In Plain Sight

Rebecca hurried along the narrow path as cold wind rattled through the trees. Up ahead, the twins, Robert and Lizzie, giggled and tried to catch the red leaves raining down from the sugar maples. Rebecca shivered, tucking her chin to her chest. There would be frost tomorrow morning for the twins’ birthday, but it wouldn’t matter.

As the path wound near the water’s edge, Rebecca instinctively reached for the children’s hands. A fall in the river would be dangerous, and not just for the obvious reasons. They couldn’t afford to waste time or call attention to themselves.

Entering the Farmers’ Market, Rebecca paused to gain her bearings. Today was the final market of the season, but the first for the children. Rebecca had promised they would go regardless of the weather.

“I want to ride the horses.” Lizzie tugged on Rebecca’s hand.

“Hang on, sweetie.” Rebecca’s eyes roved over the crowd. She had someone to find—and someone to avoid.

Spotting neither, Rebecca allowed herself to be dragged toward six miniature ponies circling around a pony wheel.

As they joined the line and the kids chattered excitedly about the horses, Rebecca remained vigilant, looking first one way and then another. Still, she was startled when she caught sight of a gentleman moving easily through the crowd.

Children pointed as paint dripped from the bottom of his painter’s smock. The dripping color changed from red to blue, then yellow, and back to red, but somehow never reached the ground.

As the man neared the queue, he grinned a toothless grin and tipped his hat politely. “Miss Topherson.”

“Arlyss.”

Rebecca and Arlyss spoke quietly, then he nodded and disappeared back into the crowd.

“Who’s that man?” Robert asked.

“How do you know him?” Lizzie added.

“He’s an artist,” Rebecca hedged. “We’re going to his booth after you two ride the horses.”

The knock on Rebecca’s door had come nearly ten years ago. An introverted, freelance graphic designer, she hadn’t been expecting guests.

They probably have the wrong apartment. They’ll go away.

When the knocking persisted, she rose from her drafting table and opened the door to a small-boned gentleman with flaming-red hair. At his feet sat two infant carriers. Each contained a tiny, sleeping, swaddled baby.

“May I help you?” Rebecca asked.

“Rebecca Topherson?”

“Yes?”

“You have been chosen,” he decreed. “The Fae require your service.”

“Most of my clients call first.”

“The Fae are not clients.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced an envelope which he thrust toward her.

Hesitantly, she opened the letter, scanned it, then reread it more slowly.

“You must have the wrong person,” she stammered, eyes wide.

“The Fae do not make mistakes.”

She looked at the letter again. “Perhaps you should come in so we can sort this out?”

But when she looked up, he was gone. Unsure what else to do, she lifted one carrier, and then the other, and brought the babies into her apartment.

She’d told people they were her late cousin’s children, and she’d raised them as her own. The three of them had become a family, but always, always with an expiration date looming.

As the day before their tenth birthday neared, Rebecca couldn’t fathom letting them go. Shards of pain pierced her heart each time she considered it.

She’d turned to the tiny support group for human parents of Fae children she’d stumbled onto during a late night googling session. Surely there was something she could do, some way they could stay together.

“There’s a guy called Arlyss,” one of the group members had told her. “He’s exiled Fae. Works the Farmers’ Market and festival circuits. Mostly draws portraits and caricatures to make a buck, but he does fancier stuff, too. I don’t know the details, but he has a reputation for helping other families.”

Desperate, Rebecca had called the number and made the appointment. Arlyss had been tight-lipped with the details and she hadn’t pressed. It didn’t matter. Not as long as she and the twins remained together.

After the pony ride, Rebecca kept an eye out for the Fae’s odd little courier as they hurried to Arlyss’s booth.

“Can we get french fries?” Robert pointed to a food truck.

Rebecca glimpsed a shock of bright red hair weaving in and out of the market-goers.

“Not now, sweetie.” Rebecca shook her head. “We’re here.”

Rebecca pushed the kids inside, glanced back, then followed.

Inside, Arlyss’s booth was more like a large tent. Paint dripped down the walls like it dripped from his smock. Portraits hung on thick wooden panels arranged about the interior of the space, and empty frames in varying sizes leaned against the perimeter walls.

“Easy now.” Arlyss hung a closed sign outside and lowered the tent’s flap.

“My babies,” Rebecca choked out. “I can’t lose them. Please. You have to help us.”

“That, I can certainly do.” Arlyss held out a form. “If you’ll just read this waiver and sign—”

Rebecca snatched the paper and scribbled her name.

Arlyss shrugged and pointed to one of the larger wood frames. “Stand there.“

“Mom, look!” Robert pointed at a wall of life-sized portraits. “They look real.”

But Rebecca didn’t look. Instead, she grabbed the twins’ hands and pulled them into the frame.

Rebecca wasn’t sure what to expect—a secret portal, perhaps?—but she gave Robert and Lizzie a reassuring squeeze when Arlyss pointed an enormous airbrush toward them. As spray from the nozzle froze them in place and sealed their family together, Rebecca glimpsed the consent form she’d signed. One line stood out: The undersigned agrees to complete enclosure within the medium of the artist’s choosing and further understands that said enclosure shall be irreversible.

Her heart lurched. What had she done?

The tent flap opened. Too late, the Fae’s courier marched inside.

“Where are they?” he demanded, as Arlyss propped his newest work against the back wall of the tent.

The courier stomped to the portrait, his fists clenched and his face filled with rage.

Rebecca’s lips curved into the tiniest of smiles as the last of the sealant dried.