on the edge of the glass tabletop with her bare feet swinging over the side.
“She can’t see me,” Lorien said smugly.
“What? But you said believing is seeing!” I settled my eyes back on Sunny, who was watching me with an air of concern.
“She thinks you’ve taken a spin on the loopy locomotive,” giggled Lorien, already helping herself to a second jug of my drink.
I snatched my glass away indignantly and turned to Sunny. “I have not taken a ride on the loopy locomotive ,” I insisted. She licked her lips and looked at me as if she thought it might be time to call the nice folks in white coats after all.
Jasper leapt nimbly from his chair to the carpet and stalked around the coffee table. He deposited himself directly in front of Lorien, his bright jade eyes fixed on her and the stark white tip of his black tail twitching. An indulgent expression crossed Lorien’s face as she reached out and sprinkled a light peppering of green faerie dust over his dark muzzle. He promptly began to purr and rub his head against the driftwood base of the coffee table.
I huffed in annoyance. “Apparently Jasper can see you. Why can’t Sunny?”
“She doesn’t truly believe?” Lorien suggested, gazing longingly at my glass.
I jerked back to face Sunny. “You don’t believe me!” I accused in a wounded tone.
“Of course I do!” she claimed defensively. “It’s just a lot to take in—death djinns, and hot half-faerie detectives, and faerie guardians…I’m trying,” she mumbled.
“Can’t you sprinkle her with faerie dust or something to make her see?” I begged Lorien.
“That’ll just make her sneeze,” she smirked. “She has to really believe.”
I thought for a minute. “Okay, Sunny. Lorien’s going to make you sneeze.”
Her eyebrows shot up skeptically and I ignored the added insult to my sanity.
“What I mean is, she’s going to sprinkle you with faerie dust and it’s going to make you sneeze. Will you believe me then?”
“You want me to believe faeries exist because I sneezed?”
“No,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, “I want you believe that faeries exist because faerie dust is going to make you sneeze exactly when I predict. And because I’m your best friend and I say faeries exist.”
“How do you know faerie dust will make me sneeze?”
I blinked at her. “It makes me sneeze.”
“Maybe you’re allergic to it,” she suggested, unconvinced.
I looked imploringly at Lorien, who was in the process of sneaking jug number three from my glass.
“What?” she said innocently.
“How do you know faerie dust will make her sneeze too?” I asked, ignoring the fact that my faerie guardian was apparently a lush. In my present state, I was in no position to judge.
“Oh, faerie dust makes all humans sneeze,” she assured me with glee.
“Lorien says it makes all humans sneeze,” I relayed. Then I narrowed my eyes, “Unless, of course, you’ve been hiding your non-human origins from me all these years?”
Sunny snorted.
“Right,” I breathed. “Okay then—Lorien, do your stuff!”
Lorien plunked her faerie-sized champagne jug on the coffee table and zoomed crookedly over toward Sunny’s nose.
“Sneeze!” I directed in smug amusement a split second before Sunny broke out in a sneezing fit, right on cue. A thick cloud of green faerie dust hung in the air just in front of her face.
I waited a moment, but it didn’t seem to be dissipating and Sunny’s sneezing was becoming more violent. I waved my hand briskly to clear the air, succeeding only in brushing the cloud toward myself and instigating my own sneezing fit.
I attempted to glare at Lorien through watering eyes. “Lorien! You used too much!” My complaint was cut short by three exploding sneezes in quick succession.
The sparkling cloud finally dispersed to reveal Lorien laying back on my coffee table, her overturned jug
“She can’t see me,” Lorien said smugly.
“What? But you said believing is seeing!” I settled my eyes back on Sunny, who was watching me with an air of concern.
“She thinks you’ve taken a spin on the loopy locomotive,” giggled Lorien, already helping herself to a second jug of my drink.
I snatched my glass away indignantly and turned to Sunny. “I have not taken a ride on the loopy locomotive ,” I insisted. She licked her lips and looked at me as if she thought it might be time to call the nice folks in white coats after all.
Jasper leapt nimbly from his chair to the carpet and stalked around the coffee table. He deposited himself directly in front of Lorien, his bright jade eyes fixed on her and the stark white tip of his black tail twitching. An indulgent expression crossed Lorien’s face as she reached out and sprinkled a light peppering of green faerie dust over his dark muzzle. He promptly began to purr and rub his head against the driftwood base of the coffee table.
I huffed in annoyance. “Apparently Jasper can see you. Why can’t Sunny?”
“She doesn’t truly believe?” Lorien suggested, gazing longingly at my glass.
I jerked back to face Sunny. “You don’t believe me!” I accused in a wounded tone.
“Of course I do!” she claimed defensively. “It’s just a lot to take in—death djinns, and hot half-faerie detectives, and faerie guardians…I’m trying,” she mumbled.
“Can’t you sprinkle her with faerie dust or something to make her see?” I begged Lorien.
“That’ll just make her sneeze,” she smirked. “She has to really believe.”
I thought for a minute. “Okay, Sunny. Lorien’s going to make you sneeze.”
Her eyebrows shot up skeptically and I ignored the added insult to my sanity.
“What I mean is, she’s going to sprinkle you with faerie dust and it’s going to make you sneeze. Will you believe me then?”
“You want me to believe faeries exist because I sneezed?”
“No,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster, “I want you believe that faeries exist because faerie dust is going to make you sneeze exactly when I predict. And because I’m your best friend and I say faeries exist.”
“How do you know faerie dust will make me sneeze?”
I blinked at her. “It makes me sneeze.”
“Maybe you’re allergic to it,” she suggested, unconvinced.
I looked imploringly at Lorien, who was in the process of sneaking jug number three from my glass.
“What?” she said innocently.
“How do you know faerie dust will make her sneeze too?” I asked, ignoring the fact that my faerie guardian was apparently a lush. In my present state, I was in no position to judge.
“Oh, faerie dust makes all humans sneeze,” she assured me with glee.
“Lorien says it makes all humans sneeze,” I relayed. Then I narrowed my eyes, “Unless, of course, you’ve been hiding your non-human origins from me all these years?”
Sunny snorted.
“Right,” I breathed. “Okay then—Lorien, do your stuff!”
Lorien plunked her faerie-sized champagne jug on the coffee table and zoomed crookedly over toward Sunny’s nose.
“Sneeze!” I directed in smug amusement a split second before Sunny broke out in a sneezing fit, right on cue. A thick cloud of green faerie dust hung in the air just in front of her face.
I waited a moment, but it didn’t seem to be dissipating and Sunny’s sneezing was becoming more violent. I waved my hand briskly to clear the air, succeeding only in brushing the cloud toward myself and instigating my own sneezing fit.
I attempted to glare at Lorien through watering eyes. “Lorien! You used too much!” My complaint was cut short by three exploding sneezes in quick succession.
The sparkling cloud finally dispersed to reveal Lorien laying back on my coffee table, her overturned jug
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