that which you might call magic."
Gareth had been right. Andy didn't believe a word of what she was hearing. "Okay..." she drawled.
"We call ourselves the--" Here he said a word in a language that she didn't understand. "But in your tongue, you might say... elves, perhaps? Or fairies?"
"Elves?" Andy asked flatly. "You mean like in Lord of the Rings?"
Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. "That damned film!" he spat. "Those poncing, blond nitwits. Every time we are reduced to creatures of air and light and no substance whatsoever! You foolish humans have never gotten it right." Breaking off, he let loose a long string of syllables in that other language.
She blinked.
With a sigh, Gareth appeared to collect himself. "I am sorry, Andrea Sachs," he said heavily. "But it is important that you understand my people are nothing like what you humans depict. Otherwise, you invite your own death."
"Look," she said, "I appreciate that you're mad about the misrepresentation of your culture in modern media or whatever, but I have to tell you, I don't see why." She gave him a pointed look -- the modern clothing, the features she thought looked pretty damn identical to human, even the blond hair. His story was getting more farfetched by the second.
"It's not your fault," Gareth said, almost to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "You don't see. Here, An -- Andy, I am under an enchantment at this moment. To pass as one of your kind. I will show you my true face, but you must promise to remain calm."
"And then you'll tell me where Miranda is?"
"I swear it," he said solemnly. "Do I have your promise?"
Primly, Andy folded her hands in her lap. "I'm watching."
And it was green and it was blue and, oh my God, the teeth!
With a squeak that she'd meant to be a shout, Andy slid out of her seat and covered her eyes with her hands.
"I told you," it said.
"What the fuck are you?" she moaned, chancing a peek between her fingers.
It was still horrible. Everything was pointy. Everything about the creature screamed, "I'm going to eat you right up!"
It flexed long fingers that, let's just face it, were basically claws. "Andy, you must control yourself," it said.
Andy just let out a little whimper and tried to crawl under the chair.
"I suppose," it continued with a sigh, "that it is better this way. You must understand that this is what you must defeat to win back your friend. Do you understand now?"
"You're like my worst nightmare," she cried, pushing her face into the floor and covering her head with her arms. "Only... worse!"
It snorted with laughter and Andy wanted to vomit.
"I... I can't," she whispered, lips brushing against Miranda's carpet. "I just..."
"You would condemn your Miranda, then?" it asked gently.
"She's..." Andy began. She's not my Miranda, she wanted to say. But the words just wouldn't come. In the end, she forced her hands away from her eyes and stared up at the monster. "Do you all look like that?" she mumbled.
"It may be small consolation, but my people consider humans to be hideous as well," Gareth said. Andy couldn't believe that such a friendly tone could come from such an awful... creature. "Our young are told frightening stories about iron-wielding humans and their wicked faces. It is to keep them from wandering. To keep them safe."
She gulped and made herself stand up, even though it brought her face closer to Gareth's. "I always thought fairy tales were just morality stories. Don't wander from home, obey your parents, don't touch yourself. That sort of thing."
The creature grinned, showing so many teeth that Andy couldn't contain her shudder of fear. "Oh, they are. They mostly come back to the same idea. Stay away from the dark, but because you don't know what's actually lurking there."
"Can you please change back?" Andy asked desperately. "I know I've got to look at other... things, but it's really hard for me to trust you when you look like something that would bite my head off if given a chance."
Another laugh, but it was softer and closer to the human-like Gareth from before. Something about him rippled, and then he was back. "Do you see why I despise those winged fops from your human tales?"
"If you're what they're based on, I don't get where they came from in the first place," she muttered.
"Denial, most likely," Gareth said. "But it is beside the point, Andrea Sachs. Now you see what you are facing, and, more to the point, you see that it is real. Have you made your choice yet? You can still walk away."
Gathering up the shreds of her dignity, she gave him a firm nod. "I can't just leave Miranda," she said quietly. "I'll do whatever I have to."
Gareth returned her nod. "For now, Andy, you must be prepared to wait. I will find you in two days' time."
"What should I do while I'm waiting?" She thought of trying to go back into work, to corral Emily and help Nigel pick out layouts. After what she'd just seen, she didn't think she could keep it together.
"Perhaps you should take the time to make sure your absence will go unnoticed," he said thoughtfully. "I cannot say how long it will take. Maybe as little as a day, maybe as much as a year. Time runs differently for my people, and it will run differently for you, once you are among us."
"In two days?" she couldn't help asking, her voice high with anxiety.
"Two days."
On to Part Two...