by Elle Adams
“You don’t look sick,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for an elf,” I said, deciding there was no harm in telling the truth. “Have you seen Thistle? I need to speak to him.”
“Mischief is afoot,” she said. “I saw it. Mischief, and fairy wings.”
“Ava, how did you sneak out of your room?” Lou, the Asian woman who worked with Alissa, walked into the waiting room and shook her head at the old witch. “Oh, hey, Blair. Did you need something?”
“I wondered if I could have a word with Thistle,” I said. “If he’s still here, that is.”
“He’s refusing to take a healing spell for his broken bones, so yes, he is,” she said. “We confiscated his bottles of alcohol, so he’s in a foul mood. Fair warning.”
“He had alcohol in here?” I dropped my voice. “I don’t know if Alissa told you, but we think Riff might be under the influence of goblin brew, from the market. Same as him.”
“Oh, it wasn’t goblin brew that Thistle was drinking,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It was one of those awful cocktails he likes. Anyway, you can speak to him, but I can’t promise he’ll be in a cooperative mood.”
With a nod of thanks, I followed her directions to the ward. The elf sat up in bed, looking very sorry for himself.
“Hello,” said Thistle. “Come to have a good laugh, have you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
“If you want to know if I’ve ever seen that fine gentleman next door before he arrived here, I can’t say I have.”
True. As far as the elf was concerned, poor Riff was a stranger to him. It was worth a shot, though.
“Did you see anyone else from Fairy Falls at the market when you went?” I pressed on.
“The girl who makes those lovely cocktails was there, buying supplies,” he said, in wistful tones. “Delightful girl. Great talent.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Pix, she calls herself. She works at the Laughing Pixie.”
The Laughing Pixie was a bit of a dump, but it was popular with students for its Happy Hour discounts. The elf was a little old for that crowd, but if this Pix had been shopping at the market, maybe she’d seen something when she’d been there.
“Thanks,” I said, backing out of the room.
“You’re late, Briar,” said old Ava from behind my shoulder. For the second time that day, I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Very late.”
“Late for what?” My gaze caught on the clock on the waiting room wall. Oh, no. I was running late for my magic lesson.
I hurried out of the hospital and switched on my levitating boots, but I was still ten minutes late when I burst into the classroom to find Rebecca already sitting there with her textbook open on her desk.
“Blair,” said Rita. “I was beginning to wonder if you would come.”
“Sorry, I’ve been run off my feet at work,” I said breathlessly. “Preparing for the market.”
“I see,” she said, her tone indicating she didn’t believe me. “You’ll be doing theory work today. Get out your textbook and turn to page two hundred and twenty.”
I sat down and got out my textbook, my cheeks burning. The newly repaired wall was enough proof that it was for the best that we skipped practical training today, though I didn’t fare much better at remembering dates and facts. My mind was elsewhere, and it came as a relief to be dismissed, even if Rita did give us a heap of homework.
After the lesson was over, I dithered over gathering my things to leave the classroom, then tailed Rebecca outside until we were far enough from the classroom that Rita wouldn’t overhear us. “Is your sister around?”
“My sister?” Her brow furrowed. “No. Why?”
“I have a question I want to ask her, but I didn’t want to distract you from your lessons. It’s about… your mum.”
She stiffened. “Ask me. I might know.”
“All right,” I said. “Did your mum ever mention owning a Pixie-Glass?”
She blinked. “A what?”
Worth a shot. It was too much to hope that Mrs Dailey had dropped any hints in front of her younger daughter. She might have told Blythe, but she wasn’t in town as far as I knew.
“It’s something I’m looking for,” I said vaguely. “I heard a rumour your mum was looking for one years ago. But she might not have it anymore, anyway.”
“I’ll ask my sister.”
“Ah—you don’t have to do that,” I said hastily. “I’ll speak to her next time I see her. It’s not urgent.”
I hoped it wasn’t, but Mrs Dailey was the only lead I had, and if she’d ever owned a Pixie-Glass, the odds of it being anywhere other than in the hunters’ hands were depressingly low.
No, I was better off concentrating on tracking down who’d bewitched Riff, before I ended up in hot water myself.
Firstly, I had to find this Pix person, which meant heading to the Laughing Pixie. In my book, the student pub was only marginally more bearable than the New Moon, the haunt of the werewolf pack’s notorious band. Crowds of students filled every table, drinking cheap pints and neon-coloured cocktails from grimy glasses. Trying to ignore the way my shoes stuck to the floor with every step, I made my way over to the bar, where a vaguely familiar girl was polishing a glass with a cloth. What was her name again? Clare. The former assistant to the town’s spell-maker, before his untimely death.
“Excuse me?” What with the noise, I had to lean over the bar and more or less shout in her face. “Clare?”
She looked up. “I know you. Blair, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I wondered if Pix was in. She makes cocktails, right?”
“Sure, she’s in the back.” She turned around and called over her shoulder, “Pix, someone wants to speak to you.”
A young woman entered the bar. About twenty or so, she had bright pink spiky hair and wore glasses decorated with miniature unicorns. Her apron was covered with bright stains, while she carried a cocktail glass in one hand.
“Hey,” she said. “Looking for a cocktail special? Happy Hour doesn’t begin till six, but as a new customer, I can brew you up a pink swirl-a-thon that’ll make your eyes sparkle.”
“No, thanks.” Fairy glitter was more than enough without adding sparkling eyes on top of it. “I’m looking into an incident involving the goblin market, and I’m told you went there earlier this week.”
Her smile vanished. “What incident?”
“I don’t know if you heard, but a human—a normal—showed up in town recently under the influence of an intoxicating substance,” I explained. “We have reason to believe it happened at the market, so I’m speaking to everyone who went there. Thistle told me you buy cocktail supplies from the market when it’s around.”
“That scoundrel.” She put down the glass. “Yes, I do buy from the markets when I can. They carry ingredients which are hard to get hold of elsewhere.”
“Like what?” I asked. “Goblin brew?”
“Who’d put that in a cocktail? It’s strong enough on its own.” She gave a theatrical shudder. “If you’re thinking of trying it, Blair, don’t.”
Hmm. “What’s it made of?”
“The main ingredient is a potent and rare plant called goblin fruit,” said Pix. “They say it causes hallucinations if consumed directly.”
“So can the goblin fruit have the same effect as the brew?” I asked.
“Of course it can,” said Pix. “Worse, if anything, because it’s undiluted. Nasty stuff.”
Might Riff have consumed goblin fruit? It’d explain why the effects had lasted longer than they should have. But that didn’t mean the elf wasn’t involved in his plight.
“Did you see anyone else from town at the market?” I asked. “From Fairy Falls, I mean?”
Her forehead scrunched up. “Argyle Winthrop was there. She’s a gardener witch. Works at the local herb shop.”
“All right,” I sa
id. “Thank you.”
It was already getting late by the time I headed down the high street towards the herb shop, and I found the place closed for the night. It was a pretty run-down shop, with roof tiles missing and the windows boarded up, but a light in the upstairs window confirmed someone lived up there.
I’d have to drop by after work tomorrow—assuming Veronica didn’t make us stay at the market from morning until evening, handing out fliers. That really wasn’t your best idea, Blair.
While part of me clung onto the slim hope that Veronica would have changed her mind by morning, luck wasn’t on my side. Mid-morning, the entire office of Ditch & Co set off for the market—minus Callie, who seemed positively cheerful at being left inside to sit at the front desk while the rest of us trekked through the hills in the cold drizzle.
I’d anticipated our day to involve a lot of packing and carrying boxes across the countryside, but instead, we arrived in a deserted field to find the market was just… there. As though it’d transported itself across the countryside of its own accord. Which, in all probability, was exactly how it had reached town. I tried to ignore the others’ disgruntled looks, knowing the boss had doubtless come up with a backup plan.
Sure enough, Veronica wasted no time in conjuring up a stall with ‘Dritch & Co’ emblazoned across it in neon letters and setting Lizzie and me to work handing out flyers to anyone who passed. Meanwhile, Bethan and Rob walked among the crowd doing the same, underneath a giant umbrella with the same design as our stall.
“I suppose we should thank our lucky stars she didn’t put us in costumes,” I remarked, handing a leaflet to a group of goblins. “You did a great job making the leaflets, by the way.”
“Best I could do on short-notice,” said Lizzie. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind putting on a disguise so nobody from town recognises us. I mean, just look at the boss.”
Veronica stood among a group of elves, talking animatedly. Her own umbrella was bright pink, decorated with fairy wings. I suppressed a groan. “Next she’ll make me get my wings out.”
That’s what I got for taking the initiative. Admittedly, the wings would be handy when it came to questioning the fairies, but I’d rather not take off my glamour and flit about in front of all my colleagues. I tried listening to the goblins’ conversations whenever a group of them passed, but I heard nothing that might implicate anyone here at the market in the crime of handing goblin fruit over to normals.
Soon enough, the town’s citizens began to trickle into the market, drawn by the noise. Some set up their own stalls, while the general public formed a steady flow of traffic from one end of the market to the other. Lizzie and I stood side by side, offering flyers to anyone who passed.
“The people who work here already have employment,” I muttered to Lizzie through chattering teeth. “What does Veronica think she’s accomplishing with this?”
“I think she’s hoping they’ll take the business cards and distribute them across every town the market visits,” she said, handing a leaflet to a passing goblin. “Not a bad strategy, really.”
Rob walked past our stall, helping the goblins carry a giant barrel to the ‘goblin brew’ stall. “How’d he get that?”
“Probably charmed them into letting him help out,” said Lizzie.
I watched Rob carry the barrel out of sight, making a mental note to ask him if he’d taken note of anything amiss as soon as Veronica dismissed us. For all I knew, the barrel was overflowing with illegal goblin fruit, while I was stuck here handing out fliers.
I was shuffling from one foot to another to keep warm when I spotted a small black cat walking through the market. A cat with one white paw. “Sky, where did you come from?”
“Miaow,” he said.
Another faint mew followed. My mouth dropped open. A group of small cats gathered behind Sky, following his lead. Each of them was smaller than a regular cat, more kitten-sized, but had the same oddly coloured eyes and regal air. Even their mewing sounded different to regular cats.
Fairy cats. A whole congregation of fairy cats had found Sky. Or rather, he’d found them. From the way they followed his lead, he’d already established himself as the leader of the group. Honestly. My cat had been at the market for all of five minutes and he’d already gained a throng of worshippers. Maybe I needed to ask him for tips.
After Veronica finally let us go for the day, I briefly left the market to stop by the gardener’s shop to look for Argyle Winthrop, only to find the place closed early on Fridays. Resigned, I prepared to return home to get backup before I went back to do some more questioning, then hesitated. If I took Alissa or Nathan with me to the market, I’d never be able to get away with pretending to be more of a fairy than a witch. Assuming the fairies hadn’t already seen me handing out flyers on behalf of an eccentric witch who carried an umbrella decorated with fairy wings all day, that is.
Half the town seemed to be on their way to the market, as I discovered when I joined the crowd flowing back to the field, following the sound of laughter and music and general merriment. Taking in a deep breath, I snapped my fingers and turned into my fairy self. I held my head high, determined to ignore the stares.
If I had to go in as a witch undercover, so be it.
By now, the market was in full swing. The band had set up their stage between two trees and were already surrounded by a dancing crowd, but I couldn’t tell if any of the dancers were normal humans or if everyone was magical. Despite all the security around the area, the market carried an otherworldly air, like it lay somewhere apart from the rest of the world. Even with my fairy wings out, I had the distinct impression that I’d stepped onto another planet in which the regular rules no longer applied.
I beat my wings, hovering on the spot until I located the costume stall staffed by the same two fairies as last time. When I flew over to greet them, they both raised their eyebrows at the sight of my wings.
“So it’s true,” said the blond fairy.
“That I’m a fairy?” I said. “Yes. Is the man I spoke to yesterday around?”
“Dill?” said her companion. “He’ll be here somewhere.”
I scanned the crowd, but there were so many faces, new and old, ranging from humans to elves to various others I’d never seen before. Witches shopping for charms or buying rare ingredients, elves catching up with old friends, goblins enticing customers to buy their wares—and endless cups of that infamous goblin brew. I turned back to the two fairies to avoid getting distracted by the shiny newness of the market. I’d come here for a reason.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said. “Fairy Falls—it was founded by fairies, right? So why aren’t they around anymore?”
“You’re around,” said the blond fairy.
“I know I am, but I didn’t grow up here,” I explained. “I’m the first fairy to move to town in years. Why’d they leave?”
She shrugged. “I’m not that old. I heard it was centuries ago that they left.”
Centuries. That fit with what I’d heard since I’d moved here, but were any fairies old enough to remember that time? The books I’d read on the subject said that it was rumoured the original fairies were immortal, but I wasn’t sure how much truth there was in that statement.
“Listen, if you want to learn more about us, we’re free for a couple of hours tomorrow,” the brunette fairy said. “We have a break around three. Look for us then. I assume you’re going to be around, right?”
“Oh—sure,” I said. “What’s your name? I’m Blair.”
“I’m Holly,” said the blond fairy.
“And I’m Heather,” added the other.
Tomorrow. That was after my foster parents’ visit… which I was also woefully unprepared for. I’d been too distracted by everything else to really think about it.
“Okay, thanks.” I turned away as a muscular blond man walked past the stall. Rob. I waylaid him before he disappeared into the crowd. “There you are. What were you helping the goblins carry
earlier?”
“Just more of their brew,” he said. “They can’t make it fresh, because the ingredients are rare. That’s what they told me, anyway. Nice guys, if a little mischievous.”
“By ingredients, do you mean goblin fruit?”
“I dunno, you’ll have to ask them.” He pointed towards their stall, which was overflowing with endless mugs of goblin brew like the previous evening. “By the way, I like your wings.”
Oops. I was supposed to be playing fairy, not talking to my werewolf colleague. I said goodbye and made my way to the goblins’ stall. This time, only one goblin sat there, and he gave me a frown when he spotted me.
“You look different,” he observed.
“Decided to come here as a fairy this time,” I told him. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a witch called Argyle Winthrop here at the market?”
I figured I’d start with the other people from Fairy Falls before questioning anyone else at the market.
“Never heard of her,” he said. “Lots of people come here. Some stay, some go, and we let them. This is a safe place for people like us.”
People like us. My heart sank a little. By accusing anyone at the market of bewitching humans without proof, I’d be making life more difficult for the others who’d done nothing wrong. No wonder he’d rightfully treated me like a human and not a fairy.
“Do you sell anything except for goblin brew?” I asked.
“Why would I?” he said. “Maybe after a cup or three, your senses might be sharp enough to find what you’re looking for. Like them.”
My gaze followed where he pointed, towards the crowd gathering among the stalls. Almost all of them carried a mug of goblin brew. It couldn’t be harmful if everyone here was drinking it, right? It was supposed to have a stronger effect on humans than fairies, besides, and perhaps after a drink or two, I’d feel more comfortable mingling with the crowd. And maybe people might be more likely to talk to me if I looked as though I belonged here.
The goblin held out a mug of the brew, and the intoxicating scent filled my nostrils.
