The Chancellor Fairy Tales
Books I - III
The Glass Mermaid
The Cupcake Witch
The Bee Charmer
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Poppy Lawless’ “Short and Sweet” Series, Stories 1-4
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Love Potion Books, 2016
An imprint of Clockpunk Press
The Glass Mermaid, Copyright © 2015 Poppy Lawless
The Cupcake Witch, Copyright © 2015 Poppy Lawless
The Bee Charmer, Copyright © 2016 Poppy Lawless
The Short and Sweet Series, Copyright © 2015-2016 Poppy Lawless
The Chancellor Fairy Tales, Book I-III Boxed Set, Copyright © 2016 Poppy Lawless
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are fictional. Any resemblances to the living or the dead are purely coincidental.
Published by Love Potion Books
Cover art by Steph’s Cover Design
Editing by Becky Stephens Editing
The Glass Mermaid
The Chancellor Fairy Tales, Book I
All life is as fragile as glass. What would you sacrifice to save the one you love?
Kate
I'm the last mermaid.
I'm back on shores of Lake Erie, but the cold waters are silent. There is nothing here for me but ghosts and the beach glass that litters the rocky shore. Long ago, I lived below the waves. Now, I am the sole survivor, and at long last, my mermaid glamour is leaving me.
Every day, I walk the beach. Every day, I wonder what happened to my people. The little pieces of colored glass that wash ashore give me simple pleasure. They are gifts from the lake, reminders of home. I fashion them into trinkets: necklaces, earrings, bracelets. They are beautiful things. The humans seem love them.
Every day, I walk the beach. Nothing ever changes, until the day he says hello.
Cooper
I'm dying.
It's not a question, it's a fact. The cancer is eating me alive. They told me I have six months to live, maybe less. I came home, back to Chancellor on Lake Erie, to die. The sunsets are vivid there, and I will relish every one.
I've never seen anything more beautiful than a Lake Erie sunset until I see her.
Chapter 1: Kate
The surf lapped over my feet, sea foam tickling my toes. It was early summer, but the lake water was still icy. I closed my eyes and felt the cool waves. In the deep of winter, when the lake would freeze, we always sheltered on one of the small islands that dotted Lake Erie. The humans in those days had called us lumpeguin. Sighing deeply, I opened my eyes and looked down at the rocky shoreline.
“There you are,” I whispered, bending to pick up a piece of green beach glass. I lifted it and looked at it in the diming sunlight. It was tear-shaped and worn smooth from its time in the water. A soft white sheen coated the green glass. That made seven green pieces, five light blue pieces, eight white pieces, and seven amber pieces. Not a bad haul. Alas, no red. I rarely found red anymore. The lake had stopped giving up her most beautiful treasures. If I wanted, I could swim down deep to the troves of wave-kissed glass. But I hadn’t been below the surface in nearly three hundred years, and I certainly wasn’t going to ruin that stretch over some sparkly bauble, even if all my customers begged for red beach glass.
I tucked the green beach glass into my satchel, pulled my long, straw-colored hair back, and then bent to pick up my sandals. I looked out at the lake. The sun was dipping below the horizon. There was nothing more glorious than a Lake Erie sunset. Shimmering shades of rosy pink, orange, and magenta illuminated the sky and reflected on the waves. Breathing in deeply, I tried to inhale the scene. The briny scent of the fresh lake water was perfumed with the lingering smell of snow and flowers. Not for the first time, I wondered what my old home looked like now. Forgotten under the waves, the eerie sea kingdom had been left to be ruled by ghosts and memories.
I sucked in a breath and turned to go. I wouldn’t cry. Mermaids’ tears were, after all, a special and rare commodity. They carried life itself, and I didn’t have much of that magical spark left in me. A single tear could spell my end, sapping out the last of the gift from the deep. No, I’d managed to live for over three hundred years. It wouldn’t do to weep over an amazing sunset, a nearly-forgotten past, nor the realization that I was truly alone. It was what it was. I couldn’t change the fact that I was the last mermaid.
Chapter 2: Cooper
I dipped my brush into the purple paint. Not quite the right shade. Swiping my brush in the red, I fattened the color then spread it across the canvas. The sunset was particularly striking tonight. It was a perfect summer sunset, except for the fact that the wind still thought it was early spring. A breeze blew across the lake. It had an icy edge, like it had swept down from some far-off glacier. It chilled my fingers.
I dropped my brush into the jar of water and blew on my hands. For the love of God, would I have to wear gloves in May? I didn’t remember Mays in Chancellor being so cold. Maybe all my years in Pensacola, stretched out along those sugar-white beaches, had spoiled me. I loved the water. That’s how I’d ended up in Florida in the first place. Marrying my love of people and the sea, my degrees in marine biology and psychology had landed me at the Dolphin Key Sanctuary. I’d made my career doing research on the therapeutic relationship between dolphins and children with disabilities. I’d spent every day in the water until…well, now I was home, back in Chancellor. Lake Erie had been my first love, but she’d grown so cold in my absence.
I blew on my fingers again, picked up the brush, and looked at the fading sunset. I tried to take a mental picture, knowing the colors were about to fade. Too bad, it had been an amazing view. I played the last bit of paint across the canvas then picked up a smaller brush, dipped it in black, and scrawled a number in the bottom: forty-three. This was the forty-third sunset I’d painted. One-hundred forty, give or take, to go.
I leaned back and zipped my coat up to my chin. I told myself I was just taking in the last of the sunset, or letting the paint dry, or stretching my back, then I’d go. But the truth was, I was waiting for her. I shouldn’t have been, but I was.
She was strolling up the beach toward me. I’d seen her head out earlier. Like every night, she set off down the beach with her little satchel strung bandolier-style across her curvy body. At first I’d thought she was hunting for shells. It took me almost a week to remember that beach glass washed up on the shores of Lake Erie. She was hunting glass. Every night, she would head down the beach, returning just after sunset. I loved to watch her. It was almost like she melted into the surroundings, her yellow hair the same color as the dried grass, her eyes—the one and only time I’d yet had the courage to look into them—the same dark blue as the waves. Today she was wearing khaki cargo pants, a white T-shirt, and an aquamarine-colored scarf. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But she seemed a little sad, and her sadness helped me stay away. I had no business flirting with women, at least not now, but it was still nice to look at her. And sometimes, when I felt bold, more than look.
Today, I felt bold.
Today, I had something more to say.
While I knew I had no business with her, I couldn’t quite get myself to stop looking for ways to break the ice. Today, I found one.
As she neared me, I rose, took a de
ep breath, and stepped down the beach toward her. “Good evening,” I called gently, hoping like hell I wasn’t going to annoy her.
She startled a little, like she’d been lost in her thoughts.
Great, scare her to death, moron.
She looked at me with those deep-blue eyes and smiled. “Hello,” she said in a voice as soothing as the deep.
Chapter 3: Kate
The painter. Although he was smiling, his awkward stance told me he was nervous. Perhaps me nearly jumping out of my skin had set him on edge. I smiled back at him.
The painter had shown up in Chancellor a little over a month earlier. I’d noticed him one morning as I was headed out to open my shop. My small, A-frame cottage sitting along the beach has wide windows that look out at the water. I’d seen him trudging along with a canvas, easel, and painting kit. It was rare to see anyone walk along the rocky beach outside my house. Pebbly and narrow, it wasn’t an ideal place for sun bathing. Almost everyone went to the small, man-made sandy beach at Chancellor Park. I noticed him again and again. Every morning, he would head out with a canvas. Every night, when I went out on my evening walk, he’d be there once again. I tried not to bother him, but I’d snuck a peek of his work. He always painted the fiery sunsets. And in the morning, he would paint the lake and the pastel hues of the sunrise. Sunrises on Lake Erie were not vivid, but they always cast an opalescent sheen on the water. The result was a cloudy mixture of color like the inside of an abalone shell. Beautiful. From what I had seen, the artist’s paintings were glorious…almost as glorious as him.
Our exchanges had been little more than polite nods and smiles. I was too hesitant to engage him further even though he was undeniably handsome. He was trim like a cyclist or surfer, his head shaved to a shadow of dark hair, which was usually covered with a cap. He often wore a scarf or a jacket zipped to the top. I guessed him to be a southerner, not acclimatized to Pennsylvania weather. His clear blue eyes were so lovely, but it was his smile that was without compare. It made something dangerous light up in me, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Despite the danger, I liked the feeling.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was a million miles away.”
He moved down the beach toward me. I crossed the distance to meet him, hoping I could evoke that smile again. I was relieved he’d finally spoken. We’d had our little routine going on for a month now. I was starting to think that maybe, after all these years, I’d started to lose my mermaid glamour. Most men can’t resist the allure that lives inside my skin. In the past, it made living among the humans almost unbearable. But lately, I didn’t mind the attention. It felt like my last hurrah. As for the painter, though I would never take anything beyond a simple conversation, it annoyed me that my charms didn’t seem to affect him.
“I…I found something I thought you would like,” he said hesitantly, holding out his hand. In his palm was a piece of red beach glass. The awkward cut made it look like a jagged heart. It was stunning.
Without thinking, I gently took him by the hand and looked at the glass. I lifted it to admire it in the dimming sunlight.
“Beautiful,” I said. “Red is so rare. Where did you find it?”
“On the beach near your boardwalk. Sorry, I know that came out weird. I’m not a stalker or anything. I just happened to notice you outside your house a couple of times.”
I smiled reassuringly at him. The last thing he looked like was a stalker. “I must have walked right past it,” I said, staring down at the glass. Slowly, I became aware of the fact that I was still holding onto his hand. His skin was ice cold.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re freezing. I was just heading back home now. Would you like a coffee? Tea maybe?” What was I doing? Had I lost my mind? I let go of his hand, but then he stuck his hand out to me.
“I’m Cooper,” he said.
I smiled. Introductions first, you lusty mermaid. “Kate,” I said, shaking his hand. Katherine, Kathy, now Kate. It always changed with the fashion of the day. If I stuck around another hundred years, I’d have to go with Katie or Kat. When I’d first come ashore to live among the humans, Katherine was the closest name they had to my real name, Katlilium.
“Thank you for the offer, Kate, but I need to get back,” he said with a soft smile, letting go of my hand.
“Oh, okay,” I replied, feeling stupid. What was I thinking?
Cooper seemed just as embarrassed as I did. He turned and started packing up his things. Great, now I’d scared him off. Maybe he was married or something. I never even thought to check for a wedding ring. I was getting rusty at this game. That was a good thing. It was a game I had no business playing. I was too old for random flirtations, and had no business falling for anyone with my end so near. Stupid. Feeling awkward, I looked for some way to break the silence.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing to the painting.
“Of course,” he replied. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the painting. “The purple was really something tonight, wasn’t it?”
“It reminded me of fuchsias. You’ve captured it flawlessly.” He’d mixed the layers perfectly, even catching the colors reflected along the dark waves and the hint of night sky just at the edge.
“I’m just an amateur,” he replied. “But I missed these sunsets.” He picked up the canvas, careful not to bump the paint, folded the easel, which he stuck under his arm, then lifted his paint box. We turned and started down the beach.
“Missed? Are you from here?”
He nodded. “My grandma raised me. She’s passed on now, but I grew up here. I just came back a month or so ago.”
“Oh,” I replied, trying to choke down the million or more questions that wanted to come next. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
“Yeah, lost her about five years ago. Alberta Pearl? Maybe you knew her?”
I nodded. I did know her, when she was about six. “She lived in the little house on Juniper Lane?”
Cooper nodded. “That’s the place.”
That explained why he was always on my stretch of the beach. There was a walking path through the woods from the end of Juniper Lane to the shore. I smiled at him. “I knew her. Delightful girl,” I replied.
In the fifties, she used to come into my soda shop. She always asked for an extra cherry on her sundae. Cheeky little thing with dark hair and clear blue eyes, she was one of my favorite children in town. Like always, I wasn’t able to stay in Chancellor too long. People would start to notice how well-kept I was. I’d moved when Alberta was still little and had only been back for the last year myself. When my tenants moved out of the building I owned downtown, I’d decided enough time had passed. All those who could remember me were dead, including little Alberta Pearl. I loved Chancellor. It was the town closest to my home below the waves. I was glad to be back.
“You have a shop downtown, right? The little boutique?” Cooper asked.
I nodded. “The Glass Mermaid.”
“That’s it. I noticed the sign. I liked your mermaid.”
I grinned. If he only knew. “Thank you. I make jewelry,” I said then motioned to the red beach glass, “with the glass.”
Cooper smiled again. “I’ll stop by and have a look.”
Having just been turned down for coffee, I wasn’t sure what to say. “Sure,” I replied.
We reached the boardwalk leading to my house.
“Nice to finally talk to you, Kate. I’ll keep an eye out for more beach glass for you.”
“Thank you, and thank you for the trinket,” I said, still clutching the red glass.
He nodded, his hands full, then smiled and headed back up the beach.
Not wanting to look like a heartbroken teenager, I headed down the boardwalk toward my cabin, pausing just once to glance his direction. To my surprise, he was also glancing back at me. Caught, both of us laughed. I smiled, waved, and then headed into the house.
Once inside, I stared down at the red sea glass…a red heart…a gift from the deep.<
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Chapter 4: Kate
The bell above the front door of my shop rang when I pushed it open the next morning. The small place, which I’d picked up for a steal during the Great Depression just after the dress shop therein had gone out of business, had a dated charm. A brick beauty constructed during the Victorian era. It boasted high ceilings with elaborate molding, a massive stone fireplace, wood floors, and a glimmering chandelier. After I purchased it, I’d converted it into a soda shop. The glass-lined soda fountain wall and counter was still there. The previous owners had used it as a bookstore. It still carried the sweet scent of old books, many of which I had stored in the back. Now, however, it was my small boutique.
I clicked on the lights. The chandelier sparkled, casting blobs of prismatic rainbows onto the ceiling that I’d painted to look like a cloudy sky. The aquamarine colored walls, trimmed with white molding, reminded me of waves and bubbly sea foam.
Tidying up a display of ships in a bottle, then stopping to breathe deeply beside the handmade soap stand, I headed to the back and turned on the sound system. Moments later, big band music swept through the store. I tapped my fingers along with the music as I sparked up the cash register. I closed my eyes, swaying to the music, remembering a hot summer night long past at the Chancellor Dance Hall and the delicious sailor I’d spent that night with before he shipped out to fight in World Word II. He never came home. From the roaring 20s through the swinging 40s, I must have had what humans call a midlife crisis. I spent twenty odd years running my soda shop in the daytime and doing the jitterbug at night. I’d been a flapper girl. The name always amused me. Some years later, the people of Chancellor started to remark on how young I looked. I left Chancellor. I roamed from town after town along the Great Lakes for nearly thirty years looking for others like me. But I’d never seen a single mermaid or merman anywhere. I finally gave up. There was no one. It was just me. I was glad to be back in Chancellor. When I looked out at the lake, knowing my old underwater kingdom was not so long of a swim away, I felt like I’d come home.
The Chancellor Fairy Tales Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 1
