Part two of a christmas faerie tale

Part two
Locking the shop door, I curse under my breath. Wynnflaed’s abduction had, apparently, taken place on Sprite’s Coven, the new housing estate at the far end of Thornwich. The very mention of that estate sends shivers down my spine. Thirty five acres of ancient woodland, had been torn down and flattened for tasteless, overpriced houses.  Despite being vehemently opposed by the residents of Thornwich Under Elm, the development went ahead on appeal and, as a direct result, a whole faerie clan was lost. It had been disastrous on our relationship with the Fae — we’ve only just, after 8 years, got back to where we were before the whole sorry event.

“Do we have to walk?” Fizzy is moaning already. “It’s miles and miles away!”

It’s not — it’s barely a mile.

“I’m only six and I have little legs,” she whines.

Her legs are not that little. Fizzy is quite tall for her age and, for the record, she is almost seven. “Don’t worry, we’ll take a short cut,” I tell her while stuffing a plastic fairy from my shop into her little back pack (my bargaining chip, should the need arise).

The fact that Fizzy is with me today is not ideal but it’s just one of those things. Ellie is not going to like it but there is absolutely nothing I can do about that. What is bothering me more is Dan from the Shadow Times. Mothers and daughters can usually straighten things out but Dan’s article will cause us all considerable harm.

“Are you aware that we are being followed?” Barbara asks as we round the corner at the far end of the little high street.

I am. And I nod.

It is clearly bothering Barbara, too. “Who is he anyway? And why was he in your shop? He doesn't look the sort to buy anything from the Faerie Emporium.” She pauses in thought and then nudges me. “ Hey, you haven’t got yourself a fancy man have you?”

“No I have not!”  The thought horrifies me. Not that I might have myself a man but that she thinks that he might possibly be Dan.

Barbara looks at me and raises her eyebrows as if she does not believe me.

“He’s a reporter,” I say.

“A reporter?”

“From the Shadow Times,” I tell her. “A newspaper of magical things. Someone’s been talking about the Fae Council and the faeries!”

Barbara stops in her tracks and her face drops. “Who?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea,” I say. And I really don’t but at least I know Barbara is not the traitor and we walk on in silence.

Dan trails us from a distance with a rather expensive looking camera around his neck. He stops and photographs the view whenever we turn to look at him. His surveillance technique is very clearly flawed and utterly useless but we don’t let on.

I am aware of Fizzy listening and looking but she says nothing although I can hear the cogs grinding away in her little head. It won’t be long before she says something, I am sure.

As we enter Sprite’s Coven, Summer, stick thin and the newest recruit to the Fae Council, joins us with the youngest of her seven children clamped to her hip, his tiny, pink, hands clinging tightly to her hand knitted cardigan. Her short, spiked hair is purple today and, despite it being November, she is, as usual, barefoot.  Summer glances behind. “Isn’t that Dan Davis from the Shadow Times behind us?” 

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I’d recognise him anywhere. I love the Shadow Times. Do you read it?”

“No!” Barbara and I answer at exactly the same time.

“Oh, you should. I emailed him to suggest he write about us.”

“Us?” I know exactly what she means but I want to hear her say it. 

“The Fae Council! And the work we do with the faeries.” She does not have to be a witch in order to feel the icyness of the looks both Barbara and I are giving her, anyone a mile away could  probably feel it. “What?” she asks, uncomfortably, “I thought it’d be a good idea.”

“In what way would it ever be a good idea?” Barbara demands to know.

“So,” says Fizzy piping up at last, “there are real faeries!”

I shrug my shoulders.

“Well,” says Barbara.

“Yes,” says Summer with a big smile, “Of course there are.”

Fizzy squeals in delight.

“Well,” says Barbara again.

The conversation dries up.

“Does Granny know about this, Summer?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No,” Summer shakes her head, “Why would she? She can’t read. Besides, she’s very …” she pauses for the right word, “erm, very erm … I want to say insular?”

“You mean blinkered and dysfunctional,” I say it without thinking.

“I think insular is better,” pipes up Barbara, while nudging me in the ribs with quite a force.

“You don’t like Granny much, do you?” Summer glares at me.

“I do,” I answer quickly. “ I do like Granny. I like her very much.” (sort of).

“Well. blinkered and dysfunctional is not a nice way to describe someone,” she says.

“I was joking, Summer.  It was a joke. Which is exactly what you are going to tell Dan Davis.”

“Excuse me?” Summer is scowling.

“As soon as you can I want you to go to Mr Davis and tell him that what you said about us and the faeries was not true. It was a practical joke that got out of hand.”

“But…”

“I don't want to hear ‘but’, Summer. I want to hear you say, yes, Helen. Of course. I’m sorry to have done something so irresponsible and stupid.”

“Wow, you don’t believe in holding back, do you?”  Summer is clearly hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I really am sorry because she is right — those words are not a nice way to describe Granny, however true.  “But, Summer,” I continue, “you are an honorary member of the council due to your connection with Granny and, that being so,  you don't understand the intricacies. In the past there have been human fae interactions that have not gone well.”

“Not at all well.” Barbara shakes her braided head so hard that the beads clatter and her wire framed glasses slip to the end of her nose.

I explain the past problems we have had regarding the faeries and Summer listens intently. She ums and ahs at the right places and then apologises profusely; promising to have words with Dan Davis. I thank her and we hug (which is difficult with a little one strapped to a hip).

Sprites Coven is one long road that spirals inwards. At the centre of the estate is a large pond (more of a lake, really, the size of it) which the first dozen or so houses surround. We eventually find Granny in deep conversation with a human sized Aelfric at the front gate of number nine. Granny is wearing her work hat, a tall black conical thing with a wide brim that does not make her look all that approachable. The fact that she is extremely short allows her to get away with wearing it without getting it stuck in the few trees still standing. Aelfric being Fae, is extremely slender and his skin, being paler than pale, is shimmering in the autumn sunshine. He is wearing a thin band of silver around his head, donating his royal status, and his lank, shoulder length hair has been tucked behind his rather pointed ears. They make a right pair.

“Ah, Helen! You're here at last.” Granny leaves Aelfric and flings her arms wide open to welcome us. “Just so you know, I have carried out four attempts at the rescue already,” she tells me, “and I am of the opinion we will have to turn the family into newts in order to get little Wynnflaed back with us. Nothing is working,” she shakes her head, “the woman is evil.”

“Evil,” says Aelfric, nodding in agreement as he wanders over to us.

Granny looks me in the eye. “Do I have your permission to do this?” she asks.

“Do what?” 

“Turn ‘em into newts.” She pulls a short stick from the folds of her black cloak and starts waving it around.

“No, you you absolutely do not! Don’t be so silly,” I tell Granny. “No magic wands on Council business, remember?”

Granny’s eyes suddenly light up when she sees Fizzy.  “I see you’ve bought young Bubbles along!”

Fizzy giggles. “My name’s not Bubbles.”

“Of course it is,” says Granny, putting her wand away. “I never forget a name.” (She does. Frequently.)

“It’s Fizzy, not Bubbles,” says Barbara.

Granny looks confused.

“Fizzy is short for Isabella,” says Fizzy.

Granny does not look any less confused.

“Never mind,” I say. “What have you done so far, Granny?”

Granny sucks her yellow teeth and is just about to speak when the front door of number nine swings open wide and takes her words clean away. She looks at me, moving her mouth while pointing at the flame haired lady standing in the open doorway with her hands on lycra clad hips. “Newts,” is all Granny can say. “Newts.”

The flame haired lady stands defiantly in her doorway and screams at Granny. “What are you still doing here? I have told you, if you do not leave I shall call the police.”

“We don’t need to do that …” I begin, but the woman does not want to listen.

“Are you with these two idiots? Please tell me that you are here to take them back to what ever special facility it is they’ve escaped from. Get them away from me and my family right now or I will call the police.” She looks at Granny, “You cannot go around terrorising people!” The woman’s angry face is almost as red as her hair. “There are laws against it.”

“Terrorising is a strong word,” protests Granny, adjusting her hat.

I pull her back. “Shut up,” I tell her.

  “Please, I just need you all to go away now,” says the woman.

“Madam!” Aelfric calls out, pointing a long, skinny finger at her, “What you need is a good spatalanking.”

Now, anyone who knows anything about faeries knows they are prone to playing nasty tricks on people, generally as punishment for something. Spatalanking is the name given to this punishment and usually involves nothing more than inconveniences. It does not involve any kind of violence in any way. And never has done.

“What?” The woman is horrified at his words which have been misheard and terribly, terribly misunderstood. “Excuse me? You come here and you tell my husband that! He’ll be here soon.”

“I would if I could,” Aelfric retorts, “but I can't on account of the amulet there.” He points to the horse shoe nailed sideways on to her immaculate front door. 

The woman looks closely at the sideways horse shoe. “Amulet? That’s a ‘C’,” she stabs it with her finger, “it stands for Coven — because this place is called Sprite’s Coven. All the houses have them.”

Summer steps forward . “Is that what you think? It is not a C  it’s an amulet. It keeps the faeries out,” she says.

I sigh loudly but no one takes any notice.

The woman frowns and takes a closer look at the horse shoe. It, along with all the others on the houses of Sprite’s Coven, had been placed there by the developers. Nobody in the head office had any idea how amulets worked and just thought the idea quirky since Thornwich was known for its faeries. Nobody, in that decision making, had any idea that amulets were real and actually worked or that the Thornwhich Faeries, themselves, were equally as real.

“What’s an amulet?” Fizzy asks.

‘It’s a powerful little object that protects against things. Kind of like a lucky charm," says Barbara.

“Or an unlucky charm. It depends on whose side you’re on,” Granny clarifies. “These ones are not at all nice for the Fae folk.”

“Protection against faeries is it?” says the flame haired woman.

Aelfric bows his head to the woman. “It stops us. We cannot pass the amulet. Not of our own free will.”

“We? Us? You’re saying you’re a faerie then?” she asks Aelfric, looking him up and down. And she laughs.

Aelfric stands tall again and puffs his chest out. “Indeed I am! And you, Madam, have my dearest daughter hostage in your dwelling place.”

The woman is not looking so red now. “You are insane, that’s what you are. I’m calling the police!”

“No, Please,” I say, as the woman is about to disappear inside her house, “just hear me out.” I have no idea what I am going to say but I have to say something to get the woman’s attention. I am acutely aware of Dan the reporter man taking lots of photos with his camera. Goodness only knows what is going to happen when it all goes to print but right now Wynnflaed is my priority.

As I am thinking on what to say, things suddenly escalate very quickly. From out of the corner of my eye I see Barbara hugging a now sobbing (did I say Sobbing? I mean wailing) Aelfric. The woman’s husband has turned up in his impossibly big, shiny car and is demanding to know what is going on. Granny has taken her wand out again and is waving it around while saying something unintelligible. I grab the wand just as Granny focuses it on the woman and says the word newt. The woman is fine but, a little way behind us, a camera hits the ground and something small and lizard-like emerges from a bundle of newly discarded, expensive clothing and scurries away from it. A few moments later there is the watery sound of a distinct ‘plop’.

“Dan’s made the pond, then,”  says Summer, a little too happily for my liking. She scoops the camera and clothes from the ground and tucks it all in under her left arm. She does all of this in one swooping movement with her little one still clamped to her right hip. 

Horrified, I look at the wand I am still holding. It really does work!  Embarrassed, I tuck it safely away into the back pocket of my jeans and hope nobody, other than Summer, saw what had happened. The husband’s voice brings me back into the chaos of now. He is saying something about the police. As I am about to say something, a fear inducing screech fills the air and stops me. It does the job and quietens everyone. It’s Fizzy. She’s wailing and I immediately think she is hurt.

A quick look over my shoulder confirms that Fizzy is not hurt. She is screeching for her faerie doll and is begging the woman to give her back. My heart sinks as sirens and flashing blue lights arrive on the scene. Two male police officers climb out of the car and immediately run to Fizzy as she is being yelled at by the woman.

“That horrible lady has stolen my faerie doll,” Fizzy tells the officers, having scaled down her theatrics.

The officers look accusingly at the woman who protests her innocence.

“She has my Wynnflaed tied to her Christmas tree,” sobs Fizzy.

“Whats your name,” asks one of the police officers.

“Fizzy.”

“Well Fizzy, don’t you worry. Is Wynnflaed your doll?”

Fizzy nods.

“We will sort this out for you right now.”  The police officer then straightens himself up.

“Are you her mother?” The officer asks Summer, who has sauntered over to Fizzy.

‘Oh no,” Summer shakes her head. “I’m Granny’s apprentice.”

The officer screws his face up. “Granny’s apprentice?”

Summer looks at him with puppy eyes and a big smile.

The officer clearly does not know what to think and so he looks away and asks us all if anyone witnessed the alleged doll theft.

Granny throws herself forward with her arms outstretched. “Me! I witnessed it all,” she says.

“Ah, thats good,” says the second officer, walking towards her. “I’m going to need to take a statement from you.”

Granny looks, suddenly, very unhappy. “Well, you can’t,” she says, stepping backwards.

“I’m afraid I have to. If you are a witness you have to give a statement. That’s how it works.”

“How what works?” Her arms are now in front of her, hands clasped together.

“Being a witness.”

Granny huffs loudly. “Well, I can't be a witness then.”

The police officer stops smiling. “If you've seen what happened you must be a witness it is your duty. You have to give me your statement.”

“My what? My statement?” She shakes her head, “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have any,” says Granny wiping her hands against her hips and clearly trying to not lose her temper. 

“You don’t have any what?”

“Statements. I don't have any.”

The police officer looks confused.

Aelfric, having regained some sort of composure, wanders over to Granny, puts his arm around her shoulders and bends low, to her height, “Are you sure you don't have any,” he asks her helpfully.

“No, I don’t. I don't even know what they look like.” Granny shrugs her shoulders.

Aelfric straightens himself up and taps the officer on his shoulder. “She cannot give you a statement because she doesn't have any about her person. I expect she accidentally left them at home with her cat.”

The officer, looking very confused, is about to say something when the flame haired woman marches straight up to him and points directly at Granny and Aelfric. “Don’t listen to these two. They are insane! Bonkers!” She yells. “They have obviously escaped from somewhere.”

“Officer,” I hear Summer say. “This lady needs to calm down.”

I pull the faerie from Fizzy’s back pack. “Have this as a good will gesture,” I say to the woman offering the little plastic doll to her. “This needn’t escalate any further. Please, just give Fizzy her little doll back.”

“I think we need to see the doll that is the cause of all this trouble,” says the first officer, Fizzy’s officer. “Could you bring it out please?” It’s an order disguised as a question.

Wynnflaed is brought from the house by the woman’s son. She is being gripped tightly in his chubby little hands and I can see she is floppy and looks to be in a very bad way.

“That’s her! Thats my little Wynn,” gasps Aelfric, before Barbara pulls him back.

Fizzy takes Wynnflaed from the boy who is reluctant to see his christmas fairy go.  “This is my special fairy,” she says. “And I need her back.”

The boy starts protesting and I show him the little plastic faerie I bought along for the swap. He is not interested he wants to keep poor Wynnflaed. “It’s finders keepers,” he says.

“So,” says, Fizzy’s officer to the boy, “you are saying that you found it?” 

“The dog found it,” says the boy’s mother, the flame haired lady.

“But it still means it’s mine,” whines the boy. His tone suddenly changes as he says to Fizzy,  “Give it back to me or I’ll punch you.” 

The police officers are both clearly overwhelmed by what is going on and start talking about arrests. The flame haired lady is not happy and is barking orders to her husband. Granny is begging me for her wand back —  which is not happening, not right now. The pond already has one extra inhabitant. There’s lots of shouting and the volatile situation has become totally out of hand. 

I am aware of a bright flash and I feel the  ground shake beneath my feet. I look across at Barbara whose arms are flailing in the air as she tries to keep her balance. Where, just seconds ago, there was noise there is now silence. I feel as though I am in a photograph everything around me is still. I feel my back pocket, thinking I must’ve dropped Granny’s wand or something, but the wand is still there. I move slowly and as I move I can see that Fizzy is moving too. 

“Time to go now,” says Aelfric. “Best go quickly. This won’t last long.”

“Time has stopped!” I hear myself say.

“But not for us and not for long,” says Granny, already trotting off towards the path leading 

out of Sprite’s Coven. “Come along Bubbles,” she calls to Fizzy, “and mind you don't drop the little faerie.” She has both hands holding the brim of her large hat. For someone so small and round she is pretty spritely. “And don’t you go dropping your offspring either,” she says to Summer as they all round the first bend out of Sprites Coven.

“I suggest we run,” says Barbara.

We leave the police officers, the flame haired woman and her family behind us, as still and as silent as the resin gnomes in some of the surrounding gardens. Ahead of us, Granny and co are disappearing from view and I envy the speed Granny can reach. I am finding running a bit difficult, as is Barbara — my legs have not broken out of a jog for many years and Barbara is carrying a little bit more weight than she’d like (her own words not mine). We are are trundling more than running.  “Can you not go any faster?” Aelfric asks. He has returned to normal faerie size and has hitched a lift on my shoulder. “My magic won't last long, you know!”

“I am going as fast as I can! If you don't like it, then maybe you should use those wings of yours and fly.”

“I would if I could. Having to spend so long in human form takes a lot of effort, you know?  And remember, I also used my magic to allow us our escape. I am far too tired to fly.”

I feel a little ashamed and apologise to him.

“Just hurry up,” he says. “And tell your friend to get a move on too. Whatever is she doing anyway?”

Barbara is lagging behind us and sounding extremely apologetic on her mobile phone. 

Annoyed at the fact she is  on her phone while the rest of us are running for our lives (at least trying to in my case) I yell out to her. “What are you doing, Barbara?”

She waves her hand at me in a motion that clearly says ‘shut up’.

I wait for her to catch up, something Aelfric is most unhappy about.

She reaches us with a big smile on her face, “It’s all okay. Everything is going to be fine,” she says, slipping her phone back into her coat pocket.

“Who was that on the phone?” I ask her, as we walk on at a far more reasonable pace.

“Bob Griss.”

Bob is the police commissioner for our area. He is one of the very few people who know about the Fae Council and the work we carry out. He’s a grumpy so and so. Our paths do not normally cross, but on the occasions they do he lets us know in no uncertain terms what a terrible inconvenience we are to him. I’ve lost count of the last chances he has given us. 

“I thought it best that we contact him before he hears about it from other sources. If you know what I mean.”

I knew exactly what she meant.  “You were lucky to get hold of him,” I say, mentally recalling all the times he has refused to answer my calls.

“Oh, I have his personal number.” Barbara winks at me.

“How on Earth did you manage that?”

“Do you remember the time I went to the Bishop’s barbecue?”

I didn’t  — Barbara goes to a great many church related things.

“Well,” she went on, “Bob Griss was there with his wife. Only it wasn’t his wife. If you know what I mean.

I did. “How did you know it wasn’t his wife?” I ask. “Do you know his wife?”

“Of course I don’t,” she scoffs, “but I do know Cheryl Baker- Smythe!”

“The butcher’s wife?” I cannot believe what I have just heard.

“The very same,” says Barbara. “They were very surprised to see me at the barbecue, I can tell you. They probably thought they were safe being so far from Thornwhich. Anyway, I won't go into anymore details, I promised I wouldn’t, but, suffice to say, Bob gave me his personal number.”

We laugh about it as we walk and as we reach the little high street where my shop is we are greeted by the booming voice of Granny. “Get lost did you?”

A, ‘quick cup of tea before we go,’ is never as quick as it implies. Three cups of tea and four packets of ginger nut biscuits later, and I am finally bidding Granny and Summer good evening at the door. 

Barbara, who never likes to leave anyone alone with a witch, laughs. “I was beginning to think they’d settled in for the night,” she says.

Fizzy is cooing over Wynnflaed who is very comfortable in the shoe box she has lined with tissue paper. The faerie is making a remarkable recovery and I predict she will be well enough to leave in the morning.

“Be a good girl Fizzy and leave Wynnflaed to rest now,” I say.

“I think she might be starving,” says Fizzy. “Are there any biscuits left?”

“No biscuits left,” says Barbara. “You given her more than enough biscuit pieces.”

“She’s only had half of a biscuit!” says Fizzy.

“Half a biscuit? That’s more than plenty for a faerie,” I tell her. “We don’t want her too fat to fly, do we?”

Barbara is about to leave when Ellie walks in.

“You’re early,” I say looking at my watch which says it’s half four.

“Yes, I know. The last meeting got cancelled. I did try to call you. Your phones switched off,” says Ellie. “Hello Barbara, I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“My phones never off,”  I say, and I grab it form my pocket. Unfortunately, Granny’s wand falls to the floor as I grab my phone.

Ellie swoops down. “You’ve dropped something, she says,” as she picks it up.

“That’s okay, leave it,” I tell her.

Too late.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Oh , it’s just a…”

The penny drops.

“Oh. My. God,” she says, “It’s a magic wand.” and then, to Fizzy, she adds, quickly,” But not a real one, sweetheart.”

“It is,” says Fizzy, “and she turned a man into a frog with it.”

Ellie is glaring at me.

“I can promise you, I did not turn anyone into a frog,” I say.

“But Summer said you did,” says Fizzy.

“Well I didn’t.”

“We’ve had a bit of a day today,” says Barbara ( in the same sort of way you might say, “I’m sorry for your loss,” to a bereaved person).  

“What happened Barbara?” Ellie is clearly very cross. “Please tell me my mother didn’t turn turn someone into a frog.”

Barbara takes Ellie’s hand and leads her to a chair, “Come and sit down,” she says to Ellie.

(This is not good).  “Put the kettle on, Helen, and we’ll all have a cup of tea.” (This is even worse).

I wander into the kitchen as I hear Barbara say, “Ellie, I promise you, Helen did not turn anyone into a frog.”

Ellie sighs loudly with relief.

“It was a newt.” Barbara says it so calmly and sweetly

How on Earth will I ever be able to straighten this out?

 

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