For Lack of a Shoe

For Paul Nord

She hadn’t meant to throw it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. What else was she going to use to fend off a rabid raccoon? Her rape whistle? Janie didn’t think so. So, now here she was, limping home from her evening run, one sock wet and filthy. She’d just bought these shoes. They were blue and pretty and supposed to be the ultimate in a jogging shoe. The raccoon was probably gnawing on it.

As Janie turned the corner, she paused under the street light to get her bearings and leaned on the post. The Halloween night was cool around her shoulders and the still air was silent. At last the trees had turned the scorching reds and yellows of fall, but the residential neighborhood just off campus still boasted tidy green lawns. Ahead of her a narrow strip of wooded park was bisected by a worn path. Clearly a favorite shortcut, Janie decided it was far too overgrown to be safe after dark. As she looked around, she realized she was only a few blocks from the edge of campus. Not far to go, then. Janie gnawed her lip as she looked down at her feet, one aching and cold, one warm and happy. It probably was best to take off her other shoe and continue barefoot instead of continuing to aggravate the twinge in her hip. Muttering darkly, Janie bent down to undo the triple knot.

As she worked at the tight laces, in the distance dogs began to bark. Janie glanced up and down the street. Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest choice to go running on All Hallows Eve, but the trick or treaters were in bed and Janie didn’t have a costume party or anything to go to. People had thrown parties last weekend. Tonight was an ordinary night of studying, watching TV or playing video games. Janie had relished the chance to get out of the dorm and away from her roommate’s reality TV obsession. The barking seemed to rise and fall in the distance, oddly musical.

At last, the knot came free and Janie pried her shoe off with such ferocity, she fell back and landed hard on her butt in a muddy puddle. Janie yipped in surprise as the cold water splashed and soaked her from the waist down. Tonight is not my night, she thought, as she picked herself up and rubbed her dirty hands on her shirt. Janie looked down at her lone shoe, wiggled her wet toes, and sighed. At least the barking had stopped.

As Janie briefly debated leaving her shoe behind to its fate, a freezing wind picked up and swirled wet leaves up and around her in a small tornado. Janie batted at the flying foliage as the wind tugged at her ponytail, freeing the long dark strands of her hair. She coughed and scooped her hair out of her blue eyes, then froze. In front of her stood an immense black horse, coat steaming in the cold air. Janie looked up at the tall figure astride the huge beast as a bevy of white hounds with red ears circled. She’d never seen a man so tall or so darkly beautiful. Janie stayed stock still, as the horse stamped and shook, impatient.

The man looked down his long nose at the girl standing in a circle of light. “Good evening,” he rumbled.

Janie swallowed. “Um, hi?” His deep voice was heavily accented. Something British?

“You seem lost,” he observed, black eyes flashing.

“Oh, no.” Janie straightened her spine and gripped her rape whistle tightly in her palm. “I’m fine.” She looked down. “I lost a shoe.”

The man chuckled, then barked a command. The dogs instantly sat and silently regarded her, tongues wagging. Janie thought their eyes were red. She trembled and lifted her eyes to the mysterious man. On a horse. In the middle of the street. Where had he come from?

“It is fortuitous that I have found you. I may offer aid. A cloak against the cold, perhaps?” He swept a midnight velvet cloak from his shoulders and bent to offer it to her. Janie took the rich fabric, surprised at its weight.

“Um, thanks?” her voice was tiny and afraid.

“My name is Gwyn ap Nudd and tonight I ride to hunt with my faithful hounds. May I have the honor of your name, fair one?”

Janie hugged the cloak, soaking in the warmth and its fragrance of pine and herbs. “I’m Janie,” she replied.

Gwyn quirked up an eyebrow. “Janie? That is your true name?”

Janie sighed. She’d hated her name since forever. Her mother and her fantasy books. “No. No, it’s just… easier, better.”

“What could be better than your true name?” he asked, astonished.

“When your hippie dippy mother names you Guinevere, you try to avoid it,” muttered Janie.

The man on the horse burst into harsh laughter, startling the animal into taking several steps back.

“Oh, my dear, that is too perfect. Guinevere. Of course, you are Guinevere.” He glanced back towards the wooded park. “My…party will be here soon. I am pleased to escort you home.” Gwyn studied her and Janie felt a blush creeping up her neck. At almost six feet tall, she was used to standing out in a crowd. Her pale skin and black hair made people think she was into Goth or metal and stuff. Janie really just wanted to be left alone in her molecular biology lab, which reminded her about the homework she was neglecting. The velvet on the cloak was amazing. So soft and deep. Janie couldn’t help but cuddle it closer. Home. Hmmmm.

Janie looked up at the man, studying his dark curls and fine cut features. “I can get home on my own. Thanks, though.” There was no way she was going to appear on campus behind some deeply handsome dude on a horse with a bunch of dogs. She already had a reputation for being weird and aloof. Her feet were cold.

“Are you certain? The night is cold and you are wet. It is no trouble, but we should leave soon.” He paused, tilted his head, thinking. “Unless you do not want to return?”

Janie shrugged and under her breath said, “Not a lot to return to, really.”

He seemed to have heard that as he smiled broadly. “If home is not what you seek, I can offer an alternative?”

Janie looked into his night-dark eyes. “Alternative?” she whispered. Her mind raced over failed relationships, middling grades, lonely lunches, and solitary dinners. Something about the perfume lifting from the cloak sent a yearning through her bones.

“You can come with me,” Gwyn’s hand twitched. He wanted this woman, girl, really. She was…unspoiled.

Janie thought about it as a dog cautiously sniffed her fingers. “Where?” she asked.

“To my beautiful hall beyond the hills, carved of marble and filled with jewels.”

“Jewels, huh?” That didn’t sound too bad. Plus, this guy was really dreamy and Janie didn’t have dreamy guys hitting on her, like, ever.

“Whatever you desire. You would be our…queen,” his voice roughened. This Guinevere was magnificent as she pondered her options. It had been a very long time since a mortal had spoken to him instead of running in fear. Gwyn could smell her fear, but her curiosity was stronger.

Janie looked at the black horse, the white dogs, and studied the dark man before her. Perhaps this was the adventure she didn’t realize she’d been waiting for.

“Guinevere, you must choose. Time is fleeing.” The horse twitched under his master’s knee.

Janie flung the cloak around her shoulders and walked to Gwyn’s side. She stretched an arm upwards and in a breath, he had grasped and swung her up behind him. Janie was pleasantly surprised at the corded muscle under her hands as she held his ribs.

“Ah, Guinevere, you chose well.” Gwyn glanced over his shoulder at the woman pressed against him. Janie smiled up at his black eyes. The hounds began to bay as shadowy figures on horseback emerged from the trees. “First, we must do our duty. Then, we shall return to feast!”

“What duty is that?” asked Janie into the leather of his shoulder.

“We hunt!” Gwyn’s face flickered, showing the white skull beneath. Janie took a deep breath and smiled.