The Feral Princess Book 1: Feral in The City
A song and a dream. Time to start a new life in a new city
Of all the wildernesses Mairi NicDruiminn had navigated, none was as baffling as the place humans called New York City.
“Didn’t you hear me, bitch? Phone and wallet! Now!”
Mairi looked from the rusty kitchen knife aimed at her chest to the puckered face of the man holding it. His darting eyes and buck teeth made him look like the spawn of a rabbit and a redcap, though he smelled human.
“I don’t have a phone,” she told him.
The human’s eyes flashed around the alley and rested on the violin case at Mairi’s feet, next to the pile of newspapers that she had used as a bed. “Give me that, then!”
“Look, I have somewhere to be. I don’t have time for this.” She fidgeted with the water bottle in the outer pocket of her backpack.
The human waved the knife. “Aren’t you paying attention? I’m mugging you! Give me your wallet or I’ll cut you!”
“I don’t have a wallet either.” Mairi screwed the cap off the water bottle.
“Give me the case. Now!”
Water sloshing, Mairi pointed at the violin case. “That one?”
“Yes! Give it to me!”
Mairi shrugged. “Okay.”
She bent to lift it, and her magic spoke to the water. It sprayed like a firehose, hitting the mugger in the eye. He shrieked and staggered back, losing his grip on the knife.
Mairi gave him the violin case…to his left temple with all her strength. The human’s head snapped back. He slammed into the alley wall and slid to an unconscious heap on the grimy pavement.
Mairi sighed. “Humans.”
She replaced the cap on the bottle, brushed a few drops of blood off her violin case, and left the alley. She had somewhere to be.
***
Mairi had found the first “subway station” on a night so bitterly cold that her breath had crystallized. There weren’t many places in the city into which one could simply wander, especially if one wore a colorful cotton tunic and a wool cloak embroidered with the intricate knotwork of the Northwestern Avalonian clans. However, nobody had tried to stop her from slipping down the stairs and into the “subway,” a loud underground place.
Machines rushed up, vomited knots of humans and paranormals, swallowed a few more, and clattered off. It was out of the wind and usually dry, though the security guards took a dim view of napping for more than a few minutes at a time.
Best of all, nobody tried to stop her from busking.
Mairi leaned into the familiar pressure of her fiddle against her neck, cushioned by patterned fabric that still held the saltwater scent of home. She closed her eyes, feeling the song in her bones, and coaxed it from the fiddle with dancing fingers.
The selkie song, older than words, evoked the gray seas and sheer cliffs of Mairi’s home. Sweet longing filled the notes that strove to rise against the subway station’s hubbub. She drew out the last note, fingers vibrating on the strings, and opened her eyes. A measly dollar lay in the case at her feet.
“Humans,” Mairi muttered.
She put on a big smile and played a cover of Alex Warren’s Ordinary, which always worked. A crowd gathered, mostly humans beaming at the familiar melody. She spotted an elf with a messy bun clutching a half-empty coffee and an orc in stained scrubs.
They each tossed her a five-dollar bill.
The humans applauded when Mairi finished and bowed with a flourish, a trick she’d learned from human buskers.
As the crowd dispersed, Mairi scooped the cash into her pocket, stuffed the fiddle into its case, and headed for the ticket office. “Bay Ridge Avenue, please.”
The bleary-eyed man behind the counter had a week’s stubble that didn’t look intentional. “This train don’t go there.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is the D train. You want the R train.”
Mairi stared at him.
The guy sighed. “If you want to go to Bay Ridge, you gotta take the E train to 7th Avenue, then take the D line to Coney Island. Then you can switch to the R train.”
Mairi blinked at the cash in her hand and prayed it would be enough. It had taken her a long time to figure out where her destination was. “Okay. Can I buy tickets for that, please?”
“You can buy a ticket to get to 7th. After that, you gotta switch trains.”
“Okay.”
The guy counted out her change. “You new in town?”
“Been here a couple of weeks.”
He shot a glance at her outfit. She’d tucked the tunic and cloak into a backpack she’d purchased from the same place as her cargo pants and baggy hoodie: a magical zone called a “thrift store.”
“Word of advice?” the guy offered.
“Sure.”
“Get the MTA app, or you’ll be lost for the rest of your life. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Mairi joined the crowd shuffling onto the next train. She slid into a seat, clutching her backpack and violin case. Her stomach lurched as the train set off into a black tunnel, but the movement was comfortable. She was finally heading toward her dream.
***
The journey took longer than Mairi expected, but at last, the train clanked to a halt and a mechanical voice announced that she had reached Bay Ridge Avenue. Bay Ridge. The name gave her a thrill.
She’d first heard it in Misvyn, where everyone listened to the Earth-based artist who called himself Anthony Brooks. He composed his music of the same vibrant harp notes as other Sylthana Elven artists, yet it held something new and fresher.
He lived in Little Avalon in the Bay Ridge realm. After all these months, Mairi was here.
***
The first time Mairi heard his music outside a restaurant in Misvyn, she’d realized that Anthony Brooks could teach her what she wanted to know.
The elven city basked in Southern Avalon’s ever-present sunshine. She missed drizzly gray days and mist so thick that it swallowed the sea.
Here, the sea was sapphire-bright. Its blue coolly met the blues and whites of the Sylthana Elves’ homes with their patterned tiles and gilded finials. Mairi had had to shed the deerskin cloak and jerkin she loved. She felt almost naked, walking through the city in leggings and a cotton tunic with a strip of leather tied around her waist.
She hardly knew what she was searching for. Her damp hair brushed her shoulders as she followed a cobbled street, dodging the occasional chimera-drawn chariot. It had been weeks since she left home, and her only purpose since then had been to put distance between her and the place she’d once loved.
The smell of food drew her in, though she’d had her fill of the abundant fish in these waters. This aroma was different: rich with garlic, butter, and lemon.
It lured her off the street and onto a restaurant porch on which little white tables clustered around branded umbrellas. A few diners, mainly Sylthana Elves in white robes, stared at her as she came closer.
That was when she heard the music.
She’d heard Sylthana lyres plenty of times, but nothing like this. These harp-like tones were upbeat and exciting. This song spoke to her blood, reminding her of the tunes she’d played at dances at home before it all went wrong.
Mairi only realized she’d frozen to listen to the song when a smiling elf in a striped apron approached her.
“Morning, ma’am! Would you like a table?”
“No. Sorry.” Mairi forced her attention away from the music. “I don’t need to eat. I heard the music and had to stop to listen.”
The elf gave her an easy smile. “I’ll have somebody bring you a lemonade. On the house. Why don’t you sit down? Looks like you’ve traveled many weary miles.”
“Sure. Thank you.” Mairi accepted for the music, not the lemonade.
The elf steered her to an empty table in a corner. An open window made the music louder here. “What brings you to Misvyn?”
“I’m passing through. Who is playing here today?”
“No one, honey. It’s a radio station.”
Recorded music was one of the many wonders Mairi had discovered since leaving home. “It’s a great song.”
“This artist’s only been around for a couple of years, but he’s very popular in Misvyn. Why not? He’s a breath of fresh air. Calls himself Anthony Brooks.”
A server arrived with the lemonade in a tall glass.
Mairi sipped. “Anthony Brooks. I like that.”
“What do you play?” The elf indicated the violin case on Mairi’s lap.
“The fiddle. Only for fun, but I’m good. It would be great to play for crowds one day. Maybe even make recordings.”
“Well, you should ask Anthony Brooks for advice. He broke onto the music scene recently. He’ll know how to guide you. Lives in Little Avalon, on the same street as my daughter.”
“Little Avalon?”
The elf laughed. “Have you been living under a rock? It’s the paranormal neighborhood in New York City.”
“On Earth?”
“That’s right. Val Stonehold started it. Well, she’s Queen Eiravel now.”
Mairi rubbed her chin. “Eiravel Stonehold, the Hero of Ironforge Bastion? Slayer of Kronos?”
“That’s the one.”
“I know her as a war hero. I had no idea she was a queen.”
“Oh, that was recent. Started when the Eternity Queen, Julia Pendragon, brought Val to New York City to run a security business. Val still does security on the side. Turned out to be an incredible jewelry maker. She made her fortune with her pieces. Then decided she wanted to improve her neighborhood instead of moving to a better one.”
Mairi leaned on the table. Earth was a different dimension, an even greater distance from everything in her past.
“Val bought up her block, then more of Bay Ridge. She made it a paranormal neighborhood, calling it Little Avalon. Her second-in-command is Merritt Vale.”
“The Leshbolg who slew Ennowen?”
“The same. My daughter Kalyna was one of the first business owners to move there. Runs a branch of Chaplin’s Kitchen like this one.”
“What about Anthony Brooks?”
“I was getting to that. He lives there too. If you’re a wanderer, Little Avalon’s not a bad place to go.”
For the first time since she had fled her home, Mairi saw a glimmer of light in her future. She’d spent so much time running from that she hadn’t paused to consider running to.
“If it’s a career in music you’re after, even better,” the elf added.
“A career in music.” It sounded like a dream. “How do I get to Little Avalon?”
“It’s a journey if you don’t have a membership for their portal. Easiest way is to take the public portal from Avalon Town to New York City, then head to Bay Ridge. You’ll find it just fine.”
***
Since that moment, Mairi had aimed in that direction.
She pushed through the crowded subway station, backpack thumping and violin case hugged in both arms. Bay Ridge! She imagined a bay beneath forested ridges, a perfect fresh start.
Mairi joined the crowd rushing up the steps and burst outside. She stepped in something squishy, and a ripe smell rose.
This can’t be right.
She extricated her boot from the dog shit. The crowd shuffled her aside on the grimy sidewalk, almost into the path of a toothless human huddling in the lee of the subway entrance. The stench of stale piss and alcohol emanated from the man. He offered a grin in which hovered one yellow tooth.
Mairi sidestepped him.
Little Avalon was the capital of the Queendom of New York City. How could it be here?
Mairi faced a row of brick buildings with faded signs announcing inexpensive haircuts, laundry, and greasy cuisine. Litter swirled in the slush that filled the gutters. The perpetrator of the smelly crime she tried to wipe off her shoe on the sidewalk’s edge, a bony mutt, was picking through a nearby garbage can. Bold graffiti shrieked a profanity from the boarded façade of what had been a store across the street.
Have I taken the wrong train?
Mairi’s eye caught a nearby street sign. Bay Ridge Avenue. Nope, this was the right place.
So why does it look wrong in every way?
Maybe one of the store owners could enlighten her. She stepped forward and collided with a tall figure in a floral coat, and her violin case popped open. She yelped, seizing the instrument before it could fall, and hot liquid splashed on her arm.
“Shit! I’m so sorry!” the tall woman yelped.
Mairi clipped her fiddle back into its case. “It’s okay! I didn’t see you.”
“I didn’t see you either, but that was my bad. I was on my phone. Horrible habit.”
Relief washed through Mairi. The speaker was a vampire, her blood-red eyes darkening to black around the irises. Fangs flashed when she spoke, and her cheeks glistened with sunscreen.
“Let me get that. Sorry. My boyfriend is diurnal, and I can’t make it home after one of his ridiculous daytime dates without strong coffee.” The vampire rummaged in her purse for a napkin.
“It’s okay, seriously.” Mairi wiped the coffee off her sleeve. “May I, uh, ask you something?”
“Of course!”
“Is this…Bay Ridge?”
The vampire met her eyes and smiled, fangs on display. “You’re looking for Little Avalon, aren’t you?”
Mairi nodded.
“I know the signs. Yes, you’re in the right place, even if it doesn’t look like a paranormal kingdom. I live in Little Avalon. I’ll walk you there.”
Relief flooded her. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome! I’m Leonie.”
“Mairi.”
“Northwestern Avalonian?” Leonie guessed.
Mairi fell into step beside the vampire. “That’s right.”
She waited for the usual question about her species, but the vamp didn’t ask. “You don’t have the shellshocked expression of most paras who haven’t been to New York City before,” Leonie observed.
“I’ve been here for a couple of weeks. It took me a while to find out where Bay Ridge is and how to get here.”
“A couple of weeks? Where have you been sleeping?”
Mairi shrugged.
“You poor thing. Didn’t you know to call the hotline?”
“Call the what?”
Leonie sighed. “Do you have a phone, Mairi?”
“One of those things?” Mairi pointed at the large one in Leonie’s hand, which glittered. “No, but everyone in the city seems to have one. I saw a lot of them in Misvyn and Avalon Town, too. Are they necessary?”
“They’re essential, honey. I’m sure there are pockets in Avalon where nobody has them, but if you’re in a big city, you can’t survive without one.”
Mairi added “phone” to her mental checklist. “Got it.”
Her skin prickled. She hadn’t sensed this since she’d left Avalon. It drew a gasp from her.
Leonie beamed as she took a right. “Welcome to Little Avalon.”
Mairi’s jaw dropped. She’d stepped into a different world. This street was broad and spotless, with pin oaks unfurling spring foliage along the sidewalk. Every building had fresh paint. Dwarven wrought-iron lampposts lined the road.
A human strolled along the sidewalk, shopping bag in hand. She called a greeting to a passing orc, who waved back. A pair of centaurs, their hindquarters shimmering under a glamour, clattered by. The human didn’t give them a second glance.
“It’s like they said.” Mairi laughed. “A home for paranormals in the heart of the city.”
“Home? More like paradise. Her Majesty has done incredible work. She lives right down there in Lillie House.” Leonie pointed down the street.
“Thank you, Leonie, for bringing me here. I’ll find my way.”
“You will, huh? Where are you going?”
Mairi hesitated.
“I thought so.” Leonie hooked an arm through hers. “You’ve been lost for long enough, Mairi. I’ll take you to Merritt.”
“Merritt Vale? The Guardian of Little Avalon? You know her?”
“Everyone knows her. She’s fantastic. What time is it? She should be close by, getting her kids from school. This way.”
Leonie steered her around the gas station, where a human was filling up his SUV beside a slender fae plugging her car into a magic crystal charger. A row of businesses flanked the gas station: a grocery store advertising spices from the Southern Spine, a potions store, and a thaumatech store.
“That was Lillie Street.” Leonie gestured at the road they’d left. “This is Pendragon Street. You’ll find clothing stores, beauty salons, the school, and His Majesty’s animal clinic.”
“His Majesty? The king?”
“That’s right.”
“He’s a veterinarian?”
Leonie giggled. “We do things differently around here.”
So far the new city is not the paradise Tetra had been dreaming of. Find out on January 16th if she is able to find her mentor and start a new life. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order The Feral Princess Book 1: Feral in The City today.
