Preferably without apples. Winter’s curse, I hated the dreadful things.
But until then, I needed to figure out where those sprites had disappeared to.
Eight
Strawberry Rhubarb with a Child’s Laughter
My blood turned to ice, and my head went fuzzy, like I’d had one too many glasses of rosé. Laughter filled the room. No, the house. And my brain wasn’t working well enough to figure out where it was coming from or even who was laughing.
A flash of color streaked across the kitchen, and Nutmeg yowled, swatting at the streak before it disappeared. She hissed into the empty space.
My heart started pounding, and I hurried across the tiled floor to the cat, standing over her chair as if I could protect her from whatever had invaded my home.
Thea hobbled into the doorway, planting her tiny hands on her hips. “What is going on in here?” she demanded. “I work all night, you know.”
I nodded absently. “I know, I’m sorry.”
Her face morphed from annoyance to confusion to fear. “What did you let into this house?”
Laughter echoed again, and forest green streaked past Thea, knocking her off balance. She landed on her rump with an oof. I took one step toward her, intending to help her to her feet, but then I heard the rattling of glass bottles on a shelf. My shelf. The one with all the potions for my pies.
I turned just in time to see one bottle go crashing to the floor, releasing a bright yellow essence into the room.
Bliss. They broke my bottle of bliss. It was the only thought I had time for before the fumes hit full-force.
“We tried to guide you gently,” came the voice. “But you don’t listen!”
“And we’re running out of time!” came another voice.
I sank to the floor, feeling my mouth spread into a grin, watching Thea also grin beside me. I could feel something bubbling up from deep in my belly, something light that also made my stomach hurt, like too much soda. Giggles—actual giggles—overflowed, and beside me, the hob also began to giggle, which only made me laugh harder. I’d never heard her do anything but grumble. And over on the chair, Nutmeg stretched with a contented purr, settling in for another nap.
I leaned back against the door jamb as the giggles died down, a stupid grin on my face and my mind fuzzy and soft. This was why I was so careful not to over-season with bliss. It could be dangerous. Or, at least, a time sink.
Absently, I could see the hands on the clock spinning as time passed, and a locked-up part of me watched the children appear, giggle in my direction, and pick up the unbroken bottles of emotion they had already knocked over before dashing out of the kitchen.
Eventually the bliss began to subside and my mind started clearing. I sat up, looking around for the children.
I had to catch the little brats.
I shot to my feet, Thea still in a giggling heap in the doorway, and darted toward the floor where the broken bottle of bliss lay. The children had taken everything else.
As I approached, the bliss intensified, and I pulled my scarf up over my nose to keep from inhaling too much. I had to get this contained before I could deal with anything else. I grabbed an extra plastic bag from under the sink and started cleaning up the chunks of broken glass. I’d have to throw the bag in the garbage outside and hope none of the raccoons got too blissed-out to find their dinner.
I carried it off to the back door, leaning out just enough to drop it in the can and close the lid securely over it again. As I was turning back to the kitchen, something small thunked into the back of my head. And then something else hit my messy bun, disappearing into the depths of hair streaked with red anger. Whatever had hit me was small, but whoever threw it packed some force behind it.
I turned from the door and looked down at the floor, seeing a bright purple blueberry rolling at my feet.
“Again with the blueberries?!” I yelled.
I didn’t have time for this. I needed to be cooking apples, practicing recipes, choosing the winner. Not chasing down children who somehow got into my house. Not being the target for blueberry projectiles.
Giggles resounded through the kitchen, and this time I could pinpoint them coming from the living room. With a wistful glance at my mountain of apple bits, I made my way toward the sounds. I stepped gingerly over Thea, who was slowly recovering her senses, and slid across the hardwood, past the entry, and onto the carpet of the living room.
A streak of dark green flashed in my periphery from the armchair by my bookshelf, darting toward the cold fireplace where a large fern took up the corner. The fern’s leaves trembled.
“Gotcha,” I whispered, padding across the carpet toward the fern. I grabbed up the poker from the fireplace as I passed, holding it like a baseball bat. My glasses slid down my nose.
“Show yourself!” I said, releasing the poker with one hand to adjust my glasses.
The fern trembled, emitting the giggling. And then a bottle flew from behind the plant and struck the bricks around the fireplace, shattering on impact. Dark blue fluid ran down the wall, and a cloud of emotion wafted toward me.
My nose tingled, and I lowered the poker. Serenity. They’d broken my only bottle of serenity.
The children whispered to each other, causing the fern to tremble again. But that was okay, right? Everything was fine. It would be fine. I didn’t really need to worry about it, didn’t need to keep chasing the children.
I dropped the poker back in the firebox and settled into my armchair, leaning back and enjoying the scent of a pumpkin candle lit up next to me. The smell swirled around me, and warmth filled my body. A tiny smile curled my lips.
“Oh, for all the acorns in the forest!” came Thea’s grumble from the doorway. “Reese, seriously?”
I glanced over at the hob, smiling at the creature I considered a friend. Oh, I just wanted to hug her! A piece of cloth was tied around the lower half of her face, her hair tied back in a bright red kerchief. She hurried toward the still-dripping potion on the wall and snapped her fingers.
It disappeared.
A gasp came from the fern, and then the fern suddenly morphed into...sticks? The scent of cinnamon gradually mingled with the serenity and pumpkin spice, and I realized what they’d done. They’d turned my fern into cinnamon!
The serenity faded from my veins, and I shot to my feet. “My fern!”
The children—definitely not children, though I still didn’t know what they really were—darted from the corner, chucking blueberries at Thea and me.
“No apples!” the girl yelled as they disappeared back into the entry hall.
“Get back here!” I yelled, following as quickly as I could, Thea on my heels.
“No apples!” the boy echoed, giggling.
I slid back into the entry, around the base of the stairs, but they had already disappeared.
Thea sidled around the corner, waving a hand at me. “Go work on your pies. I’ll deal with them.”
I hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Thanks. I’ll make sure you get a full-size pie tonight.”
She winked at me. “I’d expect nothing less.”
It was probably the most pleasant exchange I’d ever had with the hob. And for her to help me during the day? Wow. Of course, it could have been because she just wanted to go back to bed in peace. But still. My heart warmed.
Nutmeg was still blissed-out on the chair when I returned to the kitchen, but I could immediately tell that something was off, not quite how I had left it. I began mentally checking things off: coffee pot, list of upcoming clients on the fridge, empty potion shelf, the remains of yesterday’s pies, cutting board, ceramic knife...
No apples.
“Spoiled spells!” I gritted through my teeth.
Laughter echoed through the house, and a loud thumping pounded overhead. They must have been upstairs.
I ran for the stairs, slipping again across the polished boards. But I paused at the bottom of the steps, unable to believe my e
yes.
The banister was one big rope of licorice. And more than that, the runner climbing the stairs looked like it was made of bubblegum. What were those children?
I took the stairs two at a time, cringing at the crashing and breaking glass I could hear coming from the guest room, then the bathroom, then my bedroom. I hoped it wasn’t that antique lamp I’d found at the community yard sale last spring.
I reached my bedroom door in time to see the dark wood shift and crackle into...graham cracker?
“What is this?” I demanded, bursting into the room in a shower of crumbs. “What do you want?”
And then I gasped, finding Thea hunched on the floor and tangled in a net of even more licorice. She glared up at me, then glanced at the corner where her house usually sat.
It was a pile of crumbs.
The children giggled and began dancing circles around her. But they no longer looked like the creepy children who had appeared at my doorstep. Now, they had leaves woven through their hair, their clothes made of pieces of the forest, acorn caps worn atop their heads.
These were autumn sprites?
That explained so much. Sprites were notorious for mischief, and autumn sprites in particular had a special affinity for candy. But I thought the Fae needed permission to enter my home.
The girl grinned at me and bolted away from her circle, reaching one finger out to touch the wall of my room. It slowly changed to something soft and brown, and then my nose was assaulted with the scents of ginger and nutmeg and molasses.
Gingerbread.
The boy sprinted past me to the door, turning his head to take a huge bite out of the cracker.
“Stop that!” I said.
I reached out for him, but he laughed and ducked under my arm. Then, both of them darted past me into the hall and down the stairs...but not before pelting me with bits of my own chopped apples.
What had I done to deserve this?
I sighed and knelt next to Thea, pulling the candy away from her small body. Her face was contorted in rage, and though she’d been pleasant and helpful just a few moments ago, I could tell that time had passed.
“You had better fix this!” She glowered, pulling the final strings off her shoulders. “I won’t stay here if you don’t deal with this problem. And fix my house!”
“I’m sorry, Thea,” I said. “I’m doing what I can. I don’t know how this happened.”
“You invited them in!” she howled. “That’s why they’re back. You let them in!”
Had I? I couldn’t remember, that bit of my memory still fuzzy and hazed over with something sweet and full of pumpkin spice.
“I...I don’t remember that.”
“Well. I may just have to take this to a higher authority. So fix it, and quick!” She stormed over to the gingerbread house and began picking through the remains.
Interlude IV
The moon glowed bright silver overhead, gilding the leaves of the woods around me. Soon the sun would rise, working its alchemy on the light and turning silver to gold. It was too cold for crickets by now, but I didn’t miss them. Their space was occupied with the drifting scents of woodsmoke and dry leaves, the call of the owls. The same things that filled the Autumn Court back home.
I glanced down at the leaf in my hand, the one with a message scrawled in glowing gold from the sprites’ mother. Sugar and syrup wafted up from the leaf, reminding me of the treats they used to make for me.
Maybe I should have asked for them to make me treats instead of toss them out. They had such special gifts, perfect for New England All Hallows Eve festivities. Maybe even perfect for the Ball. Perhaps I had been too impulsive after all. Hannah was always scolding me for that.
I couldn’t tell their mother I’d lost them. I’d been searching for hours already, but they must have hidden themselves somehow. Otherwise, I was sure I would have gotten my hands on them by now.
Sprites were a little too good at hiding sometimes.
“Sire?” came a timid voice behind me.
I turned to see my hob assistant wringing her hands again. “Yes, Hannah?”
“We received a message from a resident hob in town. Thea?”
Thea. I didn’t know her personally, but I recalled something about a hob requesting to transfer across the ocean years ago, to find a new job and new home. Perhaps this was that hob?
“What does she want?” I said.
“The sprites have gotten themselves into quite a bit of trouble.”
I sighed. That matched what Reese had described earlier, though I didn’t have proof. At least now I could find them.
“Of course they are,” I said. “What have they done?”
An owl hooted nearby, and I almost jumped, my mind running through all the ways they could be destroying Reese’s bakery. And her self-esteem.
“They’ve infested the hob’s home. Turning it and disrupting the human’s schedule. She was going to enter the contest, but Thea is afraid this will prevent her from finishing an entry, and that could mean both the hob and her human will lose the property.”
My mind was still stuck on her second sentence. “Turning it?” I blinked.
She held out a piece of gingerbread. “Here. Read it yourself.”
Nine
Cozy Gingersnap Pumpkin
I slammed the oven door closed and shoved the lock until it engaged. On the other side of the door, two sets of tiny fists pounded at the glass, and the sprites yelled at me, their words muffled. I slumped down, letting gravity carry my body to the pristine kitchen floor, now half tile and half hard candy.
In fact, half the house was candy. Or cookie. Some cake. And those sprites had managed to take huge bites out of my favorite pieces of furniture!
At some point in the night, Thea had managed to get a message out for help, but I wasn’t sure who she had contacted. Hopefully they would come soon.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, now made entirely of cookie. It was almost six in the morning. Neither Thea nor I had slept, and I could feel the grit in my eyes from the lost sleep. And to make matters worse, it was now only six hours until judging, and I hadn’t even picked my pie. I didn’t even have apples!
I ran my hands over my face and burning eyes. Nutmeg padded over to me and rubbed against my side, curling up on the floor next to me. I could feel tears pricking behind my eyelids, half from exhaustion, half from frustration.
What was I going to do? My website was still down, my house could barely even be called a house at this point, and I might as well forget about the contest. I was about to lose everything.
Absently, I stroked the cat’s back as she purred and snuggled closer to me. One of the sprites pounded on the oven door exceptionally hard, and all the magnets toppled from the fridge just as Thea hopped through the doorway.
“I’m not cleaning that up,” she said.
I sighed. “I know. I don’t expect you to clean any of this up. It’s beyond our agreement.”
“Hmph.” She plopped herself down next to me. “So what are you going to do about the competition?”
I scratched behind Nutmeg’s whiskers, enjoying the silk of her fur and the way she pushed her head into my hand. “Drop out, I guess. I don’t know that I have the time—or ability—to actually make anything at this point. I might not even go to the rest of the festival. I already missed opening night. But don’t worry. We’ll find you a new contract if I lose the bakery.”
Thea awkwardly patted me on the shoulder. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
I couldn’t help but smile weakly at her attempt at comforting me.
Tiny fists pounded at the glass over my head again, yelling something almost incoherent. But I could distinctly hear the word “prince” and “apples.”
Should I risk it? Could they have something actually important to share?
I looked to Thea. “What are they saying?”
She shrugged. “Got me.”
Slowly, I rose to my knees, holdi
ng my hands on either side of my eyes to peer into the dark depths of the oven built into the cabinetry. “What are you saying?” I said, raising my voice.
“Ainoeikalll,” came the response.
I looked back down at Thea, who only shrugged again. I still couldn’t make it out. My mind raced, trying to decide what to do.
I turned to the sprites. “I’m going to open the oven, but only if you promise not to run! You have to stay and talk to me; no more wreaking havoc!”
The two sprites nodded solemnly. “Weromis.”
Fae couldn’t lie. That was at least one good thing about those troublemakers. If they promised, they’d be bound to follow through.
I slid the latch on the oven and slowly pulled the door open. The sprites reached their arms toward me like toddlers expecting me to pick them up. I grabbed them one at a time and set them on the bar stools at the kitchen peninsula...which was nothing more than a solid block of chocolate at this point. The girl immediately began licking it.
“Stop that!” I yelled.
She jerked back and lowered her head, chagrined.
“Now, can you please explain what’s going on? Did you love my pie that much that you had to invade my home? You know I can’t bake if you mess it all up, right?”
They shook their heads in unison.
“It’s not that,” the boy said. “We loved your pie, but we also loved your answers to our questions.”
Again, my mind was enveloped in that cloud of hazy memory. I didn’t remember answering any questions. And it must have showed on my face.
“When you let us in,” the girl explained. “We may have...helped your decision along. And gotten you to answer for us.”
That didn’t help much, but it did help explain how they were able to let themselves back into the cottage. “But why?”
The boy’s hand had been sneaking toward one of the half-eaten apple pies from yesterday, and I slid it over the chocolate toward him, offering him a fork. I had more apple pie than I could ever finish.
Seasons of Magic Volume 1 Page 11
