[NSW-Fic] Faerie 1 excerpt

[machievelli]

The only person on this site that has seen this in it's entirety is Jae Onasi. I am posting this because I commented on the character who is most important to his segment, and like Jedi Master 12 with whom I speak in instant messages, they share the same avocation.

 

The complete work itself would be defined as X or heavy R rated, but this excerpt with a little editing for language has been brought down to the PG 13 level they ask for here.

 

The situation: It is almos the end of the first year after some men have discovered that the Faerie of Legend, of Peter Pan, really exist. Some few have been meeting those that might help, and one, a Police officer named Padraigh O'Malley in Chicago has joined them.

 

Unfortunately, the other possible canridate is Monica Braziani, granddaughter of a mobster. The Faerie decide to help her escape...

 

Faerie 1

Monica had experience with prisons. Not by being in them, but from all of the men who worked for her Grandfather. She figured she was in a maximum security outfit. Except for when she was in the house, she didn’t go anywhere without at least two of Grandfather’s ‘assistants’.

 

She had seen smaller defensive linemen.

 

It had been this way for almost 15 years now. First he yanked her from public school, and tossed her into a Catholic school.

 

Not only Catholic, but an all girl school. All she had gotten from that was an appreciation of how little nuns knew about the real world, and a lingering worry that she might be a lesbian. The one time she had made out with a local boy some guys had ‘convinced’ him not to see her again. He wasn’t even willing to talk to her after the cast came off.

 

When she had wanted to go to college she had put her foot down. No all girl schools, no Catholic ones.

 

Instead she had gotten tutors.

 

She had chosen anthropology as her major as a poke in the old man’s eye. She knew he’d hoped she take business administration or Culinary arts. But if the classes even moved in that area beyond barter systems and cooking a pig in a pit she had walked away until that teacher didn’t come any more.

 

Sure she had tough teachers. They wouldn’t have dared to let her slack! She had done well enough that four different museums were ready to hire her, and seven Universities that had read what work she’d published had panted at adding her to their staffs. But none were ‘good’ enough for the son of an Italian Dockworker.

 

Boys had hung around her like bees around a flower when she had matured. The guys that were assigned to watch her after her 16th birthday were either gay, asexual, or the kind that got off on hurting people more than sex. She had outstripped all of them mentally before puberty and couldn’t have a decent conversation with any of them that didn’t include jail time or how to hit a man just right to break his leg.

 

Her grandfather had introduced her to a lot of sons of ‘friends’. If they weren’t mobsters they were businessmen or politicians. The children of the mobsters were as bad as her Grandfather. The businessmen were the type that would seduce their secretary and sell their children to get ahead. The Politicians were the kind that would allow her to marry their son only because that might give them a chance in the saddle too.

 

She looked at the face in a mirror. Oval, olive complexion with a sheet of hair black as a raven’s wing. She could arrest an entire room of men by walking in, and only the fact that going to dinner meant towing Grandfather and at least six goons stopped her from even considering a nightlife. She braided the hair into a French Braid halfway down her back, slipped on the sunglasses, and checked her outfit. It was a business suit, including a jacket. The skirt was knee length, and a little tight. Again, a dig at the old man.

 

Her briefcase was beside the door. Ever since she had tried to go to New York that case was packed by one of the staff, and she was not allowed another.

 

Fairy. The website had actually asked if she had seen a Fairy! Part of her, the strict anthropologist had come up with a lot of reasons why someone in a technological society might see Faerie. None of them were good.

 

But right before her father had died, she had seen what she was sure were Faerie in the backyard of their home. Momma had been dead since she was seven, and the old housekeeper had told her that a house with Faerie were blessed.

 

When father died first the housekeeper had gone, then she had been relocated to this prison.

 

She opened the door, looking at Rocco. If it were an earlier time, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him in the coliseum standing over the victim of his sword. Actually she knew that unless told to hurt someone, Rocco was as gentle as a lamb. At least to her.

 

“Well warden. Do I pass?” She asked.

 

Rocco shrugged. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He led her to the entry hall, where her coat hung. She took it out of his hands, pulling it on. She might have to put up with the equivalent of a Secret Service detail, but that didn’t mean she had to like it!

 

The team today was Rocco, Ben and Sally. She could have reduced the number by not leaving the house but if she stood here one more minute, she’d grab the nearest knife and do a Lorena Bobbit on someone!

 

The drive into the city was quiet. She didn’t like any of them well enough to want to talk, and if they tried to start a conversation, she ignored them.

 

The Library loomed like a stone monolith from the slush of the street. She climbed out, allowing Rocco to hold the door only because he went out first. She walked toward the door.

 

“Miss Braziani?” An older man came from the side. He stopped before Rocco could decide he might be a danger, reaching in slowly with his left hand to pull out a badge case.

 

Ben, the head of this detail sneered. “You want to talk to her cop, call our lawyers.”

 

“Listen. I need to talk to her for five minutes, in private. It has nothing to do with old man Braziani, and it’s none of your concern.” His voice had an Irish lilt. “Now I can talk to her here, or at the station. What will it be?”

 

“Miss?” Ben looked at her. She knew he wanted to wait, have half a dozen lawyers ready to scream, but she didn’t care. At least it was something new in her life.

 

“If you don’t mind, officer. Could we talk inside where it’s warm?”

 

“Please.” He walked ahead, holding the door.

 

She took off her coat, shoved it into Ben’s hands. “Come with me.” She walked, turning to glare at the men until they left at least seven paces between them, and continued. “I am going up to the restricted archive. We don’t have a lot of time.”

 

“I’m sergeant O’Malley. A mutual friend asked me to see if you need assistance.”

 

She looked at him askance as they trudged up the stairs. “For the life of me sergeant, I don’t know how we could have mutual friends beyond my dogs back there.”

 

“Innerworld.” He said.

 

She stumbled and O’Malley caught her. He might be old, but he was still rock solid. “How did you-”

 

“One of their reps goes around and contact people who answer their questionnaires just right. Like both of us did.”

 

She shook her head. “Sergeant, I thought I might have seen a fairy when I was fourteen. Maybe I was hallucinating.”

 

“I saw five of them just last night.” He said in a level tone. “And I know I wasn’t.” He met her astonished glance with a wink. “They’re real, and they want to help.”

 

“How.” She bit out. “What can little people with wings do to rescue me?” She jerked her head toward the trio behind them. “If you had been fifteen years younger, they wouldn’t have let us talk like this even if you were a cop.”

 

“Well there are nightspots you can go to. They can get you out.”

 

“Out.” She stopped, looking at him “Rescue me perhaps? How?”

 

“We can leave it up to them.” He turned her. “Here’ what we do...”

*****

 

Guido looked out of the window. When he’d made his move up in the organization here back in the sixties he had chosen this site for his new home. He built it after he had been made consigliore. It was a house only in name. Some mansions were smaller. “So she’s going to try this again.” He sighed. He turned back to Sally. “You’re sure.”

 

“Sir, my sister is deaf. I learned to lip read from watching her when we were both kids. She said, ‘Rescue me perhaps? How?’ and he replied, ‘We can leave it up to them’. We weren’t close enough to hear any of the conversation, and that was all they said where I was close enough.” Salvatore or ‘Sally‘ had been added to Monica’s team because he could lip read. He was also handy with weapons.

 

Guido turned back away. Once a strong bull of a man, now he ran to fat with greasy hair. “So she thinks she can get away.” He turned back. “Where did she want to go?”

 

“A dance club over in the South Side.”

 

“Then by all means, let’s allow her to do this. Call Hannah. I want three of her girls made up to look presentable.”

 

*****

 

Monica chose her clothes with care. She dressed sedately, because she didn’t have anything real provocative to wear. She chose a little black dress with a high collar and sleeves. All of her underwear was white utilitarian garb more what a nurse would wear than anything else. Her pantyhose were taupe, and she was not allowed stockings because they needed garters. The shoes were black with two inch heels. Anything higher would need permission from the warden. Last was her purse, a small clutch. all she had in it was her wallet and ID. Money and credit cards were verboten in Stalag Braziani.

 

She went down. Grandfather and his full team were there. He ushered her to the car, and Monica sat, holding the purse on her lap. If he caught her this time he would build a special cell to keep her in and feed her through a cat door until she got married. The idea that she might lose even the little freedom she had warred with her desire to be free.

 

The club was rocking when they got there. The music went from slow romantic numbers to swing, to modern, to rock, to jazz as if they hadn’t decided what they liked best. She ordered a glass of white wine, something her grandfather allowed on occasion. There were three faces she knew very well. Women that hung around with one of Grandfather’s businesses. They were neatly dressed in nice clothes, their make up light instead of what they usually wore, but they screamed whore to her.

O’Malley had told her to take it easy. The man and the Faerie that would help her escape were already here, and if she couldn’t find a way, they would set another meet. She wasn’t sure she could take this pulse pounding tension more than once. If she didn’t succeed, she’d go home and eat shards of glass rather than try again.

 

She didn’t see them, or O’Malley. Maybe it was one of Grandfather’s sadistic tricks. He wanted to know if she’d run if she had the chance. He had done it before. No, don’t start double thinking yourself. She admonished. Either walk back into your cage like a horse running back into a burning barn, or take the chance.

 

A few men would have asked her to dance, but the button men glared at them until they walked away. The music slowed, and she gasped. On one of the lights above the dance floor she thought she saw a flash of wings. She took her courage by the throat. “I’m going to the ladies, Grandfather.”

 

“Marko, Ruiz, escort her.” He grunted. He looked bored.

 

The two men walked with her, stopping outside the door as she went in.

 

If he follows the usual pattern, there are five more men outside She thought. Getting here is the easy part.

 

She saw the door open, and one of the whores he had brought along sauntered in. Monica moved back to the stall directly below the air vent. She waited until the woman using it was done, and went in. She sat, feeling like an idiot.

 

They can’t follow you into the bathroom. O’Malley had said. Sure they could bring someone who can, but they can’t get in the stall with you. The ones that will help know what you look like, and they are very patient.

 

She saw something on the wall moving down, and then a Fairy simply appeared there. She wanted to gasp, but bit her hand in what would have been an obscene gesture in public. The Fairy signaled for silence, then settled on her shoulder by her ear. She didn’t fly, she abseiled down the wall using what had to be a spider web.

 

“Will you trust me and accept that what I say is true?” the Fairy asked in a West Texas drawl. Monica nodded. “I have to bite you to start the process. If I only bite you once it might take an hour or more. But if I bite you seven or eight times, you will be my size in about five minutes.” She nodded again. “That thing with the hand is good. This might sting a bit.”

 

Monica bit her hand again then her teeth sank in as the fairy bit then bit again. She tried to keep track, but it was the gentle voice in her ear that told her it was done.

 

She noticed that her shoes felt loose, and she reached down, pulling them off. She set them on the toilet tank. The hose and panties followed, and she unzipped her dress. The skirt was wide enough by this time to slide up instead of down. Her feet no longer touched the floor, and she was starting to fall back into the bowl. A strong hand caught her. It was only the size of a baby hand, but the Fairy was strong.

 

She helped Monica until she could stand, pushing her up on the pile of clothes.

 

“Now this will definitely sting a bit.”

 

“What-” The Fairy stuffed her hand into Monica’s mouth, and gasped as Monica bit down as the wings ripped from her back. They unfurled, fanning instinctively to dry.

 

Someone pounded on the door, Monica stiffened, and only the hand stuffed in mouth kept her from screaming. “Hey, you all right in there?”

 

The Fairy put her finger to her lips. Then pointed at the line on the wall. Monica grabbed it, and with a push from below, climbed. It was easier than it had been in school. It was like she didn’t weigh anything! They reached the top of the wall between the stalls. As they did, a head looked under the edge.

 

The whore‘s eyes widened. “Oh damn!” She screamed, running to the door. “She’s gone!”

 

Ruiz, a small Hispanic with gold teeth and an attitude ran in. When the woman pointed, he kicked in the stall door. He stopped, looking at the clothes in amazement.

 

The Fairy reached the air vent and it dropped open about an inch, enough that they could slide in on their bellies. The Texan shoved Monica ahead then followed. She could see where they had patiently replaced the screws with shorter ones webbed into place, and rigged lines to raise and lower the grating. Two Faerie pulled lifting it back into place, and tied it off.

 

They moved quietly until they were far enough away that the music of the club drowned them out. The vent seemed to go forever, but finally they reached another grate rigged the same way over the dance floor. She understood that the lighting helped. The lights shown down, dazzling the people below. The grate opened, and they dropped onto the lattice that supported the light bars. Following one of the others, and followed as well by her rescuer, they made their way to a line that dropped on the bench seat of a table at the edge of the floor. It was in shadow. The lights didn’t flash here. They slid down the line they had run, landing on the back of the seat. The man had a camera bag, and watched the crowd.

 

“Clear for two.” The man commented casually. The first two Faerie slid into the bag. Monica almost ran after them but the Texan stopped her.

 

“Now.“ Monica dived down followed by the Fairy. They got into the bag.

 

They waited in mounting impatience then the man raised his hand. A waitress waved back, heading that way.

 

“Another sir?”

 

“No, I had best call it a night.” He pulled out a twenty, handing it to her. “The rest is yours, ma’am.”

 

“Why thank you, sir!” She picked up his empty glass as she sashayed back toward the bar.

 

The man stood, picking up the bag, hanging it like a purse. He passed a running Hispanic man, ignoring him. He walked up the steps from the basement, walked over to his car, and got in. Once the car was in motion, he glanced down at the faces looking up from the bag.

 

“I think I can say welcome to the world, Miss Braziani.”

 

*****

 

“How?” Guido screamed. He slammed a pudgy fist against the side of the limo.

 

“I don’t know!” Ruiz complained. “She must have had something to change into, but Sheila was the only one there, and she didn’t see anything passed!”

 

“Fine. Tell Sheila to find somewhere else to work!” Guido picked up the intercom phone. “This cop O’Malley. Where does he live?”

 

*****

 

Rob drove steadily. He stopped at an abandoned building, talking with the Fairy band that used it for a home. He put the bag down, and the Faerie surrounded Monica. Their Queen Blueweed hugged her.

 

Rob felt his phone rumble, pulling it out. “Rob.”

 

“Trouble.”

 

“Pat?”

 

“Braziani’s limo is following me. I’m, they’re going to try to run me off the road. Get her outta here!” He could hear the phone sliding, then the crunch of metal.

 

“Pat!”

 

The Faerie stood, watching him as he lowered the phone. “Your grandfather just had Sergeant O’Malley taken.”

 

“He’ll beat the truth out of him, kill him when they are done.” Monica said in a leaden voice. “I have to go home.”

 

“Well you all can’t just spring back up to normal.” The Texan Fairy told her. “You’re going to be this size for at least twelve, fifteen hours.”

 

“This monster would hurt him without even knowing if he is part of it?” The Queen, a sultry blonde who looked like Mae West asked in horror. “Such men cannot be allowed to live.”

 

“There’s not a lot I can do about it.” Rob said.

 

“I said nothing about you.” She said in a cold voice. “We will do it. All we need to do is get inside.”

 

*****

 

Ruiz held the cop’s head up. Blood ran from O’Malley’s lips, and he wasn’t sure about the ribs but he thought at least four were broken. Ruiz’s partner Marko liked to put in the boot a little too much. They’d been broken before he had even reached the car.

 

“Now you gonna tell us where she went or maybe we see how long you can live with this, eh?” Ruiz took a hand and shoved against the broken ribs. O’Malley bit back a scream.

 

*****

 

The car pulled up to the gate. A surly man stormed out of the guard shack. “What the hell do you want?”

 

“I come with a message from the old man’s granddaughter.” Rob said.

 

Before the guard could snarl his radio bleeped. He touched the earpiece. “Yes, sir?” He looked at Rob, and walked back to the shack. The steel gates rolled back, and as soon as it was clear, Rob drove through. Behind him a dozen Faerie swarmed the man under.

 

He had been in war before and knew the importance of planning, but the Fairy didn’t think that way. They had the same attitude as the Scots at every ancient battlefield they had ever been at, or the American Indians throughout most of their history. Everyone charge. Get in close, and kick the bastard until he gives up or you’re dead.

 

The trunk and back seat were full of them. Among them was Monica Braziani, wearing a leather outfit that looked like it came from a bondage store lined with thinsulate. It had taken several hours for Rob to find the space age insulating material a week or so ago, and all day for the Faerie to make up a dozen outfits. Four of them belonged to his own entourage. Monica was lucky there was one in her size. A lot of the locals were still dressed in heavy fur coats, and none of them had found a way to protect their wings, so anything done in this weather had to be done quick but they were armed to the teeth.

 

A pair of men were standing on the porch. As he stopped four more came through the door.

 

“Six of them”

 

“Just open the door.” Blueweed ordered.

 

He hit the trunk release, climbing out. The men turned, guns appearing as the thrumming of wings warned them.

 

They were a lifetime too late.

 

Faerie are small. All of four inches long, the size of an average humming bird. But these hummingbirds had steel stings of Rob’s design six inches long with a full four of them before the crossbar.

 

They were high tech lances for low tech warriors, and like knights of old, they just pointed and flew forward at a flying sprint reaching 60 miles an hour.

 

An ounce of fairy, an ounce of metal...

 

With a needlepoint.

 

One of the men screamed as a steel shaft the size of a small knitting needle rammed into his eye grating on the orbital bone. The Fairy swung forward, her sword already out and slashing. Another choked on the lance through his throat from front to back. Two more were falling with thrusts through the heart. One was frantically whirling as a web of steel, wings and biting teeth surrounded him. The other ran toward the door.

 

If he had not, Rob would have had to run across. The man flung open the door and a swarm of flying death followed. Rob walked along with a baseball bat, and gave the coup de grace to three of the men outside. The others didn’t need it. There was firing and screaming inside.

 

It was like walking into a building behind a SWAT team. Everywhere there were bodies. Some were shrinking, but most lay there pinioned by steel. He walked through the lower floor, dealing merciful death to those he found. There was another floor to go.

 

*****

 

“Hey something’s happening!” Marko shouted. He opened the door, and it was as if a cloud of death covered him. Ruiz turned toward the cop, his gun up, then screamed as something shoved through his hand. He dropped the gun, never feeling the thrust that ripped through his eardrum.

 

O’Malley felt something gentle touch his face. Witherod held onto his chest, tears falling. “Oh Pat.” She said.

 

“Get out of here. Call the-” He spasmed, feeling something tear in his chest. “Go.” He fell unconscious.

 

*****

 

“I hate the weird ones.” Detective Lieutenant Stone growled. He looked at the seven police cars and the ambulances that waited. The CSI men were working, and the ME had sent four men to cover it.

 

The security guard’s call had been incoherent, then ended abruptly. His body lay at the shack; something thin had been thrust into his chest three times, piercing the heart.

 

Inside it was even worse. The SWAT team used the Braziani estate as an example of what you didn’t want to mess with. Thirty men, guard dogs, machine guns, the whole nine yards.

 

All but the dogs were dead. The dogs had been found drugged unconscious in their runs. Old man Braziani had been punched through both eyes with whatever the killers had used.

 

“Who did this?” He asked rhetorically.

 

*****

 

Pat stiffened, trying to throw the weight off him. It was Witherod eyes even with him, suddenly the perfect size to cuddle. “I knew it would work.” She sighed, kissing him.

 

“What-” He clutched his side. Instead of the folds of loose skin he’d grown used to, it was firm and toned. Like he had been when he was still in the Service. There was no pain.

 

“We shrink you, and rejuvenate you in the doing my love.” She told him, kissing him gently. “And you will grow old when you grow back to normal size, but the injury is gone.”

 

“How can-”

 

“Padraigh O’Malley. You have a willing woman laying on your chest, wearing only what the gods gave her as raiment, and you have questions?” She stopped his comment with a kiss.

 

*****

 

BLOODY BATTLE AT MOB HOME

24 DEAD BY THE ‘KNITTING NEEDLE KILLER’

POLICE BAFFLED.

 

Chicago Tribune

 

Daniel Santos, Staff writer.

 

Police rushed to the home of alleged mob kingpin Guido Braziani in answer to a frantic call by the Wachenhut Security agency. The man from that agency hired as gate guard had called screaming. Then the phone had gone dead.

 

Ten minutes late the first police at the scene found the body of the guard, pierced half a dozen times by wounds made with long thin metal objects.

 

Those officers called for back up, and proceeded to the house where they found six bodies dead on the front porch and driveway. Inside seventeen other men were dead, including Braziani.

 

Either small razor sharp knives had killed all but two, or knitting needle sized weapons. Two others died from gunshot wounds, but police believe they are friendly fire casualties from the weapons of the mobsters.

 

Eight men that are known to frequent the building are missing and the police have asked for help in finding them. (Pictures on Pages 2 and 3)

 

Monica Braziani who disappeared last night at a night club has yet to be reached for questioning...

 

*****

 

“We commend their souls to the gods beyond.” Blueweed intoned, touching the soft wrappings of their dead. The price had been high. Of the almost 100 Faerie that had attacked the estate, fifteen were dead, a dozen wounded and three crippled. Monica Braziani cried for their loss. The Queen had informed her in a calm level voice of someone fighting her own tears that in one hour they had lost more than the band had lost in a three-year period. Monica held onto Rob’s arm. It was disturbing to know in a way that she was now only four inches tall, and that the man with her would become a woman briefly, then return to his normal height as would she. The Faerie told her she could mate if she wished, but only if she wished to remain Fairy, for they could not waste the precious seed this quiet man offered. Across the grave from her stood the Texan Fairy Witherod, her pairs of wings fluttering, and beside her a female fairy with bright yellow and green hair she was told had been Pat O’Malley.

 

But with that disturbed feeling was a joy she had never felt before. Around her, here in the city of her birth, was a tribe of people never studied and never even imagined. A tribe desperate for help from the outside, yet as she had seen unwilling to give up their freedom by subservience and willing to fight for that freedom.

 

What a doctoral thesis this would be!

 

*****

 

“O’Malley!” He turned, looking at the Lieutenant storming toward him from the garage. “Where the hell were you?”

 

“I called in sick, sir.”

 

“Sick my ass! The wife went by and said you weren’t home. And Dispatch said the caller was a woman!”

 

“I wasn’t at home sir,” O’Malley blushed. “Because a sweet little lady of my acquaintance nursed me through the night. I was in her bed last night, sir. She called in for me.”

 

The Lieutenant stopped, unsure what to do at this point. “Well. Well...” He sputtered. “Next time, let us know sooner.” He walked away, flushing more fiercely than the Irishman.