Changeling the Lost - Autumn Nightmares.pdf - Changeling - The lost - RPG

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By Jess Hartley , Matthew McFarland , Travis Stout and Chuck Wendig

As the Days Grow Shorter

Prologue:

“ Nice legs!”

Peter wasn’t sure which of the girls had spoken, and in

truth it didn’t much matter. They were near enough alike to be

twins, a common occurrence here on the Miami campus. He

returned their compliment with a wide grin.

“You, too, my dears, you, too…”

The girls looked up as their paths crossed with his. He

caught and held first one vivid blue gaze and then the other,

exerting the slightest push of desire in the girls’ direction, and

then whispered something that made them first gasp and

then blush as he passed by.

When he looked back over his shoulder, the girls had

paused and were whispering conspiratorially together,

their faces so close he imagined that their sweet, moist soph-

omoric breath was mingling in an almost-kiss. They looked

in his direction and smiled. For a second he considered go-

ing back, but Nim was waiting and no matter how much fun

the blonde bimbos would have been, Nim was… well, Nim.

Nim of the pale skin, even under Miami’s sun. Nim of the

delicate hands and tiny feet….

Peter’s hooves echoed against the campus sidewalk

as he made his way down San Amaro towards the Arbore-

tum. He loved the sound they made, hoof on stone, and Hal-

loween was one of the only times he could get away with

burning away the Mask and walking openly in public for a

while. After all, amidst wolf-men and cowgirls, pirates and

zombies, nobody would look too closely at his legs or ears

or even eyes; they did wonderful things with contact lenses

these days. He’d already been called Tumnus twice on the

way across campus. He’d resisted the temptation to buy a red

scarf, however. Not in this heat.

His smile faded slightly as a trickle of sweat rolled from

his hairline down his bare back, joining the sticky-dampness

that had already gathered at the base of his spine. His pelt was

sodden with it, the heavy moisture that made even the most

delightful outdoor exertions a chore. It was like breathing

underwater. In a Jacuzzi. Full of lukewarm beer. Halloween

wasn’t supposed to be like this. Autumn wasn’t supposed to be

like this. Autumn was for fall leaves and crisp air, apple cider

and long nights by a fire anticipating the first snowfall. He re-

membered autumn. But here in Miami, there was nothing but

summer. No spring, no fall and certainly no winter.

It hadn’t always been like this, they said. Hot, yes, and

humid, but not like this. But what did you expect from a city

where summer never died?

The rotary came into sight, pulling him from his mor-

bid thoughts. It always cheered him a bit, seeing the circular

round-a-bout where San Amaro, Certosa and Campo Sano

met. It was like a little piece of home, or at least he thought it

was. They had rotaries in New England. Rotaries and seasons.

All manner of things that turned as they were supposed to.

It was easy to tell something was up at the Arboretum.

The whole place had been cordoned off with security gates

to keep stragglers from sneaking into the party. Rather than

cutting through the plot of Jamaican caper trees, as he nor-

mally did, Peter worked his way around to the driveway, past

the “Private Gathering – Invitation Only” signs that blocked

traffic from entering, and then paused a moment to take in

the changes since last time he’d shown up here.

Namaah ’s Courts were always held in the Arboretum,

but most times they were fairly small and nearly silent, re-

quiring little in the way of security to keep them from the

public’s eye. The Autumn Queen seemed at home there,

f lanked by jacarandas and tulipwood trees, holding her

eerie court among the shadows. Theoretically, the Autumn

Court gatherings were open to members of all of the other

Courts, but few outside of the Leaden Mirror attended. He

wouldn’t have, except for Nim. She was Autumn, although

she asserted most of the rest of them bored her to tears.

She’ d begged him to come, and he’ d finally relented and

quickly found most of what she’ d said to be true. Autumn

Court gatherings were quiet affairs held by moonlight, sol-

emn gatherings where whispers and shivers were the tone of

the day. Not a hell of a lot of fun for a philosopher of Spring,

but when you were smitten, you did what you had to do.

This, on the other hand… this was something alto-

gether different.

The normally open garden of the Arboretum had been

walled off completely, a security gate running right up to

a pair of two-story towers that had been erected across the

main walkway into the Arboretum. The towers were wood, but

painted to look like castle stone, complete with arrow slits and

torch-holders where flickering gas-torches cast their glow out

into the parking area. Between the towers, an iron portcullis

blocked the walkway, f lanked on either side by guards with

shoulders that would put a linebacker to shame. Despite the

“Private Event” signs, an obviously drunk letterman was ar-

guing with one of the guards as Peter approached.

“Do you know who I am?” The dark-haired drunk was

built like a brick wall himself, but still managed to look puny

beside the door guard. His slurred speech reeked of Jägermeis-

ter and cheap beer. “My father owns this school!” Beside him,

a cute brunette with an asymmetrical bob cringed, obviously

having heard this rant more than once.

The guard ignored the drunk, but stepped forward

when he caught sight of Peter. “G’wan in,” the Gargantuan

grumbled, “Mizz Nim’s waitin’ on you.” The Ogre shoved the

gate, which screamed its protest, and Peter slipped through.

Introduction

It clanged shut behind him and the satyr trotted down

the main walkway, the crunch of his hooves on the gravel

drowning out the drunk athlete’s protests in his wake.

Lanterns lit with blue-green ghostfire marked the path-

way to the center of the garden, although Peter had walked

it, alone or accompanied, enough times not to need their aid.

Voices reached him through the wet-hot night, more voices

than he’d expected. Although Namaah held court every

month, there were rarely more than a dozen folks present.

The Autumn Court had been whittled down to almost noth-

ing between the death of their former leader and the infight-

ing that had followed. They were anxious for allies, which

was, for the most part, how he’d ended up attending. Ahead,

however, the throng was easily twice that, and as he entered

the clearing, the conversation around him seemed

surprisingly light.

More lanterns lit the area, and

among their light walked the Lost.

Some wore mundane costumes

in keeping with the holiday,

either oddly complementing

or grotesquely contrast-

ing with the far more

outlandish appearance

of their fae miens. In

front of him, a Pierrot

with the face of an un-

earthed corpse smiled

over his champagne at

a black-scaled wom-

an wearing a Hedg-

espun gown seemingly

made of tattered twi-

light sky. A teenage girl

with skin of cracked, yel-

lowed porcelain enhanced

her doll-like appearance

with the complicated ruff les of

a Southern belle’s ball gown; her

fanning had to be an affectation, as

she didn’t seem to sweat. And at the far

end of the glade, the unnaturally young Queen

Namaah sat on an ornate throne, the arms and back of which

were capped with authentic-looking human skulls. At her

feet, a familiar figure lounged, her pale skin almost glowing

against the black velvet of her Queen’s costume. Her hair was

tied with a blood-red kerchief, holding the silver f lood back

from her face. As if feeling his gaze, Nim quickly stood and

turned toward him.

“Peter, darling!” The petite young thing took three steps

away from the throne and extended a hand in invitation, one

he gladly accepted. He was across the clearing and holding

her almost before she could blink, thrilling at the taut, almost

frightened tension in her form before she softened, caught his

Ovis canadensis horns and pulled him down for a kiss. He

crushed her to his bare chest, their mouths meshing until she

pushed away, gulping for breath.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he quipped, setting the tiny

minxlette down onto her feet.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming,” she

teased, smoothing out the skirt of her costume with both

palms. “This place is a bore without you.”

“You know I’d never stand you up, Nim. I just had some

things to do, first.” Peter squirmed under her assessing gaze.

He didn’t like keeping secrets from her, but some things were

better not spoken of, and his meetings with the exiled queen

of Spring were definitely in that category. While Nim and the

rest of the Autumn Court had no love for the Summer King’s

empirical rule, there was a world of difference between qui-

etly grousing about Grandfather Thunder’s tyranny and

actually doing something about it. Peter was proud of his

part, fulfilling an important role by pretending to be part of

the vapid Vichy Spring Court that had bargained for a place

in Miami after the old Spring Queen’s Court had been

run out into the Everglades. All he had to do

was play up the shallow horn-dog per-

sona, and no one, even the Duchess

of Spring, looked any deeper, giving

him the perfect opportunity to

feed information back to the

rightful Queen’s ears. Even-

tually he’d tell Nim, when

they were ready to make

their move. He knew she

didn’t like the Summer

Court’s choke-hold on

the city any more than

he did, and when the real

Spring Court was ready

to make its play, he had

no doubt she’d be beside

him.

“Where’d you go,

love?”Afullheadshorterthan

he, even in her high-heeled

boots, Nim stared up into his

eyes curiously, as if searching it

for a clue to his thoughts.

“Just thinking about you and

that dress, love. My gods, you look good

enough to eat!”

“Oh, good,” she said, smiling mischievously. “You re-

member that, I’ll be calling you on it later.” She blushed at her

own audacity before slipping a hand into his.

Peter chuckled and allowed his lovely gypsy imp to pull

him off into the shadows.

m m m

He knew right away when they’d entered the Hedge.

Although the entryway had been cleared enough that the

Thorns hadn’t physically touched him, he still felt it as he

pushed out of the mortal world and into the Bramble, the

sharp spines tearing away what he imagined were bits of his

soul. Nim didn’t seem bothered, pulling him along the narrow

and winding path. His hooves bit into the sandy turf as they

walked, careful not to stray into the boggy fen on each side of

the trail.

“Where are we going again?” Peter looked nervously over

his shoulders, down at the water and then up at the inky night

sky. He felt unsafe just being here. He knew they weren’t safe

just being here. He could almost feel the cool, wet breath of

something on his neck. There were too many things that crept

along these trails….

“It’s a secret, silly. If I told, it wouldn’t be a secret, now

would it?” Nim leaned into him a little and then hurried down

the path, tugging at his hand to pull him along behind her.

At first, Peter tried to keep track of their direction as they

made their way through the marshy bog. But after a while, ev-

erything looked just as familiar or unfamiliar as everything

else, with no notable landmarks by which to plot his course.

At times he was certain they’d lost the trail and were wander-

ing blindly, but Nim continued onward without hesitation

until he gave up trying to keep track of the direction himself

and simply followed her deeper into the moonlit night.

At last, Nim paused. “Here we are!” She spread her arms

wide, her broomstick skirt f laring around her ankles as she

spun, showing him what they’d traveled so far to find.

Peter frowned in confusion. “ Nim, there’s nothing here.”

“Of course there is…” She gestured to the f lat round

stone she was standing upon. It was flush with the ground,

but a good 10 yards wide. Around the outside edge, shadows

marked what appeared to be holes every few feet. Most were

empty, but two held wooden posts, set across from each other

bisecting the circle. She smiled wickedly, reaching around to

remove the bandana from her hair. “Come here…”

“Nim, what exactly do you…”

Standing on her tiptoes, she pulled him down to silence him

with a kiss and then wrapped the bandana across his eyes like a

blindfold. “It’s a surprise.”

Peter felt her hand in his again, urging him forward.

“Here, lie down here.” She gently pushed him down and

pressed hard against him until he was prone on his back

against the bedrock. He wound his arms around her, pulling

her close, but after a moment she squirmed out of his grasp,

and he felt her weight against his chest, a bare thigh on each

side of him. Her warmth almost irresistibly close, he reached

for her again, but she quickly snatched his hands up and

bound them together with what felt like a leather strap.

Changeling the Lost - Autumn Nightmares.pdf

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