Dance By Midnight Read Online Free Page B
Author: Phaedra Weldon
things like fairies, elves, pixies, leprechauns and the Easter Bunny. Though, given the track my life jumped this past year—I don't think I'd be surprised if the Easter Bunny was real.
And ate children in egg salad.
Mike's computer was a newer model, the kind with the touch screen. And it was big. I sat in front of it for a few hours searching, using a few old access codes to information sites not readily available to the general public. Those places had the best info and I ended up meeting a few old friends in one of the secured chats. Seemed everyone thought I'd died.
> IndigoCypher : Heard some serious rumors jumping from board to board. That local nut job, Fafner? Had a nice cool 50 Gs up to anyone who knew where you were.
> Me : 50 Gs? I'm surprised no one tried to score.
> IndigoCypher : Oh they did, just no one could find you. Then we heard Fafner bit it somewhere north of the city. Had his eyes burned out.
> Me : Wow. No idea what that was about, Cy. But I need info on changelings.
> IndigoCypher : You wanna know about faeries? You got a real death wish, bro? Stay the hell away from them. Nothing good comes from messing with them. All that shit in movies and tv about them being all pretty with wings and dust? Pure BS. Bad rumors to get us humans into their cairns.
> Me : Cairns. I didn't think those were real.
> IndigoCypher : You said your mom used to dig them out of your yard, didn't you?
>Me: Yeah but me and the gardeners always thought she was crazy.
>IndigoCypher: Nope. They're real. Cairns are their place between us and where they come from. Truth is they feed on us, just like vamps and other unworldly creatures of the night. They'll take you in with dust man. You let that shit get on you and then they get in your heads. One of my sources told me he had one in his house. Got his dog, and the dog just stopped eating and starved to death. Looked like a mummy by the time the little fucker was done with it.
I sat back and mulled over what Cypher typed. I realized he and most of the others didn't know the truth of how things worked. They didn't know about the planes, and the things that existed inside them. So, on the surface his information always read as a bit over the top. But deep down there was a bigger meaning. Sort of like myth with truth inside it, as a nugget of gold.
What I took from this is that everything I learned about Faeries as a kid was wrong. They weren't nice. And they weren't our friends. And they didn't die if we told them we didn't believe in them.
Or…did they?
Truth in the gooey center, after all.
> Me : How do changelings fit in?
> IndigoCypher : Constructs. Faeries usually don't make a changeling unless they want something they can't get normally. Like if their dust doesn't work? And that shit always works. So if it don't, what they're after is not human.
> IndigoCypher : Far as I know it's made out of the stuff where they come from. Ether or essence or some word. They make it superficially real by taking a bit of their target and sticking it into the constructed thing. It's all a little cray-cray if you know what I mean.
> Me : And after they get what they want?
> IndigoCypher : Oh, that's when the thing goes apeshit and kills everything that knew its target. Once that's done, it just disappears.
> Me : And it won't die till its done this?
> IndigoCypher : That's what I hear. Hey D, you don't have a changeling after you, do you? Was that why you baked for a while?
> Me : No. At least I don't think so.
> Me : So how do you kill it?
> IndigoCypher : That's just it. You or I don't by ourselves. Two things can kill it—either one of those watchers, those realm nazis and we all know they're dead, or a weapon made out of the same essence can destroy it. And I don't know about you, but I can't throw fairy dust. LOL.
I ended the conversation with promises of logging in more and updating my own paranormal sites. Not that I had any real intention of doing that. For
And ate children in egg salad.
Mike's computer was a newer model, the kind with the touch screen. And it was big. I sat in front of it for a few hours searching, using a few old access codes to information sites not readily available to the general public. Those places had the best info and I ended up meeting a few old friends in one of the secured chats. Seemed everyone thought I'd died.
> IndigoCypher : Heard some serious rumors jumping from board to board. That local nut job, Fafner? Had a nice cool 50 Gs up to anyone who knew where you were.
> Me : 50 Gs? I'm surprised no one tried to score.
> IndigoCypher : Oh they did, just no one could find you. Then we heard Fafner bit it somewhere north of the city. Had his eyes burned out.
> Me : Wow. No idea what that was about, Cy. But I need info on changelings.
> IndigoCypher : You wanna know about faeries? You got a real death wish, bro? Stay the hell away from them. Nothing good comes from messing with them. All that shit in movies and tv about them being all pretty with wings and dust? Pure BS. Bad rumors to get us humans into their cairns.
> Me : Cairns. I didn't think those were real.
> IndigoCypher : You said your mom used to dig them out of your yard, didn't you?
>Me: Yeah but me and the gardeners always thought she was crazy.
>IndigoCypher: Nope. They're real. Cairns are their place between us and where they come from. Truth is they feed on us, just like vamps and other unworldly creatures of the night. They'll take you in with dust man. You let that shit get on you and then they get in your heads. One of my sources told me he had one in his house. Got his dog, and the dog just stopped eating and starved to death. Looked like a mummy by the time the little fucker was done with it.
I sat back and mulled over what Cypher typed. I realized he and most of the others didn't know the truth of how things worked. They didn't know about the planes, and the things that existed inside them. So, on the surface his information always read as a bit over the top. But deep down there was a bigger meaning. Sort of like myth with truth inside it, as a nugget of gold.
What I took from this is that everything I learned about Faeries as a kid was wrong. They weren't nice. And they weren't our friends. And they didn't die if we told them we didn't believe in them.
Or…did they?
Truth in the gooey center, after all.
> Me : How do changelings fit in?
> IndigoCypher : Constructs. Faeries usually don't make a changeling unless they want something they can't get normally. Like if their dust doesn't work? And that shit always works. So if it don't, what they're after is not human.
> IndigoCypher : Far as I know it's made out of the stuff where they come from. Ether or essence or some word. They make it superficially real by taking a bit of their target and sticking it into the constructed thing. It's all a little cray-cray if you know what I mean.
> Me : And after they get what they want?
> IndigoCypher : Oh, that's when the thing goes apeshit and kills everything that knew its target. Once that's done, it just disappears.
> Me : And it won't die till its done this?
> IndigoCypher : That's what I hear. Hey D, you don't have a changeling after you, do you? Was that why you baked for a while?
> Me : No. At least I don't think so.
> Me : So how do you kill it?
> IndigoCypher : That's just it. You or I don't by ourselves. Two things can kill it—either one of those watchers, those realm nazis and we all know they're dead, or a weapon made out of the same essence can destroy it. And I don't know about you, but I can't throw fairy dust. LOL.
I ended the conversation with promises of logging in more and updating my own paranormal sites. Not that I had any real intention of doing that. For
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