Free The Girl Who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home by Catherynne M. Valente

she had ever set foot in the Briary. Only someone had painted Fairy wings onto her and pasted antlers cut out of another portrait onto her golden hair. The whole place looked like an illustration from an old detective novel involving men who smoked elaborate pipes.
    September recognized several club members: There sat Madame Tanaquill, smoking a cigar in a black leather armchair, her iron dress swapped out for a graceful gown the color of lime juice. She turned and whispered something to old Charlie Crunchcrab, who’d dug up his old Ferryman’s peacoat and shoved his wings through it once more. He glared at September, but neither of them said a word to her. Hushnow, the Ancient and Demented Raven Lord, preened on a mahogany perch. The Headmistress bustled about, clearing glasses and plates, her stern cobalt dress still buttoned all the way up to her throat. Pinecrack, the Moose-Khan, drank from an elegant copper soaking tub full of mulled wine while Cutty Soames, Captain of the Coblynows, straightened his cravat in a long mirror. Curdleblood, the Dastard of Darkness, stoked the fire with a long, cruel-looking poker. Thrum, their host, the Rex Tyrannosaur, stood gallantly by the fireplace, his teeth and green scales glinting in the ruddy light. He was deep in conversation with a large panther.
    â€œIago!” September exclaimed, louder than she meant to.
    The panther turned toward her and purred. He padded across the floor of the Once and Future Club. The Rex Tyrannosaur looked much insulted, and went to fetch ice.
    â€œHullo, September,” rumbled Iago, the Panther of Rough Storms. He jostled her shoulder with his great dark head. “I presume you know everyone?”
    September wanted to hug him, but she was not sure it would come out right. You never could be sure, with Iago. “But you’ve never ruled Fairyland. How can you be a member?”
    â€œCats go where they like. Besides, I was thinking of racing myself on Thursday. I do love a good lope. I like to get a good whiff of my competition before I commit to anything.”
    â€œYou? You want to be King of Fairyland? I thought you belonged to the Marquess.”
    â€œI belong to no one. I let her stroke me when I was in the mood for scheming. I carried the Red Wind when I wanted to stretch my legs. I hunted cloud-mice and pounced upon lightning bolts and enjoyed my own company when I couldn’t stand either of them. A cat’s love gets bored easily. But we are naturally suited to leadership. Most people obey us without even having to be hissed at. Would you like a drink?”
    â€œHELLO,” said the First Stone, who had installed himself behind the bar, fixing drinks with more grace than you might think a boulder could muster.
    However, few seemed interested in his concoctions. The First Stone pushed a brandy snifter at September. She peered inside. Water so cold it had begun to turn to ice at the edges, ancient gray moss, several small fern and snail fossils, and a half-burnt stick still smoking at the tip. The First Stone beamed at her with his rough half-hewn face, clearly feeling that he had given her a great gift worthy of a Queen. Perhaps these had been the most precious things in the world once upon a time, in the primeval age before even dinosaurs: water, the first baby plants and animals, fire. But Madame Tanaquill and Cutty Soames clearly preferred brandy in their brandy snifters. September sipped it politely.
    â€œMmmm!” she said, even though it tasted mostly like very wet dirt and unfathomable secrets from before the invention of dreams. The First Stone beamed even more broadly.
    â€œSo you’re her,” said the Headmistress, eyeing September appraisingly. “I am the Headmistress. I reigned eleven centuries ago, before I was deposed by the bint with the cigar over there. I was very good at it—I am sure I would have much to teach you.”
    â€œOh yes, terribly good,” cooed Madame