Fairy Bad Day

chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

Emma screamed as she tried to crawl forward on her injured ankle over to where her father was lying prostrate on the counter, but the darkhel ignored her as it continued to chant.

“What’s happening?” Curtis demanded. Fright had turned his face an ominous greenish color. “How much longer before it’s banished? Can you hold it?”

Emma stared at him for a moment as the full impact of the situation washed over her. The darkhel had won. Which meant that she had lost.

“What’s going on?” Curtis repeated. “Talk to me. Tell me what it’s doing. You’ve got to be my eyes.”

“I can’t do it, Curtis.” She shook her head and let the pain have its way with her. “It’s too strong. I don’t know how to fight it. No one does. Not Sir Francis. Not my mom—she used the Death Curse.” Emma started to sob. “It killed her and now it’s going to kill my dad. I’ve failed them. I’ve failed you. Your glasses are broken, which means—”

“No!” he screamed, his voice laced with steel. “You haven’t failed anyone. Now go fight this thing. You’re a fairy slayer and it’s a fairy.”

“Curtis, please, you know as well as I do that I just made up all that fairy-slaying stuff. I mean, who tries to kill things with hairspray?” Emma let defeat crawl through her like an old friend. It was just too hard. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. It’s all been for nothing.”

“Stop it. Just because it’s not in Sir Francis’s book doesn’t mean the darkhel can’t be killed. After all, it’s not in the book to touch a stupid statue on the face every time we pass it, but we all do it. You can’t give up.” Curtis’s face was racked with pain as he pulled himself up into a sitting position and blindly threw a single nail file at the darkhel.

Despite Curtis’s inability to see his target, the file embedded itself in the darkhel’s sinewy arm and the bowl fell to the ground with a clatter. From up by the ceiling Trevor, Rupert, and Gilbert let out a roar of approval.

However, Emma couldn’t share their excitement. All Curtis’s attack had bought them was an extra minute.

The darkhel glared at the three small fairies as it reached down and scooped up the bowl. “Laugh now, but the gate will be open soon and my true brothers will able to teach you some lessons in what it really means to be a fairy.”

“Well, if you’re so different than us, why does metal feel like a hot lance running through your bones?” Trevor retorted in a loud voice.

“Of course we use these nifty antimagnetic wrist straps,” Gilbert added, sounding more like infomercial than anything else. “They really help draw away the pain. Amazing, and cheap too. I guess we forgot to tell you about them.”

“Enough.” The darkhel howled as it took another step closer to the table where Emma’s father was lying. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, but I can see the burn mark the nail file left on your arm,” Rupert retorted. “You’re exactly like us. Just without the good taste in clothes. I mean, what’s with all the leather? And I swear that belt of yours has a skull and crossbones on it. Please, could you try any harder to be a cliché?”

“What did you just say?” Emma felt something tugging at the back of her mind and she looked up to the ceiling, where Rupert was still hovering in small rapid circles.

“Skull and crossbones? Cliché?” the fairy asked.

“No. Before that. You said the darkhel’s just like you.”

“No, I’m not,” the darkhel howled as it opened up its giant wings and spread them out. The room suddenly seemed tiny as they angrily beat the air until all the loose plastic that had been covering the benches lifted up as if in protest. Then, without another word, the creature held the bowl under Emma’s father’s neck and Emma screamed as she realized it was planning to slit her dad’s throat and drain the blood.

Finally, the lethargy and despair she had been feeling disappeared as an idea suddenly came to her.

“Curtis.” Emma ignored the pain in her ankle as she forced herself to stand up. Then she reached out and grasped his hand. It felt solid and warm in hers. “I know what to do but I need your help. The darkhel’s standing by the table. It’s just about to get to my dad. Can you please buy me some time? I know you can’t see it, but—”

“Emma, I’ve spent my life fighting things I can’t see. I’ve got your back,” Curtis assured her as he rose to his feet, grabbed one of his crutches, and limped his way over to near where the darkhel was standing, still beating its wings in a furious rhythm as it held a deadly talon up to Emma’s father’s neck. “What are you going to do?”

“I think I know why we have to touch Sir Francis’s head every time we pass the statue. It’s not for luck—it’s to remind us to think for ourselves. So I think I’m going to be a fairy slayer and break every rule there is.” The adrenaline started to surge through her.

He nodded, then, without preamble, he lifted one of his crutches high in the air and sent it smashing into the creature’s face, his aim true despite his lack of sight. The darkhel fell back away from the table and went tumbling to the ground, while high above them, Rupert and Trevor let out another gutsy cheer of appreciation.

Emma ignored them as she forced her injured foot to cover the distance between herself and her slaying kit. She emptied the entire bag onto the ground until she found the unused packets of Sour Skittles. Then, without wasting a second, she crushed them one by one with her fist before ripping them open. Skittle dust blew up in her face and clogged her nose, but she ignored it as she grabbed her mom’s favorite dagger. As she worked she noticed that Loni had managed to drag everyone else out of the room and was now making her way to the table where Emma’s dad still lay.

Emma sent her friend a silent prayer of gratitude as she watched Loni pull him off the table and drag him outside the burned kitchen.

“Can you possibly be serious?” the darkhel snapped as it got to its feet, its face a mask of fury and anger. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t win? You can’t kill me, and by the time I’m banished, it will be too late because—”

“Who says I can’t kill you?” Emma hurried back toward her enemy, waving the packet of Skittles in her hand. “Curtis, stand back, I know exactly what to do.”

“So there is a Sir Francis hotline.” Rupert flew down. “I knew it.”

“Don’t be a moron.” The darkhel knocked the small fairy out of the way. “It’s not some great idea she’s borrowing from a dead slayer with delusions of grandeur. It’s just a trick.”

“Well, trick this,” Emma shouted as she lunged and then jumped up off her good ankle. As she became airborne, she used her mom’s dagger and slashed it across the darkhel’s throat. The minute the foul creature fell to the ground, she leaned over and started to pour the crushed Sour Skittles into the open wound. The darkhel reached up and pushed its talons deep into her calf muscle, ripping away at the tendon as it tried to use her leg to help it stand up. Emma ignored the pain that lanced through her.

“It won’t work, you know. You can’t kill me,” the darkhel said, its voice full of rage and venom.

“I can kill you.” She poured more Sour Skittle powder into the angry gash across its neck. The powder instantly started to bubble and blister, and Emma used the butt of her dagger to smash it deeper into the wound. “And by the way, this is for my mom.”

“You’re wasting your time.” It gurgled in a weakened voice as it dug its talons farther into her flesh. But instead of standing up and throwing her against the wall, as she had half expected, the darkhel continued to lie on the floor. Emma tried to stay focused as she poured another Skittles packet onto the wound and watched as vile yellow fluid started flowing out like lava down the side of a volcano.

“This is for my dad.” She gritted her teeth as she reached for another packet.

“And this one’s for Curtis.” Still the creature didn’t loosen its grip, but Emma forced herself to ignore the pain as she poured the final packet of smashed-up Sour Skittles into the gaping, hideous wound and ground the powder in.

“And this? This one’s for me,” she said as she stood back and watched in anticipation as the wound continued to hiss and fizz, eating into the darkhel’s thick dark skin until a deathly stench of burning flesh and evil started to sting her nostrils. But before Emma could quite figure out what had happened, the darkhel suddenly lifted a gigantic arm and sent her flying back across the room. She landed in a heap next to Curtis.

“Emma—” he started to say, but she hardly heard as she watched the darkhel once again stand up to its full height, again spreading its giant wings the entire breadth of the room.

“I told you that you couldn’t kill me,” it snarled as it started to stalk toward her, its dark red eyes narrow and glowing. “And the sooner you—”

But whatever it had been going to say was lost as it suddenly widened its eyes and clutched at its chest. Next its gigantic wings wilted like a flower on a hot summer’s day and its lethal talons fell limply to its side as the darkhel dropped to its knees, its face a picture of stunned disbelief. Then it fell to the floor, its mouth grimacing in an almost comical way. Somewhere in the background Emma could hear Loni screaming.

“What’s going on? Emma, what’s happening?”

“I think she’s killed it,” Gilbert announced as he tentatively flew down from his spot on the ceiling and inspected what was left of the darkhel. Emma watched the creature’s giant chest cavity slowly sink away as if something was sucking it down from underneath until all that was left was a large pool of foul black liquid.

“Is he right? Did you kill it? It doesn’t feel like it’s still here.” Curtis turned to her, his left eye swollen.

“I don’t know.” For a moment Emma just stared at him as the reality sank in. “I—I mean, yes, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

“Oh yeah,” Trevor confirmed. “He’s definitely dead. Nothing alive could possibly smell that bad.”

Emma took a deep breath and sighed with tentative relief as Loni raced over, her face pale.

“But how did you do it?” her friend demanded.

“Don’t laugh.” Emma gingerly let Loni and Curtis help her to her feet. “But I used Sour Skittles. I figured if they were lethal to Trevor and Company, then maybe a whole bunch of them ground up might do the trick on this fellow.”

Loni widened her eyes for a moment, then said, her voice filled with concern, “So how do you feel?”

“Like I’ve done five rounds with an invisible fairy,” Emma replied as she started to scan the room. “But what about my dad? Is he... I mean, did the darkhel—”

“Scratch him?” Loni interjected before quickly shaking her head. “Thankfully no. And none of the others are scratched either. Though they have been thrown around quite a lot and are in shock, not to mention suffering a few broken bones, but it could’ve worse, so much—”

But whatever Loni was about to say was lost as Emma’s dad suddenly limped into into the kitchen, followed by what looked like a Department of Paranormal Containment medic, but all Emma was aware of was that her father had now enveloped her in his arms and her face crumpled and she started to sob.

“It killed her. Mom. That’s how she died. She figured out that you were the Pure One and that it might try and get to you, and the only way she could stop it was to give her life.”

For a moment her dad was silent, then he tightened his grip, his voice hollow and hoarse. “She never even mentioned anything about sacrificing her life. Not once. I would’ve tried to make her change her mind.”

Emma shook her head and pushed away her tears. “It wouldn’t have worked. Mom wasn’t just protecting you; she was protecting us all. That’s just how she was.”

“I know.” Her dad’s face was racked with pain. “I wish it could’ve been different but trying to stop her from doing what she thought was right was like trying to stop a hurricane. That’s one of the things I love most about her.”

Emma stiffened. “You said you love her. In the present tense.”

“Of course.” Her dad looked surprised. “Always. I could never stop loving your mother. Did you really think I could?”

Olivia suddenly appeared in the doorway, Tyler at her side, looking around the burned-out kitchen in confusion. The minute she caught sight of Emma and her dad, she let out a strangled sob and hurried over.

“You’re both safe.” She grasped both their hands and squeezed them tightly. “Are—are you okay?”

“We’re fine.” Emma pushed away her tears as her dad put a protective arm around Olivia’s thickened waist, and for the first time in . . . well... ever, she didn’t feel sick at the sight of it. “We’re both fine,” she started to add, but before she could get all the words out, the world began to buckle and spin beneath her.

“Emma, your leg.” A pair of strong hands caught her just before she fell and she twisted around in time to see Curtis behind her, holding her up. She knew something was wrong and she followed his gaze down to her leg.

There was a long angry slash running all the way down from her thigh to her ankle and the wound was bleeding profusely over the floor. Emma bit down on her lip as she realized just how much damage the darkhel had done. And now that she looked at her leg she could feel burning hot tendrils of poison go racing up and down her entire body like it was on fire. She turned back to Curtis and winced. “I think I might’ve screwed up. It really hurts.”

“Of course you didn’t screw up. It’s just a scratch. You’ll be fine, Emma.”

But whatever he was about to say next was lost as Emma’s head started to spin and the world went black.