Faeries Gone Wild Page 22

  Dart took the whisker and tucked it into Sidney’s hair. It stuck out like a flecheless feather, but it looked regal nonetheless. He drew back and asked, “So what do you say to some permanent fraternization?”

  Epilogue

  Reverie Elementary School was in the midst of Dental Hygiene Week. Sandra Hanson had volunteered to take the second-grade class on a field trip to the dentist. As the last kid scrambled to find a seat on the bus, Sandra clapped once for attention. All eyes turned to her.

  She shoved up the bridge of her black-rimmed glasses. “Remember, kids, brush two times a day. Floss, and keep your teeth sparkling for when the Tooth Fairy comes.”

  Eager nods and wide smiles revealed gaps where teeth had fallen out. Each sparkling gem had been placed under a pillow in hopes of the Tooth Fairy’s visit.

  “And don’t forget,” Sandra continued, “next week is Easter. Is everyone ready for the Easter Bunny?”

  All through Reverie, mothers were relaxing and loosening their stringent rules. Kids laughed more. The Horticulture Club had even decided to donate the east garden, which never did flourish—cactuses, don’t you know—to be a sandbox for the children.

  It was as though the entire city had sighed—thanks to a few sleepless nights and some raging good sheet twisting.

  * * *

  Sidney switched off the ScryeTracker™. Her retrieval had been canceled. Since she and Dart had picked up Sandra Hanson’s baby teeth, Sidney had been registering anywhere from six to a dozen TLFRs a night.

  Life was back to normal. And yet, not.

  To the Realm, Dart was dead. Which meant he could no longer work as a sandman. Unless he took on a new identity. Which he was keen to do. But not right away. He was simply enjoying being with Sidney during the few hours she had between night and day shifts.

  Setting aside the ScryeTracker™ on the dresser beside a half-eaten bowl of strawberries, she then turned into the warmth of Dart’s naked body. He slept peacefully on the new sheets she’d bought him for his birthday. Organic black cotton with white polka dots.

  Hey, who said she had to go cold turkey? Certainly not her lover.

  He’d already asked to move in with her and for her to quit the library. Seems he knew how to play the stock market, which was why he’d never needed a day job. She’d consider the offer. To have her days free to spend with Dart would be delicious.

  But complete withdrawal from not breaking the rules would take time. She wanted to toe the line. If anyone ever found out about Dart, they’d both be on a fast retrieve back to Faery.

  At least they’d be together.

  This morning their foreplay had lasted a little longer than the previous morning. Dart had been able to hold off his dust, and he hadn’t even minded when Sidney had grabbed the face mask from under the pillow seconds before he dusted. She was so proud of him.

  “Dust me, lover,” she whispered as her climax faded and the sparkle of his dust settled over her. “One more time.”

  A Little Bit Faery

  BY LEANDRA LOGAN

  Thanks to Monique Patterson and MaryJanice

  Davidson for taking on this project with

  enthusiasm. It’s been such fun!

  Thanks to my dear friends, Susan Johnson, Lois

  Greiman, and Michele Hauf, who supported my

  battle with breast cancer this year. I’m

  overwhelmed by your many kindnesses and

  feeling much better.

  Finally, a double thanks to Nancy Yost who covered

  me on both fronts. Much appreciated.

  Chapter

  1

  Isle of Man

  It seemed Tia Mayberry had had one too many nectar fizzes. Again.

  Or so observed the weary doortroll on duty at her lavish co-op, Treetop Towers, shortly after extracting her finger from the night buzzer.

  “I’m perkily fine,” she slurred, her buzzer finger landing on his chest. “You’re bad, Woodburn. Leaving your pest, er, post.”

  “Pest” seemed more appropriate as Tia tumbled over the threshold into the bony troll’s arms. Luna faeries were generally taller than most species of the Enchanted Realm, and this particular Fey was tallest of all. Not to mention more cushy at the curves. It always took some effort to right her on her high cork heels. “To night is different, Tia,” Woodburn cautioned, giving her a shake.

  “I’ll say! I had to buzz and buzz. Who knows how much attention that fetched!”

  Unfortunately, plenty. Rather than steer her toward the ser vice elevator for her usual discreet ride upstairs, Woodburn drew her a glass of water at the front desk. “I’ve been down the hall at an emergency meeting of the co-op board,” he explained. “Giving testimony about weekend shenanigans that have become intolerable. That threaten the sterling reputation of this singles co-op.”

  “Must be a real loser to slow that petty trio of Luna party bitches on a Saturday night,” she mused. “Who is this miscreant? Uh, let me guess. The witch who brews yucky green smoke stew?”

  “No.”

  “The pied pipers who lure pesky squirrels into the heating ducts?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I know. The goblins who—”

  “The miscreant, Tia, is you.”

  “Me?” Tia squealed as Woodburn whisked her toward the meeting room. “Not me.”

  “I am truly sorry,” he intoned, pushing her through the door.

  Tia stumbled inside the bright room to find some milling tenants, who quickly parted ranks to reveal the Co-op Cuties. Glenda, Shante, and Keelee, stunning Luna specimens with wavy lavender hair, baby doll features, and huge lustrous wings sprouting from rail backs. They closed in on her now, their undulating bodies making their party dresses of purple, gold, and red shimmer.

  Growing up with these Cuties had been tough due to Tia’s many un-Luna-like characteristics. Though generally now more resilient to their gibes, she couldn’t resist smoothing her straight waist-length platinum hair, tugging at the crocheted daisy minidress that clung to her ample curves.

  “Where have you been?” Glenda taunted. “Out on the town or visiting Mamma?”

  Agog with nectar fizz, Tia wondered which sounded worse: spending Saturday night with a parent or striking out on the dating scene long before midnight. Actually, both sort of sucked. “Does it really matter?” she spouted.

  “Certainly it matters,” Keelee insisted. “You carry the reputation of Treetop Towers every place you go.”

  “It’s come to our attention that Treetops has taken quite a beating from you lately,” Shante accused. “Reduced to the most common dives, slurping nectars squeezed from substandard plants. Rejected by everyone from hunched-back elves to sons of witches. Is it any wonder we hope you were at Mother’s for a change?”

  “So I’ve hit a rough social patch. It’s wrong of you three to single me out this way.”

  “It isn’t just us.” Glenda smugly unfurled a sheet of paper in her hand.

  Tia seized a horrified breath. “Is that . . .”

  “A petition for expulsion,” Glenda verified. “You know full well tenants pay good money for Treetop bragging rights, to be a part of our cutting-edge professionals network. It’s come to our attention that you are single-handedly making us a laughingstock.”

  “I have a lease, authorized by the manager, Minkie himself.”

  “Pushed through with pressure from your mother. We know all the pathetic details. In any case, a lease can be broken with enough tenant signatures.”

  “It takes two-thirds in favor.”

  Glenda smiled at her list. “We’ve got that and then some.”

  Tia’s heart fluttered in sheer panic. “All of you should understand my search for someone special.”

  “Search?” Glenda hooted. “It’s become a desperate hunt!”

  “ ‘Hi, I’m Tia,’ ” Keelee mimicked. “ ‘I live at lush Treetops Towers. Come back for a mergy merge merger?’ ”

  “I don’t sound l
ike that!”

  “When that ploy fails,” Shante asserted sternly, “there’s your early return to stagger drunkenly about the lobby.”

  “I try hard to sneak in,” Tia admitted at some cost to her pride. “Woodburn takes me to the ser vice elevator.”

  “ ‘Carries you’ is more like it. And the agony doesn’t end there. You pule into the night.”

  “That’s humming, taught in yoga class here. I opt to sing away the pain.”

  “Excruciating pain, it seems.” Glenda read on. “ ‘Described by tenants as tuneless. A keening wail. Ankle caught in bear trap. Cobra venom seizure.’ ” She paused. “Odd, as we Luna faeries are renowned for our lyrical voices, our siren ability to lure seafaring ships into the rocks. A difference,” she thought to add, “as inexplicable as your tolerance for iron. Which segues us into another complaint about your menial job as a metalworker.”

  “Custom jeweler! And puling is in the ears of the beholder.” Scalded, Tia snatched the paper away.

  Glenda shrugged. “Help yourself. It’s only a copy. Destroying it will not preserve your home here.”

  “Plainly, I don’t belong here, after all. I will be out by midweek.” On that, Tia whirled on her high cork shoes.

  “Uh, Mayberry,” Keelee intervened.

  Tia did a slow swivel, gripping the paper tube in a tight, nervous fist.

  “You’re out to night. Tomorrow is May first and we have a tenant waiting.”

  “Even more pressing, we have a social life waiting.” Glenda glanced at her watch. “By the time we return, we trust you’ll be long gone.”

  Head spinning in alcohol and anguish, Tia struggled for some comeback. “What about my damage deposit?”

  “Waiting for you at the front desk. That’s one thing we can say in your favor: you played it ultra-safe with the furnishings. No drunken lord or marauder ever broke as much as a teacup playing house with you.”

  “Not my fault!” Tia wailed. “I would’ve welcomed a drunken lord—most any marauder.”

  “Woodburn will help you pack,” Shante offered. “And tip him well. He’s the only one who offered.”

  It was nearing 3:00 A.M. when Tia arrived at her mother’s cottage by the sea and slid a key in the lock. A spill of moonlight through the windows gave the modest furnishings of the living room a soothing glow.

  As Tia hauled in her last suitcase she heard a clop of slipper on the staircase, caught the shadow of a winged figure bearing a lantern and hefty stick.

  Whisking the door closed, Tia swiftly called out, “Only me, Mamma!”

  “Tia, dear?” Maeve Mayberry galloped on, her long nightgown billowing.

  “Don’t be alarmed.”

  Maeve’s alarm only deepened as she gazed upon the all too familiar cluster of worn leather suitcases.

  Tia cringed. “Care to welcome home your long-lost daughter? Mamma? Mamma,” she said more forcefully, “put down the stick.”

  Jerking to attention, Maeve slowly lowered the length of wood.

  “Somebody might get clobbered,” Tia chided.

  Maeve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.”

  Tia gently took the stick and the lantern from her mother’s fisted grip and set them on a table. “I suppose you want an explanation.”

  “Don’t see a way around it.”

  “Well, that co-op is full of snobs!”

  “All your friends, Tia,” Maeve said quietly.

  “I grew up with them, yes. Or should I say I grew up alongside them?”

  “Oh, child.” Maeve sighed. “I thought with a little effort, you could manage to blend in, finally win them over.”

  “I tried. For eight long months, I tried.”

  “Exactly how bad are the damages?”

  “They threw me out!”

  “Oh, no.” Maeve frowned. “That will take some fixing.”

  “Mamma! When will you accept that you can’t mend my life like a holey sock! When will you allow me to simply be me?”

  “Admit it, Tia. You’ve never been sure who you want to be. One minute you wanted to tame and tint your platinum hair Luna lavender; the next you were flaunting it like a wild unicorn’s mane. You insisted on vibration lessons to lift and quicken your voice; then you were auditioning for the school choir with your low, flat thrum. You wanted lenses to green up your stark blue eyes; then you were accentuating them in blue powder. There was even that push to pull your square white teeth in favor of a false bridge of tiny cream pearls.”

  “Of course I was conflicted growing up. There isn’t another creature on the Isle of Man who shares my characteristics.”

  “God blessed you in a very special way—”

  “Oh, knock it off! I haven’t bought that line in ages.”

  Maeve grimaced. “Just how did the board plead their case against you?”

  Tia reached into her handbag for the crumpled petition. Maeve took it to the lantern. “Damn Minkie! In my day, a goblin was as good as his word.”

  “Wasn’t his fault. The Co-op Cuties got enough signatures to override him.”

  “He should’ve intervened before it got this far. When I think of how I cooked for him . . .”

  “All those lovely stews.”

  “Actually, the desserts were the most challenging.”

  “I don’t remember any desserts.”

  Maeve cleared her throat and concentrated on the paper. “I thought that place would be the answer to my prayers.”

  “Surely you mean ‘our prayers,’ Mamma.”

  Maeve flashed a startled look. “Of course, dear. Mingling with that upscale crowd—flaunting that trendy address—seemed a surefire plan to put you on the fast track. In range of a handsome, successful lord smart enough to appreciate your qualities as I do. After all, one was all we really needed. . . .”

  “While having the Treetops address got me into some cozy positions, something always went wrong. What, exactly, I have no idea. Do you?”

  Maeve gave her fingers a nervous flutter. “Do I what, dear?”

  “Have any idea why I am the last virgin standing of my generation!”

  “Surely not the last.”

  “Even the crooked horned unicorns are—locking horns.”

  “I so hoped there was one male on the Isle destined to love you.”

  “That is one tale this faery isn’t so sure of anymore.”

  “You mustn’t give up until you’ve turned over every rock. Not literally, of course. Unless it becomes absolutely necessary,” she added lamely.

  Tia wrinkled her nose. “There must be a flaw in my strategy, Mamma. One I can’t finger. Perhaps if you finally have the Talk with me, we can sort it out.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “What, exactly, have you always found so difficult about the ages-old tradition? You tell me about mergence and I get all squirmy and shocked.”

  “You are twenty-eight—way too old.”

  “Even if it is a little past due and I’m no longer likely to get squirmy and shocked, I need help. Specifically tips for success.”

  “I am no expert,” Maeve blustered. “I was dazzled once, by your father.”

  “A visiting Scandinavian lord on holiday,” Tia dutifully recited, “struck down by a wicked Cailleach attempting to rob his fishing party.”

  Maeve hung her salt-and-lavender head. “Such a shame he never even knew you were on the way.”

  “About the Talk.”

  “A useless waste of energy, dear.”

  Tia bit her lip. “I suppose there’s one consolation. I’ll always have a home with you.”

  Maeve’s silver brows jumped. “I thought you’d fight for your place at the Treetops. I mean, there is the principle to consider.”

  “I don’t know. A new tenant is already set to move into my apartment.”

  “When?” Maeve demanded sharply.

  “Tomorrow.” Tia stifled a yawn behind her hand. “All I want to do now is curl up in my old comfy feather bed, in the hom
e where I spent my happiest hours.” She looked around the old fieldstone walls with a bittersweet smile.

  “Uh, that won’t be possible, Tia.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve sort of turned your bedroom into a sewing room.”

  “Mamma!”

  “I’ve always had that much confidence in your charms.”

  Tia scowled. “You mostly always wanted a sewing room.”

  “Can you blame me for indulging? I’ve been helping you pay for that crackerbox palace for eight months.”

  “Guess there’s nothing for it, then. I’ll have to sleep in your bed.”

  “Suppose we can try it. Unless you’d like to take the chaise,” Maeve lilted, gesturing to a lumpy slope-backed sofa near the fireplace.

  “You had it restuffed then?”

  “Well, no.”

  An hour later, snuggled under a soft comforter in Maeve’s cramped feather bed, Tia felt a sharp jab in the ribs. She sat up with a shriek. “Mamma! Are you having some kind of fit?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Maeve turned up her bedside lantern.

  Tia leaned into the light with a wizened look. “Did you eat pecans before bed again? You know they give you a fit of indigestion—”

  “Tia, I nudged you on purpose. You have a very disturbing snore, dear.”

  “Ridiculous. I wasn’t even asleep.”

  “You make a very loud sound all the same. Barely tolerable even when we had a stone wall and cork earplugs between us.”

  “You always said your collection of cork was for plugging mouse holes!”

  “Some of them are—Never mind. What is the source of that sound?”

  Tia sighed deeply. “Humming. The latest medita tive trend among Treetop tenants. Everyone is doing it, Mamma.”

  “Really, when it was on the list of tenant complaints?”

  “I suppose I may sound a little different from the others. But you’ve always fought prejudice in my name, encouraged me to follow my heart.”