A Christmas Faerie Tale

( A short story in two parts the first of which is below)

Part One

My daughter is always in a hurry on the rare occasions she drops Fizzy off at my shop. I find it intriguing that she can manage a workforce of dozens yet she finds something as natural as motherhood a bit of a challenge.

“Thanks for this, Mum,” she says. “I’ll be back around six.”  She kisses Fizzy and tells her to be a good girl for nan.

I smile. “She is always good. Now, don’t make yourself late!”  I open the door for her and kiss her on her cheek as she leaves.

“Oh, and Mum? Please, no faeries!”

“Look around, Ellie,” I say to her, “It’s a faerie shop! They’re everywhere.”

Ellie groans and gives me one of her stares, “You know what I mean.” 

I know exactly what she means but being chairperson of the Fae Council it is not always that easy. Faeries are awkward to say the least. They look to the council to sort out their business with humans and so when problems occur I have to act. Ellie had grown up being dragged from one fairy disaster to the next, she did not want her daughter to grow up knowing that fairies were anything other than Tinkerbell, let alone real.

“Mummy doesn’t like faeries,” says Fizzy, matter of factly. “She says they’re nasty little things.” She shrugged her young shoulders. “I can’t think why?”

I could. I remember back to the time when eight year old Ellie was chosen to be the faerie queen at the Village Parade. She was not much older than Fizzy is now but she was far more sassy than Fizzy. Ellie oozed confidence and she looked beautiful. Her hair shone in the sunshine and tumbled down her back in golden curls. It was all going so well until one of the real faeries became jealous. It took ages for Ellie’s hair to grow back to anything like what you could call normal. Granny had tried all sorts of her lotions and potions but nothing worked. It was the faerie spit apparently.

“Faeries are not for everyone,” I say to her.

The shop bell rings as a small, thin man steps through the door. He is not the usual sort of customer that visits my shop. My customers are the dreamy sort who take an idea and hold it to their hearts. My customers are believers. And they usually visit at weekends. This man obviously cares very much about his appearance, perhaps too much, and everything about him looks sharp. 

“Hello there,” he says to Fizzy, who stares blankly back at him. She is as curious as I am as to who this man is and, more importantly, what he wants.

I send Fizzy into the back office. You cannot be too careful these days. 

“Helen Maven?” he asks.

I swing into shop owner mode. “How can I help you?”

The man puts a business card on the counter,  sliding it towards me, and introduces himself as Dan from the Shadow Times.

“The what?”

He taps the business card. “Shadow Times, a local paper — well local ish. You’ve probably heard of us?”

I hadn’t.

“I’m a reporter,” he says, as though it changes absolutely everything.

Which it doesn’t.

I frown. “Reporting on shadows?” I realise immediately how silly this sounds. 

He grins.  “Let me explain. We cover stories from the other realm. The Shadow realm. You know, ghosts, witches, magic and,” he stops grinning and looks me straight in the eyes, "and faeries.”

I smile now. “Well you’re in the right place for faeries. There’s all sorts of faerie stuff here.”

He nods in agreement. “The Faerie Emporium is certainly all things faerie, but I think we both know that I am talking about real faeries. I am not talking about your shop, Helen. Can I call you Helen?”

I don't have time to respond.

“Apparently,” he goes on, “it’s true what they say. That the faerie village Thornwich Under Elm is, indeed, home to indigenous faerie folk and you, Helen, are head of their council.”

I laugh out loud, anything to throw him off the scent. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds,” I say. “You're talking about real faeries? Real ones?”  I laugh again.

“I am,” he says, not smiling.

Fizzy appears from the back office and is clearly excited about what she has heard, which is all I need. “There’s real faeries here in Thornwich? Really?” she says.

I sigh. Ellie was sure to find out about this. Fizzy was bound to talk. My best strategy now is damage limitation.

“Dan,” I say. “It’s alright to call you Dan isn’t it?” I don’t give him time to answer. “Dan, I cannot begin to think how you came across this wonderful, if far fetched, idea but …”

Dan does not let me finish. “Oh, I can assure you my source is a very reliable one.”

“Don’t tell me an actual faerie came to you with the story?” I say it light heartedly but inside I am praying that this is not so. Faeries love to play tricks and wind humans up if they get a little bored and I cannot rule out this possibility.

Dan bites his lip nervously.  “Not a faerie, no. But it is someone who is on the Fae Council.”

The shop bell alerts us to someone entering the shop. Both Dan and I look towards the door. Dan coughs nervously.

“Hi Barbara, I will be with you in a moment,” I say. Barbara is one of my best friends who also happens to be on the council with me. Her turning up when Dan is here bothers me a little,  I hope that the leak did not come from her. “Look, Dan,” I say, turning my attention to the reporter, “it’s ludicrous, this person, whoever they are, is clearly having a laugh with you. I can assure you that the only faeries in Thornwich are pretend ones, like the ones here in my shop. I am sorry I can’t help you any further.”

Dan glares at me and snatches back his business card. “Well, thank you for your time, Helen, I hear what you say but I think I will do my own research,” he says.

“And you are totally in your right to do that,” I say to his Boss clad backside disappearing out of the door.

“So,” asks Fizzy, “there’s not real faeries here?” She sounds a cross between confused and disappointed. 

“No,” I say. “Like I said to the man, the only faeries in Thornwich are the ones here in nanny's shop.”

“Or,” says Barbara, leaping into the conversation a little too eagerly,  “the ones tied to christmas trees,” she looks at me with her big dark eyes bigger than ever.

“Or, the ones on christmas trees,” I say to Fizzy, without really thinking, and rub her head playfully.

“No! Tied, to christmas trees,” says Barbara, slowly, between gritted teeth. “Tied! Against their will.”

“Oh,” I say.

Barbara nods. “We have a problem.”

I send Fizzy into the back office again which she's not too happy about.

“As you can see,” I tell Barbara, “I have Fizzy with me today.”

Barbara looks at me, sighs loudly and folds her arms.

  “Ellie’s little girl,” I say, just to clarify the matter, Barbara knows all about Ellie’s feelings on the faeries. “Is it not something that Summer can sort out?”

“Summer?” Barbara shakes her head so firmly that all the coloured beads braided into her black and silver hair rattle. “No it is not! Absolutely not. This situation needs you, Helen, not Granny’s apprentice. And Granny, by the way, is on the scene as we speak.”

My heart sinks and I sigh. If Granny is involved it means the situation is serious with the distinct possibility of turning nasty. Granny does not usually bother with faeries, although she does keep an eye on them. She makes it her business to know their business inside out.  It was for that very reason, in my early days as head of the council, I declared Granny an honourable member — it was not the most popular of decisions, Granny being a witch and all that, but it had to be done. For the most part it had been a good idea but there had been occasions when it had not. 

“Just to be clear, “ I ask Barbara, “this is not Granny’s doing, is it?”

“No, she has declared herself on official council business. She’s trying to help. Although Aelfric doesn't seem too happy about her involvement.”

“Aelfric? Aelfric is there?” This is not good to hear. Aelfric is the king of the Thornwich Fae.

Barbara nods her head. “Yes he is! Full adult height too,” she tells me. “Wynnflaed is the casualty. She was out in the hedgerows, from what I can gather, and was grabbed by a dog. She immediately went limp and the dog dropped her but the little boy who was with the dog picked her up and took her home where she was tied to the Christmas tree. Mr Frimley saw it all happen.”

"Mr Frimley?" I get angry as the penny drops bang into place. "He's been feeding the bloody faeries again hasn't he? After all we've told him."

The day is not getting any easier. Wynnflaed is the youngest offspring and only daughter of Aelfric. He has, by all accounts, 27 children and she is his favourite. 

“Fizzy!” I call my little grandaughter from the office as I grab the shop keys. Ellie is not going to like this but there really is nothing I can do about it. “Get your coat on sweetie, we’re going out."