Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In most towns out west, they’re just stories. Devils and ghosts and other such spirits are talked ‘bout ‘round campfires or over drinks, tall tales to spook those who don’t know better than to believe them. In most towns, a dead animal or a missin’ child is generally the work of coyotes. In most towns, rules can be broken, laws can be ignored, if you’ve got brains enough or bullets enough to keep from gettin’ strung up or shot down.

Lily Lake ain’t one of those towns.

:::::

“Don’t you go angerin’ the Gentry, boy,” a mother cuffs her son upside the head, pulling him by the arm away from the three well-dressed men he’d been about to slingshot a pebble at. One of the men turns to watch them leave, his eyes solid blue all they way through where the whites should be, blue as a clear summer sky over the desert. He smiles with too many teeth, and the boy turns hurriedly away.

:::::

“Are you tryin’ to cheat me?” A loud hiss, and the saloon goes silent, all eyes finding the table where one of the Good People is staring down an out-of-towner. The fool has one hand on his gun and the other in his pocket, where he’s no doubt been slippin’ cards.

“What’d you do about it if I was?” He asks, to the winces of the townsfolk.

“If you aren’t playin’ by the rules we agreed on, there will be consequences,” the faery says, long nails on long fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the tabletop. The man moves to take his hand from his pocket, and the faery lunges quick as a rattler across the table, nabbing at whatever’s inside. The man’s eyes widen as the faery holds up the cards he’d been secreting away; he seems to finally realize he ain’t dealin’ with somethin’ human.

“The hell–” he draws his gun.

“No!” At least three people yell, because who knows what affiliations this faery has, what kind of trouble could be brought down on the town of Lily Lake just by a gunshot.

“Is that a threat?” The faery asks, soundin’ almost delighted by the possibility.

“You’re damn right it’s a threat,” says the outsider, poor fool. The gun is wrenched from his hands, hittin’ the ground with a small clatter.

“Take this outside,” orders the bartender, calm and steady, and the faery does, dragging the man by the front of his shirt. There is a sound that is not a gunshot, but is equally as final.

:::::

Lily Lake, everything’s always fair. Certain laws aren’t ever, ever broken. The town Sheriff doesn’t have to do much. Gunslingers, outlaws, they pass through, time to time. Most make it out. Some don’t.

:::::

“People say the west is nothing like back east, is that true?” A visitor asks, a young lady. The man she’s talking to laughs.

“Lily Lake ain’t nothin’ like the rest of the west, either,” he replies.

(Turns out the girl is stayin’, marrying some man in town no-one’s heard of. “Poor girl,” some whisper, thinking of the family she must be leavin’ behind for her faery beau.)

:::::

In most towns out west, a raven is just a raven, a snake is just a snake. In most towns, a gunshot is the only really worrying sound to listen for. In most towns, people cheat at cards, and kids throw pebbles, and Sheriffs and their Deputies are in charge of keepin’ the peace.

Lily Lake ain’t one of those towns.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth “Doc” Watkins is older than she lets on. Not in any significant way; she’s still human, through and through, but she’s gonna maintain for as long as she possibly can that she’s under fifty, if only just.

Doc’s been around a while. She ain’t naive enough to think Lily Lake’s the only town in the west, or the world, full of creatures like the faefolk. Lily Lake just happens to be somewhere the Good People feel comfortable showin’ themselves.

Doc has a good workin’ theory on why that may be, but she knows when to hold her tongue. Livin’ in Lily Lake would teach anyone that much.

She ain’t a doctor, not technically. Never got to go to school for it. But a doctor trained her, and more than enough standoffs and shootouts and angry horses and angry fae have tested her skills over the years. So, in Lily Lake, she’s Doc. She’s just about the only human person around who knows– by fifth or sixth hand account, mind you– why the town’s called what it is, not that that’s a particularly fascinatin’ tale.

:::::

Sheriff Zach Lucas is older than he lets on. He doesn’t need to do much to keep the peace, other than be present within the town lines; people mostly take care of disputes themselves, however that might end up lookin’. Zach’s been sheriff of the little town for years and years and years, now, and his reach extends the full boundary of Lily Lake. He knows when someone of another Court besides his own steps foot across town borders, when relations between his own Court and the human residents are starting to turn a little sour. Once he would’a been called a King, but Sheriff is just as well.

:::::

Lee “Lucky” Byrd ain’t fae, but he’s lived in Lily Lake the whole nineteen years of his life so far. He knows that breakin’ their rules ain’t worth it, how to make deals that put him out on top, when a silver tongue does more good than an iron bullet and when it’s time to draw.

“Lucky, you sure you’re not a changelin’?” Mrs. Bowman asks one day, and Lucky just grins wide and winks at her. Truthfully, he ain’t, though; he’s just adaptable.

He also knows from Doc Watkins how Lily Lake got its name; she looked long and hard at him when he asked, then announced that no one’d ever thought to ask her before. Lucky thinks she’d be the obvious choice of people to question, seein’ as she’s over fifty and lived here most her life.

:::::

“Lily Lake used to be called Lily’s Lake,” Lucky tells a girl a few years younger than him, Grace Keller, smug at knowin’ something most the other local kids don’t. “A man named Zechariah Lily bought the whole place, long time ago, when it wasn’t nothin’ but desert. Doc thinks he was one of the Gentry, but there ain’t no proof.”

“Why’s it called ‘lake’ then if it weren’t ever a lake?” Grace asks.

“Used to be a lake just outside of town, so Doc says,” Lucky shrugs. “Guess at some point it just dried all up.”

“You tellin’ me the truth, Lucky Byrd?” the girl asks, suspicious, and Lucky just grins wide and winks at her.

:::::

Zach steps out of the sheriff’s station, tipping his hat to the townspeople he passes on the street, human or otherwise.

“Sheriff,” Lee Byrd and young Grace Keller greet in unison, and Zach nods back.

:::::

“You think Zechariah Lily was Gentry?” Grace asks him, once Lucas has gone past.

“Could be,” Lucky says, his eyes followin’ the Sheriff as he walks away. “Seems likely he’d still be around if he were; they don’t do things like buy whole towns only to leave ‘em, and they don’t die quite so easy or fast as human folk.”

“So you think he’s still here?” Grace’s eyes light up with a curious mischief Lucky knows well.

“Could be,” Lucky repeats, grinning and raising his eyebrows at her. “Zechariah Lily, King of Lily’s Lake, could still walk among us.”

“He could be anyone,” Grace agrees. Lucky chuckles and ruffles her hair.

“Could be,” he repeats again, eyes flicking to where Sheriff Lucas has paused on the steps of the saloon, watching them from halfway down main street.

Lucas holds his gaze until Lucky looks away.

He knows when to hold his tongue. Livin’ in Lily Lake would teach anyone that much.

Chapter Text

Marie Hart is new to Lily Lake. She moved out west to live with her new husband.

Jaime’s a gentle soul, all kind eyes and warm laughs, and Marie doesn’t care when he smiles a little too wide to hide the knife-sharp teeth at the back of his mouth. She knows the deal she made, what she’s given up in return for her faery husband’s heart. Namely, her own in return, freely and gladly given, though she knows the people of Lily Lake don’t assume such.

:::::

Grace Keller ain’t new to Lily Lake. She was born elsewhere, but Lily Lake’s all she remembers.

Her mother’s always said that Grace is too curious for her own good, and Grace– up in a tree with a huge dog below her, snappin’ at her danglin’ feet– is starting to think her mother may be right. There’s only the dog on one side, and a large-ish pond on the other, ringed by little brown mushrooms, and Grace does not like her chances of gettin’ down from this tree safely any time soon.

Then, there’s a sharp whistle, and the dog sits, not barkin’ anymore but still growling. It keeps its eyes on Grace like it thinks she’ll move out of the tree if it dares look away.

“Walter!” a woman’s voice calls. Grace looks, but can’t see its source clearly through the leaves. Reluctantly, the dog turns moves away from the tree, presumably to its owner’s side. “I’ve got him, you can come down now.”

Grace takes a deep breath an’ starts climbing down, careful to keep her skirt from snaggin’ on any branches. Hoppin’ down out of the tree, she turns to see a woman not too much older than Lucky lookin’ back at her. The woman has a hand on the dog’s head, and the dog is obediently still.

“This your land, Miss?” Grace asks, a bit sheepishly.

“Me and my husband’s,” the woman confirms. “Marie Hart.”

“Oh! You–” Grace bites her tongue too late, recognizing the woman’s name. The newcomer, the city girl, moved out to Lily Lake by her faery beau.

Missus Hart smiles, but it’s tight and cold, like she knows Grace’s thoughts. Grace looks at the ground, more embarrassed by the minute. “Grace Keller,” she introduces herself in a mumble.

“What were you doing up in that tree?” Missus Hart asks. “Not planning a robbery, I hope.”

“Runnin’ from the dog, mostly,” Grace admits. “I’m real sorry for trespassin’, Missus Hart.”

“No harm done, Grace,” Hart smiles again, and it’s a little more real this time, kind and warm. “Walter’s just excitable. I’d like my question answered, though, if you please.”

Grace fidgets with her hands, lickin’ her lips before answering.

“I was spyin’. I thought your Mister Hart might be Zechariah Lily, who bought the town when it was only desert,” she admits. “I made a list of all the Fair Folk I know are livin’ in or around town who he could be, an’–”

“Jaime’s not Lily,” Hart interrupts, takin’ her hand off Walter’s head to make a ‘follow me’ gesture, then headin’ back the way Grace came, toward the edge of the Harts’ property. Walter trots along happily at Marie’s side. “He’s mentioned having a deal with Zechariah before.”

“Oh,” Grace hears her mother’s voice in her head, too curious for your own good, as the next words fall from her mouth against her biddin’. “What kinda deal?”

“Jaime and Lily are different Courts,” Missus Hart says. “Jaime gave up something important to pay for this land.”

Hart’s tone makes it clear that Grace will not be findin’ out what that something was, so Grace bites her tongue and doesn’t ask.

:::::

“You still at this?” Lucky asks, amused, as Grace crosses four more names off her paper, careful not to get any ink on the rest of the carefully written list.

“If you’d tell me I wouldn’t have to figure it out for myself,” Grace glares, and Lucky shrugs, unrepentant.

“Not my secret to tell,” he says. “You don’t give away secrets that ain’t yours, Grace. ‘Specially where the Good People are involved.”

:::::

“Come on, Sheriff,” Lucky whines, watchin’ with carefully disguised interest as Sheriff Lucas opens one of the iron cells built against the wall. Lucas doesn’t flinch, and for a blink Lucky doubts himself, doubts Doc’s theory– but then he catches the tightening of the Sheriff’s jaw, how eager he is to push Lucky into the cell and lock the door, stepping back soon as he does.

“You know better than to rile up drunkards, Lee,” Lucas raises an eyebrow.

“I know a lot of things, Sheriff,” Lucky leans back against the wall, slides down to sit on the ground, then puts his head back and pulls his hat down over his face. “Lotta things I probably shouldn’t.”

“Like what?” Lucas snorts, amused. Lucky would normally say nothin’, but he’s annoyed an’ already in an iron cell, so part of him says aw, what the hell, and the rest of him ain’t sober enough to disagree.

“I know Deputy O’Connor drinks too much.” He starts, standin’ up again and grabbing the cell bars, grinning through them. “I know the eldest Keller boy is a changelin’. I know Mrs. Cho and Mrs. Solomon wear matchin’ wedding bands. I know I’m a man, and I made a Deal to prove it. I know your name.”

The Sheriff’s eyes flash with something angry, something Other. Lucky’s jaw clicks shut, and he steps back from the bars, keepin’ his eyes on Lucas until his back is pressed hard against the wall.

“I think,” Lucas says, low and dangerous, “you should learn to mind your own business, boy.”

Lucky grinds his teeth together, willin’ himself not to dig his grave any deeper.

:::::

Jaime Hart has never been a church-goer. He doesn’t see the value in it. Marie does, though, so Jaime puts on his best glamour and his best outfit.

“Ready to face the stares of half the town?” Marie asks, smiling to let him know she’s joking.

“I don’t know any of ‘em too well,” Jaime says. “Not like stares’ll bother me.”

“You don’t know anyone because you’re a hermit, dear,” Marie gives her husband a flat look. Jaime hums in self-pleased agreement, and Marie laughs, looping her arm with his.

:::::

Reverend Miguel Castillo was surprised, the first time a faery showed up at Sunday service. He’d never seen them live so openly among humans before movin’ to Lily Lake, and he’d thought they’d avoid the church and its people. He was proven wrong very quickly.

Now he doesn’t blink, when he’s greetin’ people at the door and sees all-black eyes or curled claws or hears the flutter of invisible wings hidden underneath glamours. Some even seem to actually listen to the service, though what they get out of it Miguel wouldn’t be able to say. But he’s gotten used to ‘em showing up, used to saying “welcome,” instead of “thank you for coming”.

He doesn’t recognize the young couple that walk up this morning, but he recognizes the slight headache lookin’ at the man’s glamour gives him. He’s used to faefolk comin’ to service, now.

What Miguel is not used to is Lucky Byrd, walkin’ up to the building, shufflin’ his feet like every step pains him, hat held to his chest with both hands nervously clutchin’ at it.

“Mr. Byrd,” Miguel greets, nodding, and Lucky nods back, once, curt and uncomfortable, an’ says nothin’ as he passes Miguel and finds a seat near the back of the church, directly behind the new couple.

:::::

It’s not that Lucky is scared of God– he figures nothin’ can be more frightenin’ than one of the Gentry when they’re angry– or even particularly believes in Him. But he figures that, with the way the Sheriff was looking at him as he was released this mornin’, he’s about to need all the unearthly help he can receive.

Chapter Text

The Spider swings from side to side, her fingers brushin’ at the dirt, her mouth stretched in a grin much too wide and gaping for her narrow face. Lucky rolls his eyes and shoves her by her shoulder, and she goes swingin’ back with a merry cackle. Then she drops out of her lightning-burnt tree, twistin’ to land gracefully on hands and feet.

“You need to stop gettin’ yourself in trouble,” she says, and Lucky looks down at her, unimpressed. The Spider just laughs again. “You ain't got much left to trade me, little Lucky.”

“I got enough,” Lucky replies, one hand on the butt of his pistol as the faery stands, towerin’ over him once she's fully upright. She sticks her tongue out between her long fangs, placing a hand on either side of Lucky’s face, an’ he meets her eyes and doesn't shudder away from the cold of her touch. Eventually, she lets go, pushes wild blood-dark curls out of her six gold eyes, and grins even wider than before.

“Alrighty then,” she says.

:::::

Most everyone in Lily Lake’s made Deals before; you live ‘round faefolk long enough, you learn to do things Their way. Lucky’s only ever made Deals with the Spider, specifically, though.

He’s traded for a deeper voice, a squarer jaw, narrower hips. He’s traded to be a faster draw than most of the outlaws that pass through town. He’s given her trinkets and symbols and riddles and stories, and carefully worded propositions, and she gives him what he asks in return. He knows she’s waiting for the day he offers something more , something he may regret givin’. He’s seen the teeth she wears around her neck, the eyes she stores in a hollow of her tree. Hears the haunted whispers of souls promised and collected, fair and square, as if the fae could do anything any other way.

Lucky Byrd ain’t fool enough to think he can Deal with a faery forever and come away whole, but he’s gotten away with it this long, so he figures he’s doin’ alright.

This , though, is somehow different. This is a stone on a string around Lucky’s neck, careful sigils scratched into it all the way ‘round. This is a protection charm, something solid she’s made from nothin’, not something done to him but something given to him. Lucky doesn’t fully understand the difference, but whatever it is, it cost him a good amount of blood and his favorite hat. Which was also his only hat.

Lucky uses his now-bandaged hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and the other to keep his wiry hair held back from his face, as he walks the distance back to town from the Spider’s tree.

:::::

Mrs. Mildred Keller ain’t someone to be trifled with. Her four children know this well, and the rest of Lily Lake’s children know it almost the same, ‘cause in a town like theirs, parenting becomes a communal happenin’. Heavens know Mildred’s grabbed enough children’s collars without thinkin’ on whose they were; keepin’ children out of trouble and out of harm’s way, in a town full o’ faefolk, ain’t never been any one mother’s job.

So Mildred doesn’t think twice to snatch Lucky Byrd’s arm when he waves at her in passin’. He ain’t quite a child anymore, but that doesn’t stop her. She grabs his wrist and stares hard at the red-stained bandage wrapped ‘round his hand.

“What in Hell’s name you do this time?” she asks. She gets no answer. “At least go see Doc, seein’ as it’s still bleedin’ like that.”

“Mrs. Keller--” Lucky squirms, probably at bein’ spoken to like a child, but at her stern look he nods, an’ heads toward Doc’s place when Mildred lets go of his arm.

“Good,” she says simply, watchin’ him go.

:::::

“Where’s your hat?” Grace asks, and Lucky sniffs , a curt, dismissive sound.

“Lost it,” he says, fidgeting with the bandage wrapped ‘round his cut hand.

“Where?” This question comes from Phillipa, the youngest of Mrs. Solomon an’ Mrs. Cho’s three children.

“The desert,” Lucky answers, vaguely as he can.

“How’d you lose it?” Vincent, the second Keller boy, asks. He seems fascinated by the way Lucky’s curls stick out without his hat there to weigh ‘em down.

“That ain’t your business,” Lucky replies. “Why you so interested, anyway? ‘S just a hat.”

The children don’t look too convinced, but they let him alone, for the time bein’.

:::::

“You’re up late,” Marie notes, unfazed by the audible shifting of bones under Jaime’s skin as he changes back to some semblance of human. He uncurls himself from the chair he’d been lounging in, places an open book on the end-table next to him, and looks at her with too many eyes before the extra pairs slide shut and disappear. Shiny mandibles cover the lower part of his face, then Marie blinks, and they’re gone.

“I’ll come to bed,” Jaime says, reaching for her hand, and raising it to his lips.

“You don’t have to,” Marie replies. “I didn’t know whether you were going to, is all.”

Jaime shrugs, his spine popping loudly at the motion, something clicking back into place. He winces, but smiles, and lets her lead him to bed.

:::::

Lucas’ horse is uneasy here, ‘specially at night, but the Sheriff holds tight to the reins as he climbs down, approaches who he’s come to see.

“Do you have a secret for me?” the Spider asks, hangin’ by her knees, as always, off a branch that don’t look capable of holding her weight. She’s wearin’ Lee Byrd’s hat.

“Even better,” Lucas pulls a wood box from his saddlebag, hands it over, and the Spider opens it with great interest, hummin’ in delight at the perfect snake skeleton inside.

“Purty,” she curls upward to set the box on a branch above the Sheriff’s head. “Little Lucky was here this mornin’, ‘fore the day’s heat set in.”

“What did he want?” Lucas asks.

“Protection,” the Spider says. Four of her eyes flash violet an’ swivel away from Lucas, starin’ into the desert, seein’ somethin’ far away. He doesn’t ask what she sees, an’ she doesn’t tell ‘im.

“From me?” Lucas asks. The Spider nods.

“He’s ruffled,” she says, barin’ her fangs in what may be a smile. “Poor boy seems to think you’ll be comin’ after him, though what put that thought in his head, I couldn’t say. I gave him a charm.”

Lucas smiles back at her, a grim and strained expression, and says nothing more. He turns away, leading his horse a short distance away from the Spider’s tree before mounting an’ gettin’ ready to ride back toward town.

“Next you see my brother,” she calls after him, “tell him hello from me, yeah?”

Chapter Text

Marie knows what her husband agreed to give up, to live in Lily Lake. She knows why . She also knows what Jaime didn't agree to give up, and lost anyway.

There's a photograph tucked in between the pages of an old Bible that Jaime keeps in the parlor. Marie first assumed the book was for appearances, should he ever have guests. Now she knows better. It was a gift, from the woman in the photograph.

:::::

The strangers ride into Lily Lake on a Saturday evening, which means there’s been little time for speculation between then and when they show up at the church the next mornin’, more than a bit late and completely unconcerned by that fact. A few people spin in their seats, gapin’ or glarin’ at the newcomers who’d dare interrupt a sermon. The strangers take their seats, an’ remove their hats. The first of the three nods, in what could possibly be apology, to the reverend.

The sermon continues.

Then the whispers start.

:::::

By Sunday evenin’, the whole town of Lily Lake knows they've got strangers among ‘em. Human by the looks of it, but looks can be deceivin’, and folks in Lily Lake know to be cautious.

Well. They know they should be cautious. That don't stop everyone.

:::::

Doc’s walkin’ down main street when she sees the children. Seven of ‘em, at least three bein’ Kellers, and all pushin’ at each other for a view through the same saloon window.

“The hell are y’all doin’?” she calls. A few of the kids spin ‘round.

“Spyin’!” Kelly O’Connor calls back, jus’ before Vincent Keller smacks him ‘round the head and scolds him for talkin’ too loud.

“On them travelers?” Doc guesses, and Kelly nods. “Askin’ for trouble?”

“We ain't!” Ruben Cho reassures her.

:::::

Marie knows the woman in the photograph was close to Jaime, before. She knows the woman left his life, because of the Deal he made with Zechariah Lily. She knows Jaime would not make the same Deal again, but she knows why he made it the first time.

:::::

“What’re your thoughts on them new folks, just rolled into town?” Deputy Alby O’Connor asks. Zach’s nose twitches at the smell of whiskey on the man’s breath.

“You been drinkin’ again?” he asks, givin’ a warning glance that's hastily dismissed with a wave.

“Not too much,” O’Connor says, and while Lucas doubts that their ideas of ‘too much’ would be the same, it ain't technically a lie. “You know my boy, Kelly, he's been tellin’ me, him an’ his friends, you know, they been watchin’ the strangers.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow, but doesn't prompt the deputy for more information. Alby keeps talkin’ on his own.

“They’ve got guns, all of ‘em, fancy guns, all shiny silver an’ wood so black you’d think it was burnt, or so Kelly says. Haven't said barely a word to anyone since they arrived. Siblings, maybe, since they all look the exact damn same. Well, ‘cept for the… you know. Human, though, strange enough.”

“Definitely human,” the Sheriff agrees. He’d’ve known if they weren't, would've felt it the second they stepped past the town border.

If they weren't human, they wouldn't be such a goddamn mystery, and he wouldn't have to keep wonderin’ at what they were doing in his town.

:::::

On the way up the stairs to bed, at the end of Sunday night, Will reads one of the posters on the saloon’s stairway wall. Wanted, for questioning. Nothin’ big. Some small-time outlaw, or a misunderstanding, even. Will reads over it anyway. The words shift in front of their eyes.

Wanted, dead or alive, for bank robbery and the murders of eight men: Will ‘Boneyard’ Daniels, Angel ‘Dynamite’ Daniels, Sam ‘Midnight’ Daniels. $1800 reward, $600 each.

Will has it memorized, that poster. It hasn't got a photo or a sketch or nothin’, just a description of the three of ‘em. But sometimes that's enough. They're fortunate this town is so isolated, fortunate so few lawmen ever come this way. Fortunate that poster hasn't made it out this far yet.

:::::

Marie knows what her husband agreed to give up, to live in Lily Lake. She knows why. She knows what he didn’t agree to give up, and lost anyway.

What Marie doesn't know--

“Will you tell me her name?” she asks, without judgement, holding the photograph up to the sunlight filtering through the windows. The woman’s hands are folded in front of her, her eyes bright with laughter. The photo’s just blurry enough to make it that Marie can't tell whether the woman is fae or human.

Jaime, where he sits across the room, is silent for a long time before answering.

“Yes. But not today,” he says, quiet in a way that seems much too human for what he is.

:::::

Grace likes when strangers show up. She likes bein’ able to play at guessing who people are, likes makin’ up tales of outlaws or heroic adventurers.

These strangers are more excitin’ than any others, though, she thinks, ‘cause she's never seen any three human people with the same face. Well. Almost the same face. One's blind, eyes milky white instead of sharp honey-brown like the other two’s. Another’s got some scars like they were burned, an’ part of an ear missin’. And the last wears a bandana over their mouth all the time, never makin’ a sound.

Grace, like most all of Lily Lake’s other children, is curious. But, like the other children, she refrains from askin’ questions. They don't wanna get into trouble by asking, so it's better to make up stories and play at knowin’ things they don't.

Chapter Text

Lucky doesn't remember all that much about his mother. She died when he was still young, an’ more than a few of the other parents in town took turns watchin’ out for him after that.

What he does remember of his mother are small things, just bits and pieces; her voice, teachin’ him how to speak to the faefolk, her hands, braidin’ his curls into somethin’ less wild than usual.

He remembers Father Castillo’s heavy hand an’ heavier sympathies on his shoulder, the day the funeral rites were held. That day’s memories are why Lucky kept away from church services so damn long.

He's never kept away from the church graveyard, though. His mother's got a cross there, her name carved into it in careful English letters, and nothin’ else on it; no dates or inscriptions or such.

He runs his fingers over each letter, sometimes, tryin’ to make himself remember more of her. Her bright laugh, the angry steel in her expression on the rare occasion her softness was tested, the pieces of her own mother’s language that she tried to teach him.

He remembers the solemn look in her eyes the day she gave him his true name, an’ made him swear never to tell it to another livin’ soul.

:::::

“Eun-ji,” the sheriff's voice comes from the other room. Lucky doesn't dare move from her bed, but she listens hard, curious ‘bout what the sheriff might be visiting for. “You been feelin’ any better?”

“Don't pretend to care about how I'm feelin’,” Lucky's mother replies.

“I do care.” Sheriff Lucas sighs.

“You care about your Deal,” Eun-ji says. “You aren't welcome here.”

Lucky sits up in bed, more an’ more curious by the second. She hears the sheriff say somethin’ else, too low to understand, then footsteps, then the noise of her mother slammin’ the door behind the sheriff as he leaves.

:::::

Marie runs hesitant fingertips over the cover of the parlor Bible, before flipping it open, findin’, again, the photograph, looking as closely as she can into the woman’s eyes.

:::::

Doc comes over more an’ more, as Lucky’s mother gets sicker. Other people come too, bringin’ food, or takin’ Lucky out to play with their kids, or checkin’ in on Eun-ji. Mrs. Keller comes. Mrs. Cho comes, new in town but fast friends with most the population. Alby O’Connor comes a couple times, offerin’ to watch Lucky for a while so her mother can rest.

The sheriff comes once, and Eun-ji yells him out the door in a furious mix of English an’ Korean that Lucky doesn't understand.

A few of the Good People come too, townsfolk, all glamoured to look human, though a few things -- sharp teeth and glowing eyes and backwards joints -- show through their disguises. Some are there to offer comfort, playin’ at being human. Some are there to offer Deals that Eun-ji will never accept. One is a lady Lucky's never seen before, with dark red curls that she pushes back from six gold eyes before crouchin’ down close to look at Lucky.

“Hey, there, little Lucky,” she says, quiet.

“Hello,” Lucky says back.

“You’ll come find me when you wanna make a Deal, yeah?” The lady blinks, each eye out of sync with the others.

“Maybe,” Lucky allows. She knows better than to say anything more. The faery grins, wide and vicious, and stands.

“Good kid. You'll grow into a fine young man, little Lucky,” she says. She sweeps away, out of the house, before Lucky can correct her.

:::::

“Do you have any siblings?” Marie asked, once, back east, when Jaime was a new presence in her life, and faeries were not fact.

“A twin,” he had answered. “She lives out west, jus’ outside of Lily Lake.”

He told her the barest details of a story, of himself and his sister, both chased away from home for acting too far out of their family’s interests.

(Later, he fills in the blanks. Not a family, but a Court, a war narrowly avoided and an exile imposed. A Deal, to live under Zechariah Lily’s protection.)

:::::

“My lucky little Lee,” Lucky’s mother says, kissing the top of Lucky’s head before continuin’ to braid her hair.

Lucky giggles, rocking back an’ forth impatiently, waitin’ for her mother to say she can go play.

“Can you keep a secret, love?” Lucky's mother asks, and Lucky spins ‘round in surprise, made wary by the graveness in her mother's eyes.

“What kinda secret?” Lucky asks.

“Your name,” her mother says. “Your whole name. Your true name.”

Lucky nods, slow and serious. She knows about true names. She knows why they're secret. She's six now; she can keep it secret.

“You can't ever tell anyone, understand?” Her mother’s voice is quiet. Lucky nods again.

“Yes, eomma,” she promises.

Her mother tells her. Lucky repeats the name under her breath.

“Never tell a soul, understand, love?” Eun-ji repeats. “Names have power.”

“I know,” Lucky assures her. Her mother presses another kiss to Lucky's head.

“Good girl.”

:::::

The woman in the photo looks nothing like how Jaime describes his sister. Her hair too straight, and too dark. Her eyes too few, and too narrow. She could be glamoured, of course, but Marie would guess that this woman is someone different. Jaime talks about his sister, sometimes, on the rare occasion when Marie trades him stories for stories. He doesn’t ever speak of this woman.

:::::

Eun-ji fades, until she’s gone.

Sheriff Lucas is not present at the funeral. The faery with red curls is, her arm slung ‘round the shoulders of a man Lucky doesn't know. He has dark skin and darker curls; Lucky looks hurriedly away when he meets her gaze with inhuman eyes.

:::::

“Would you like to know, now?” Jaime’s voice surprises Marie, and she nearly drops the Bible and the photo. She manages to keep her grip on both, however, and turns to face her husband where he stands in the doorway. He looks back at her with too many eyes, each one shiny, beady, black. They blink, slow and solemn, but do not disappear.

“You startled me,” she informs him. He tips his head, a wordless apology.

“Who she was,” he says, an addition to his question.

Marie bites her lip, looking again at the photograph.

“Will it cost me?” she asks, because husband he may be, but Jaime is still, first and always, one of the Fair Folk.

“No,” he says. “I’ll tell you this one truth, freely given.”

Marie nods.

:::::

“Lee Min-Jun Byrd,” Lucky breathes his name into nothingness, years after his mother’s death. He listens closely t’ the sound of his own voice. It's deeper now, after his latest Deal with the Spider.

His mother never knew him , never got to see the young man he grew into, but, at least, he thinks, at least she gave him a name he could keep, a name that could always be his .

:::::

“Mr. Byrd,” Father Castillo’s voice brings Lucky out of his faint childhood memories, back to the boneyard where he's kneelin’ in the dirt. “I didn't see you in service this Sunday.”

“Didn't feel a need to come back again,” Lucky says truthfully. The charm from Spider is a comfortable weight ‘round his neck.

He stands, turns, sends a grin at the reverend’s unimpressed look. “‘Sides, I heard Sunday's service had some distractions.”

The reverend laughs, a small sound made louder by the quiet of the land around them.

“You could call ‘em that,” he agrees. “I don't suppose I'll be seein’ you next Sunday either, then?”

Lucky shrugs, and Father Castillo gives him a look that says he knows the shrug really means ‘no'.

“We'll see,” Lucky says anyway, ‘cause refusin’ outright seems rude, and he's pretty sure lyin’ outright would be a sin.

“We'll see,” the reverend agrees.

:::::

Jaime walks forward, extra eyes finally sliding shut and burrowing back under his skin. He takes the photo from Marie’s hand.

“My sister always says I’m too easily taken by humans,” he says. “Maybe she's right.”

Marie says nothing, but intertwines her fingers with those of her husband’s free hand.

“She was my heart, for a little while,” Jaime continues, nodding to the photograph. “Her name was Eun-ji.”

Chapter Text

It’s storm season. The wind blows up the desert sand, and brings it, stingin’, blindin’, into town. The streets are empty more often than not, but the people continue their lives, keep workin’, keep goin’ about their business.

Empty streets and an open bank make storm season perfect for a robbery.

:::::

Sam touches a hand to the bracelets ‘round their wrist. Through Will’s eyes, they see themself, which means Will is watchin’ them, waitin’ for something.

“What?” Sam asks, signing the word as they speak it aloud. Will looks down at their own hands to sign their reply.

“ Nothing. ”

“Then why you lookin’ at me?” Sam demands. Will hesitates. Sam hears Angel come into the room, but Will doesn't look up, so Sam doesn't see them.

“ Are you sure we won't be crossing anything we shouldn’t, here? ” Will signs, still looking at their hands so Sam can see.

“Like what?” Sam asks. “You think some faerie’s gonna care about a human bank? They don't generally involve themselves with--”

“ No. This town is different, and you know it,” Will interrupts. “ There are faefolk walking around like they belong. ”

Angel claps for the others’ attention, an’ Will looks up.

“ It'll be fine,” Angel  signs. “ Not a one of the fae will try and stop us, with these. ” They pull lightly at the pouch ‘round their neck, full of salt and iron flecks and rowan ash. “ Needles promised these would ward them off. ”

“ Needles also said powerful enough faeries could overcome these,” Will points out.

“Maybe, but there ain't nothin’ that powerful in a human bank,” Sam replies. “Stop whinin’. We’re about to be rich.”

:::::

Mrs. Irma Solomon has worked at Lily Lake's only bank for years. Irma moved into town with her wife, before their children were born, ‘cause Lily Lake seemed to be the kinda place where there were plenty stranger things for folk to worry about than two women livin’ together. She's seen her fair share of that strangeness.

Odd as the Gentry can be, though, Irma has to say, they’d never be quite so uncivil as to rob the bank at gunpoint.

:::::

Preparation is a necessary evil. Wait for the street to be dusty enough for people to stay inside, tie their horses up ‘cross the road from the bank, map a course out of town that won't leave their backs open to any sharp-shooters. That’s all important, but it ain't no fun .

This is Sam’s favorite part. The chaos that breaks out when they shoot at the sky, the screams of the few people in the bank.

“Everyone, please accept my deepest apologies,” they drawl, “but this is a robbery. We'll be takin’ your money now.”

:::::

Angel can't hear the shots they put through the roof. But then they borrow Will’s ears, and oh, are those startled and frightened screams satisfying.

“Keep watch,” Sam says and signs, and Angel nods, guardin’ the door while their siblings move further into the room, headin’ for the teller and the vault.

:::::

Sheriff Lucas doesn't generally have to do much, to keep the peace in Lily Lake. Disputes get handled, disagreements get resolved. The faefolk, and the human folk who've learned to live with ‘em, mostly figure things out on their own.

But the sound of gunshots in the middle of town is somethin’ he thinks he may have to check on.

:::::

Lucky is too curious not to run toward the shots, even through the dust startin’ to hit town. He’s a quick draw and nimble, so he figures he’ll be quick enough to keep safe should there be trouble. He's almost to the bank already when he sees the Sheriff runnin’ from the other way.

“You stay back,” Sheriff Lucas orders Lucky.

:::::

Will ignores the panic, ignores the noise, focuses on getting at the money in the vault. The man with the keys blubbers the whole time, bargainin’ with skill. Will ignores him, too.

:::::

People here ain't reckless, which is good. They get their money without havin’ to shoot any of the people cowerin’ around the room.

“Someone's outside,” Sam’s voice says, but it’s Angel’s inflection, Angel’s message from the door.

“Let’s give them a welcome,” Will says, also usin’ Sam’s voice, an’ signing at the same time for Angel, who gives them a nod.

The man with the keys looks confused. Will ignores him once again.

:::::

“You stay back,” Sheriff Lucas orders, and Lucky opens his mouth to respond, to argue.

Then a bullet comes through the bank’s open door, invisible through the sandy air. Lucky curses, scramblin’ down the street a ways, toward safety. The sheriff is close behind him.

Lucky counts eight more shots, one after the other, before it goes quiet.

“They out already?” he asks, wary. Lucas shakes his head, says nothin’.

The bank door swings open, an’ the three strangers exit at a run, headin’ for where their horses are tied up across the street. It’s hard to see ‘em clearly through the building storm, but one’s got a full knapsack slung over one shoulder. The sheriff aims, shoots, and one goes down silently, clutchin’ at their bleedin’ leg.

“By bein’ in this town you agree to follow its laws,” Lucas calls, carefully controlled rage underlyin’ every word. “I'll give you one chance to put that money down an’ leave peacefully.”

Lucky knows what Lucas is. He knows that this is a Deal, and the only one these outlaws will receive.

“Y’all might wanna listen to him,” he says over the wind, and Lucas sends him an irritated glance.

“We ain't scared of you,” one of the strangers replies. They drop the money, only to put a hand on the second pistol in their belt.

“Reconsider,” Lucas says, his voice enraged and Other in a way Lucky ain't ever heard in his life , not from the sheriff or from anybody. Lucas raises his gun again, slowly, givin’ the three time to accept. The one without an ear touches a hand to a bracelet ‘round their wrist, then yanks their arm aside, and the sheriff’s gun goes flyin’ from his hand.

Lucky curses in surprise.

“Last chance,” Lucas growls.

The bandits don't accept the Deal. The uninjured two raise their guns, and the shot one shakily matches their aim from the ground.

They shoot.

Lucky hits the ground. Through the rush of wind and the rush of blood in his ears he hears the sickening pops and shifts of a body becoming something new. Hears a deep, rattlin’ hiss, hears the terror of the strangers, only now understandin’ what kinda nest they've disturbed, what kind of man and what kind of thing the sheriff of Lily Lake truly is.

There are gunshots, but the other noise doesn't stop. He hears a scream, cut short, and more awful sounds that bring bile into his throat: the cracks of bones, gurgling breaths, the heart-shaking vibration of a low growl. Lucky’s never seen Sheriff Lucas look anythin’ less than perfectly human. Now he’s got the chance, he doesn't dare look.

There is the same shifting again of Lucas’ body, turnin’ back into what the town knows him to be.

Then, besides the storm still growin’ worse, there is silence.

:::::

Zach twists his shoulder, forcing it back into place. His chest hurts, bad , but he figures that's just what he gets for changin’ so quick, after so many long years contained fully in a human skin.

He hears, through the wind, footsteps, the creak of opening shutters, the low whispers of rumours starting. He doesn't know who saw him… no. That's not entirely true. He knows Lucky Byrd saw him.

Lucas turns, expectin’ to see Lucky already up on his feet. Instead, the boy’s still on the ground, breathin’ heavily out of panic. Even with all the dust in the air, now, Lucas doesn't need to get closer to see why.

Lucky’s shirt, and the dirt under him, are stained with red.

Chapter Text

Zach grits his teeth, pressin’ his hands uselessly against Lucky’s bleeding chest, as more an’ more townsfolk wander outside into the dust. He hears whispers, gasps, Lucky’s name and his own, and he doesn't look for the sources of these.

He scoops Lucky into his arms, stands, and turns toward Doc’s place… and his gaze meets Grace Keller’s fearful one, for just a moment.

“Grace,” the sheriff orders, and the girl startles, “run to the Harts’ property, outside town. Tell Jaime that Lee’s hurt.”

Confused but determined, Grace nods, an’ sprints away, into the storm.

:::::

Doc hurries to clear things off her table, lettin’ the sheriff put Lucky Byrd down onto it. She gathers medicines and tools, needles and rags, and goes to the boy’s side. Lucky’s breathing is wrong, too fast and out of rhythm, an’ blood’s already soaked all through his shirt.

“I’ll do my best,” Doc tells the sheriff, who's got a hand on his chest, rubbin’ at it, lookin’ as pained as if he’d been the one shot. Outside, a gust of wind drives sand against the windowpanes.

“I’m stayin’ here,” Lucas replies. “I can help.”

“At your own price,” Doc narrows her eyes, but the sheriff doesn't flinch from her stare. “Fine. If you wanna help, start a fire, an’ boil some water.”

They get to work.

:::::

Grace pounds on the Harts’ door for what seems like much too long a time, before Marie opens the door.

“Grace?”

“Missus Hart, where’s your husband?” Grace asks, still out of breath. “I’ve got a message for ‘im, from the sheriff.”

:::::

Everything is fuzzy. There's nothing keepin’ his thoughts inside his head. He doesn't really know if that’s an effect of bein’ shot, or if it’s the medicine Doc gave him.

“I’m sorry I know your name,” he says, and the sheriff looks up, and doesn’t respond. “I know I shouldn't have said anythin’ about it. I won't tell, you know. I wouldn't ever use it.”

:::::

“I know,” Lily replies, because he does. Lee Byrd is half human, and half fae, but he ain't one of either kind that’d use someone's name against them. If Zechariah Lily was the sheriff’s true name, he might feel differently about lettin’ Lucky know it, but it ain't, so he doesn't.

“Hold his arms still,” Doc orders, and the sheriff does.

“You should know my name, too,” Lucky continues.

“Hush, boy,” Doc interrupts him. “Don't say nothin’ stupid.”

:::::

Jaime enters Doc’s home without knocking, Marie and the Keller girl close behind him. And there is Lee, on the table, bleeding, mumbling indistinctly around the leather belt the doctor’s stuck in his mouth. Jaime starts forward, but Zechariah is there, pushing him back.

“You ain’t got rights to this claim. I sent Grace to tell you out of courtesy,” the sheriff says lowly. Jaime looks at the sheriff with surprise, and something almost like gratitude. Courtesy . What a strange, human, reason to do anything. (Stars above and dark below, Jaime wonders, has spendin’ these last years in human skins really changed them both so drastically?)

“Courtesy,” Jaime echoes. Lily narrows his eyes.

“You weren't there when Eun-ji was sick,” he explains. “I thought you might wanna be here for her son.”

Her son. Somethin’ unpleasant sits in the back of Jaime’s throat, but he doesn’t disagree with Lily. He knows better than that. So he just nods. The sheriff steps back, lettin’ Jaime go to Lucky's side.

He’s kept his distance so long, has barely seen Lee at all since Eun-ji’s funeral. The boy shares his curls, his dark complexion, Jaime notes now, but the kid’s features are all Eun-ji. Human eyes and human ears and human teeth, nothin’ but the kid’s aura to even suggest he’s got anythin’ of the faefolk in him. Jaime senses the potential for something Other, but it's hidden under Lee’s skin, not by a glamour but by solid flesh and blood and bone. Jaime wonders absently if it'll ever find its way out.

“Grace, get on home now,” Doc orders, bringin’ Jaime’s eyes off of Lucky and to herself with the words. The Keller girl, wide-eyed and pale-faced, also tears her gaze away from Lucky-- from his wounds, and obeys the doctor. Marie shuts the door behind her, moves forward into the room, intertwines arms with Jaime. A show of loyalty, or comfort, or solidarity. Jaime doesn't know.

“What can we do?” Marie asks Doc.

“I’ve done most of what I can, ” the doctor admits, gesturing to her bloodied tools, the misshapen bullets she’s pulled from the wounds, the clearly alcohol-soaked rag in her hand. “All that's really left is to get him fully stitched an’ bandaged up, an’ hope for the best.”

:::::

Lucky drifts in and out of sleep. Every time he wakes, the pain’s a little less sharp, an’ the world’s a bit more hazy, out of focus. He hears voices, sees people leanin’ over him, sometimes, but has trouble understandin’ what they say. He just hears pieces of conversations.

“ ...infection’s gettin’ worse…”

“I don't think he can hear us.”

“If I give him more medicine… end up dependent...”

“...nothing left… keeps gettin’ worse.”

“...can’t die! He can't! Doc--”

“...absolutely forbid you to make a Deal… deranged from fever...”

“Lucky.”

Lucky opens his eyes, blinking past the brightness of the sunlight streamin’ through the window. The sheriff is standin’ there.

“Sheriff,” Lucky greets. Everything in his head is…muffled, like his thoughts are tryin’ to reach him through a storm. Something’s wrong.

:::::

Lucky looks confused, when Zach wakes him. His eyes aren't focusin’ right, and his voice is soft an’ half-asleep. Drenched in sweat, his bandages soaked through with blood an’ pus, his skin a shade grayer… he looks close to death.

“Lucky, you need to make a Deal with me,” Lucas says. “You're sick, y’hear me? You need to make a Deal, so I can help.”

“A deal?” Lucky says, not understandin’. “A deal. I-- what was I gonna tell you, when we talked before?”

“Lucky, focus.” the sheriff orders.

“Lily’s not a good name for you, sheriff. Y’don’t look like someone who ought to be named after a flower.”

“And right now, you don't look very Lucky,” Lucas shoots back, irritated now. “Focus, Byrd. You've been dyin’ slowly for nearly a week. What'll you give me for helpin’ heal you? Make a Deal.”

“A deal…” Lucky repeats. His words are starting to slur, now, as he slips further back toward sleep. “I can give you-- I should tell you my name. I know yours. It seem fair that I should know your name when you dunno mine? Eye for an eye, an’ all that, right?”

“ Focus, Lucky,” Sheriff Lucas snaps. A part of him regrets it, croons to let the boy speak, let him tell , let him bind himself, bind him, bind him -- “ Focus .”

“Eye for an eye,” Lucky murmurs.

“Byrd! What will you give me for this?”

“Eye...for…” Lucky trails off.

Sheriff Lucas exhales, the air leavin’ his lungs in a frustrated sigh. He grabs Lucky’s hand in his own, an imitation of a handshake.

And he makes the Deal he's been offered.

Chapter Text

“You son of a--” Eun-ji hisses, Lee cradled close in her arms, wrapped up in a blanket. Jaime reaches out, but Eun-ji retreats a step, keepin’ out of reach. “You gave up our daughter! You dealt away your own child !”

“I didn't think I would have a child!” Jaime shouts back, eyes opening over his body, teeth growin’ into defensive fangs. “I made my Deal with Lucas years ago, how could I have known?”

“I’m leavin’ town. Don't you even try to follow me, Jaime Byrd.”

“You can't leave, Eun-ji. Eun-ji!” Jaime moves forward again, catching her arm, making her hold Lee tighter. “Lucas has claim over Lee, if you take her out of town that’s you slightin’ him, stealin’ what by our Law is his.”

Eun-ji looks up at her faery husband with all the rage and hatred and disgust he is so used to, from other humans, but not from her. Never from her. Not before this very moment.

“Then I’m leavin’ this house,” Eun-ji says, pulling away from him. “And you are never gonna speak to me or my daughter, you understand me?”

Then she throws his true name at him like a knife, the precious thing he’d traded her now ringing in his ears, and Jaime bares his fangs in seething rage.

“Yes,” he growls, because what else can he do but obey?

“Good.”

And Eun-ji leaves, and takes her child with her.

:::::

The Spider and the Scorpion are twins, cunning and dangerous, all jagged edges and sharp silver tongues. They make Deals and tell half-truths with a wink and a grin.

They don't come from this land. They followed the humans that believed in them across the sea. Here, there are others inhuman as they are, and other humans; new peoples to be bargained with, unknown stories to hear and be told.

Here, though, the presence of their Court is small, and slowly waning, even as their humans from across the sea claim more and more and more.

:::::

It takes them hours to make the Deal. As humans rarely understand, bargains are delicate, and must be treated as such. Terms are set and reset, loopholes closed and addendums made, until all parties are, if not happy, then at least content with the trade.

Lily gives them safe haven, just at the edges of the town he’s established; under his protection, but only just. He claims them, and tells them they should think about actin’ a little more human.

The Spider does not accept this suggestion, and stays wild, in the desert, at the boundary of Lily’s Lake. The Scorpion becomes Jaime, and the surname will change a few times before he meets Eun-ji, and again before he meets Marie.

They make a Deal.

One twin promises a firstborn child he does not intend to have. The other promises a heart she doesn’t particularly care to keep. They both think themselves rather clever when Lily accepts.

:::::

Eun-ji doesn't know how to categorize the sound her husband is making. It's somethin’ between humming an’ singing, the sounds mimicking but never fully forming words. She smiles, soft and happy, looking away from the book she's readin’ and putting her hand in his own. He looks up at her, and smiles back, mirror-image, squeezing her fingers without any strength. She's sitting in the grass, Jaime laying with his head restin’ on her leg.

Her middle’s finally started to look like there might really be a baby growin’ inside it, and Jaime is fully enraptured, so curious to know what their child will look like, will be like. He's always looked at Eun-ji with the strange, possessive, intense kind of love that the Fair Folk come to feel the easiest, but with this, with their unborn firstborn, an entirely new, more gentle type of love starts to spark behind his eyes. It's almost unsettlingly strange to see, this nearly-human sort of love in her faery husband’s face.

Jaime keeps singin’ to the baby, and Eun-ji goes back to her book.

:::::

They are arrogant, and greedy, and like the humans from across the sea, the twins make a plan to claim more and more and more and more. They gain allies within their Court, and they try, and they fail , their numbers not enough to face the spirits who belonged here first. To avoid any more fighting than what will already be, their Queen exiles them, leavin’ the twins to the desert.

:::::

Lily’s Lake wasn't ever a lake, in the literal sense. It is desert, dry dust and rock and bone, and likely won't ever be much more.

But it’s a place of refuge, of home, of belonging , and to some, that makes it worth more than a lake, even in the desert. It’s worth enough that the faefolk among its residents are willing to Deal with Lily. And the human folk rarely stop to wonder who it is they're belonging to .

:::::

The Spider gets a camera, from a man passin’ through town, and takes to photographing all she can, birds and insects and lizards and occasionally people. Nothin’ ever sits still enough for the pictures to turn out, but she keeps tryin’. She photographs Eun-ji, twice, keeps one picture for herself and trades the other to Jaime for a swig of whiskey from a stash he rarely touches. The pictures develop blurry, but Eun-ji is grinning in both, bright and true, her hands folded in front of her stomach, where the very beginnings of a bump are starting to show.

:::::

Eun-ji leaves her Bible in the parlor when she goes, and she doesn't come back. She doesn't ever come back for it. Jaime tucks the photograph in between its pages, and leaves it on the shelf.

:::::

“Good kid you got,” the Spider winks with three of six eyes, and Eun-ji glares daggers from her bed.

“If I had the strength, I’d throw you out the window,” she says. Another of the Gentry might see this as a threat, an insult, but the Spider is amused.

“You ain't got enough strength to throw a horseshoe,” the faery shoots back, grinnin’ wide enough to show all her teeth.

“I’m not makin’ a deal with you,” Eun-ji closes her eyes, leans back into her pillow, ignoring the instinctual fear that tells her not to take her eyes off the creature by her bedside. “And I don't want you makin’ any Deals with my daughter.”

The Spider laughs. It's the kind of sound someone makes when they know more than anyone else in the room, and are pleased with themselves for it. Eun-ji doesn't think much of it; the Spider, an’ most fae, tend to sound like that more often than not. Eun-ji opens her eyes, though, looking at her former sister-in-law just in time to see the Spider’s eyes all turn from lilac back to gold.

“I won't make any Deals with your daughter,” the Spider replies, crossing one claw over her chest in a cross-my-heart gesture. Eun-ji scoffs.

“I know your heart isn't in there,” she points out, flat and unamused.

The Spider only laughs again.

:::::

The Spider waits, in her lightning-struck tree, for Lucky to realize who he is, an’ come to her. There are visions seen in purple, but they don't all match up; she isn't sure ‘til he arrives which questions and which truth he will be bringin’ with him.

“How’d you know I was a boy ‘fore I did?” he demands, ten years old and out in the desert alone, echoing half her visions an’ breaking the rest. The Spider grins, spinning down from her tree to crouch at her nephew’s eye level.

“I can see the futures,” she tells him. “What do you have for me, little Lucky?”

He offers three bloody teeth in a pouch, shed from his own skull, and the shimmering body of a dragonfly.

“I wanna make a Deal,” he says to her, for the first time and far from the last. They trade in stages, small things for small things over months, and then years, until Lucky Byrd is a young man. It's taken long enough-- the same length of time as any child growing into an adult-- that very few people in Lily Lake think to question it.

And every time she makes a Deal with the boy, Sheriff Lucas comes questionin’ after him, possessive and protective of his claim.

:::::

When Jaime meets Eun-ji, he is a Byrd, trying to make up for something lost, and his twin is willing to play human for the comfort of his bride. Eun-ji is a spark, bright and powerful and full of life in ways Jaime thinks of as fascinating, other, like a puzzle to be solved. She Deals and half-lies and spars in wits with him, and she is not a faery, but she is dangerously clever and silver-tongued.

She has his heart, and then his hand, and then his name, and then she has his secrets and she is gone because of them.

:::::

When Jaime meets Marie, he is a Hart, trying to make up for something lost, and his twin thinks him too human now, boring, emotional, ridiculous, beneath her. Marie is a sunbeam, bright and powerful and thoroughly, humanly, kind, in ways Jaime doesn't try or even pretend to understand. She Deals and trades truths and spars in jokes with him, and she is not a faery, but she is needle-sharp and deceptively unassuming.

She has his heart, and then his secrets, and then his hand, and his name is his own again but hers is even more closely guarded. She knows him, and loves him, and doesn't leave, and he knows her, and loves her, and makes himself be human enough for it.

Chapter Text

In most towns out west…well, it doesn't really matter what most towns are like, does it? Someone could say a lot of things, ‘bout how Lily Lake’s different from its neighbors, out in the western desert. They could speak on how in most towns, a spider is just a spider, a handshake is nothin’ more. Or about the way, in most towns, power is held in wealth or weapons, not hidden under skin and behind glamours. They could mention how in most towns, a dust storm hides no monsters, an eyepatch hides no danger, and the faefolk are thought of as nothin’ more than stories. But none of that matters much at all.

‘Cause Lily Lake ain't one of those towns.

:::::

Lee “Lucky” Byrd ain’t fully fae, but he’s lived in Lily Lake the whole twenty years of his life so far, and he’s got enough faery blood in him to know how to make a Deal.

“What’ll you give me?” he asks, grinnin’ as the gaggle of children in front of him mutter and deliberate, talkin’ and reachin’ over each other to suggest things. Lucky adjusts the hat on his head, makin’ sure his curls and the eyepatch he wears are both held in place. He can't really wink anymore, with his right eye gone, but he grins his trickster’s grin jus’ the same.

“A riddle!” Kelly O’Connor offers.

“Gold!” Vincent Keller suggests, though he has none.

“These!” Ruben and Roseanne Cho chime in unison, holding between them at least seven live whiptails.

“How’d you catch those?” Glen Keller, the youngest of Mildred’s four, demands, standin’ up on tiptoe to see the lizards closer.

“An’ what am I supposed to do with ‘em?” Lucky asks, laughin’ good-naturedly, then turnin’ when there's a tug on his right sleeve.

“This,” offers little Arlene Bowman, the very youngest of the assembled lot, an’ most certainly a changeling, because she calmly uncurls her hands to reveal a live scorpion inside, still and small and white. The other children yell out in shock or fear or both, jumpin’ back from the girl an’ her deadly prize, and Lucky can't help laughing again outta surprise.

“Perfect,” he tells her, holdin’ out a hand for the bug. It crawls readily from the girl's hand to his, an’ he puts it carefully on the rim of his hat.

“ Now will you show us?” Phillipa Solomon asks.

“You sure you wanna see?” Lucky asks, raising his visible eyebrow at them.

“Yeah!” a chorus of eager voices, some more sure than others. Lucky reaches for his eyepatch, and--

“Lucky Byrd, don't you dare !” Mildred Keller scolds from a little ways down the road, where she's just noticed them.

“Uh oh. Run!” Lucky says, and the kids do, scattering in all directions. “Afternoon, Mrs. Keller!”

Mildred gives him an exasperated look that he’s well used to, and Lucky-- well. He’d wink if he were able.

:::::

“You're not coming in with a scorpion on your head,” Marie says when she answers the door, one hand on her pregnant middle.

Lucky obediently takes his hat off, shakes it until he sees the creature fall an’ scurry away.

:::::

It's strange, Lucky thinks sometimes, how easily they've settled into knowing each other, into bein’ something nearly, nearly , akin to family. His step-mother, barely six years his senior, and his father, who Dealt him away, and Lucky, who’s heard more of his own past and nature in the last few months than the whole rest of his life combined.

It's strained, sometimes, like strings pulled taut where they shouldn't be, like sharp knife edges and the harsh grate of wind blowin’ sand against skin, as Lucky tries to make a comfortable place for himself in his changin’ life.

Everything’s changed, now. All in Lily Lake know their sheriff ain't human. Most know that Lucky ain't, either. Most people don't seem to think much of these revelations; most of the townsfolk have known the Sheriff an’ Lucky both too long to be spooked. On occasion, though, Lucky notices small shifts. There are a few more iron horseshoes nailed over doorways, a few more suspicious glances, a few more overheard warnings from adults to children. Don't go angerin’ the Gentry .

:::::

Lucky thinks he should be angry, with Jaime, with Lucas, with someone… but he doesn't feel much of anythin’ about being the sheriff’s claim. It's already happened, and it ain't changin’, so Lucky doesn't see the point of bein’ resentful about it. He feels bitter, sometimes, but it ain't directed at anyone. It just... is .

He still doesn't talk to Lucas, much, but he knows now not to fear him.

:::::

When Lucky asks for the photograph of his mother, the Spider just hands it to him. It is the first an’ only freely offered gift that Lucky an’ his aunt will ever exchange.

:::::

Sheriff Zach Lucas has made a great many Deals, over his life. Most things he gains, he keeps in his home, hidden and safe. A few, though, he keeps at the sheriff’s station, locked and warded in a drawer in his desk. Among these treasures: a land deed, a heart, and a single eye.

:::::

Elizabeth “Doc” Watkins knows more than she cares to, now, about Sheriff Lucas, and Lucky Byrd, and a few other things besides. But Doc knows, more importantly than anythin’ else, that the Good People an’ their business ain't nothin’ she can speak on. So she ignores the whispered rumours, ‘round town, an’ holds her tongue. Livin’ in Lily Lake would teach anyone that much.

:::::

Jaime says he can sense something Other in Lucky. Hiding underneath, the way Jaime’s human shape hides mandibles and claws and multitudes of eyes. Marie doesn't see it.

Lucky’s joints don't bend the wrong ways, his nails and teeth are only as sharp as her own. His eye holds the glint of a trickster, a mischief maker, but that isn't something purely fae. No one would ever know from lookin’ at him, exactly what he is. Maybe that makes him more dangerous, in a way, if he really is something inhuman on the inside.

:::::

“Can I see?” Grace asks, too curious for your own good, but her tone isn't that of a child lookin’ for a story. It's that of a friend, worried about him.

They're both sitting on the Harts’ porch, enjoyin’ a cool, cloudy day. Walter, tail wagging, lays his chin on Grace’s leg, and she scritches behind his ears, but doesn't take her eyes away from Lucky.

“It ain't pretty,” Lucky tells her.

“Didn't think it would be,” she replies, and Lucky quirks a smile.

He pulls his eyepatch up. The skin around where his eye should be is scarred, five jagged lines placed like-- claws , Grace realizes. The sheriff clawed the eye outta Lucky's head. In the socket is an eye of gemstone, shiny and black. Walter whines, but doesn't move from Grace’s side.

“Why d’you wear a patch over it if you've got that in there?” Grace asks.

“It’s new. Doc said I should put somethin’ in there, so the socket don't get all misshapen, and the Spider gave it to me for a song. Can't see through it, of course, but I’m still gettin’ used to the feel of it, I guess. ‘Sides, I don't wanna scare people,” Lucky shrugs. Grace sniffs , a curt, dismissive sound.

“Lucky Byrd, I think you're overestimatin’ how scary you are,” she tells him solemnly, and Lucky grins, winkin’ at her so that, for a lightnin’ quick moment, his black stone eye is all she sees, with her reflection lookin’ back at her from inside it. Grace’s breath catches.

Then Lucky puts the eyepatch back. The moment passes. Grace stops feelin’ like a hare starin’ down a coyote. She shakes her head, an’ smiles at her friend.