Like a magpie, Rhonda Parrish is constantly distracted by shiny things. She's the editor of many anthologies and author of plenty of books, stories and poems (some of which have even been nominated for awards!). She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, and she can often be found there playing Dungeons and Dragons, bingeing crime dramas, making blankets or cheering on the Oilers.

Her website, updated regularly, is at and her Patreon, updated even more regularly, is at

Fae edited by Rhonda Parrish

Meet Robin Goodfellow as you've never seen him before, watch damsels in distress rescue themselves, get swept away with the selkies and enjoy tales of hobs, green men, pixies and phookas. One thing is for certain, these are not your grandmother's fairy tales.

Fairies have been both mischievous and malignant creatures throughout history. They've dwelt in forests, collected teeth or crafted shoes. Fae is full of stories that honor that rich history while exploring new and interesting takes on the fair folk from castles to computer technologies to modern midwifing, the Old World to Indianapolis.

Fae bridges traditional and modern styles, from the familiar feeling of a good old-fashioned fairy tale to urban fantasy and horror with a fae twist. This anthology covers a vast swath of the fairy story spectrum, making the old new and exploring lush settings with beautiful prose and complex characters.


Rhonda has the uncanny knack of somehow managing to be writing or editing exactly what I'm looking for whenever I curate a story bundle. Here's her other wicked anthology of stories that turn fairy tales on their heads by a whole bunch of talented writers. I just can't get enough of that stuff! – Sandra Kasturi



  • "A delightfully refreshing collection that offers a totally different take on your usual fairy stories! I should have known that editor Parrish (who also edits the cutting edge horror zine, Niteblade) would want to offer something quite unique. I found it difficult to stop reading as one story ended and another began – all fantastic work by gifted writers. Not for the faint of heart, by any means."

    – Marge Simon, multiple Bram Stoker® winner
  • "The Fae prove treacherous allies and noble foes in this wide-ranging anthology from Rhonda Parrish that stretches boundaries of folk tale and legend. These fairy stories are fully enmeshed in the struggles of today, with dangerous beings from under the hills taking stances against the exploitation of children and the oppression of women, yet offering bargains in exchange for their aid that those in desperate need had best think twice about accepting. There's no Disney-esque flutter and glitter to be found here — but there are chills and thrills aplenty."

    – Mike Allen, author of Unseaming and editor of Clockwork Phoenix
  • "Seventeen tales... range in feel from horror to upbeat tales about homes where things go right, and are set everywhere from the modern day to mythical fantasy pasts. The best of these stories evoke things from real life – loves and values – and show characters making hard choices that reveal who they are and what they're made of. Anyone with an abiding love of Faerie and the Folk who dwell there will find stories to enjoy in FAE."

    – Tangent [C. D. Lewis]



From "Rosie Red Jacket" by Christine Morgan:

"Boys are the horridest," someone said. "Aren't they just?"

Georgina, on the stone bench by the garden hedge, started so that she almost dropped her book. She caught it against her lap and looked around.

Here was the yard, grassy lawns and flower-beds and tree-shaded paths sloping up toward Drewbury Hall, where her uncle's family lived. Where she, too, now lived, because she had noplace else to go. The brick walls climbed green with ivy, the roof-slates were grey, and curtains stirred in open windows as the maids aired out the rooms.

The only person she saw was Partridge, the driver, out by the carriage-house. He crouched in front of the big brass-grilled snout of Uncle's gleaming auto-motor, polishing the luminaries with a soft rag. It couldn't have been him that she heard, because he was too far away, whistling as he worked.

And the voice had sounded much more like that of a child, a girl her own age.

Which would have been nice, but the only other girl for miles about was the coalman's daughter in the village. Mrs. Curtis, the housekeeper, insisted it simply wouldn't do for Miss Georgina to associate with the coal-scuttle girl. Such things weren't proper, and therefore, weren't done.

She was about to decide she'd imagined it when the someone spoke again.

"Don't you wish that they'd all get the speckles and die?"

From "The Queen of Lakes" by L.S. Johnson:

The moment the path starts to dip, the world goes silent. The very wind ceases to blow; not a leaf stirs, not an animal can be seen, not even an insect. There is only the rasp of my breath, the blood thudding in my ears.

It is forty-two steps from the silence to the far end of the curve. Forty-two steps where the only sound in the world is myself.

Myself and the each-uisge, I mean.

"Where did you go?" I ask. For he is beside me, though I did not hear him approach. I never hear him.

"Here and there," he gurgles. His voice is low and wet, as if his mouth were full of jelly. "Across great lakes and little rivers, so many lovely sights. Though not a one as lovely as you, Rose."

He teases my braid, making it sticky and knotted, and I slap his hand away. Thanks to his fondling I've been scolded by Mrs. Duggan more than once now, for looking slovenly. He strokes the bare strip of my throat instead, smearing my skin as he hooks a gluey finger beneath my scarf, trying to tug it away from my neck.

His fingers are so very cold.

The first time he touched me I was so frightened I nearly stopped walking, but I did not stop, I have never stopped.

I do not know what will happen if I stop.

From "And Only The Eyes of Children" by Laura VanArendonk Baugh:

I'm one of the rare half-breed freaks myself, though not of the type to get an OMG!!!1! photo on the internet. No, I'm lucky enough to pass on a human street – which conversely means I'm pretty unlucky on what passes for a street in the Twilight Lands. So I tend to spend most of my time here.

Exactly here, in fact. This is a good place for us. What, you don't think of Indianapolis as being a particularly supernatural city? That just means we're keeping under the radar. I know, New Orleans and Chicago and places get all the arcane press, but think for a second. Indianapolis has two affectionate sobriquets: "the Crossroads of America," for its prominent location on first the National Road and later several interstates, and "the Circle City," for its efficient, nearly ritual, circle and grid layout.

Crossroads and circles, people, right in the advertising. If you can't find the Fae in that, I can't help you.