Sipping my coffee, I expected to hear my daughter trudge slowly down the stairs for her breakfast before she was to head off to school. I did not expect her to footsteps to thunder through the house and down the stairs from her speed. She barely took a moment to stumble to a stop, reminding me of a nineties cartoon character, exclaiming, "Momtheresaunicorninthebackyard!" Then she was off again, turning the corner to exit into the backyard.
I blinked. "What?"
To be honest, this early was not my finest hour, and I was only three sips into my coffee to boot. So, I pushed myself to my feet and walked over to glance out the kitchen window with my mug to see where she'd gone. I expected her to be standing there waiting for me. And if I were to go outside, she would be brandishing a single ear of corn like it was a giant trophy and proclaiming, "See! Like we learned prefixes at school! Uni-corn!"
Instead, there was what appeared to be, or at least my brain registered as, a giant horse in the backyard. Until it turned to angle toward me, and I clearly saw the horn on its forehead.
The crack of my mug in the kitchen sink, where it landed after slipping from my hand, jolted me out of the stupor I'd fallen into. Moving quickly, I was out of the room and outside in seconds, rushing to her side. My daughter was, gratefully, standing four or five yards away from it rather than having rushed to pat it. She was eight, so at least she wasn't so young that delighted astonishment had overcome her instinct for self-preservation. Even for a horse, this thing was huge.
"It's beautiful," she breathed.
My mind went through a few steps as I took in the animal in front of me. It wasn't a horse, because even without the horn it was just…wrong. I didn't know much about horses aside from a couple years of childhood riding lessons, but I remembered from one viral meme how weirdly they'd evolved. Something about their legs being fingers with one difficult nail. This wasn't that.
The animal in my yard looked sturdier, as if it were a horse designed by committee, but the committee was competent. Its legs looked two or three times thicker than typical, tapering at the ankles, knees, and elbows with muscle rather than the thin ligament-like appearance of horses. It was a deep, shiny black with a pale mane and tail, but its ears were a little too far back, and its eyes were slightly too close together. Not extremely noticeable at a distance, but I was looking for the differences.
The horn was about two feet long and light brown, curled like every fairytale unicorn horn in a book for young children. But after examining it for a moment, my mouth went dry. The closer to the head the horn was, the lighter it was, and it wasn't a gradual fade. I couldn't be sure, but the appearance made me think that the horn was not for decoration. It was a weapon, and it had been used often.
Then I clamped a hand tightly onto my daughter's shoulder, taking a half step in front of her, when I realized the unicorn had distracted me from the arm slung over its back. Fingers were interwoven with the mane, gripping it tightly, and there were human legs and feet visible behind the unicorn's.
"Jodie, go inside," I rasped.
"But it's a unicorn," she whispered reverently.
I turned to look at her while keeping the animal in my peripheral vision, and something on my face must have scared her because her expression went slack. "You can look out the window in the kitchen, but I need you to go back inside. Now."
Looking back to the animal warily, Jodie nodded and, slower than I would've liked, walked back to the door and went inside, shutting it behind her. I waited until I saw her face in the window, having hoisted herself up to sit on the counter, before turning back to our 'guests'. Taking a breath, I slowly walked step by step to my right, the unicorn's eyes locked on my movement, until I saw the man on the other side.
If he's not a fae, I'll eat my shoes.
The blood was the first thing apparent to me, having leaked through his fingers, held tightly over his abdomen. He was at least a foot taller than me, and the hilt of a sword peeked over his shoulder. There was no doubt he was dressed for, if not battle, something worthy of the unicorn with him and the sword-equivalent it had on its forehead.
My mind flashed back to the few months we had of education in high school of everything that fell under the category of 'not vanilla human', trying to figure out what to do or say, but there was no manual for this. Strictly speaking, I was quite sure it was illegal for him to be here on Earth. Maybe fae could occasionally visit, but this wasn't a day out; he was sheltering here, hiding from an enemy who'd likely tried to kill him. That violated some sort of treaty, if not several of them, I'm sure.
"Is someone chasing you?" I finally asked, my voice cracking.
He caught my implication immediately, and sharply shook his head once. "No," he answered. His voice was strained, as I'd expect from someone trying to hold back blood from a severe wound, but he didn't seem vulnerable. I suppose wherever he came from, whatever he was, showing vulnerability was something he'd simply trained himself out of.
In fact, his face was set in stone, glaring as if he considered me an adversary just because I was standing there.
"All right. You're…welcome to take refuge here in my yard…just for today," I said carefully. I motioned to the table on the patio. "You can take a seat and rest. I…I should probably call the FBI about this but I frankly just don't want to make this into a big newsworthy, stressful…thing."
Some of the tension left him, and his face became less severe. "That's kind of you to offer."
Taking a long breath, the man made a clicking sound and his grip on the unicorn shifted, encouraging it onto the patio. I had a brief moment of panic, wondering if the animal was too heavy, but the structure held. Once he was close to a chair, he pulled it out and lowered himself into it, looking winded but not showing any sign he was in pain. He just looked around the yard casually, and I figured he was curious of the strange place he'd found himself just as we were of him.
Despite myself, my instinct was to help him. Bring my first aid kit outside, take a look at the wound, don some medical gloves and patch him up as best I could. But that could be an insult, and he would likely heal just fine on his own. Not to mention I doubted he'd be fond of the idea of putting himself at the mercy of a human, much less building on whatever debt he was calculating in his head.
"Do you need water? Or does your…uh…"
"You can call it a unicorn," he said. Strangely, I was pretty sure I heard a hint of humor in his voice.
"Right. Can I get you some water?" I decided against offering food. I had no idea what this man or his animal ate. For all I knew, and glancing at the horn again it seemed quite possible, the horse could be a carnivore.
"I appreciate the offer, but I merely need rest," he told me.
I nodded slowly. "I'll just give you some privacy, then. But, um…my daughter is going to stare out the window at you the whole time," I said bluntly. "I hope that's not rude."
"She's a human child. I have a unicorn. I'd expect nothing less." At that, I saw a definitive shadow of a smile. Then his face tensed again. "No photographs."
"Oh, no, of course not," I assured him. He nodded once, slowly this time, and leaned back in the sturdy plastic chair. Looking up at the unicorn, their gazes seemed to lock for a moment before he looked away. I was sure he wouldn't close his eyes, and I was right. He just sat there, his hand still clutching his wound.
Gradually making my way back to the door as I kept my eyes on him, I then went back inside, shutting the door and locking it instinctively. Heading back into the kitchen, Jodie hadn't moved from her perch on the counter, and I stopped next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"Is he okay?" she whispered.
"He will be," I answered. "I guess he got in a fight and was desperate enough to leave the Otherworld. Which is pretty damn desperate."
Her wide eyes continued to stare, blinking occasionally. "What's the unicorn's name?"
I tensed. "You know what they are, right?"
Tearing her eyes away, Jodie looked at me seriously. "They're fae. I know about the name thing but…for his unicorn I thought it might be different."
Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. "I didn't ask, and he didn't tell me."
She slid her eyes back out the window. "If she were my unicorn, I'd call her Midnight."
I couldn't help a small smile. "Even though her mane and tail are pale?"
"Yeah. Cause even at midnight, you've got the moon and the stars."
My eyebrows twitched in curiosity at the poetic thought. "You can't tell anyone about this. It'd be a big deal, and it might put them in danger."
"I figured," she replied, keeping her eyes locked on the animal. After a pause, she said, "I'm not moving."
I smiled in amusement. "I'm your mother. I already knew that."