A Fairy's Guide to Disaster (7 page)

I sat down on the end, panting. If I couldn’t think of something, I’d have to go wake up those fairies without a weapon. I crossed my legs and rested my head in my hands. Think. There must be something I could use. Sarah and Marie chatted above me about the merits of the desk. They kept waving their hands and the air currents they created nearly brushed me off the stapler. Maybe I could get them to see me and push the stapler. Even if they only thought I was a bug, they might try to squash me and release the staple.

I jumped up and down. “Hey! Down here. Hit this stapler. You know you want to.”

Sarah and Marie ignored me. I yelled myself hoarse, but they never looked in my direction.

“I don’t know, Sarah. It’s quite expensive. Are you sure you should?” asked Marie.

“It’s perfect. Rebecca will love it.” Sarah turned and craned her neck to look over a low bookshelf. “There’s never someone around to help when you need them.”

Then she spun completely around and her purse swung straight at me. I saw it coming, but only had time to shield my face before the great big black leather box swept me into the bin of costume jewelry. Sharp points poked me all over. Dozens of earrings stuck me in the wings, back and legs. I struggled to get on top of the mound, but kept sinking deeper amidst the golden quicksand of clinking metal against metal. Strands of beads wrapped around my legs and pulled me deep into the abyss.

CHAPTER 6

AS I sank deeper into the jewelry bin, Marie said, “Look here, Sarah. I swear my mother used to wear a necklace just like this one.”

A hand, wrinkled and smelling like baby powder, came toward me and grasped one of the necklaces. It rose, flashing its multi-colored Bakelite beads and teasing me with the hope of escape. I lunged at it, but the slippery beads brushed past my hands, eluding me. I lunged again, ignoring the jabs into my feet and legs. The tag ($1.99) rose in front of me and I grabbed the tail end of the string. Then I was dangling above the bin and its many flashing points as the ladies discussed the likeliness that it was the same type of necklace that the mother had worn. How could they not see me? A tiny wood fairy with glowing purple and green wings, dangling right in front of their faces.

“It’s very like it,” said Sarah. “Your mother wore that necklace nearly every day. Whatever happened to it, Marie?”

“I don’t know. After she died, most of her things disappeared. I think my father couldn’t take the sight of them. I wish he would’ve set aside something for me.”

“You should have it then, even if it’s not exactly the same,” said Sarah. “It’ll be my treat.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Marie. “I’ll buy it.”

Sarah took the strand from Marie and I let go, flying up over the ladies heads.

I hovered and examined my arms and legs. Aside from a few new scratches, I’d come off pretty easily.

“It’s my day to buy gifts,” said Sarah. “Two memories to purchase, and it’ll be my pleasure.”

“Two?” asked Marie.

“Yes. The desk for Rebecca to remember my dearest Thomas and the necklace for you, Marie, to remember your dearest mother. Now no arguments; let’s go find someone to ring this up.”

The ladies discussed the purchases and how many men it would take to move the desk. Then they walked away. I couldn’t imagine how many it would take. The thing was huge. Bigger than anything I’d ever seen. As I fluttered above it, eyeing the points that had so recently poked me, I had an idea. I landed on the worn green felt on the desk’s writing surface, went to the nearest bin, and clambered up the side. Resting my arms on the edge, I peered inside. Weapons. They could all be weapons. I spotted one with just a tiny golden ball, the size of my head, on one end and a wicked sharp point on the other. The earring would be heavy, but wood fairies weren’t weak. I could handle it.

I let go of the bin, flew up, and hovered over the jewelry. Grabbing the earring would be difficult. I hadn’t mastered the delicate art of flying upside down and the thought of landing in the bin again was very unattractive. The brown pile under the table was still snoozing, but who knew how long they’d stay that way. If they woke up and attacked, I had to have a weapon, so I decided to go for it.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and flexed my wing joints the way Dad instructed me. When I opened my eyes, the world was inverted. I’d done it. Not very well, Dad would’ve said. My wings refused to hold me steady. I rocked back and forth, bouncing up and down with every air current, but I was right over the bowl and the desired earring. With a shift of my wings, I lowered myself within arm’s reach. My hand was just big enough to get a good grip on the shaft. I flexed my wings again, but before I could rise out of the bin, an air current caught my wings and drove me down. My forehead hit a necklace bead and the blow unbalanced me. I flipped upright, scraping my knees on several other earrings, but I managed to hang on to my prize. I flew straight up and hovered above the bin, shaking from the effort.

“Not so bad, Dad,” I said, a little embarrassed to be talking to someone who wasn’t there. But the words felt good. I liked to think that he’d be proud of me. I was doing things he would’ve encouraged if Mom wasn’t always so worried about me getting hurt.

I flew back down the aisle and landed on the floor in front of the table where the brown fairy pile lay quivering. I found myself quivering, too. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea after all. But it was the best I had and besides, I was curious. I’d never met another species before.

I walked under the table, holding my earring with the point toward the lump. I couldn’t hold it still. The point kept jumping around until I rested the shaft on my hip. I felt like a knight ready for a joust with my trusty lance. All I needed was a horse and perhaps a bit more courage.

“Hello, there,” I said to the pile, my voice barely more than a whisper.

The pile did not move.

“Um, hello. Wake up.” I stepped closer and held the earring farther forward.

A couple of hands shot out, but they didn’t wake. I took more steps until I was close enough to distinguish the silky texture of the brown fur and tried again.

“Hello. I need some help. Wake up,” I said.

I tucked my hair behind my ears, bit my lip, and poked what looked like a hip with the tip of my earring. Nothing.

“Oh, for goodness sake. What’s wrong with these things?” I asked as I poked another one. The pointy end of the earring was quite painful. I knew that from experience. What was wrong with them?

I jabbed another one without any care for the damage I might cause, but the creature didn’t do anything but snore.

“They won’t wake,” said a voice from behind me.

I jumped and spun around, holding my earring tightly. In front of me stood a curious creature that looked as though it’d been carved from the table leg it stood beside. It was a golden brown complete with wood-grained skin, long spindly arms and legs, and no discernible clothing. Long, thin sticks stuck out of its head and it hurt my neck to look up at it. The creature was twice my height and had black eyes beneath wood-grained lids. Although I couldn’t tell whether the creature was a boy or a girl, in my heart I instantly categorized it as a male about ten years older than me.

“They won’t wake,” he said again.

“Why not?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my efforts to hold it steady.

“They’re trow. They wake at dusk, never before,” he said.

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The wood-like creature lifted its knee, then extended a leg and took a carefully balanced step toward me. The step was so slow it disarmed me completely and I nearly giggled.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

I clutched my earring. I no longer felt like giggling.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You’re covered with bruises and scratches.”

I looked down and realized he spoke the truth. Some of them were fairly fresh from the jewelry bin. The rest were dried and flaking from when the mantel had been torn off the wall.

“There was an accident,” I said.

“A bad one, looks like. Do you need help?”

“I’m looking for someone. A little boy.”

“A wood fairy like us?” it asked.

I stared at the creature. Did it mean us as in the two of us? How could we both be wood fairies? He didn’t even have wings. The creature took another slow step forward and I took a step back.

“I am a wood fairy, although a different type, as you can see,” he said. “I’m Soren Maple. And you are?”

“Matilda Whipplethorn. What type are you?”

“I’m a dryad.”

“I’m just a plain old wood fairy, I guess,” I said.

Soren’s face looked as hard as oak, but it curved into a gentle smile. Warmth and sweetness radiated off of him. I could find nothing inside myself that said to fear him.

“There’s nothing plain about you,” he said.

I smiled back at him.

“Come with me, Matilda Whipplethorn, and we shall see,” said Soren.

“See what?” I asked.

“If we can find your little boy.” Soren turned and walked away with his high-stepping, slow gate. I glanced around. The antique mall lay quiet and deserted except for the occasional human. I wasn’t sure I should take his help, but neither did I want to wander around aimlessly. It really wasn’t much of a choice. I hefted the earring and followed him through a warren of wooden chair legs and hoped for the best.

CHAPTER 7

THE furniture stood like a gleaming maple forest in a quiet corner of the antique mall, each piece elegantly carved and smelling of lemon oil. I stared with wonder at the canopy bed in particular. Its four posts twisted toward the ceiling and the silk lining in the top formed a beautiful sun-burst pattern. The huge headboard below was a riot of scrollwork and various fruits carved with such artistic talent as I had never seen.

“Oh,” I whispered.

Soren ducked his head. A tinge of pink bloomed on his golden cheeks. “Welcome to my home.”

“It’s so beautiful. Do you live on the inside?” I asked, although I doubted it. Soren was so big, how could he fit?

“No, we nest on the outside.” Soren waved at the furniture.

I eyed the area Soren was waving at, but couldn’t see anything.

“You should wave as they’re waving to you,” he said.

“Where?” I asked.

“Everywhere. You only have to really look in order to see. Just like humans. Although humans never bother to look.”

So I really looked. I ran my eyes carefully over the beautiful bed, the matching highboy, the bookcases, and dressers. And then they were there, dozens of spindly arms just like Soren’s, waving at me in a most cheerful fashion.

“I see them. I see them,” I said, waving wildly.

“My family,” said Soren as the dryads climbed slowly down the furniture, stopping to wave every few steps. When they got closer, I felt a blush come over my own cheeks. They didn’t seem naked, but I couldn’t make out any clothes either. I was able to ignore this with Soren because there was only one of him. A whole family of possibly naked dryads made me want to run the other way, no matter how friendly they seemed. I backed up a few steps, uncertain about what to do.

“What’s wrong, Matilda Whipplethorn?” asked Soren.

“They’re…” I hesitated. Should I say it? I didn’t want to insult anyone.

“Yes?”

“Are they wearing clothes?” I asked at last.

Soren grinned at me. His wood-grained lips stretched farther than I’d thought possible.

“Oh, thank you. So kind of you to say.”

I bit my lip. “Um.”

“Mother,” said Soren, waving to the closest dryad who was walking toward us with painfully slow steps, even slower than Soren’s. She had the same intricate wood-graining, but she was slightly shorter with large eyes and a small bow of a mouth.

“Mother, this is Matilda Whipplethorn and…” Soren grinned even wider, “she thinks we’re naked.”

Soren’s mother clasped her hands together. “Music to a mother’s ears.”

I looked back and forth between them. Soren’s mother laid a warm hand on my shoulder. Again, I felt nothing but sweetness coming from the dryad.

“We’re not naked, dear. We’re painters,” Soren’s mother said.

“Painters?” I asked. “What do you paint?”

“The greatest canvas. Ourselves.” She held her hand up in front of me and rubbed away a strip of wood-graining, revealing pale brown skin.

“Oh.” I didn’t want to state the obvious. Paint wasn’t clothes. No one with sense would think so. Maybe Soren and his family weren’t dangerous, but they might be crazy. “I think I’d better go.”

“Does this help?” Soren’s mother stepped back and appeared to lift her skin right off her hip.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Our clothing, dear. We’re painters. We paint everything to match our beloved trees. It is a huge compliment that you thought the illusion perfect.”

I dropped my hands. “It is perfect.” I turned to Soren. “I was worried you were naked the whole time.”

“I should’ve known. You looked at me so oddly.” Soren laughed and was joined by his family. They all crowded in, patting me and giving thanks for my compliments.

Soren’s mother put her long arm around my shoulders and led me away. “Don’t crush the child, people. I suspect Soren brought her to us for a purpose, not just to feed our vanity. Vanity is our great weakness, that and walnuts. You don’t have any walnuts, do you?”

“Sorry, no,” I said.

“Too bad,” she said. “What would you have us do, my son?”

“I would have us help.” Soren put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell them, Matilda Whipplethorn.”

“I’m looking for someone. A little boy. He’s a wood fairy. A wood fairy like me, I mean.”

“He’s your brother?” asked Soren’s mother. “Another Whipplethorn?”

I grimaced. “Not a bit. He’s not my brother and he says he’s a Whipplethorn, but he’s not.”

Soren examined my earring and tested the sharp tip with his finger. “What is he then?”

“He’s an Ogle. His family moved into Whipplethorn Manor late and changed their name. My family is original to the house. We came with the first stick of wood. We’re real Whipplethorns.”

All the dryads nodded as one. “So sad,” some said.