Once she bound her wings and got her sweatshirt on, she allowed herself a glimpse in the mirror. She drew in a sharp breath. “I look like the hunchback of Notre Dame,” she groaned aloud. The hysteria tried to rise again, but physical exhaustion kept it a tamped down. Skye glared angrily at her reflection. “These ridiculous wings are coming out tomorrow if I have to cut them out myself.”
Her vision blurred, it wouldn’t be long before she conked out. Her best bet was to stay in the bathroom where there were no windows she could fly out of. Skye left for provisions, returning with a chair, pillows, and a couple of the thickest blankets she owned. Since she couldn’t lock herself inside the room, Skye propped a chair against the door jamb. If she tried to walk out that door, the noise of the chair falling should wake her. She threw the blankets and pillow in the bathtub and climbed in the makeshift bed, immediately giving way to the oblivion of sleep.
A distant chiming sounded sweet notes that tap danced on the edges of her wakening. The notes formed patterns, increased in tempo and volume, until her dreams conformed to their insistent music.
“Skye,” the notes sang out her name. Nice.
“Skye, wake up.”
Groggily, she opened her eyes.
A vision of beauty coalesced out of a swirl of sparkly lights and music. The scent of lily of the valley filled the tiny bathroom. Skye took in the multi-colored hair, pointed ears, and the silhouette of wings; a fairy.
“I am Annwynn,” she said, her voice redolent with harmony and twinkles.
Kheelan’s former Guardian. No. Something must be wrong. Skye tried to scramble out of the slippery bathtub. “Is Kheelan okay?” Please don’t let the bad fairies have him.
Annwynn smiled. In spite of her great beauty and calm manner, something about the smile made Skye’s spine vibrate in alarm. The smile didn’t match a tiny flicker of craftiness in those violet eyes.
“Kheelan knows how to take care of himself.” A definite off note in the words that Annwynn quickly smoothed out. “It’s ye I’m worried about.”
Skye looked beyond Annwynn’s shoulder and saw the chair still propped against the door. Wow. This fairy could materialize at will. Her unease heightened.
“I’m fine now. But I could have used your help earlier tonight when I found myself flying out in the woods.”
Annwynn laughed. “I was there. Who do ye think got rid of the banshees and kept the lurking Unseelies from harming ye?”
Skye’s mouth gaped open. “You have the power to do that all by yourself?”
The fairy lifted her chin an inch, a signal, and the room was aglow with pixie lights. Up close, Skye was able to make out details she couldn’t before. Their faces were exquisite and tiny, their bodies varying shades of washed-out pastels, as if a master artist had dipped a paintbrush with diluted watercolors in shades of spring. They regarded Skye with almost as much curiosity as she did them. They giggled and danced, trailing glittering pixie dust. The real thing, not Claribel’s cheap imitation. The more they flew about, the stronger the aroma of rain-washed grass with a touch of primrose sweetness. They flittered and quivered, their wings cast trembling bell notes in the air.
“Wouldn’t ye be more comfortable in the den?” Annwynn’s hand gestured to the door. “That bathtub cannot be comfortable for your mortal limbs.”
Skye stepped out of the tub, awkward and sore. Her sweatpants and shirt were crumbled and she didn’t need to look in a mirror to know her hair was a wreck. She hadn’t even brushed it since flying in the October wind.
The pixies giggled and pointed at her back. Skye craned her neck over her shoulder and saw the wings were poking out of the thick material in weird spikes. Her cheeks and chest flamed in embarrassment.
“I’m new to all this,” she said, straightening and gathering a little dignity. Skye strode through their myriad of lights and laughter, refusing to look in the mirror as she removed the chair and went to the den. Annwynn drifted in front – neither walking nor flying, more like floating – her body a foot above the floor.
The pixie lights danced and skittered with abnormal speed, creating a strobe effect that made Skye grab the walls for balance. Relieved, she at last sank into the sofa. She didn’t have to turn on any artificial light with the Fae luminescence in the room. Her innate southern hospitality prompted her to offer the unexpected company refreshment. If Claribel were here, she would offer honey and milk or some such.
“Can I get you something?” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
The pixies tittered and Skye’s face flamed again. Obviously, these rude creatures weren’t southern fairies. She was rapidly losing her enchantment for them.
Annwynn ignored the question. One graceful hand gestured the length of Skye’s ridiculous, disheveled body. “Ye must be overwhelmed with happiness at becoming, at least partly, one of us.”
Skye snorted. They had a very high opinion of themselves. “You must be joking. Overwhelmed, yes. Happy? Not so much.” She took a brief satisfaction in the pixies’ gasps. Annwynn’s eyes flashed a second in irritation, but she squelched it with a serene expression.