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The Luidaeg wasn’t sure who she was expecting when a knock sounded on her door one Tuesday evening. Usually knocking was limited to Quentin and Toby, and she’d been very clear that she wanted them to stay away for a while. Not that she wasn’t happy with the results of Toby’s latest tour of drama and blood. Her father was back! He was back, and he had been in her spare room for almost a year without her knowing. Even on her good days, the Luidaeg still wasn’t sure what to do with that. And today wasn’t one of the good days. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to get stuck granting any requests.
The knock sounded again. Throwing up the glamour on the front part of the apartment, and removing enough of her own glamours that most anyone who was on the other side of the door would decide to turn around and run, possibly while wetting themselves. All that in place, she opened the door.
On the other side stood a young woman, odd ears and drab hair marking her as a changeling. While there was something familiar about her, the Luidaeg didn’t think she’d ever seen the girl before. She had a bundle braced on one hip, her hand poised to knock again, but when the door open, she froze, eyes widening as she stared at the Luidaeg.
“Who the hell are you?” the Luidaeg asked, ready to get whomever had dared bother her when she had important mental stewing to do off her damn porch.
“I- Sorry, I didn’t- I’m Cassandra Brown,” she offered stumblingly, shifting so that her bundle was held in both hands. The Luidaeg searched her memory. That was right, the little Queen in the Mists was finally getting her court together, wasn’t she? She’d heard about this new chatelaine.
“What does Arden want?” The Luidaeg asked, already tired. She had such high hopes for this new monarch, but if Arden was sending her staff, and arguably the more vulnerable members of her staff, to make deals on her behalf, perhaps she wasn’t the type of person the Luidaeg had hoped she was. But instead of the guilt she had thought her question might prompt, the Brown girl’s face clouded with confusion.
“What? Oh, no it’s my day off,” she said, as though that explained everything. When the Luidaeg made clear with a quirk of her eyebrow that it in fact explained nothing at all, Cassandra blushed, then took a deep breath. The Luidaeg had been spending enough time around young people these past few years that she braced herself for a long babble, hoping it would come to a point sometime before dawn.
“Karen said that Toby told Quentin to remember not to bother you, and then Quentin said it had been weeks, and the last time you wanted to be alone for this long you had nearly died, but even then it wasn’t this long so this must be /worse/ and so Karin thought you must be sick, except you’re the Luidaeg, do you even get sick? But I guess anything’s possible in Fairie these days, and you’ve been so nice to Karen, helping her with her dreams and making sure that terrible woman doesn’t hurt her anymore, and you didn’t have to care, we’re just changelings and so people don’t, usually. But you did and so if you were sick I didn’t want you to be alone but Toby said you don’t want visitors and so I brought you a casserole?”
When she finally wound down Cassandra was bright red, either from having decided partway through that this was embarrassing, or because she hadn’t once paused for breath, the Luidaeg wasn’t sure which. But she resolutely thrust the bundle, which the Luidaeg could now see was a cardboard box with some kind of foil pan inside, forward, for the Luidaeg to take.
The Luidaeg stood there on the stoop, finding herself at somewhat of a loss. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had brought her something they had cooked. It had to have been a century, at least. Even then, most who would be considered her contemporaries had servants, and wouldn’t dream of preparing things themselves. The Selkie clans were somewhat different, in that she was always invited to the large gatherings, and when she could steel herself from her own grief enough to bear seeing these joyful young things dancing in the skins of her children, there would be food aplenty to be shared around. But it was communal food, which was different, and anyway, for her those events would always be slightly tinged with the air of a wake, death clinging and gnawing at the edges.
This was something else entirely.
“You know I won’t owe you,” she said carefully, still trying to parse out what on earth could have driven this girl to believe this was a good idea. Cassandra gave a short bark of confused, questioning laughter.
“What? Of course not.” She looked at the Luidaeg quizzically before continuing slowly, “You didn’t have to help Karen. Didn’t have to give Aunt Birdie a way to bring Jess and Andy home. When someone does things they don’t have to, things that don’t benefit them, it’s usually because they are kind. So why wouldn’t we want to be kind back?”
She said it as though it was simple, as though all the many layered calculations that went into doing anything in Fairie were nothing to her, in the face of her simple declaration that the Luidaeg, the Sea Witch, was kind. This was the trouble of getting involved with young people, she’d thought the same about Quentin. They had no respect and fear drilled into them by the old stories and patterns, were determined to base all things off what they saw with their eyes. They didn’t see her as she was.
Or maybe, a small voice inside her suggested, maybe they were the only ones who did.
Reaching out, the Luidaeg silently accepted the box. After handing it over, Cassandra, clasped her hands together behind her and rocked back and forth on her heels. A few beats of silence later, she brought them back in front of her, fiddling with her jacket cuffs as she spoke, over-bright in an attempt to cover the awkwardness.
“Well, I hope you feel better soon! There’s heating directions in the box.” She backed up a few steps before turning, then waving over her shoulder, “Bye?”
“Have a good evening, Ms. Brown,” the Luidaeg said, just loudly enough for the woman to hear as the walked off into the night. This would bear some thinking about, certainly. But more urgently, she thought, hefting the box as she closed the door, it would bear a great deal of hot sauce.