A Fairy's Guide to Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)
Page 6
AS I sank deeper into the jewelry bin, Marie said, “Look here, Sarah. I swear my mother used to wear a necklace just like this one.”
A hand, wrinkled and smelling like baby powder, came toward me and grasped one of the necklaces. It rose, flashing its multi-colored Bakelite beads and teasing me with the hope of escape. I lunged at it, but the slippery beads brushed past my hands, eluding me. I lunged again, ignoring the jabs into my feet and legs. The tag ($1.99) rose in front of me and I grabbed the tail end of the string. Then I was dangling above the bin and its many flashing points as the ladies discussed the likeliness that it was the same type of necklace that the mother had worn. How could they not see me? A tiny wood fairy with glowing purple and green wings, dangling right in front of their faces.
“It’s very like it,” said Sarah. “Your mother wore that necklace nearly every day. Whatever happened to it, Marie?”
“I don’t know. After she died, most of her things disappeared. I think my father couldn’t take the sight of them. I wish he would’ve set aside something for me.”
“You should have it then, even if it’s not exactly the same,” said Sarah. “It’ll be my treat.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Marie. “I’ll buy it.”
Sarah took the strand from Marie and I let go, flying up over the ladies heads.
I hovered and examined my arms and legs. Aside from a few new scratches, I’d come off pretty easily.
“It’s my day to buy gifts,” said Sarah. “Two memories to purchase, and it’ll be my pleasure.”
“Two?” asked Marie.
“Yes. The desk for Rebecca to remember my dearest Thomas and the necklace for you, Marie, to remember your dearest mother. Now no arguments; let’s go find someone to ring this up.”
The ladies discussed the purchases and how many men it would take to move the desk. Then they walked away. I couldn’t imagine how many it would take. The thing was huge. Bigger than anything I’d ever seen. As I fluttered above it, eyeing the points that had so recently poked me, I had an idea. I landed on the worn green felt on the desk’s writing surface, went to the nearest bin, and clambered up the side. Resting my arms on the edge, I peered inside. Weapons. They could all be weapons. I spotted one with just a tiny golden ball, the size of my head, on one end and a wicked sharp point on the other. The earring would be heavy, but wood fairies weren’t weak. I could handle it.
I let go of the bin, flew up, and hovered over the jewelry. Grabbing the earring would be difficult. I hadn’t mastered the delicate art of flying upside down and the thought of landing in the bin again was very unattractive. The brown pile under the table was still snoozing, but who knew how long they’d stay that way. If they woke up and attacked, I had to have a weapon, so I decided to go for it.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and flexed my wing joints the way Dad instructed me. When I opened my eyes, the world was inverted. I’d done it. Not very well, Dad would’ve said. My wings refused to hold me steady. I rocked back and forth, bouncing up and down with every air current, but I was right over the bowl and the desired earring. With a shift of my wings, I lowered myself within arm’s reach. My hand was just big enough to get a good grip on the shaft. I flexed my wings again, but before I could rise out of the bin, an air current caught my wings and drove me down. My forehead hit a necklace bead and the blow unbalanced me. I flipped upright, scraping my knees on several other earrings, but I managed to hang on to my prize. I flew straight up and hovered above the bin, shaking from the effort.
“Not so bad, Dad,” I said, a little embarrassed to be talking to someone who wasn’t there. But the words felt good. I liked to think that he’d be proud of me. I was doing things he would’ve encouraged if Mom wasn’t always so worried about me getting hurt.
I flew back down the aisle and landed on the floor in front of the table where the brown fairy pile lay quivering. I found myself quivering, too. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea after all. But it was the best I had and besides, I was curious. I’d never met another species before.
I walked under the table, holding my earring with the point toward the lump. I couldn’t hold it still. The point kept jumping around until I rested the shaft on my hip. I felt like a knight ready for a joust with my trusty lance. All I needed was a horse and perhaps a bit more courage.
“Hello, there,” I said to the pile, my voice barely more than a whisper.
The pile did not move.
“Um, hello. Wake up.” I stepped closer and held the earring farther forward.
A couple of hands shot out, but they didn’t wake. I took more steps until I was close enough to distinguish the silky texture of the brown fur and tried again.
“Hello. I need some help. Wake up,” I said.
I tucked my hair behind my ears, bit my lip, and poked what looked like a hip with the tip of my earring. Nothing.
“Oh, for goodness sake. What’s wrong with these things?” I asked as I poked another one. The pointy end of the earring was quite painful. I knew that from experience. What was wrong with them?
I jabbed another one without any care for the damage I might cause, but the creature didn’t do anything but snore.
“They won’t wake,” said a voice from behind me.
I jumped and spun around, holding my earring tightly. In front of me stood a curious creature that looked as though it’d been carved from the table leg it stood beside. It was a golden brown complete with wood-grained skin, long spindly arms and legs, and no discernible clothing. Long, thin sticks stuck out of its head and it hurt my neck to look up at it. The creature was twice my height and had black eyes beneath wood-grained lids. Although I couldn’t tell whether the creature was a boy or a girl, in my heart I instantly categorized it as a male about ten years older than me.
“They won’t wake,” he said again.
“Why not?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my efforts to hold it steady.
“They’re trow. They wake at dusk, never before,” he said.
“Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The wood-like creature lifted its knee, then extended a leg and took a carefully balanced step toward me. The step was so slow it disarmed me completely and I nearly giggled.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
I clutched my earring. I no longer felt like giggling.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You’re covered with bruises and scratches.”
I looked down and realized he spoke the truth. Some of them were fairly fresh from the jewelry bin. The rest were dried and flaking from when the mantel had been torn off the wall.
“There was an accident,” I said.
“A bad one, looks like. Do you need help?”
“I’m looking for someone. A little boy.”
“A wood fairy like us?” it asked.
I stared at the creature. Did it mean us as in the two of us? How could we both be wood fairies? He didn’t even have wings. The creature took another slow step forward and I took a step back.
“I am a wood fairy, although a different type, as you can see,” he said. “I’m Soren Maple. And you are?”
“Matilda Whipplethorn. What type are you?”
“I’m a dryad.”
“I’m just a plain old wood fairy, I guess,” I said.
Soren’s face looked as hard as oak, but it curved into a gentle smile. Warmth and sweetness radiated off of him. I could find nothing inside myself that said to fear him.
“There’s nothing plain about you,” he said.
I smiled back at him.
“Come with me, Matilda Whipplethorn, and we shall see,” said Soren.
“See what?” I asked.
“If we can find your little boy.” Soren turned and walked away with his high-stepping, slow gate. I glanced around. The antique mall lay quiet and deserted except for the occasional human. I wasn’t sure I should take his help, but neither did I want to wander around aimlessly. It really
wasn’t much of a choice. I hefted the earring and followed him through a warren of wooden chair legs and hoped for the best.
CHAPTER 7