Faeries Gone Wild Read online

  But stones, this pair really did ride high. None of the women on Sex and the City would be caught dead in the style. The elasticized cotton completely covered her hips. Sidney had hips. She even had a waistline. But the last time she’d dressed to show off her waistline, mortal women had worn hip-huggers and tie-dyed blouses.

  And what about this pitiful bra?

  A faery could only summon wardrobe glamour after viewing the actual clothing in a magazine, catalog, or store or even on a person. Then it became a part of the faery’s collection. Once worn, it could be removed by shucking the glamour. Or the faery could physically take off the clothing—as mortals did—and place it in a closet, for future use. Which Sidney preferred. It was easier when she could see everything she owned, as opposed to mentally tallying through her collection.

  Turning to examine the side view of her body, she smoothed her hands down her ribs and over her hips. Glamour put a mortal costume to a faery, but it didn’t change them physically (save to hide their wings and non-mortal hair colors). If mortals really looked, they might see the extra joint in a faery’s thumb or the pointed tip of an ear.

  “How dare he call me mortal.”

  And yet the costume screamed mortal.

  A costume she felt comfortable wearing. The glamour protected her.

  Crunching a fist about a wodge of drab brown hair, she blew out a sigh. “I do look mortal.”

  And what in toadstools are these clothes protecting you from?

  “I’ve stopped caring,” she decided.

  As the middle child out of twenty-one siblings, she was accustomed to being overlooked. That’s why she’d headed for the MR first opportunity and hadn’t looked back.

  Yet, over the de cades, she had focused exclusively on following the rules. On holding a day job so she could buy a house.

  Most Night Workers traveled from the Mortal Realm to Faery daily. Rare were those faeries who lived in the MR. Sidney enjoyed staying in one spot. No constant traveling from realm to realm for her. She had established Reverie as a base for over three mortal de cades.

  Faery had a tendency to reassign Night Workers yearly. Didn’t want anyone getting too comfy and settling in. Unless they’d proven they were reliable and didn’t rock the boat. As Sidney had done.

  And yet, sometime over the years, Sidney had overlooked herself.

  She had fulfilled a dream, establishing residence in the MR. And then she’d stopped dreaming.

  “I don’t need dreams. I’m happy. Mostly.”

  What dreams could top what she’d already accomplished? New car? Nah, faeries didn’t do mortal vehicles; too much iron. Riches? She made enough at the library to support herself, and if she ever required home repairs, her tooth salary covered that. Fame? Get real. Love?

  Hmm . . . Well, love was a good one but, unfortunately, unattainable here in the MR. There just weren’t that many faery men to consider. And should she find a candidate? That no-fraternization rule loomed.

  “He was a handsome sandman,” she whispered.

  A handsome sandman who’d packed a wallop of a kiss.

  She’d woken herself up with her own snoring outside Jimmy’s bedroom. And she’d looked right into a set of gorgeous smiling eyes. And pursed lips. He’d moved in for the kiss. And she had reacted.

  Course, now that she thought on it, she had reacted a little slowly. No sense not accepting a freebie kiss when offered. Because the last time Sidney had had a kiss—toadstools, some hot sex—had been too long ago. Oh, she wasn’t celibate. She had lovers. They came. They left. But she knew better than to begin a relationship. That would see her retrieved back to Faery in no time and branded a rule breaker. Not a mar she wanted on her sterling record.

  Didn’t matter. Of the few lovers she had known, none satisfied her. None understood her needs.

  “I don’t even understand my needs.” Sidney sighed. “I’m set in my ways. I don’t know how to let a man take care of me. But some sheet twisting would be”—another sigh—“splendid.”

  The Brigade of Mothers Against Ridiculous Beliefs met in room 101 at Reverie High School, which was also the middle school and the town bomb shelter. The school mascot was a possum, which looked very ratlike on all the school insignias and ultimately led to rival schools calling Reverie teams the Reverie Rodents.

  Despite the moniker handicap, they were 10–0 so far in the season curling tournaments. Every year at least one senior went on to join the Olympic curling team.

  While she waited for the meeting to be called to order, Sidney studied the glass trophy case. Apparently curling involved heavy disks of stone and brooms.

  “That must be one clean playing field,” she said.

  Team pictures featured gawky, pimply teens sporting brooms and broad smiles. “That’s Timmy Nelson and Ryan Olson and, hey, Brian Anderson. Nice canines on that kid.”

  Sidney knew the inner workings of the mouths in all of Reverie. She knew who was a good brusher and who could stand to use mouthwash. She could follow a child’s growth from the loss of their first central incisor to the last yanked pre-molar. And she often checked in on those she suspected would need braces. (She had an ongoing wager with the tooth faery from the neighboring town. Each placed bets on the kids they suspected would need braces. She’d only lost once in thirty mortal years.)

  “Ladies! Find a seat.”

  Uncomfortable standing amongst the gathered women, Sidney realized her contact with mortals was mostly with teenagers who hung at the library and children who poured off buses for field trips. Despite living in the MR for de cades, she hadn’t established close relationships with neighbors or any of the ladies in the community. So much time was spent simply working to survive.

  Her future in the MR was at stake. She needed to be here.

  Inhaling a breath of fortitude, Sidney shuffled into a chair, which was attached to a desk with a contorted steel bar. She’d known better than to wear her costume amongst mortals, but she wondered now about the choice of plaid pants and ruffled shirt.

  A few curious stares captured her attention. Linen suits and horn-rimmed glasses and smooth coifed hairstyles everywhere. All manicured and salon-prepared.

  “What?” Sidney asked the pink cashmere number who boldly gave her the evil eye.

  A rap on the chalkboard lured all eyes to the front of the room.

  The blonde who directed the meeting must be a size 2 for the anorexic bones the fabric hung on. She pushed up thick black plastic-rimmed glasses and pursed her thin red lips.

  “We all know what we’re here for, ladies, so there’s no reason to beat around the bush. I believe our banishing the Easter Bunny last year has proven very successful. Our children can now focus on the true meaning of Easter and we mothers aren’t stuck dying eggs and hiding the damn things only to discover a rotting one a week later in the dog’s bed.”

  The room agreed with nodding heads and a couple “you know its!”

  So that’s what happened to the Easter Bunny.

  Sidney’s fingers curled about the edge of the desk. What kind of power did these materialistic mortal primps wield? To take away the joy of the Easter Bunny because they didn’t want the hassle of dying eggs?

  “No more cheap stuffed bunnies, either,” one of the mothers intoned. “I am so grateful.”

  “Not to mention that awful Easter chocolate. I’ve lost six pounds since the banishment.”

  “I hear you.”

  “All right, ladies,” the head non-believer said, “so we are agreed the Tooth Fairy is another painfully tedious ritual none of our children should be subjected to. To actually believe there exists a tiny being who takes away their teeth and leaves behind money? How will our children ever learn to make their own money and grow up to be respectable Reverie citizens?”

  Who put the meanie mojo on this chick?

  “But the Tooth Fairy does—”

  Head non-believer glared at the woman who had spoken up from the front row, stopping her declar
ation with a choke and a shrug. “Don’t tell me you believe, Stella?” she defied with an intonation of evil incarnate.

  “Er . . .” Stella glanced to her cohorts, who all looked down at the desktops.

  It was obvious to Sidney the chick in front held some sort of mastery over them all. Sidney cleared her throat and shuffled on the chair.

  The leader cast a keen eye her way. Her gaze oozed over Sidney like slug slime. The leader compressed her thin lips and pushed the humorless glasses up the bridge of her nose. “This doesn’t work, people, unless we’re all on board. Remember, Stella, you wanted the groundhog abolished last year because six more weeks of winter prolongs your SAD.”

  Stella nodded and bowed her head submissively.

  “So, is it unanimous?” the leader gleefully chirped. “As of this day we banish the Tooth Fairy, and no further mention shall be made of it to the children. They will not receive cash payment for lost teeth, and instead we’ll toss the nasty tooth out with the trash, as it should be.”

  Horrors!

  “Ahem,” Sidney tried. Loudly.

  The entire room turned to look at her. She heard mutters: “Who is that?” “I’ve seen her before. She works at the library peddling romances and how-to manuals,” and, “Looks like someone’s dotty aunt.”

  That last comment made Sidney’s eyelid twitch. A dotty aunt?

  Did dotty aunts kick feline butt? Could a dotty aunt work every night, 7:00 P.M. to 7:00 A.M., then put in another six to eight hours peddling romances without vacation? Why, she could teach the entire room a thing or two about the wonders of Belief, not to mention manners.

  “Did you have a question?” the leader called. “You there, in the back with the . . . plaid? What was your name?”

  Feeling as if the entire room stared icy shards into her forehead, Sidney shrugged down a little in the chair.

  And then she straightened. What’s up, Sidney? You don’t shrink from a challenge. Ever. She wasn’t about to let these primped bits of silk and cosmetic shellac abolish her livelihood.

  “I’m, er . . .” She didn’t have any kids. And the town was so small they would know if she made one up. “Right. I’m someone’s, er . . . aunt.”

  Oh, the humility.

  “I just think it’s wrong,” Sidney said. “Kids have so much to deal with nowadays. Homework and peer pressure and angry teachers and, er . . . divorcing parents.”

  Sidney angled the evil eye on leader chick, who appropriately stiffened.

  “What’s wrong with a little Belief? The tooth faery isn’t hurting anyone.” But she could so go toe-to-Manolo with Anorexia Divorsosa. “And besides, who made you queen of the town?”

  “I beg your pardon?” If those lips stretched any tighter, they’d snap. “You do know the Tooth Fairy isn’t real?”

  “I, er . . .”

  Pestiferous non-believers. Sidney felt sure a few of them believed, but they were so cowed by the leader they didn’t dare speak up. Hadn’t the woman ever experienced the joy of shoving a lost tooth under her pillow, only to find a shiny coin there in the morning? “I know she’s, er . . .” This was going to hurt. “The Tooth Faery isn’t . . . real.” Ouch. “Per se.”

  “You’re an aunt,” the woman sitting to Sidney’s right said. “You don’t get a vote. It’s parents only, right?”

  “Oh, I agree,” was muttered from somewhere at the front of the classroom, and others mumbled their solidarity.

  “So it’s settled then,” the leader called, avoiding eye contact with Sidney. “The Tooth Fairy does not exist! Meeting adjourned!”

  Sidney opened her mouth to protest, but the room cleared out faster than a gang of candy dealers at a dental convention. She heard a few more mutters: “Do you see what she’s wearing?” “Someone needs to send Auntie back to school so she can get a real job.”

  The hallway erupted in giggles.

  Sidney caught her chin in hand. Sulking upon the desk, the room silent save for the thumps of her aching heart, she sighed loudly.

  “I have a real job. Had a job until you creeps decided to take it away.”

  She toyed with the hem of her shirt. “So that’s it? Good-bye, tooth faery?”

  She tugged out her ScryeTracker™ from the waistband and switched it on. It registered all pickups for the evening. Usually a good dozen per night kept her busy.

  The violet LED blinked to ready. The screen remained blank. Not a single TLFR.

  Sidney laid her arms over the desk and put her head down. “I’m doomed.”

  Chapter

  4

  On her way home from the school, Sidney plodded through the park across the street from the Reverie library. With her glamour intact, all mortals would see her as their kind. It took a lot out of her to wear a full glamour. But it was a greater effort to drop what had become a comfortable costume.

  But if her best efforts at glamour produced whispers about being a dotty aunt . . .

  “I’m no one’s aunt.”

  She stomped a yellow dandelion and marched through the emerald grass. Children never played in the park.

  “Because their mothers banned fun,” she grumbled.

  “Hey, Sidney.”

  Pausing, Sidney noticed the portly man seated on a park bench, a box of Krispy Kremes coddled on his lap. Desiccated wings hung from his back. Ah. It was only Steve. The Faery.

  “Hey, Steve the Faery.” She stomped over and stood before him, hands to her hips. The scent of sugar and grease-laden dough clung to him like an aggressive aftershave. Steve didn’t have to have a doughnut anywhere near him and he still smelled like them. It was all he ate. “How’s life treating you?”

  “Miserable.”

  “Of course.”

  Steve was Disenchanted.

  Disenchantment to a faery was like cancer to a mortal. It drained the faery of all his or her glamour. No longer could he disguise himself from mortals. His wings would be clearly seen. Yet those wings would slowly deteriorate, until they hung lifeless at his back.

  There was no returning to Faery, either.

  It was heart-wrenching to look at a Disenchanted faery. And a cruel warning to Sidney never to forget her yearly vaccination—concerning which, the vaccination clinic was being held tomorrow.

  Sidney had never asked Steve how he’d become Disenchanted. She respected his obvious misery.

  “Let me ask you something, Steve the Faery.”

  He insisted on the moniker because Reverie citizens thought of Steve as the crazy old fat mortal guy who wore dimestore faery wings and fed pigeons doughnuts. Little did they know the wings were real and that Steve was forever trapped in a realm not his own. That would give any faery a dozen-doughnut-a-day habit.

  “Ask me anything you like, Sidney.”

  “All right.”

  She swung her hips, twisting at the waist. While Steve the Faery was a friend, she’d never confided in him before. There were very few male faeries in the MR, which made it easier to follow the rules. If a girl wanted to scratch the itch, she could go back to Faery. Not that Steve lended to any scratch-worthy feelings.

  And the last time she’d had a girlfriend was when Suzy Sprite had run away from Faery. Suzy had gotten involved with a band of spriggans, dark denizens of the Realm (sexy bad boys to a young sprite). It hadn’t ended well.

  Sidney burst out, “You like plaid?”

  To judge his confused expression, he didn’t immediately understand, but soon his pale gray eyes took in Sidney’s dress. “Not really. It makes you look . . . erm . . .”

  Sidney leaned in. “Fat?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  “No, it makes you look mortal, is all.” Steve the Faery cringed. He recovered by flipping open the top of the Krispy Kreme box. “Want a doughnut?”

  “Mortal?” Fisting a hand in her palm, Sidney pounded it before the flinching faery. “Mortal, you say? Why, of all the—”

  “You sh
ould really try the glazed chocolate ones. They’re excellent. Don’t ask me questions like that, Sidney. I know nothing about women and plaid. It would have been easier if you’d asked me if it made your butt look big.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She swerved a glance behind and over her shoulder. “Does it?”

  Steve the Faery shrugged. “Not really.”

  Just so.

  But mortal, eh? Why did every faery man think she looked mortal? No wonder she wasn’t twisting the sheets lately. Rare was the faery who desired a mortal in his or her bed.

  There was one true test to determine her decline. This would hurt.

  “Would you . . . er . . . date me, Steve the Faery?”

  The doughnut box went flying. Steve plunged to his knees before Sidney. His pitiful wings shivered. “Oh, yes, Sidney. You mean it? I clean up real nice. I’d bring flowers, and treat you to a real meal. Not just doughnuts. Promise. Can we do it to night?”

  Desperate expectation glittered in the Disenchanted faery’s eyes.

  Sidney’s heart dropped to her gut with a splash. “Oh, crap!”

  Sidney clocked in for a short morning shift at the library as a favor to a co-worker. Lisa was clocking out. The stylish young woman slung a black leather DKNY bag over a shoulder and shrugged when Sidney asked if there was anything that needed to be done.

  “Is there ever anything?” Lisa was twenty-two and never let a shift pass without complaining of her bad luck to work at the library, where gorgeous single men never tread.

  It was true. Single men did enter these hallowed walls, but they were usually bald, pudgy, or hidden behind Unabomber sunglasses.

  “What’s this pile?” Sidney picked up a children’s picture book. The title made her cringe.

  “Oh, Wayne had me pull all books about tooth fairies. Seems his wife has a thing against them. Weird chick. But then, all the old ladies in Reverie are just so . . .”