Slow and Steady

the sinister nature of a woman walking home in the dark

There is a slow and steady rustling coming from the trees.

“Who’s there?” She asks, swinging around and raising her purse in a punch.

There’s nobody there, not for miles, not on this desolate highway at this particular time of night.

It’s nothing, she thinks. It’s just the air and the wind and the trees. You know how moody the forests get around here.

Her mind reflects on her date earlier that evening. Dark hair gelled back in that James Dean sort of way. He could have been Dean, but ended up being more Kermit the Frog when his fingers tried to grasp her bare thigh under the table.

“You’re so sexy,” he slurred. “You know that, you’re so sexy.”

She got up promptly, paid the check, asked the maitre’d to make sure he got home safely, and booked it home on foot. She wanted to cool her jets while embracing the sultry heat of a July night.

Thank heavens for the vastness of the sky, she thinks, tilting her head back and catching sight of the Summer Triangle. It’s not a constellation, but an asterism, an easily identifiable pattern of stars.

As a Chinese legend goes, there was once a maiden in love with a poor cowherd. Since she was the daughter of the Emperor of Heaven, they were forced apart and sent to inhabit the skies. While he settled in the star, Altair, she found her place in Vega. The distance between them was a celestial river, otherwise known as the Milky Way.

Imagine being separated by an entire galaxy that never let the two lovers reunite until magpies heard the story. They decided to cause some mischief and build a bridge in the form of a star named Deneb. According to the legend, the two reunite on the seventh day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar.

A pretty story, she thinks. Sad, but pretty.

The rustling begins again, only this time, it sounds as though it has drawn itself closer. The shift in the air is palpable, not blood, but faint, sharp, and metallic. When she looks around again, she can’t see anything but the stretch of road, stars, and shadows of trees waving in the night. She slips off her shoes and holds a heel between her fingers in each hand.

“A lady can never be too careful,” she laughs to herself, though it does ring out kind of mirthless.

The air grows still and quiet. This terrifies her more than the previous sounds that could have been attributed to an animal or the wind rustling through branches. She quickens her pace, her bare soles stinging from being struck with loose pebbles and stones.

“Are you afraid?”

His voice is the whisper of a breath in her ears.

“Yes,” she answers honestly.

She continues her path down the deserted road, refusing to run into the forest where she’d only get more lost. There is an inner knowing she can’t hide or run. She feels his presence draw nearer until he is practically breathing down her neck.

“Can we have a conversation first?” She asks.

His laugh is a murmur in her ears, slightly esoteric but mostly terrifying.

Snap! It must have been a branch or a fox.

Regardless of what it was, she felt her soul try to jump out of her body, hearing someone approach from the shadows of the forest around her.

“You Americans,” a delicate voice with an unfamiliar accent sounded everywhere at once. “You sanitize everything into cute little children’s stories.”

“Excuse me?” She felt slight offense, the disorientation of a moment disrupted.

A handsome man, well-dressed and manicured, appeared close enough for her to smell the aquatic notes in his cologne. The boldness in his stance made her heart pound in her throat. His shoulders were sturdy, and he, a hulking gentleman, stood there staring into her eyes. She thought they reflected the entirety of the cosmos inside. His smile was both gentle and sad.

“Who—” She swallowed deeply at his presence. He possessed a confidence that was rare with men these days. “What are you?”

“Hah,” he chuckled, revealing teeth that glowed like the moon—then gestured at her hand with his, “Do you mind?”

Despite decades of being told not to trust strangers, something compelled her to trust him—an ancient frequency dormant in her blood. It resisted being named.

He reached for her hand and stroked the lifeline in her palms. She flinched as his roughness scratched her delicate skin. His eyes found hers. The smile longed for something unspoken. “You have her eyes.”

“Ow!” She jumped as he pricked her palm with his nail. “Whose eyes? What the–“

“Fairy blood,” he said, as if he spoke about the weather.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She tried to pull her hand back, but with no success. His grip was a vice.

“It’s faint.” He squeezed out crimson from the cut. “But it’ll have to do.” He leaned back, looking at her from head to toe. The sadness of his grin melted away. “You’ll do nicely.”

She yanked her hand free as soon as he loosened his grip. There was nowhere to run. She froze. Eyes scanning for a weapon and finding nothing.

Drip.

A single drop of blood fell onto the asphalt. It didn’t stay red; it faded into a ghostly white, forming into an orb of light like a star within reach. It lifted as she watched, mesmerized. Whispering a frequency. Some unknown language. She could feel its request vibrating under her skin. Trust the stranger.

The light floated to the stranger, glowing brighter with his gaze. A tear rolled down his cheek. Time seemed to slow as she watched the two breathe each other’s essence.

She looked up to find two stars from the triangle missing. No, it couldn’t be. She pondered the insanity of the thought, attributed it to the strange density of the moment.

“I’m not here to hurt you, fairy-girl.” His head bowed towards her. “I’m here to ask you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Will you be our magpie?”

“Mag–“

“A bridge connecting two lost souls.” He put her hands on top of his, the light dancing over the crimson-stained palms.

“So for the day she’ll—”

“For the day, she’ll borrow your flesh. With your blessing, of course.”

“I don’t know.” Her breath began to shorten. Her heart refused to quiet. “Will it hurt?”

“Not much.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure,” He looked down at his watch. “You got about 57 seconds.”

“Can’t it—”

“24 seconds.”

“Wait, you’re going too fast.”

He chuckles and she feels the bare bones of chance lingering against her frame.

“10.”

The silence felt heavy, pressing against her eardrums.

“3, 2…”

“Okay!” she screamed. “Do it.”

In an instant, the orb twisted into the shape of a magpie, rising towards the stars, until its strong beak descended and dove its sharpness into her chest.

That wasn’t so bad. He made it seem like it would hurt. Euphoria began tickling every inch of her body.

“Vega,” the man breathed, stepping in close and stroking her cheek with care. “My love.”

She felt a sudden, sickening longing for this man. An eternity of hunger for his rough skin on hers. Then her hand moved without her asking it to, sliding down her own wide hips as her nose wrinkled in a grimace.

“You have a type, Altair,” her mouth said. The voice was hers, but the cadence was ancient and cold.

“Calm down, dear,” he spoke softly, reaching to embrace her.

“Don’t.” Her shoulders lifted to her ears, her blood boiling at being told to calm down. “You’ll mess up my dress. Silk is a bit fragile in a cowherd’s hands.”

Altair lit a cigarette and offered it to her. She accepted it as an old ritual practiced many times before.

Hey, don’t smoke those nasty things. My body, my rules. And don’t even–

“Did it fucking work this time?” Her body spoke without her permission, voice completely foreign.

“I think so,” Altair replied and shrugged.

“You think?”

“Yes, dear. No way to know for sure until about…” He looked back at his watch. “23 hours and 25 minutes.”

Hey, find out what? She tried to scream the question, but her tongue was a lead weight. Why aren’t you answering me? She tried to move her arms, but felt as if she had been crammed into a glass coffin.

“Fine,” Vega spat. “You don’t get to try her out until then.”

“But dear—” He reached for her hand again. She yanked it away.

“Don’t dear me! I won’t spend another day in that–” her eyes stretched to the missing stars, and croaked out the next word. “Place.”

Hey, I take it back. She felt as though she had begun breathing underwater. Liquid filled her mental lungs. Please. I don’t think I can last. 23 hours is a long time. Humans can live without oxygen for ten minutes max, unless there’s a miracle. Please say there’s a miracle.

“Quiet, bitch,” Vega hissed at her own neck. “We are the miracle.”

From a stark and inaccessible place within, she watched through her own eyes as Vega found her phone in her pocket. Dropping it into the nearest puddle, Vega stomped it with one swift stomp from her heel. Before it happened, the screen lit up and she registered that it was August 20th, the seventh day of the seventh month in the lunar calendar.

Altair took a deep drag and exhaled into the night sky, swirls expanding up towards the missing stars. Then grinned like the Cheshire cat, looking down at the new vessel’s curves. “Let’s hope this one lasts.”