by Joanne Hall

“A little bit.” Lettanie swallowed. “I’m glad you came back, Zinnia. I didn’t want to die by myself.”

“You’re not going to die,” Zinnia assured her, with a conviction she did not feel. “I’ll make this stop.”

“How?”

“Somehow.” Zinnia sat down on top of the hole punch, rested her chin in her hands and stared around the room, seeking inspiration. Directly below her the boy snored gently, mouth gaping. She toyed with the idea of pushing the hole punch off the shelf onto his head, but dismissed it. It would probably just wake him up, and that would land them in even more trouble.

“What do you know about this boy?” she asked Lettanie. Zinnia hoped to keep her friend talking, so she wouldn’t pass out again; if any information,
however slight, came out that she could use, so much the better.

Lettanie looked bitter. “He wants everything. All the time. He curses at his parents when they won’t let him have his way. He burns ants and pulls the wings off moths.” Her mouth twisted in a pained approximation of a smile. “Let’s just say he’s not marriage material. Why?”

Zinnia rose and stretched her wings. “A horrid child then,” she said, “and one with all the wishes he wants at his disposal.” Her eyes widened a little. “I think I might have an idea.” She jumped lightly off the shelf and flew up towards the window.

Lettanie clutched at the bars. “Zinnia, where are you going?”

“Not far!”

* * *

As she worked her way around the house, Zinnia offered up thanks to whatever gods might be listening that it was summer and all of the upstairs windows stood a little ajar. The first one she tried took her into a bathroom, and she stiffened in horror as she knocked a shampoo bottle from the windowsill into the bath with what to her ears sounded like a terrible clatter. She stood flat and unmoving against the blind, heart pounding, bracing herself for the thunder of human feet on the landing and the sudden glare of light. Several minutes passed, and the house remained dark and silent, before she relaxed enough to move again.

She had more luck with the next room. She guessed by the double bed that this was where her targets slept. Taking care to avoid the plump tortoiseshell cat slumbering with one eye open at the end of the bed, she flew up and perched herself on the headboard to prepare her casting. It would need to be a whispered spell, set on both of the sleeping humans, if it were to have any chance of success. Even then, her spell would take luck.

She tried not to think about how luck seemed to be in short supply, recently.

She lowered herself until she was hovering right beside the man’s ear. Up close, she could see the thick dark hairs sprouting inside, and the overnight stubble on his cheek. Swallowing her revulsion for all things human, she began to whisper her charm.

The spell was long and complicated, demanding many repetitions, and she was nowhere near the end of it when the man gave a loud grunt, and started to roll over on to his side. Zinnia was forced to scramble out of the way of that great bulk bearing down on her, and for a panic-stricken moment she thought she had been spotted as the man’s eyes flickered open for a second. But, with a sigh and a faint snore, his breathing settled down into its regular rhythm once more.

Zinnia let out the breath she had been holding, and flitted over to the other side of the bed to work on the woman, who lay curled up on her side. She noticed the cat had raised her head to watch her flight, but the beast seemed lazy and well-fed enough not to be too interested in her. Still, she would work as quickly as she could.

It was tiring, hovering above the woman’s lavender-scented cheek as she whispered the charm directly into her ear. All the while Zinnia was trying to keep one eye on the cat, who had sat up and was watching her with mild curiosity, still as a statue but for the flicking end of her tail. Zinnia was growing more and more nervous. Twice she stumbled over her words and, as she dropped a little with tiredness, her bare feet brushed against the woman’s cheek. The woman gave a muffled exclamation, raising her hand to brush away this irritant, and the fairy had to dodge quickly to avoid being struck. The cat was crouching now, following her darting motion with its keen green eyes. As she flew up, the cat pounced, claws outstretched, to land directly on the sleeping woman’s face. She awoke with a yell of fright, lashing out and striking her sleeping husband. He grunted and sat bolt upright, blinking in confusion. “What the -?”

Zinnia ducked behind the headboard as the bedside light flicked on, bathing the room with its soft yellow glow. She could hear the two humans berating the cat; no one was looking at her as she made a break for the window. Only the cat saw, and made a futile lunge for her as she flashed by, almost under her nose, and dived behind the curtain.

“Maggie, what’s wrong with you?” The woman glared at the cat as she dabbed her bleeding face.

“Chasing moths, I suppose,” the man said. “Are you all right?”

Zinnia risked one final peek out from behind the curtain. The two humans were sitting up in bed. She caught the eye of the cat, who gave her a disdainful look before pointedly turning her back and raising a paw to her mouth in feigned indifference. She leant against the window, exhausted. She could only hope now that she had done enough.

* * *

As the humans stirred from their interrupted sleep, Zinnia slipped back out through the bedroom window and along the back of the house to the boy’s room. Her brief nap had refreshed her, and she hoped a night of rest might have done some good for Lettanie. She waited until the boy had been called by his mother before she flew up the crouch behind the cage in which her friend was imprisoned.

She could see at once that the break hadn’t helped Lettanie as much as she hoped it would. During the night, her broken leg had swollen to twice its normal size, and where the bone pierced the skin the wound was vivid scarlet, and oozed a sweet-smelling yellow liquid. She sat hunched up against the bars, head drooping onto her chest, and when Zinnia touched her on the shoulder she barely had the strength to startle.

“I’m glad . . . you came back.” Her voice cracked between dry lips. “One more wish . . . should about do it for me. I --” what she was about to say was lost in a spasm of feverish coughing that sounded as if it would tear her fragile frame apart.

“Are you all right?” Zinnia cursed herself silently as the question left her lips, but Lettanie managed a smile at the inanity of it. She drew her hand across her mouth, and looked dispassionately at the thin streak of blood that marked it.

“I’ve . . . been better. I’ll miss you, Zinnia --”

“Don’t talk like that!” Zinnia clutched her hand in sudden fear. “I tried to make everything all right.”

“Tell me, then.” Lettanie closed her eyes. “Just keep talking to me so I know you’re still here.”

“I put a charm on his parents. They at least will be able to resist his wishes, if he wishes something directly of them. A counterspell. I hoped it might help you. And there’s always the chance --”

“Quiet now.” Lettanie twitched. “He’s coming back. I think I’ve only got the strength left to give him one last wish. Will you . . . will you tell my mother for me? Tell her . . . I’m sorry?”

Zinnia bowed her head, her tears falling unheeded on her friend’s hand. “I’ll miss you so much, Lettanie,” she whispered.

“At least it won’t hurt . . . anymore. Down now, here he comes.”

The sounds of argument from outside, muffled by the door, were growing louder, and were suddenly rendered sharp as the boy flung open the bedroom door with a crash, forceful enough to set the bars of Lettanie’s cage rattling. From outside came the voice of his mother, raised in anger. “You can wish all you like, it’s not going to happen!”

The boy’s face was deep crimson as he slammed the door on her. “I hate you!” he screamed. “You won’t let me do anything! I wish I’d never been born!”

And Lettanie smiled, and whispered with her dying breath. “Wish granted.”

***** THE END *****