The Winding Ivy

The library was quieter than normal. Every patron had found a corner to read in silence. Nisha exhaled. The calendar stated that the library was having a local writer’s event. This was supposed to be an opportunity for Nisha to promote her art work to local writers, an opportunity to get hired to do cover art or other book artwork. Instead the day, like many other days, was shaping up to be a failure.

“Good morning Melissa,” Nisha said, weaving false positivity into her voice.

“Oh, my favorite artist! How are you today?” Melissa’s lips spread into a dazzling grin.

“I was here for the writer’s event. I was hoping to see if anyone needed an artist who could work with any budget.”

“Oh. No one signed up. I’m sorry.” Melissa’s voice was syrupy sweet and kept Nisha from spiraling.

“Oh man, that's disappointing.” Nisha turned to leave before the devastation distorted her face.

“Wait. I read about an event next week. Let me grab the flyer.”

Melissa shuffled around under the desk. Nisha took a moment to appreciate the liveliness of the librarian’s hair. It reminded Nisha of a full canopied tree with blossoms of colorful flowers.

“Here it is,” Melissa announced, springing back up.

Their hands brushed momentarily as the flyer exchanged hands. Melissa’s fingers were warm despite the blasting air conditioning unit that had Nisha shivering. Warm fingers ran over Nisha’s, and the librarian smiled. Nisha forced herself to be still, to be present in the moment while trying to keep a mask over her ever deeping feelings.

“Thank you,” Nisha finally said, pulling her fingers from Melissa’s.

“No problem. Also, I almost have enough saved up to commission that self-portrait from you.”

“I told you, I’ll do it for half my normal rate,” Nisha said, flashing a rare, genuine smile.

“And I said you’re already not charging enough. Next paycheck, I’ll schedule with you.”

“Sounds good.”

Nisha sat in her car, reading the flyer and thinking of Melissa. The librarian was definitely attractive, but it was more than the astonishing physical beauty that Nisha was drawn to. Melissa, in the brief meetings the two shared, had been kind, supportive and funny, all traits that Nisha as a struggling artist rarely experienced. Nisha spent a lot of her time dealing with rejection and that was why she did not have time to fall in love, she had a dream to chase.

The flyer was heavy and textured. She ran her fingers along it, feeling the embossed flowers and vines. The letters were in a scrawling script that Nisha was unfamiliar with. Considering how often she was playing around with fonts and graphics, seeing something new was intriguing.

The name of the venue was The Winding Ivy. A cursory search of the internet provided no tangible results, just greenhouses, old homes and older trees with ivy climbing up like a leafy snake. Flowers and vines were embossed in the thick cardstock of the flyer. Someone had paid a lot of money for this piece of advertisement.

A scan of the requirements including dressing to impress and bringing samples of “your most inspired work.” Whatever that meant. Was she supposed to bring the work that she felt most inspired while creating or the pieces that caused people to say things like “Now that is inspired work?” A niggling feeling in her stomach told Nisha that she would need to create at least one new piece of art for the event.

The smell of paint wafted through the air in Nisha’s small space. Her loft style apartment screamed “starving artist” with her second hand couch, headboardless bed frame and micro kitchen. She had just enough space for herself, her insecurities and her dreams.

There was something religious about starting a new painting. The smell of the canvas, the weight of the charcoal, the vibrancy of the paints, the emptying of her mind, Nisha lived for it all. Despite the blaring music, all Nisha heard was the scratching of the charcoal as she let her creativity take control.

There were days when she plotted and planned her artwork, then there were days when the art flowed through her body and onto the medium. When the creativity took over, it was a spiritual experience, allowing Nisha to see herself outside of her own body. There was a calming that smothered her overly stimulated mind in the best possible way. It was like a weighted blanket and Nisha felt safe.

Nisha had gotten into the habit of taking pictures of her works in progress. She liked to have snapshots capturing the building of her creative works. The first picture of the work in progress was a charcoal outline. At this point, she didn't really know what she was creating, but Nisha liked it. The second picture of the work in progress was more telling. There was a mysterious forest shrouded in the darkness of night. Amongst the canopy of various shades and hues of green was one tree, filled with blossoms in full bloom. The final photograph captured the full piece. The night sky twinkled beautifully. The forest was foreboding and dangerous. The flower blooming tree was life giving, a splotch of beauty giving light to an otherwise bleak existence.

The tree represented a piece of peace surrounded by mystery and danger. Nisha wanted to touch the tree. She wanted to reach it and discover its mysteries.

Nisha found herself arranging and rearranging her portfolio. She obviously could not bring her oversized canvases, so she had long ago taken a few photography classes so that she could capture her paintings artistically and create a portfolio of those paintings. Every time she came across her new work, she shivered, feeling like there was a mystery that even she, as the artist, had yet to unravel hidden in the brush strokes.

Everything Nisha wore was second hand, but it was hard to tell. The fit of her black suit was tailored to perfection. The black shirt was offset by a black tie with dark blue wings etched throughout. Nisha’s short brown hair was forced into curly submission with gel and deft fingers.

Faking confidence was an everyday practice for Nisha and she fell easily into that act as she approached the event. Had she blinked, she would have missed the entrance. The nondescript building had no address and the signage only flicked to life for a brief moment. It was at that flicker of light that Nisha noticed she had arrived at the venue and the handleless door. It was so flush to the rest of the building, she could have easily assumed it was just part of the wall. Nisha felt grateful for her relentless focus.

A tall man with a skin routine Nisha needed to know and purple contacts greeted her with a swoon worthy smile. Confidence rolled off the man in waves and Nisha knew without question, his self assured aura was not faked.

“So glad you had no trouble finding The Winding Ivy. Is that your portfolio?” The man pointed a well manicured finger at Nisha’s briefcase.

Nisha opened the briefcase and handed her portfolio to the man. While he flipped through the pages, Nisha let her eyes sweep the space she intended to enter. The flyer said nothing about cosplaying or live action role playing. Inside of The Winding Ivy looked like a renaissance fair organized by an avid fantasy reader.

“This is lovely, Ms…” The man held out a hand.

“Nisha. Uh, Nisha Carmichael,” She replied, taking the man’s extended hand.

“Beautiful to meet you Ms. Nisha Carmichael. I am Saman.” Nisha laughed internally at the way Saman said her whole name as if it was one word. “Take your time and mingle.”

“This is a place to network with authors and artists, right?” Nisha asked, looking around at the oddly dressed guests.

“Of course, of course. Please, enjoy yourself.” As the man smiled, Nisha could have sworn she caught a glimpse of elongated canines.

As an artsy type, and self-described mid-level nerd, Nisha had seen her share of elaborate cosplay outfits. Comic book conventions especially had detailed make-up and props, but these people were next level.

There were people with skin painted like tree bark. A woman had iridescent wings on her back that fluttered realistically. There, in the back was a woman whose hair looked very much like the beautiful tree in her most recent painting. Nisha’s legs moved before her brain could revolt.

“Nisha, you made it!” Melissa threw her arms around Nisha and the artist could not help but squeeze back.

“Melissa, you look amazing,” Nisha said, unintentionally weaving a sultry bedroom voice into her words.

“So do you, but why are you glamoured? We can be ourselves tonight. Didn’t you read the flyer? Did you think ‘dress to impress’ meant black tie?”

Of course Nisha thought “dress to impress” meant black tie.

“Glamour? What?”

Melissa looked at Nisha, brows furrowed in concentration. A little gasp escaped Melissa’s lips and before Nisha could ask any questions, a man stepped up to the microphone. The librarian hooked her arm into Nisha’s and the two turned toward the stage.

The man was strikingly handsome and beautiful simultaneously. He had the type of looks that would turn heads, no matter what gender a person preferred romantically. His brown skin was flawless. His hazel eyes were bright and twinkled like stars in a clear night sky. The man’s full lips looked like they were the prototype people with lip fillers aimed for. Behind the thick lipped smile were perfectly white teeth with elongated canines. To top his cosplay, he had pointed ears. In fact, Nisha noticed as she looked around, everyone including Melissa donned the pointed ears.

“Welcome to the 100th annual unveiling ball at The Winding Ivy.”

Raucous applause erupted. Nisha’s heart sank. This was clearly not an event for her to network. She had polished her boots, gotten all dressed up and hauled her portfolio through a sketchy neighborhood, and for what?

“For those who do not know me, I am Maximilian.”

Of course his name was Maximilian, especially with those vampire teeth in his disgustingly pretty face.

“Tonight, the veil between realms is thin. Tonight we will unveil an unknown Faerie in our midst,” Maximilian said, laying on the charm like jam on a biscuit.

More applause. Nisha began making a plan to say her goodbyes to Melissa and leave while she still had a bit of dignity.

“Let the moon shine down on our lost brethren,” Maximilian said, raising his arms. Wings that Nisha had not seen previously spread behind his arms, making the man look like an angel.

The sound of gears grinding filled the room, drawing Nisha’s attention from the man with the angel wings. Had she accidentally ingested drugs? She looked up to the ceiling while she thought about everything she ate since arriving at the event. It’s hard to hide hallucinogenic drugs inside of cucumber sandwiches, Nisha decided.

A huge skylight was opening overhead. The irritation at wasted time ebbed away as Nisha looked at the moon. There was a green tint to the moon, a phenomenon that Nisha had never experienced. She knew that the instant she got home, Nisha was going to be drawn to her easel. She had to recreate this sight, had to capture the magic of this night.

Moonlight shone down on Nisha, warming her like it was the sun. She leaned her head back, enjoying the beauty of the boisterously full moon. Nisha wet her lips with her tongue, and nicked her bottom lip. What was that?

“Oh my gods,” Melissa whispered. “You are a lost Faerie?”

“A lost what?” Nisha’s voice hiked an octave and her lip was curled slightly, giving a face to her confusion.

Melissa put a mirror to Nisha’s face. It was like looking into a mirror after a glamorous makeover. Nisha was beautiful in a way that seemed ethereal. Predator’s canines accented her teeth and pointed ears poked up like knives. She looked around at all the expectant faces, happy to welcome a lost member. She had a captive audience, and Nisha felt a surge of confidence.

Nisha looked around the room, catching eyes with several of The Winding Ivy’s guests. “I would love to chat more about being a lost Faerie, but first, does anyone want to commission some art?”