by Foley, E. G.
His instant suspicion of Mademoiselle Marie would have to be forgiven.
Though he was only twelve, all British males were warned from an early age to resist as best they could those magnificent, impossible French ladies, who were famous worldwide for doing whatever they pleased.
Humph. Nobody liked a cheater.
He shook his head in disapproval, determined to even the odds in British Bob’s favor—and to learn the secret of Marie’s exquisite skill. He started prowling around the small, crowded shop, on the hunt for the fairy or whatever it was that had made that sparkle-trail.
Small as fairies were—five inches tall or so—it could be hiding anywhere. Jake searched the high shelves, the back of his neck tingling away, but he never saw anything—and yet he got the feeling after a few minutes that the fairy had definitely noticed him hunting for it.
Aye, he could feel it watching him. The creature must’ve realized he was on to its trickery. I am going to find you…
He searched the shop for several minutes more while his companions bought a few goodies to eat. Stalking down the middle aisle, he sensed that he was closing in. It was close, very close…
Determined to take it by surprise, he suddenly jumped out of the middle aisle and spun in midair like a startled cat, facing down the next aisle. “Ha!”
The other customers looked at him strangely.
Alas, the fairy was already gone.
Once again, he saw nothing but the green-and-red sparkles already fading. No worries. You’re a fast little devil, but you’re mine.
Hmm. As he continued his hunt, collecting a couple of treats to buy along the way, he mused on the fact that although he had met his share of fairies, he had never seen a sparkle-trail in those strong colors before.
The royal garden fairies he knew usually had gold or silver or pastel-colored sparkles.
Was there some specific kind of Christmas fairy? he wondered. Burning with curiosity, he crept down the aisle, and then stood on his toes to peer warily behind one shelf’s display of cherry-laced Clafoutis.
The creature he was hunting must’ve started getting nervous about the danger of being caught, for suddenly, without Jake even noticing, it struck back.
Apparently, it hoped to get rid of him by causing a distraction.
“Timberrrr!” a small voice taunted.
And with that, the Croquembouche Christmas tree behind Jake started tipping over. He whirled around as the unseen speaker sped off with a snicker, red-and-green sparkles in its wake.
Jake gasped when he saw the Croquembouche toppling, sending a snowstorm of sugar-dusted cream puffs and macaroons flying through the air.
He started forward automatically, lifting his hands to use his telekinesis to try to save it—but thankfully, he stopped himself in time. It would have been a disaster for him to use his magical powers in public.
And so, there was nothing he could do but stand there and watch the beautiful, edible Christmas tree go crashing to the ground, destroyed.
It then occurred to him that, as the person standing closest to it, he was about to take the blame.
Aw, crud. Jake let out a sigh. Story of my life.
CHAPTER TWO
The Way the Cookie Crumbles
Jake hated being blamed for things he didn’t do, but for some reason, that always happened to him.
Customers shouted and everyone leaped out of the way of the falling pastry tree. There were cries of dismay, then everybody in the shop turned in shock and glared at him.
He stepped back, wondering if there was any point in telling them it wasn’t his fault. It was the fairy.
Right.
They’d haul him off to Bedlam.
A woman with dark eyes, a sharp nose, and a smudge of flour on her cheek came rushing out of the back with a look of horror on her face. “What have you done?” Her accent promptly informed him that this must be Marie, the artiste herself. “You will pay for zis!”
“Excuse me, it wasn’t my fault,” Jake said sternly.
He couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was ungallant of him to refute her, but facts were facts. Besides, she was a cheater anyway, with her secret fairy helper. Unfair advantage over poor British Bob.
“Mon Dieu! Do you have any idea how many hours my staff and I have slaved over zat?”
“Aha, your staff, right,” he drawled.
“What?” she spat. “Where is your mozeur?”
“My what?”
“Your mamma!”
He stiffened. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, madam.”
“Garçon horrible! Not even an apologie? Give me back those boxes. You are not worzy to eat my creations!” She snatched the treats he’d chosen out of his hands.
“Ma’am, I did not knock over your…thing.”
(He was not sure how to pronounce it.)
“Ha!” She snapped her floury fingers in his face. “Get out of my shop, and don’t come back until you learn how to walk upright like a personne, not a shimpanzee!”
“Now, look here,” he started in lordly high dudgeon. “I will pay for this mishap, even though it wasn’t my fault.” He took out his small coin purse with a look of reproach. “But I don’t appreciate your calling me a liar.”
Mademoiselle ignored him, suddenly glaring past Jake toward the doorway of her shop. “You.”
Jake turned and saw British Bob leaning against the doorframe, looking amused by all the commotion.
“You put him up to zis!”
“My dear, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Bob said with a mild smirk under his mustache.
“You sent this little monstre in here to wreck my shop!”
He folded his arms across his chest and said calmly, “Nonsense, you daft harpy. I told you the Croquembouche was a bridge too far, but no, you had to best me. Well, there you have it. Right again.”
Marie unleashed a stream of angry French verbiage on him; Bob replied with maddeningly cool British sarcasm, and the two rival pastry chefs proceeded to spread the Christmas cheer by hollering at each other in the middle of the shop, ignoring all their customers—and unbeknownst to them, attracting the attention of a passing constable.
Jake’s friends ran to him.
“What did you do now?” Dani exclaimed.
“Oh, thanks a lot,” he retorted.
“I say! What is going on in here?” a deep voice boomed from the doorway behind British Bob.
Everyone looked over; Jake blanched. Blimey.
Of all the bobbies to respond, Jake saw it was none other than his old mustachioed nemesis from his pickpocket days, Constable Arthur Flanagan.
The policeman’s stare homed right in on Jake; recognition flashed in his eyes, then he brushed his way past the angry bakers. “Well, well. I should’ve known I’d find this one smack in the midst of all the trouble.”
“Good afternoon, Constable Flanagan,” Jake said courteously through gritted teeth. Ah, the memories.
“Why, look at you, all dressed up like a gentl’man. Never thought I’d see the day!” Flanagan declared as he stepped in. “Got a whole new life these days, from what I read in the papers, don’t ye? But I see you’re still the same young rascal I remember. Up to your old tricks, eh, Jakey boy?”
“It wasn’t me!”
The bobby laughed heartily. “Ah, how I’ve missed hearin’ you say that.” Then he quit laughing and resumed his usual warning glower. “What did you steal from this lady’s shop?”
“Wot?” Jake cried, sounding like his old pickpocket self once more. “Nuffin’!”
“Non, Constable,” Marie snapped. “He did not steal from my shop; he only half destroyed it.”
“Tempest in a teapot as usual, constable,” Bob said. “But that’s the French for you, innit? Look, the lad already got out his coin to pay for the trouble—”
“He’d better pay,” she retorted.
“Ah, leave him alone, Marie. He’s just a kid and it’s nearly Christma
s,” Bob grumbled. “I’m sure ’twas an accident.”
“Fine. Just get him out of my shop. And don’t come back!” she added, glaring at Jake.
“I said I was sorry!” Jake exclaimed, tossing the coin in her direction as Constable Flanagan took hold of his ear.
“Come on, you.” He led him firmly out of the shop and deposited him in the snow outside.
“Ow!”
“You might be quite the fine young lord now, laddie, but I’m on to you,” the bobby warned, wagging a finger in his face. “You’d better watch your step. The rest of the world might bow and scrape to ye now, but I don’t care in the least if you’re the Earl of Griffon or the Prince of Siam, mark me? You’ll not be goin’ about causin’ trouble like you used to.”
Dani elbowed Jake hard in the ribs to shut him up before he gave the tart rejoinder on the tip of his tongue.
“Happy Christmas, Constable Flanagan,” she offered.
The bobby tipped his dark helmet to her. “Miss O’Dell. You look after ’im. He’s not so grand nowadays that I won’t still toss him in the Clink if he earns it.”
“I will, sir. Er, give our best to your family?”
“Move along, children. His Lordship has caused enough mischief for one day.” The bobby waved them off, raising a bushy red eyebrow at Jake, who, scowling, righted his coat and harrumphed.
Dani took his left arm and Archie took his right, and they both steered him away from there before he was tempted to say something he’d regret.
Constable Flanagan kept an eye on them until they had gone off safely down the lane, then he moved along, on patrol once again.
“What just happened in there?” Archie demanded.
“I’ll have you know, it wasn’t me who knocked over that what-cha-call-it tree thing.”
“Then who did?” Dani asked.
He pulled his arms indignantly out of their grasps. “A fairy or something,” he muttered.
“What?” they exclaimed in unison.
“There’s something weird going on in that shop—and I intend to get to the bottom of it,” he declared. “How dare that woman yell at me like that? I do not deserve to be publicly humiliated for something I didn’t even do!”
“A fairy,” Archie repeated.
“Aye! That French lady’s using magic as an unfair advantage over Bob, and that’s not right! So, you know what I’m going to do?”
“Um, nothing?” Dani suggested.
Jake shook his head. “I’m coming back here tonight when the shop is closed, and I’m going to catch that meddling little creature and remove it. That’ll teach Miss Hoity Toity Mademoiselle how we deal with cheaters here in England!”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Dani said. “She told you never to come back. If you get caught in her shop a second time, she could have you arrested.”
“Especially after hours, when it’s closed,” Archie added.
“Well then. I won’t get caught,” he said.
“And why do you want to do this?” Isabelle asked.
“Obviously—it’s a matter of honor!” Jake declared. “I am the Earl of Griffon and she called me a liar in front of all those people! Intolerable! Then Flanagan insulting me, too, when I didn’t even do anything. I am not a pickpocket anymore! I never cause trouble!”
“Wellll,” the others said in response.
Jake glowered. “Are you with me or not? Well, do as you like,” he said, waving them off impatiently. “I can catch that rotten fairy by myself, if need be. But you’re mad if you think I’m just goin’ to take this. I will not be insulted and unjustly accused. A gentleman has to defend his honor. Right, Archie?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“Besides, Marie’s a cheater, anyway. British Bob deserves a fair fight in that contest of theirs. A matter of honor, I say. My own—and England’s!”
Isabelle shook her head with a sigh. “You’re daft.”
Jake ignored his oh-so-mature elder cousin, and held up his fist to rally his two most reliable followers, the younger pair. “For England!”
Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. But Archie and Dani merely exchanged a dubious glance.
CHAPTER THREE
’Twas the Night
Jake’s run-in with the bobby had rather dashed their merry mood, so they returned to Everton House and cheered themselves up by devouring all the goodies they had managed to buy before getting thrown out of the dueling bakeries.
Unfortunately, too many sweets in too short a time had a predictable effect. All four grew slightly queasy, which resulted in them griping at each other.
This was most unlike them, but nobody felt well after practically pouring sugar down their gullets for an hour. They all felt rather stupid for having done this to themselves and started blaming each other: “Why did you make me eat that?”
Isabelle got a headache. Dani ran around in circles with her dog for half an hour, giggling in the most annoying fashion, before suddenly collapsing in exhaustion on the couch.
Archie shocked them all with an uncharacteristic outburst of fury over a smudge on his spectacles. “Blast it, I just cleaned these!”
He threw his glasses across the room, and they might have broken if Jake had not caught them from several feet away, using his telekinesis. He levitated them slowly back to his usually good-natured cousin.
Archie cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what came over me. I don’t feel so well.” Indeed, he looked a little green around the gills. Archie stiffly marched out of the parlor to go and clean his glasses again.
Jake sprawled back in his arm chair once more, holding his stomach. He felt as fat as Santa Claus.
He frowned at the empty bakery boxes, still littered with powdered sugar like a sprinkling of snow. He usually had an iron stomach, but even he felt a little nauseated. “I hope there wasn’t something wrong with those sweets.”
“Of course not. We just ate too much of them. Ugh. We’re a bunch of pigs.” Dani pulled a pillow over her head with a groan.
They ate a very small supper of salad and vegetables that evening, and though they had pretty well digested their splurge of sweets, they were all still grumpy.
Jake figured the others were irked at themselves for wasting the afternoon trying to recover from the unpleasant aftereffects of their binge. But as for him, he knew exactly why he was still in a bad mood. Constable Flanagan, mainly.
And that arrogant French lady.
And, of course, the unseen fairy who had made a fool out of him in public. But no matter.
He’d soon have his revenge. He was already plotting the pest’s removal from the bakery. He would need some assistance, however.
The question was, who would help him?
Isabelle still had no interest in the whole affair. Dani didn’t dare participate, for fear of angering Aunt Ramona and losing her position as paid companion to the older girl. That left Archie, who had his doubts about Jake’s mad scheme, but was too loyal to make him go it alone.
Jake feared he was a bad enough influence on his straight-arrow cousin. But he assured Archie that he wouldn’t have to do any breaking and entering. He’d do that part himself.
The boy genius would be stationed outside the shop to keep watch and warn him if anyone was coming.
Like another policeman.
For his part, Jake had no qualms about sneaking into the bakery. He had certain dubious skills from his pickpocket days, like how to pick a lock. He also had a gift for stealth when the situation required.
Flanagan’s warning to behave himself still rang in his ears, but it wasn’t as though he’d be breaking into the shop to steal any more sweets. Blech. On the contrary, he’d be quite happy if he did not have to look at another cake or piece of candy until Easter.
Tonight’s adventure would only be a pest-removal mission—but there was one problem.
He had no idea how to catch a fairy.
For that reason, he called in the best ex
pert he knew on all matters pertaining to the fey folk: Gladwin Lightwing of the Queen’s own royal garden fairies.
Gladwin sometimes served as fairy courier to Queen Victoria herself. She had been very busy lately delivering Christmas greeting cards for the royal family. In any case, Jake sent her an Inkbug message, asking her to come to Everton House at her earliest convenience.
She arrived after supper, buzzing in through one of the unused chimneys upstairs. Their favorite fairy came flying down the grand staircase and into the parlor, where the four of them were still strewn about like so many sacks of potatoes.
Even the Gryphon was lazy, curled up in front of the fireplace, enjoying a snooze on that dark winter’s evening. Red’s golden beak rested on his front paws, his scarlet wings tucked against his tawny lion sides.
He looked up pleasantly when Gladwin came speeding in, leaving a golden sparkle-trail behind her.
The five-inch fairy was dressed in her tiny fur-trimmed coat for the season. It had holes in the back so her magnificent, sparkly wings could poke through.
“Good evening, everybody! Hullo, Jake. I got your Inkbug message. What’s afoot?” She landed on the end table beside the sofa, the sparkles still fading behind her. Bracing her tiny hands on her waist, she looked around at all of them with a frown. “What’s wrong with you all?”
“We’re in a bad mood,” Dani said.
Then Jake explained all that had happened that day, and what he meant to do about it.
Gladwin stared at him for a moment, her wingtips wiggling uncertainly as she pondered Jake’s proposal of capturing the fairy in the bake shop. “And why do you want to do this, exactly?”
“Because he made a fool of me! And because he’s helping Marie cheat in the baking contest against Bob.”
“So? It’s just a baking contest,” Gladwin said with vexing logic.
“Would you just trust me?” Jake exclaimed. “I can’t explain it. I just know there’s something funny going on in that shop. I’ll bet you bones to biscuits that this fairy is behind it!”
“Calm down,” she chided. “Sweet bees’ wings, you are all out of temper tonight. Humph! Well, I certainly don’t see the need for violence, if you insist on taking this fey person into custody. You don’t want to get any of the fairy nations angry at you, Jake. We might squabble and make war amongst ourselves from time to time, but let a human wrong a fairy, and all the fey folk tend to band together against your kind. Trust me, nobody wants that.”
