by Sarah Peters
She shoved me—well, us—into the closest room and kept her hand over my mouth even as I struggled underneath her. She was way taller than me and apparently way stronger, and my wriggles got me nowhere. I tried licking her hand—it accomplished nothing other than me getting a taste of sweat and lake water and her skin was this weird velvety texture that human skin definitely was not—and kicking her shins, but she remained steadfast.
I figured out why two seconds later.
“If you’re so mad about me bringing them here,” Finn’s voice snapped, muffled but loud enough for me to still hear, “you should’ve said something, instead of using Maxine for all correspondence!”
Wait, not Finn.
Bo.
“I’d invited the human Champion, not that spy from the Winter Falls,” the Corn King hissed, displeasure rolling off his voice the way fog burns off fields in the early morning. I heard footsteps around the corner. “You should’ve known better, my son. Who knows what intel he’s gathered?”
Their footsteps sounded right outside the door, but they kept walking.
“It’s not like his court can do anything against us,” Bo scoffed. “They’re weak and they know it. So what if he learns we have more magic than them? We’ll still destroy them.”
Their voices grew muffled again as they walked farther away.
Ugh, Bo was such a shriveled buttcake.
“Sorry,” Max whispered, removing her hand from my mouth. “I knew he’d kick you out immediately if he caught you still here.” She grinned at me as she wiped her hand on her pant leg.
I eyed her. “You don’t seem particularly loyal to your Corn King.”
She shrugged. “I was born on an equinox. Makes me notoriously independent thinking. It’s a thing.” She said it in such a pleasant, cheery way that it just made me more suspicious. “But I’m like, Platinum-Level reliable at sending messages, so that’s what I do for the Court of the Golden Sun.”
I recalled how each and every one of her acorn messages had hit me exactly on the spot of my head/face where it’d hurt the most. My suspicion deepened.
“Why you’d hide both of us? Were you spying on the Corn King and Bo too?”
“Spying!” she seemed startled by the accusation. “I wasn’t spying! I was just walking along and heard them talking and curiosity got the best of me.” Her smile was winning, sincere and sweet.
Yeah sure.
“You can’t out-BS a BSer,” I informed her. I poked Max in her muscular, unfairly flat stomach. “You’re secretly a dick, aren’t you?”
Max’s eyes widened and she threw back her head as she laughed. “I’m not. I’m really quite nice. Really.”
“If that’s what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night…” I shook my head and clicked my tongue in disappointment. “You had me fooled at first, I’ll give you that. Primo deception.”
She seemed genuinely pleased by this. “I am good, aren’t I?” She opened the door and looked outside before giving me a thumb’s up. “All clear.” As I sidled up next to her in the hallway she added, “I know you got my leaf message saying the Corn King wanted you out. Any reason you’re still here?”
“Kicks and giggles,” I muttered. Wait. “Actually, do you know where the daycare is?”
Her eyebrows lifted but she didn’t ask. “I do,” she agreed. “And I’ll definitely take you there. Just… all I ask is one tiny thing in return.”
I made a face at her and she laughed again.
“A small price,” she assured me, which I did not believe for a second. I’d wised up (no I hadn’t) to fairies and their deals. “I’ll take you to the daycare and in exchange you act as if you don’t like me whenever anyone else from my Court is around.”
“I don’t think I like you to begin with,” I informed her, which wasn’t quite true. She had an appealing way about her, even if it was all a big phony act.
“So it’ll be super easy for you then.” Max smiled cheerily. “Deal?”
“Deal.” I shook her velvety soft feathery hand. “Can you turn into a giant loon?”
“Only a regularly sized loon, alas.” She looped my arm through hers and started off in the opposite direction from where I’d been heading. “But it would be nice to be a giant loon, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you go to Silveridge?”
“Regrettably, yes. I’m a sophomore. You’re at Butterfield High?”
“Blue and white for life,” I agreed, tapping my chest twice with my fist before making a ‘B’ with my fingers. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you look five years older than any sophomores I know.”
She shrugged. “I matured early. And now I’m hot. Such is the way of things.”
Ok, I’d been mistaken. I did like Max.
Since I’d decided we could probably be friends, I asked, “is Finn really stuck here? Or can he leave when he wants?”
Max seemed surprised by my question. “You know the changeling?”
“Please,” I scoffed, “Finnius Brooks is the chocolate to my banana.”
“Then why were you almost kissing Tobias Monday under a table?”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Have you even met Finn??? He’s about as interested in kissing girls as I am. Which is to say, sure maybe after a couple drinks and just to try it if she seems nice and into it, but as a general rule, no. Plus, as if I’d ever kiss Finn, he picks his nose.” I decided it would be best not to say anything regarding my feelings for Tobias Monday. The less anyone knew, the better.
Max snorted good naturedly. “The Corn King called him back, and the Corn King doesn’t like letting go of things he decides are his. Even if he previously rejected them. So yes, Finn is stuck here as long as the king wants him to be.”
I grimaced. That wasn’t going to work for me. Like, really not going to work for me.
“But don’t worry, we’ll be very nice to him,” Max said in her most pleasant and earnest way, quickening our pace as we passed under an open staircase where an employee was ascending. “The daycare’s just down here.”
I recalled the conversation between the fairies that I’d overheard while crouched next to a table, and highly doubted Finn would be treated with the love and support that my beautiful sunflower needed to bloom and grow.
“If you guys are mean to him I am going to beat you all up,” I warned her. “I mean it.”
“Oh, and we would deserve it,” Max agreed, all conciliation and effusive promise. She tugged me around a corner. “Here you go. The Prairie Sky Daycare.”
We stopped in front of a door covered in paper flowers and smiling clouds.
I tried the door, only to find it locked, and a little too late, my eyes landed on a badge reader next to it. I looked up at Max.
“This wasn’t part of our deal,” she said, but I don’t think she minded. She gave the badge reader a speculative glance and tapped it three times with one of her knuckles. Her hands, I realized, had a subtle boxy white patterning to them, almost like a loon’s wings. The light on top of the reader went from red to green and she gave me cheery smile as she pushed open the door. “This time of day there’s only going to be one baby in there.” She winked. “And she’s not a pleasant one.”
With that, she shoved me into the dark, silent room and shut the door behind me.
Stealing from a Baby
I stumbled in the sudden gloom, the cheery hallway music abruptly cut off.
Thin lines of light zinged out from underneath closed blinds, but otherwise shadows and darkness concealed the room. I got the impression it was large, and my spidey-sense tingled, no doubt warning me of numerous obstacles strewn across the floor.
I had a lot of questions about this situation, beginning with: who left a reportedly evil baby alone in a locked, dark room inside a spa??? And ending with: where was said reportedly evil baby???
I shut my eyes for a few seconds, hoping to give them time to adjust, and tried listening for the sound of breathing, or some kind of
indication I wasn’t alone in this room.
I got something better than baby breathing noises.
“Maaama?” a voice warbled from the corner. “Ma??”
Nope nope nope
I pressed myself against the wall next to the door. I’d thought I’d be brave enough to handle a baby but I had been wrong. Very Wrong!
“Mama?”
Ok, alright.
I’ll admit it.
I panicked.
“Coooooo,” I replied, making a noise of the first thing that came to mind.
It happened to be pigeon.
The baby fell silent.
My eyes had adjusted enough that I could start to make out shapes—blocky shapes that were slightly darker than the darkness—and there, against the far wall, something that moved.
“…Papa…???” the baby inquired, a disturbed edge to its tone.
“Cooo cooo,” I said, inching closer. “Coooo.”
What was I doing.
What the FUDGISCLE was I doing?!
I shook my head, telling myself to shut up. Making pigeon noises at a baby could not POSSIBLY improve this already awkward situation.
The baby was silent for all of three seconds, in which I inched ever closer along the wall, crawling over plastic bins and a fake kitchen-set, before it abruptly proclaimed “BLAARRRP!”
A bloom—a real, alarming BLOOM—of bioluminescent algae erupted into the air, spraying out from the direction of the baby. It splattered across the room, landing in glowing patches on every available surface.
Including myself.
Had it…vomited this?? Summoned it?? Thrown it??? Everything smelled strongly of SWAMP now.
“Mama?!” the baby demanded, although I thought I’d made it very clear that I was NOT its mother and was in fact, a pigeon.
“Cooo-cooo,” I replied, because I really can’t ever stop myself.
I wiped at the mess on me, stepped in something that squished wetly between my toes, and grimaced. The glow from the bioluminescence showed me the open floor, and no doubt gave the baby a good view of me.
I figured the gig was up and walked up to the baby, trying to avoid stepping in more of the algae on the floor while also trying to ignore the amount of it on me.
Even with the greenish glow from the algae, I could barely make out the details of the baby (it had succeeded in spewing the stuff everywhere but on itself). I made some more calming bird noises at it, sneaking ever closer.
And then I spotted the wand.
The baby—toddler? What was the difference??—had it clutched in one pudgy hand, but as I got closer it growled at me and stuck the wand between its teeth.
Do babies normally growl???
For some reason speaking in human languages never occurred to me. I walked up to where the baby sat—a bed with low railings on three edges, covered in pillows and stuffed animals, and squatted next to it. Her?
The light from its algae-vom illuminated the bed in a soft glow, enough that I could see the baby glaring at me.
It was absolutely not a human baby.
For starters, it strongly resembled a corn kernel mixed with a pumpkin. Not a kernel for popcorn, but one fresh off the cob, yellow and juicy and round. It didn’t have much of a neck to speak of, but its arms were chubby and reminded me of pumpkin vines, thick and green. It had big blue, accusing eyes, and sharp little teeth that bit into a thin piece of carved wood which had to be the wand.
I reached for the wand and its growl deepened. Its lower lip trembled even as it growled, but I think it was more from fury at my baffling invasion than fear.
I cooed soothingly, channeling my inner pigeon and grabbed one end of the wand. I wiggled it, but the baby’s grip only tightened. It lifted two pudgy green hands and kicked two pudgy green legs at me.
I wriggled the wand harder.
It glared at me and the two legs turned into vines, one smacking me across my cheek, the other whacking my hand on the wand.
Ok, this wasn’t working.
I let go of the wand and held up my hands, backing away to get out of reach of its vine legs. On the top of its round head, five green hairs quivered in rage. Its mouth glowed, and more bioluminescent algae (or was it moss???) spewed out from around the sides of the wand, dripping ominously down its puffy kernel cheeks.
Evil baby indeed.
I wondered if all fairies as babies looked like round, stupid forms of their adult selves. I held back a snort at the idea of Finn as a fat larva baby, or Tobias like a little hairy baby bat.
No, I couldn’t get distracted. This was just step 2 of my Super Awesome Fully Formed Planned. Step 1: find wand. Step 2: get the wand. Step 3: find Becca. Step 4: hit the wand over Becca’s head three times. Step 5: grab Finn and we all run away into the night and I make out with Tobias in the backseat on the drive home.
Simple enough.
So.
What was I supposed to do now?! I exhaled and stuffed my hands into my pockets.
My fingers bumped into the acorns.
Three acorns in one pocket, the ring and another acorn in the other.
My hand tightened around the pile of acorns in my right pocket.
I knew less than nothing about babies (really, the only thing I knew for sure was that they eventually grew up and became children) but I had a vague impression that babies, much like cats, were entertained by things that moved.
And I had acorns.
Ok.
Alright. I could do this. If I could sing the alphabet backwards without having to think about it, I could definitely distract a baby long enough to steal a magic wand.
I pulled the first acorn out of my pocket and smeared it in some of the goopy green glowing stuff that hung off the front of my shirt. I said, “Oooh!” and then performed the one magic trick I knew—basic sleight of hand—making the acorn Super Magically and Super Mysteriously disappear into my sleeve.
The baby’s growl petered out.
“Abracadabra!” With a flourish, I produced two acorns between my fingers, seemingly from thin air.
The baby’s mouth fell open.
The wand, covered in green slime, dropped.
I inched closer, keeping an eye on its vine legs.
I shook my hand once, twice, and on the third shake slipped another acorn between my fingers. “Ta-da!” I presented the hand to the baby, who hiccupped, wide eyed in wonder.
I scooped my hand into a fist, hiding the nuts, and threw one acorn between my hands.
So, I don’t actually know how to juggle, but I most certainly was not going to let the baby onto this secret.
I spun in a circle, still tossing the acorn from hand to hand, and then up into the air, catching it dramatically.
I added another acorn, tossing them both into the hair, twirling while they flew, and then only juuust managing to catch them before they clattered to the floor. “Ta daaaa!”
The baby gurgled. It was close enough to a giggle.
I repeated this a few more times, each time twirling closer and closer to the baby, and then I showed it the three acorns in my palm. I threw them into the air with a “yeet,” and as the baby’s eyes followed the trajectory of the acorns, I grabbed the slimy wand in one hand and stuffed it between my shirt and underwear behind my back. The acorns clattered to the floor.
The baby lunged for the closest acorn.
I bolted.
I threw myself across the daycare floor, ignoring any and all noises coming from the momentarily distracted baby, and slammed into the door, scrabbling until my hand connected with the handle. I twisted and shoved myself out into the hallway.
No time to waste. For all I knew that baby was mobile.
The thought of the baby flopping after me on its fat vine legs made a bout of hysterical giggles climb up my throat and I forced them back, slapping a hand over my mouth.
I hadn’t expected her to wait, and sure enough, Max was nowhere in sight as I slid down the hallway.
Slimy a
lgae plopped off me as I ran, no doubt leaving a crime trail behind me.
I bust out of the first door I came to and grabbed the wand in one hand.
I stumbled to a stop upon actually seeing the wand.
I’d thought it was wooden and carved, but it was just a stick. Like, an actual thickish stick, with a little bush of green grass growing off one end. It looked stupid, and it reminded me of the baby’s quivering strands of hair.
…what.
It didn’t look particularly magical under the sunlight, but that could’ve been due to the amount of goop still clinging to it. I wiped it on my jeans and exhaled. I’d just pretend it was the right wand, and this had sort of been a fool’s errand to begin with, but I am nothing if not intrepid and optimistic! I flourished the wand. “You,” I informed it, “are going to fix Becca!”
