curse to get lunker-size for a week, his flagging endurance had returned full force. It had fixed his mangled foot and erased the fairy steel scar that had pained him during thunderstorms. It was as if he was brand-new. And Mattie wasn’t.
“Mattie, please,” he began, but as every other time, she smiled and shook her head.
“I love my life. I love you. And if you keep buzzing me about it, I’m going to put fairy scales in your nectar. Now tell me how you’re going to help the Vincet family.”
He took a breath, and she raised her eyebrows, daring him.
Jenks’s shoulders slumped and his wings stilled to lie submissively against his back. Later. He’d convince her later. Pixies died only in the fall or winter. He had all summer.
“I need to destroy a statue,” he said, seeing the clean wood around him and imagining the dirt walls Vincet was living between, then remembering the flower boxes he and Mattie had raised most of their children among. He was lucky, but the harder he worked, the luckier he got.
“Oh, good,” she said distantly. “I know how you like to blow things up.”
His mood eased, and he shifted her closer to feel her warmth. Pixies had known how to make explosives long before anyone else. All it took was a little time in the kitchen.
And a hell of a lot of nitrogen,
he thought. “By tonight,” he added, bringing himself back to the present, “to help free a dryad.”
“Really?” Eyeing him suspiciously, Matalina popped her half of the sweetball into her mouth. “I ’ought ’ay were cut ’own in the great deforestation of the eighteen hundreds. ’Ave they emigrated in from Europe?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But this one is trapped in a statue, existing on energy right off a ley line instead of sipping it filtered from a tree. He’s been slipping into Vincet’s children’s minds when they sleep, trying to get them to break his statue.” He wasn’t going to tell her the dryad had accidentally killed one. It was too awful to think about.
Matalina stood, rising on a burst of energy to dust the ceiling. “A city-living dryad?” she murmured, cleaning wood that would lay unseen for months if Rachel continued her pattern and avoided her desk even after they vacated it. “Tink loves a duck, what will they think of next?”
Jenks reclined to see if he could see up her dress. “Blowing it up isn’t the problem. See, there’s this nymph,” he said, smiling when he caught a glimpse of a slim thigh.
She looked down at him, her disbelief clear. Seeing where his eyes were, she twitched her skirt and shifted, eyes scrunched in delight even as she huffed in annoyance. “A nymph? I thought they were extinct.”
“Maybe they’re just hiding,” he said. “This one said something about waking up. She was having a hard time breathing through the pollution.”
Until she came after us.
Flitting to the opening in the desk, Matalina shook her rag with a crack. “Hmmm.”
“She’s got this goddess…warrior vibe,” he said when Matalina returned to the ceiling. “Mattie, the woman is scary. I think if I get the dryad free, the nymph will follow him and leave Vincet in peace.”
Again Matalina made that same doubt-filled sound, not looking at him as she dusted.
“Freeing the dryad is the only way I can help Vincet,” Jenks said, not knowing if Matalina was unsure about Sylvan or the nymph. “He’s only been on his own for a year, and he has three children and passel of newlings. He’s done so well.”
Matalina turned at the almost jealous tone in his words, the pride and love in her expression obvious. “You were nine, love, when you found me,” she said as she dropped to him, her wings a clear silver as they hummed. “Coming from the country with burrs in your hair and not even a scrap of red to call your own. Don’t compare yourself to Vincet.”
He smiled, but still…“It took me two years to be able to provide enough for Jax and Jih to survive,” he
“Mattie, please,” he began, but as every other time, she smiled and shook her head.
“I love my life. I love you. And if you keep buzzing me about it, I’m going to put fairy scales in your nectar. Now tell me how you’re going to help the Vincet family.”
He took a breath, and she raised her eyebrows, daring him.
Jenks’s shoulders slumped and his wings stilled to lie submissively against his back. Later. He’d convince her later. Pixies died only in the fall or winter. He had all summer.
“I need to destroy a statue,” he said, seeing the clean wood around him and imagining the dirt walls Vincet was living between, then remembering the flower boxes he and Mattie had raised most of their children among. He was lucky, but the harder he worked, the luckier he got.
“Oh, good,” she said distantly. “I know how you like to blow things up.”
His mood eased, and he shifted her closer to feel her warmth. Pixies had known how to make explosives long before anyone else. All it took was a little time in the kitchen.
And a hell of a lot of nitrogen,
he thought. “By tonight,” he added, bringing himself back to the present, “to help free a dryad.”
“Really?” Eyeing him suspiciously, Matalina popped her half of the sweetball into her mouth. “I ’ought ’ay were cut ’own in the great deforestation of the eighteen hundreds. ’Ave they emigrated in from Europe?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But this one is trapped in a statue, existing on energy right off a ley line instead of sipping it filtered from a tree. He’s been slipping into Vincet’s children’s minds when they sleep, trying to get them to break his statue.” He wasn’t going to tell her the dryad had accidentally killed one. It was too awful to think about.
Matalina stood, rising on a burst of energy to dust the ceiling. “A city-living dryad?” she murmured, cleaning wood that would lay unseen for months if Rachel continued her pattern and avoided her desk even after they vacated it. “Tink loves a duck, what will they think of next?”
Jenks reclined to see if he could see up her dress. “Blowing it up isn’t the problem. See, there’s this nymph,” he said, smiling when he caught a glimpse of a slim thigh.
She looked down at him, her disbelief clear. Seeing where his eyes were, she twitched her skirt and shifted, eyes scrunched in delight even as she huffed in annoyance. “A nymph? I thought they were extinct.”
“Maybe they’re just hiding,” he said. “This one said something about waking up. She was having a hard time breathing through the pollution.”
Until she came after us.
Flitting to the opening in the desk, Matalina shook her rag with a crack. “Hmmm.”
“She’s got this goddess…warrior vibe,” he said when Matalina returned to the ceiling. “Mattie, the woman is scary. I think if I get the dryad free, the nymph will follow him and leave Vincet in peace.”
Again Matalina made that same doubt-filled sound, not looking at him as she dusted.
“Freeing the dryad is the only way I can help Vincet,” Jenks said, not knowing if Matalina was unsure about Sylvan or the nymph. “He’s only been on his own for a year, and he has three children and passel of newlings. He’s done so well.”
Matalina turned at the almost jealous tone in his words, the pride and love in her expression obvious. “You were nine, love, when you found me,” she said as she dropped to him, her wings a clear silver as they hummed. “Coming from the country with burrs in your hair and not even a scrap of red to call your own. Don’t compare yourself to Vincet.”
He smiled, but still…“It took me two years to be able to provide enough for Jax and Jih to survive,” he
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