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It began with the names.
Some would say that it began long before that, when the Lady of the Seelie caved to pressure or saw the light, depending on your point of view, and acceded to a few reforms advocated by certain fae who were highly concerned about the decline of their people. Everyone agreed that Arcadia simply wasn’t what it used to be in the olden times, when belief was strong as spider’s silk and diffuse as twilight.
Things had changed since then, though. Mortals weren’t as inclined towards the world of the fae anymore. Some blamed technology and some blamed philosophers, and a vocal minority blamed the fae themselves. If mortals had brought anything into the world, it was change, and like everything else in the world, the fae could either adapt or die. Their idea was to begin exposing the younger fae to human culture and mores. If they could better understand the mortals, they could (ideally) be more effective at drawing power from their kind. Actual proposals ranged from the radical - reinstating the ancient and most Unseelie practice of taking changelings - to the almost conservative offer to permit juvenile fae to consume human popular culture.
Thus was the Lyceum born. It was only open to fae of high pedigree, power, or potential whom the Lady believed could be trusted with this esoteric knowledge of the human world. Lyceum students began with extensive reading about humans and their odd ways, then moved on to lectures from ex-changelings or Unseelie captives who had escaped to the Summer Court, and finally wrapped up with a series of carefully supervised trips to observe human societies. The Lyceum was, and remains, highly controversial in Arcadia. The concept of learning is not always welcome to a proud and unchanging people, but the Lady has allowed it, and so it stays.
Now, it may be true that things would have worked out the same had the Lyceum never been founded, but it is not given to us to know what might have been. All I can do is tell what happened, and as far as I can tell, it began with the names.
Names, you see, hold power. Calling something by name fixes it in place and time and context. A name gives you knowledge of that thing, and that is one of the oldest kinds of power in the world. The fae are very fond of names, especially mortal names. Collecting mortal names is an easy way to become powerful in Arcadia, and fae, much like mortals, are drawn to power.
No one quite knows when, but one day, a sharp-eyed fae, fresh from the Lyceum, with more wits than good sense realized a few things. First, tired humans do not think as clearly and are a good deal easier to trick. Second, when they are tired, many humans use special potions to enhance their alertness. Third, in exchange for these potions, humans will very often offer their names.
That chain of revelations, tempered with curiosity, eventually led the fae to an alley next to a coffee shop in a small and unremarkable town. They tugged a little nervously at their glamour, making sure they looked like an entirely ordinary human. Well, not entirely ordinary - their hair was a little too pale, their eyes a little too bright, but it was the best they could do, given their current level of power. Hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem for too much longer. Taking a deep breath, they pushed the side door open, a small chime announcing their arrival.
A very square-looking man with close-cut black hair looked up from his desk behind a door labeled “Office.” His eyebrows drew together. “Hey. Can I help you?”
“Ah, hello, yes. I’m here to help.” They chose their words carefully, imbuing them with the subtle magic that would shape reality and the mortals’ understanding around whatever they chose to declare. It would hold sound, as long as they told no deliberate lies.
The man’s brow smoothed out, comprehension washing across his face. “Ah, I see, corporate must’ve sent you. I’ve been telling them we’re shorthanded for weeks. Well, come on in, grab an apron. I figure you know what to do, but just ask Rae if you need anything.” He paused, giving them a warm smile. “I’m Jorge, by the way. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Jorge. The fae felt the power of the name snap in the air and reached out with their own magic to add the small spark to their lantern-light, a match feeding a flame. There were no other fae here to dispute the claim; the name was theirs by rights. They savored the spike of warmth and adrenaline, and nodded. They picked up an apron from near the door and tied it neatly over their clothes. They slipped out to the storefront, behind the counter. A few customers lingered by the other end of the shop, where another barista with spiky hair was fixing drinks. None of them even looked up.
It had been so very easy to get here - almost trivial. They marveled for a moment that other fae hadn’t thought of this first. Now all that remained was, evidently, to make coffee. Beans. It started from beans - and indeed, there were several large plastic containers under the counter with labels like “Sumatra,” “Colombia,” and “Hazelnut.” They selected the largest (“House Blend”) and picked out the small scoop left in the bin. The beans would need to be crushed - ah, yes, in that machine in the corner. Fortunately, the research they’d done beforehand was paying off. They dumped the beans into the hamper, pressed the button labeled “Start,” and waited happily.
After a few small whirs, the machine finally kicked into gear with a godawful crunching sound that was much, much louder than it should’ve been. It sounded more like grinding bones than anything that mortals would eventually consume. The fae jumped back and quickly hit the “Off” button as several of the customers glanced over. So much for being inconspicuous.
“Hey, do you need a hand with that?” They turned to see the other barista, wearing a name tag labeled “Rae.” Another curl of magic, which they were quick to snag. This was going to be even easier than they had thought. If, of course, the cursed machine would cooperate.
“I… I think so, yes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rae said, nudging them aside. “It takes a while to warm up sometimes. Jorge said corporate sent you in from another store?”
“I’m only here temporarily.”
“Sure, sure. What’s your name?” The fae felt the spike of panic in the back of their mind. They’d neglected to add a name tag.
“Ah. You can call me…” Humans did not use the customary epithets, but choosing a name at random felt wrong. They could choose a temporary title, they supposed, something that would suit their current role. Options flickered through their thoughts - what were they doing here? Serving, selling, giving - “Grant.”
Rae nodded, looking oddly compassionate. “Oh. Okay. You know, you can ask Jorge to make you a new name tag with whatever you want on it. He’s really good about that. I dunno how your other manager is, but at least while you’re here, he’ll make sure you get called whatever you want.” They gave a sympathetic smile as they dumped the espresso into the paper cup. “Latte for Briony!”
A short young woman in a bright green pea coat cradled her phone between her ear and shoulder as she took the cup from Rae and mouthed ‘thank you.’ The fae - Grant - felt the now-familiar spark in the air as they added another face, another name to their rapidly growing power. They took a deep breath and stepped over to the register. It was okay. They didn't have to deal with the machine. This would be easy.
The first few - well, few dozen - orders didn’t quite bear that out, as Grant struggled to unlock the secrets of the cash register, and which buttons to press when exactly. It had not looked this difficult in the television dramas they had watched, nor when they had conducted their initial surveillance. Practice, they supposed. No other way to get better besides practice. It didn’t hurt that, every time they completed an order successfully, they could ask for the customer’s name and get it, every time. They could tell some of the customers were lying, or bending the truth; only true names have true power, but lying didn’t seem to occur to most of the customers. They just gave their names away, as though they had no idea of their value. Grant marveled at the naivete even as their power swelled, rich and heady and sparkling. Mortals were really far too gullible.
Rae must have said something about Grant’s new name to Jorge, because he emerged from the back office halfway through the shift, with a newly-printed name tag bearing their new title. With a little bit of trepidation, they pinned the shiny white rectangle to their apron. Rae flashed a quick thumbs-up from over by the mixers. It took Grant a moment, but they returned the gesture with a small smile, and turned back to the current customer. Andrew. Another flash of power.
Between customers, Rae gave them pointers on coaxing ground coffee from the finicky machine, showed them how to mix the odd off-menu drinks that customers often requested, and whispered anecdotes about the cafe’s range of regulars.
“We get lots of nurses here - it’s the medical center up the street. They just want something black and strong, and a lot of it. They usually come on their breaks, so they don’t order anything complicated that’ll take too long to prepare. As long as you get it out quick and hot, they’re easy. And super nice. See? There’s Sonja.” They waved at a middle-aged woman in purple scrubs. “She works on pediatrics, so sometimes she’ll get cookies or something to sneak to the kids. After lunch, you’ll start seeing the high schoolers. They order a lot of blended drinks, and it can get pretty noisy, but if you call Jorge out, he can usually shut them up pretty quick. Oh, I’ll have to introduce you to Kristi. She usually does her homework in the corner booth by the window while she waits for her brother to get out of elementary school. Nice kids. I think their parents work…”
Between the drink orders, the informal orientation, and the endless, endless flow of names, the morning flew by. They both took advantage of the mid-afternoon lull to mop the floors and wipe down the display cases. “You know,” Rae said in a slightly-too-casual tone, “I bet Jorge could get corporate to switch your home store to here, if you wanted.” Grant looked up in alarm; they hadn’t been attempting to charm anyone, but they knew that humans tend to fall in love at the drop of a hat, and they were really not ready to deal with that kind of fallout from a simple jaunt to enhance their power, and Rae did seem like a really nice person, and -
But while Rae was looking down and away, not quite meeting Grant’s eyes, there was no telltale blush, or sideways glances when Grant pretended not to see. This was something else.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” they continued, “but I meant what I said earlier. Jorge is good about that stuff. He once banned a customer who called Kelly the t-word. I’ve never seen him so pissed off. He won’t hassle you over bathrooms, either.” They looked up at that, sneaking a half-smile to Grant. “As long as they’re clean, anyway. I’m just saying, you could stay here if you’re more comfortable.”
Oh. The premise wasn’t quite right, but the offer was undeniably genuine. Grant had to swallow a little. It seemed like there was something in their throat. “I think,” they said eventually, “I think I’d like to come back.”
And that was how their first shift ended: with cleaning solution seeping into the hems of their pants, a shiny new nametag, and a smiling promise of “see you tomorrow!” from Rae. The air around Grant hummed with magic as they ducked back into the alleyway, overflowing with the power of new mortal names. They could easily just slip back to Arcadia and enjoy their spoils. That would certainly be the safer route, but they remembered the relief on Jorge's face when they offered to help, and Rae’s quick smile and ready compassion.
Well. It had been a very productive day. One more couldn’t hurt.