We made it to the car, joining the serpentine line of vehicles that wended their way out. Michael sighed beside me, “That was awesome.”
“What, no more sonnets tonight?” I teased him.
“All tapped out. Guess you’ll just have to wait a year to see chivalry again.”
I lifted a brow and he winked at me, lifting my hand to brush a kiss to my knuckles. In the front, Antun hummed the lute song – the one about the boy who swore he’d become worthy of the girl he loved. Syla rode shotgun, her window cracked, warm air tousling her hair. The colors of her purple-and-blue thread bracelet popped in the sunset. Michael sat in the back seat with me, our hands loosely intertwined.
I was pleasantly exhausted – that post-event tired where your bones feel warm instead of sore. It was a far cry better than last year, when my feet were barking worse than dogs and the tension ran all the way up to my shoulders. And that hadn’t been the whole day, either – as soon as we’d found Antun and talked to him, we were out of there.
But this year, we’d stayed from opening until closing, just like the diehards. And while I was ready for sleep much earlier than usual, it was a contented sort of tired. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t wanna cook dinner,” I said.
A round of “Same” went around, and Michael suggested pizza, just to keep things easy. We all agreed, and he pulled out his phone to begin ordering it so it would arrive just after we got home.
I looked out the window, thinking about how different this year’s Ren Faire experience was from last year. Last year had been good, sure, but this year? I didn’t know if it had to do with going as a group, or going dressed up, but something made this year stand out as better overall. Last year, I’d been so focused on finding Antun I barely noticed anything else. This year – especially with my vampire senses – everything felt brighter. Not just the literal colors, but the performers, the food smoke, the shouting, the bad history, all of it. Loud, alive, ridiculous, perfect.
“Did anyone want to comment on my heroic archery skills?” Michael quipped.
I laughed, an eyebrow raising all on its own. “The target pitied you.”
“Not as much as it pitied your attempts,” he chuckled. He pretended to shoot a little bow, making pew-pew sounds every time he pulled the invisible string.
“Shut up,” I shoved at his arm even though I smiled.
Syla spoke up, “I really loved the glassblowing demonstration. All that heat and color without fear – and the items they’d made were incredible.” She dug into her bag and pulled out a tiny glass penguin figurine. “I mean look at him, he’s so tiny but so detailed!” She turned the little penguin so the passing streetlights caught it, scattering blue and orange light across her palms. For a moment, she looked like a child, eyes wide and soft.
She passed “him” back and I grabbed the figurine. It was about an inch and a half tall, made with blue, white, and orange glass. He was indeed, very well made. I passed the penguin to Michael, who inspected it with appreciation before passing it back to Syla.
“My favorite part was discovering that modern bards accept Venmo,” Antun said. “Sent that lutist a tip, I really enjoyed their work. That one song – about the boy who went off to make himself better for the girl he fell in love with – that was one that’s been around for ages but I haven’t heard it in years. Last time was probably the fiddle and vocalist at that one inn… God, what century was that even? Anyway, I didn’t know the song had survived. It was a nice surprise.” His voice changed – low, almost reverent. I could see him remembering it, the candlelight on stone walls, the sound of a fiddle echoing through some inn long turned to dust. The thought made me ache; even his fond memories carried centuries of loss.
I’d found its age romantic but I hadn’t realized that it might’ve been something Antun heard ages ago. For some reason, that made Michael’s declaration during it feel that much more special. As if he’d been thinking about it too, he squeezed my hand, giving me a knowing smile.
The car settled into easy silence for a few miles – Syla tracing the penguin’s shape, Antun drumming the steering wheel, humming that old tune again under his breath. Then, out of nowhere, he brightened.
“Oh, did you guys see the guy in the dunk tank? We have to do that next year!” Antun insisted, hand tapping in excitement on the steering wheel.
“I think my archery skills sufficiently showed the extent of my athletic prowess. I’ll have to practice if you say that,” I said, copying Michael’s pew-pewing.
The car erupted with laughter. Antun slapped the steering wheel, doing his best not to accidentally speed. Michael wiped a bit of moisture from his laugh-happy eyes.
“You really could not get the hang of that thing today, could you?” Syla gasped through her giggling at me.
“Why Syla, what a naughty thing to say!” I reprimanded.
She blushed as the men roared. Antun adjusted his monk’s cowl while grinning at the chaos in the car through the rearview mirror. His laugh filled the car; centuries of memory behind it, yet it still sounded young.
“You know that’s not what I meant!” she managed to get out through her own embarrassed laughing. She grabbed her sides and laughed ‘til she cried. I hadn’t seen Syla this relaxed all day – no tension, no guarded glances, just joy.
As the laughter began to die back, I asked Syla, “So what other things did you get besides the cute penguin?”
She opened her bag and began to tell, “I got this gorgeous scarf. It’s too dark now to see the colors clearly but just feel the texture, Drew!” She passed it back. It felt like a very fine linen, soft, with tassels on the corners. “And I got some hair ribbons, some tea leaves, and these beautiful elf ear extensions made with wire.” She held each item up as she called them out. “What about you all?”
“I can’t open my bag, but this year I got an authentically made penny whistle. Why don’t you give it a test Sy?” Antun suggested.
She pulled it out of his bag and a woodsy shrill filled the space when she played. It wouldn’t have been an unpleasant sound except we were all stuck in a small car so it was loud. She stopped after one note. “Alright, you’re never allowed to play that blasted thing,” she said as she shoved it back in the bag. He’d had a half-eaten pickle left from the pickle man, a new leather-bound notebook, and a commemorative pen that I had no idea where he’d gotten it from and he wouldn’t tell.
“What about you two?” Syla asked back at Michael and me.
He acted rather cagey as he started taking things out of his bag.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, amused.
“Nothing, just getting stuff out of my bag,” he replied.
“Weirdo,” I teased as I got out my own purchases. I’d bought an acorn-shaped hair clip that was just too cute to pass up, along with a knotted pewter ring and a leather cuff bracelet that I was already wearing. I took them off and passed my things up to Syla to see.
“And you, Michael?” she asked.
“I got new leather bracers embossed with dragons, a coin pouch to tie to my belt next year, and a polished tankard. I can’t decide if I’ll take it to the office to use or keep it at home,” Michael said, turning it over in his hands before shrugging as if deciding he didn’t have to decide right now.
I passed the remaining kettle corn around, and we looked at each other’s purchases. Michael had to go and play the whistle again just to get a rise out of Syla and I, but it didn’t last long as he couldn’t stand the sound either.
Antun said like an afterthought, “Oh, Syla, go in my bag again; there’s a CD I forgot I purchased. That lutist had a few of his songs prerecorded so he could sell these. Does anyone mind?”
We all were game to listen again and keep the mood of the Faire going as long as possible. The strings of the lute twined with the tenor of his voice. My ears added in the chatter of voices, the rustling of different kinds of fabrics, the crackling of fires. It was my own personal undertone to the music.
The car smelled of the Faire – wet earth, leather oil, sweat and damp fabric, kettle corn sugar – and it was almost like being back at his performance again. The air was thick with rain and wood smoke and the sweetness of kettle corn. It smelled like everything good about the day refusing to let go of us.
Syla’s bracelet caught the dying light and I smiled at the memory. “That really is a pretty bracelet. The little girl must’ve worked really hard on it,” I said to her. “The colors suit you perfectly, too.”
She smiled, looking at it again and softly running her fingers over the tiny knots that made the bracelet. “She was such a sweet thing,” she agreed. “I haven’t had a handmade gift for so long. I remember such things being traded between friends when I was young. Some things really never change.” Glancing back up at me, her eyes said, and I’m glad of it.
We arrived back home pretty late, Antun bringing the CD inside to continue the atmosphere for as long as humanly possible. My cloak smelled faintly of pine from the fair still, underneath the wet wool. We kicked off our shoes, not bothering to undress just yet. We lounged in the living room, looking like a D&D party that got dumped in the modern century. Syla’s crown sat a little askew, her smile bright.
The remainder of our snacks sat on the table and we munched on them as we continued to reminisce about the day. “I still can’t believe how many people traded their “sins” for your jellybeans. Do you have any left?”
Antun shook out the empty pouch. “Not a one. Forgiven sins were popular today.”
“Aim wasn’t,” Syla teased.
“My archery still haunts me,” I bemoaned theatrically. “Somewhere in Pierce County, a hay bale is still trembling.”
The others laughed, Antun suggesting we ask Ravena if archery was something she taught for how awful Michael and I had been. Michael insisted he hadn’t been nearly as bad as I was. “Be that as it may,” Antun said, “watching that may have been one of my favorite parts of today.”
“I think the herbalist tent was my favorite. She was so nice and knew her leaves. The rose hibiscus tea I purchased is supposed to be calming and mood-boosting. Thinking I’d like to try it tonight,” Syla said, her eyes unfocusing as she thought back fondly.
“I thought you two were going to blush a whole lot more at the bawdy jokes being thrown around by the actors and performers,” Michael said, looking at Syla and me.
“I’m old, not dead,” Syla chuckled. “I wasn’t blind to what their references insinuated; if anything I was impressed by the amount of double entendres I heard.” She gripped her bag, knuckles whitening. “I was completely fine until that one man picked me as his target. I froze completely. Part of it was the shock of memories of Nikola, but it was also the shock of being seen. I’ve been invisible – dead to the world – for a century. Being singled out reminded me that I’m not invisible anymore, or that I don’t have to be, once my confidence is higher again.”
I’d forgotten how much courage it must’ve taken for her to be seen when she’d spent a century pretending she wasn’t there. I leaned against Michael on the couch. “You’ll get there, Sy,” I reassured her. “And when you do, we’ll go out for drinks and dancing, just to spit in Nikola’s face.”
“Yes!” she agreed with equal venom and hope. She sighed, eyes closed and head tilting back. “Today was wonderful, but I am in need of tea. Anyone else?”
Everyone wanted some, so she and Antun went to the kitchen. From where I sat on the couch, I could hear each step of Syla’s process and imagined it. First, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. While it heated, she opened her bag and retrieved the tea that she’d mentioned earlier. Scooping some into the steeping ball.
When the kettle whistled, I heard Syla say, “Antun, would you mind?” The whistling died. Water poured from the kettle into the teapot to steep. They gathered mugs, the ceramic clinking, and began preparing the tray we always used for tea time. Antun hummed along to the music. A floral scent of roses twined with the tangy, fruity undertone of the hibiscus through the air, an almost cleansing, gentle scent.
The soft glow of the Edison bulbs were nearly reminiscent of firelight. I snuggled deeper into Michael’s side, breathing in the leather of his armor and the smoke that clung to it. But even that scent couldn’t cover his citrusy musk. The lutist in the background and the scent of Ren Faire made me feel as if – for just a second – we were in a world of our own, him and I.
He brushed my hair away from my face, making me look up at him. “You did amazing today. I know it must’ve been draining for you to have to go all day and be in crowds for that long.”
I shook my head. “What’re you talking about? I had a blast! Am I tired? Exhausted. But like you said last year, there’s just something about getting together as weirdos and being weird together. It allows me to both step out of my comfort zone and into something that I’ve always wanted to do. I mean, what girl hasn’t dreamt of dressing up and pretending to be a princess in hiding or something ridiculous as that, even if they never play it out in reality.”
I twisted my neck to get a better look at him. “And I’d have never tried it if it weren’t for you.” I pecked his lips, earning a smile and an arm bringing me closer.
“Get a room,” Syla said as she brought the tray out, Antun close behind with the smaller tray with honey, sugar, lemon slices, and cream. “I love that you love each other, but we don’t need to see you eat each other’s faces.”
“We do not do that, Syla, and you know it!” I protested even as I laughed. The laughter seemed to warm the room further, making the cozy atmosphere settle in.
We relaxed with our tea, steam curling into the air. No one spoke for long minutes as we just enjoyed the music and the stillness of home. The tea was a rosy fruit punch in flavor after adding lemon and sugar.
“So,” Antun broke the silence. “What does everyone want to dress up as next year?”
Michael – our resident Ren Faire fan – immediately began planning outfit ideas. Pulling out his phone, he began animatedly, “We could pick a theme! What if we’re an adventuring party? Or pirates! Or—”
“Slow down, cowboy,” I chuckled. “We just barely got home. Maybe decompress from today before making plans for tomorrow?” I suggested.
He was already making a list of group costume ideas, barely listening to me.
I continued, “Though I have to admit, as tired as I am now, I’m excited for next year’s event already.”
“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re already planning on going,” Antun smiled.
I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah… I am.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Love,” Antun promised.
“I think we ought to hear Michael out. He looks about ready to burst from the ideas churning in that mind of his,” Syla pointed out. Indeed, Michael looked like he was ready to go bonkers, leg bouncing and shaking the both of us.
I started laughing at him, sitting back and needing to hold onto the couch to steady myself after that shaking. Syla joined, and soon everyone was laughing, the sound completely overwhelming the music.
“Really though, I’ve got so many ideas. It’s been years since I’ve had a group to coordinate with. It really does add something to the experience, I’m telling you!” Michael insisted.
“We believe you, Mate. You’re just hilarious,” Antun got out through his laughter. “Hell, I’m already halfway to sainthood,” he indicated his robes. “If we’re an adventuring party, I can be the cleric.”
“I want hazard pay if my costume involves prosthetics,” Syla stated with a wry grin. “No way am I having anything more than makeup on or near my face. Seems like it would be too itchy.”
“I don’t know enough about all of this to pick a role already,” I said. “But I have a feeling you’re going to compensate for that.” I patted Michael on the shoulder as he enthusiastically nodded, starting the laughter all over again.
I looked around, marveling at how easily we all laughed. Michael’s eyes caught mine – he gave me a soft, tired smile. Syla looked genuinely relaxed for once, freely laughing without reservation. Antun looked like an amused elder brother as he sipped his tea.
The laughter began to die down; I grabbed at the stitch in my side from laughing so hard. The music began to filter back in, the plucking lute bringing the cozy atmosphere back once more.
The pizza arrived, and we tipped the driver before closing the door. We dug in, needing to eat. I took a bite and a long string of mozzarella stretched between the pizza in my hand and the bite in my mouth – proof of how delicious it was. It didn’t take long to eat, and soon we were sitting back, full and content.
My mouth opened wide in an unexpected yawn. I covered it with my hand as best I could, but it was contagious. Soon, everyone was yawning.
“You young things can stay up if you want, but I need my beauty rest.” Antun groaned exaggeratedly like an old man as he stood up. Dusting off his robes, he closed his eyes, said something in a language I didn’t know – perhaps his native tongue – then made the symbol of the crucifix in front of himself in the air.
“What was that?” I asked him.
“Invocation for rest after a long, hard day. Felt appropriate,” he pulled at his robe, “while I’ve still got the garb on.”
We all chuckled, too tired to laugh fully anymore. The day hit me all at once. Feel like I got run over by a truck. Everyone decided that Antun’s idea was a good one, and we began to migrate to our rooms to get ready for the night. Walking toward the stairs, I caught my reflection in the window. My clothes were rumpled and damp, the clover crown holding on for dear life to my hair. I looked… relaxed for once.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. It was a news alert about a strange death in the city. I opened the article, though it didn’t say much. Just that the victim was a John Doe and he’d been found bloodless with no obvious trauma. Why they let that particular detail out, I didn’t know, but my brain immediately began to think the worst.
No. Even if someone fed on him – even if they drank him dry of mana – there’d still be physical blood left. They shouldn’t be able to just… take it. All of it.
Ugh, stop it, Drew. You’ve just had a fantastic, amazing day. Don’t go ruining it thinking about other shit right now. Let the peace hold.
