A Fairy's Guide to Disaster Read online

  “Right. You’re hungry. I almost forgot.”

  I slammed all the windows in the bedroom, but had to look for the locks. I couldn’t ever remember locking our windows or doors before. In Whipplethorn Manor it simply wasn’t necessary. I ran my fingers around the window sills until I found each tiny wooden hook, and then I fastened them onto their equally tiny eyes. There must’ve been some time in my family’s history when locks were necessary or my ancestors wouldn’t have made them. Lucky for us someone had been afraid of something. I wondered if it could’ve been a spriggan. I was certainly afraid of them. Enough that I considered using some of Dad’s special glue to seal the window against its return.

  “Maybe Gerald’ll get some sense and come back on his own,” I said to the baby.

  Ezekiel screwed up his mouth and blew air out of his nose.

  “You’re right,” I said. “He’s too smart for sense. At least, he thinks he is.”

  I carried Ezekiel into the hall and started going from room to room, slamming and locking windows. Ezekiel’s stomach growled so loudly that even I could hear it. I walked him to the kitchen sat him on a clear bit of floor. I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the damage. The kitchen was worse than the rest of the house. Food, utensils, and containers covered the floor. The chandelier my great-grandfather had carved lay in pieces in the corner.

  “I guess I don’t have to wash the dishes anymore,” I said.

  Ezekiel snorted.

  “Well, we probably won’t be staying.”

  Ezekiel picked up one of Mom’s long cooking spoons and banged it on the floor. He gave me a disappointed look and tossed it on a pile of cups.

  “Fine. I’ll clean up. Probably. Eventually,” I said to the baby. “Now what do you eat? Do you have teeth?”

  I rummaged through a cabinet that was lying on its back on the floor and pulled out a jar containing peach fruit leather Mom made in the summer.

  “Peach?” I asked Ezekiel.

  He stuck out his tongue and made a raspberry at me.

  “Okay. No peach. Grape?”

  Ezekiel considered the strip of grape fruit leather in my palm and held out his hand. I gave him the piece and watched as he bit it with tiny white teeth that I’d never noticed before. Iris came into the kitchen and watched for a moment.

  “What does he drink?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I looked at the water jugs which were on their sides in pools of their former contents. “The water’s gone. I don’t suppose we can give him wine.”

  Ezekiel blew another raspberry and we both laughed until we found ourselves hugging with tears dripping down our faces. The laughter felt so good like a spring had uncoiled inside me.

  “I’d better go find Gerald now,” I said, picking up a water jug as I wiped the tears off my cheeks.

  “I locked all the other windows and doors.” Iris handed me a cork and a carrying strap. I put the strap over my shoulders and bit my lip, looking at Ezekiel. Leaving him felt wrong. Iris was only ten. What if she didn’t know what to do? I felt ridiculous questioning Iris’s capabilities, when I wasn’t certain of what to do myself. Iris could at least hear.

  Iris hugged me. “We’ll be okay. Find Gerald so I can kick him.”

  “Get in line,” I said. “Now come on. You have to lock the door behind me.”

  Iris picked up Ezekiel, stumbling to the right before she got used to his weight.

  “Okay.”

  I walked out of the kitchen, stepping over various broken articles of our life and went to the front door. Iris walked close beside me, murmuring comforting words to the baby, such as “She’ll be right back, don’t worry.” I felt down the door frame, found the tiny lock, and unhooked it. I lifted the clasp that kept the door closed and pushed. The door swung open and revealed the antique mall in all its disarray. I stood on the threshold and looked into the cluttered world that I had no wish to enter. From that angle the mall seemed even bigger. It was an enormous warehouse divided by shorter partitions. I could see above the partitions that the long tubed lighting went on and on. They’d need millions of mushrooms to light the place. Even our smaller section was as big as one of the Whipplethorn bedrooms.

  “It’s really big,” said Iris.

  “It’s not so bad. I have a great sense of direction. I won’t get lost.” Even as I said it, I wasn’t so sure. I’d never been lost, whether in Whipplethorn Manor or out in the forest. But I’d never been in a place like the antique mall.

  “Maybe I should come.” Iris hugged me. “I could help.”

  I knew what she was saying. She could hear for me. Tell me when things were coming, but it was no good. I couldn’t take Iris and the baby out of the safety of the mantel just because of my stupid ears.

  “No. It’ll be fine. You stay and take care of Ezekiel,” I said.

  “We can come. He’s easy.”

  I pulled back and patted the baby’s cheek. “You are easy, aren’t you? I expect you to live up to that name while I’m gone, little guy.”

  “I don’t know, Matilda. I hear lots of stuff.” Iris’s lower lip trembled and a flush spread over her pale cheeks.

  “Is anything saying it eats wood fairies?”

  Iris giggled and wiped away a tear. “No.”

  “Then I’ll be fine. Just listen for me knocking, okay?”

  “Okay. Bye.” Iris looked steady and capable, but her voice quavered.

  I turned and leapt off the threshold the way Dad taught me and let air catch my wings. The air was very warm in the building and held me more readily than the cool air of Whipplethorn Manor. I hovered a foot down from the door and tested this new buoyancy. Any little flutter moved me much faster than I expected. I did several flips and zipped back up to the door.

  “How are you flying like that?” she asked me in awe.

  “The air’s different.”

  “What’s different?” Iris stuck her hand out and waved it around.

  “It’s warmer than at home. Feels good.” I did a flip and a dive in front of them just for the fun of it. “Guess I’d better go find the stink fairy.”

  Iris and Ezekiel waved.

  “Bye, Iris. See if you can find Barbara for me.” I waved to the baby. “Bye, Easy. That’s what I’ll call you, if you’re good.”

  I fluttered to the top of the partition, so overwhelmed by the size of the antique mall that I sat down on it with a thump. The metal felt cool through my jumper and I shivered at both the cold and at the immense place before me. The section where the mantel rested was large, but it seemed tiny in comparison to the rest of the building. Rows of lighting tubes stretched on forever across a vast ceiling. Partitions fitted together and formed a crazy kind of maze where humans chatted and wandered around, picking up objects and looking as overwhelmed at the sheer volume of stuff as I was.

  I’d never seen that many humans and I had no idea they came in so many shapes and sizes. A tall man lugged a large crock past two smaller, rotund men arguing over something. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their faces were red and sweaty. An enormous woman tried to squash herself through an opening between two partitions and succeeded, only to knock over a basket, three picture frames and a delicate-looking chair. The woman picked them up quickly and looked around to see if anyone had seen her. No one, but me.

  A couple of elderly women walked past my partition. They smelled of lavender and cookies. Their grey hair was swept up off their necks into knotted, swirling designs. They were close enough that I could hear their words, just barely.

  “Are you sure that’s what she wants, Sarah?” asked the taller of the two.

  “I know my granddaughter,” said Sarah.

  “I thought I knew mine and look where she is today. Pregnant by a carhop. Ridiculous,” said the one on the right.

  “Bellhop, Marie. He’s a bellhop,” said Sarah.

  “It amounts to the same. Another nowhere man introduced into the family,” said Marie.

 
“Well, no offense, but my Rebecca is nothing like that. I’m certain she wants a roll top desk for completing her master’s degree. She’s been hinting about it for years,” said Sarah.

  “Strange thing for a young woman to want.”

  Sarah peeked in the area where the mantel was. “Not really. My dear Thomas used to tell her tales about the roll top his father had. Oh, how she loved those stories. And besides, she’s not that young. She has children of her own now.”

  “I keep forgetting that. You know you’re old when your grandchildren have children.”

  “That hasn’t happened to you, Marie. You still don’t act your age.” Sarah brushed past her and walked up to the mantel.

  “There’s a big difference between acting your age and knowing it.” Marie leaned on my partition. “Thomas never acted his age as I recall. And what tales did he tell his granddaughter anyway? What could a person possibly say about a roll top desk to make it interesting to a child?”

  “Oh Marie, you knew Thomas. He had such a way about him.” Sarah stood still and brushed her cheeks. I thought I saw the sparkle of tears on her fingertips.

  “Well?” asked Marie. “What did he say?”

  “He said there were fairies living in his father’s desk. Bunches of them, whole families living inside the wood.”

  I jumped to my feet and flew off the partition to get closer to the chuckling ladies.

  “Dear man,” said Marie.

  “He was the sweetest, no doubt.”

  “Fairies! Imagine that,” said Marie. “Do you have it? The fairy desk. You should give her that one.”

  Sarah brushed her cheeks again. “Afraid it was sold after the big crash in ’29. Thomas said the family lost almost everything in the stock market. Apparently, his father felt just terrible about all those fairies being displaced.”

  Then the two ladies stopped at our mantel.

  “My, what a beautiful piece. Mahogany, I think.”

  The ladies began discussing the mantel and looking it over. Sarah ran her fingers over the carved designs and murmured. “Beautiful, just beautiful. It has a nice feel about it, too.”

  “We better get going or we’ll never find a desk in this place,” said Marie.

  The ladies walked out of the mantel’s area and I followed them. I fluttered around in their lavender wake, soaking up the scent. They reminded me of Grandma Vi. Plus Sarah and Marie seemed to know where they were going and that was a comfort. I had no idea where to go or where to look for the wayward Gerald.

  I swooped around the ladies, looking on bookshelves and behind furniture. There was no sign of Gerald, and there were thousands of places a tiny wood fairy could hide. It might be impossible to find him even if he wanted to be found, which he probably didn’t.

  “Gerald!” I yelled.

  I don’t know why I bothered. If he yelled back, I wouldn’t be able to hear him unless he was right in front of me. It was all beginning to seem pointless. I dove down and landed on cool linoleum to look under a beautiful hope chest. No Gerald, but the paintings on the side were lovely and I stepped back so I could see the entire design. Painted in ancient gold lettering was 1855 and the initials M.M. and J.M. with birds and flowers swirling around the letters. The chest was the kind of thing I imagined would have belonged in Whipplethorn Manor when there was still furniture in it. It was so elegant and clearly made with love by a master woodworker. Maybe Dad could make me one.

  Dad. Not until that moment had I thought of him and the future together. For the first time, I considered that I might not see him, or Mom or any of the other Whipplethorn fairies again. I don’t know when I started doubting it. The feelings seemed like they’d been there all the time. I wanted Mom and Dad to find us, but what if they didn’t? What if I couldn’t find a way to get us back to Whipplethorn?

  I touched the hope chest and then rested my cheek against the wood. The smell of the green paint was old and faded, but still there. The woodworker must’ve mixed and painted with great care; Dad did. Tears burned my eyes and I squeezed them shut until I smelled something else and it wasn’t paint. I sniffed deeply and opened my eyes, the tears forgotten. The smell was odd, but not wholly unpleasant. It was like cattails from the pond mixed with lemongrass. I looked around for the source and that’s when I saw them.

  A group of beings were piled under a low table across the aisle from me. I assumed they were some species of fairy. They were too small to be anything else. The pile was brown, lumpy, and unremarkable. I might’ve thought it was a pile of dog poop, if it hadn’t been for the smell and the occasional leg sticking out. And I wouldn’t have thought the pile alive, but the legs twitched and kicked. A hand covered with thick brown fur stuck straight up and waved around, only to disappear again.

  I crept alongside the hope chest, eyeing the mass of bodies. I stopped and looked for the Sarah and Marie. They were down at the end of the aisle, looking at a roll top desk the size of a small car. The sight of them made me braver and I dashed across the aisle to crouch by the table leg. I listened to the faint snores and grunts. They didn’t make it any easier to tell what type of fairies they were, even close up. They had legs and arms covered with brown fur, but little else to distinguish individuals. I couldn’t remember any fairy description like what I was seeing.

  I started to move towards the pile, but stopped short. They could be dangerous. I took a deep breath like Mom taught me and examined my feelings, my senses. Mom said that all wood fairies had a sense that told them when there were dangerous creatures about. The trick was to listen to the sense and not ignore it. I’d never had cause to use it at Whipplethorn, unless I counted sensing Gerald’s innate skunkiness. I tried to find something inside myself that said these creatures were dangerous, but nothing was there. If they weren’t dangerous, they might’ve seen Gerald. It was too good a chance to pass up. Still, it seemed prudent to get a weapon, just in case.

  I flew into the air and fluttered down to the ladies still at the desk. On it was a stack of paperwork, a stapler, and several bins of costume jewelry. Two sharp metal points stuck out of the stapler. I landed next to it and eyed the points. A nice sharp staple was just the thing. Dad used them in his woodworking. They were his most precious tools, quite hard to come by. Staples were good for gouging and weren’t very heavy. I jumped on the base of the stapler, grasped the point and pulled. Nothing. It was stuck on something. I should’ve been able to wrestle it out. My strength, while unremarkable for a wood fairy, was more than a match for a staple. I whacked it with both hands. Still nothing. I glanced back toward the table that the pile of creatures was under. Hopefully, they wouldn’t wake up and get away before I got the staple. I flew to the top of the stapler and landed as heavy as I could. The stapler didn’t even tremble. My strength was good, my weight a joke. I jumped and jumped, but nothing would make that stapler spit out a staple.

  I sat down on the end, panting. If I couldn’t think of something, I’d have to go wake up those fairies without a weapon. I crossed my legs and rested my head in my hands. Think. There must be something I could use. Sarah and Marie chatted above me about the merits of the desk. They kept waving their hands and the air currents they created nearly brushed me off the stapler. Maybe I could get them to see me and push the stapler. Even if they only thought I was a bug, they might try to squash me and release the staple.

  I jumped up and down. “Hey! Down here. Hit this stapler. You know you want to.”

  Sarah and Marie ignored me. I yelled myself hoarse, but they never looked in my direction.

  “I don’t know, Sarah. It’s quite expensive. Are you sure you should?” asked Marie.

  “It’s perfect. Rebecca will love it.” Sarah turned and craned her neck to look over a low bookshelf. “There’s never someone around to help when you need them.”

  Then she spun completely around and her purse swung straight at me. I saw it coming, but only had time to shield my face before the great big black leather box swept me into the bin of
costume jewelry. Sharp points poked me all over. Dozens of earrings stuck me in the wings, back and legs. I struggled to get on top of the mound, but kept sinking deeper amidst the golden quicksand of clinking metal against metal. Strands of beads wrapped around my legs and pulled me deep into the abyss.

  CHAPTER 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.”