Mortal Follies

To my lord Oberon, in the hopes that this tale will remind him of better times Contents Dedication Title Page Author’s Note Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Acknowledgments Credits About the Author About the Type By Alexis Hall Copyright AUTHOR’S NOTE Please note, Mortal Follies includes a number of themes some readers may prefer not to engage with. These include but are not limited to sexual content, threat of violence and danger (including a wasp attack and near drowning), animal sacrifice, mentions of one of the main character’s deceased family and how they died (stabbing, drowning, burned to death), accusations of familicide, transphobia (challenged), social non-acceptance of LGBTQ+ relationships, slavery/transatlantic slave trade (discussed), sexual harassment and threat of sexual assault, murder, severe illness (magical), smoking. PROLOGUE Introductions, gentle reader, are in order. I am that knavish sprite that frights the maidens of the villagery. I am Oberon’s jester—was Oberon’s jester, that’s rather the issue. I am called hobgoblin by some and, contrary to what certain people might have told you, it is not a name I like and you shall not have good luck if you repeat it in my hearing. I am also your narrator. For reasons that are none of your concern and, more importantly, not at all my fault, I am somewhat on the outs with my patron at present. Where once I sat by his side on the arm of an elfin throne in the twisted, thorny bowers of his court, I am now living in a tiny flat in Putney with rising damp and leaky windows and I am forced, for the first time in the millennia of my existence, to pay what I understand you mortals call rent. It is vile. But I am nothing if not resourceful and so I have struck a bargain with some particularly impressionable mortals at one of your “publishing houses” and have agreed to share for their readers some of the many stories of misguided passion, murderous intrigue, and other tomfooleries that I have gathered down the years. Hopefully this will go better than it did the last time—I gave an excellent story to a mortal playmaker around 1600 and the bastard didn’t even give me a co-writer credit. The particular tale I have chosen for you is one that I collected CHAPTER 1 When Miss Mitchelmore arrived at Lady Etheridge’s ball, she was resplendent in a gown of silver French gauze over a silken slip, her hair styled à la Grecque and decorated with roses. She caught even my eye, and I sometimes find it a little tricky to tell mortals apart. Which, I’ll admit, may have caused the tiniest of problems in the past. For much of the evening I watched her from across the room while an elderly colonel opined to me at length regarding the French emperor. It was not, as you may imagine, a topic about which I cared in the slightest. See above regarding my difficulty distinguishing mortals from one another, even short Corsicans. Eventually I extricated myself from the conversation by enchanting him with a slight but persistent itching between the shoulder blades. Thus freed, I found myself following the pretty Miss Mitchelmore. I am, amongst other things, a collector of stories, and my instincts told me that she was either the kind of lady who did interesting things or the kind to whom interesting things happened. Or, at a pinch, the kind to whom they could be made to happen. I am not above interfering in mortal affairs if it seems truly necessary, or if it would be mildly entertaining. Initially it seemed the evening would be a profound disappointment. Miss Mitchelmore danced with several gentlemen, but never twice with the same one. She conversed with a number of ladies but said nothing that might be scandalous. There was, however, something strange about