Alan Goodspeed is an ordinary teenage boy with all the hopes and dreams of any other teenage boy. Except for when he was a teenage girl. And then there was the whole pixie parenthood thing. That's fairly normal... right?

 

Fair warning This is Chapter 4 in a series that I've not finished yet. That being said, for those who do decide to proceed, it's all plotted and I do intend to finish this, even if it is at the normal Jemima pace of things and will be woven around producing chapters of other stuff. Thanks for reading this far and I hope you enjoy this fourth chapter! I would particularly like to thank everyone for their kind comments and encouragement. It's really appreciated. And of course *big hugs* to everyone who took the time to kudos and comment on the last chapter. This chapter was slightly delayed due to catching a cold this week that really disrupted my ability to think clearly enough to write for a while. So without further ado:
 
Previously in Chapter 3…
 
Reaching the double doors to the library, I grasped the handles throwing them open and then…

And then…

And then started to backpedal furiously. Standing in front of me was a figure in full plate armour. He towered above me, easily standing 7 foot tall and in his hands he held the biggest sword I had ever seen. The most fearsome part of the warrior wasn’t his sword though. Or the assortment of other smaller armoured figures behind him. No, the fearsome part was his helmet. The curved solid steel visor had no gaps save for two triangular eye slots and a terrifying jagged mouth cut into it. All of this was illuminated by a demonic glowing golden light from within that gave the impression of a Halloween pumpkin come to life.

“Alannah Goodspeed… It is time. I have come for you,” said the warrior, his deep voice rumbling around the library with the finality of death.

In the circumstances I did the only thing I could think of. I passed out.
 
 
And now Chapter 4…
 
Owwww… my head.

It wasn’t an OMFG my head’s been split open but there was a dull throbbing from my forehead as if I’d head butted a wall or something. I guess in the circumstances I couldn’t really complain. I did pass out after all. That reminded me, mental note to self — as a girl I seem to pass out like the heroine in a Jane Austen novel. Please stop doing it.

I cracked open an eye to sneak a peek at my surroundings. I appeared to still be (a) alive (b) in the library and (c) alone. All things considered I probably couldn’t complain about that outcome from having faced off against some sort of demonic knight. At least that’s how I’d retell the encounter to others when asked. I’d tell how I’d faced down death and stood my ground bravely. I mean I did sort of face off against him… well, for the few seconds before I passed out anyway and I totally didn’t move from my ground, clearly someone else moved me while I was unconscious so I can still claim to have stood my ground bravely-ish… right?

Ahh… screw it. If I had a coat of arms it would be a chicken-trussed on a field of fries.

Reaching behind my head I found that whoever had moved me had thoughtfully placed some sort of cloth bundle under my head. Huh. Considerate demonic knights? Was that even a thing? And where were my girls? Concentrating on the empathic link all I felt back was… giggling?

“Sonnet?” I whisper-hissed.

Nothing. Not even a ‘tikka’. Ohhhhhh… someone was going to be sooooooo grounded soon. The loss of Disney XD was going to be the least of her problems if she didn’t respond soon. An Old Testament style grounding was on the cards.

“Sonnet!” I whispered a little louder. “Sonn--“

Anything further I would have said was interrupted by the sound of clanking metal accompanied by soft voices. I opted for the better part of valour and closed my eyes again.

“…look at her! Not only is she scared of her own wings but at the first sign of danger what does she do?!? She passes out! And she doesn’t even have the sword! It’d be like being led into battle by a… by a… by a tortoise!”

If I wasn’t lying on the floor faking being unconscious after having actually fainted I think I’d have been offended by that comment from whoever this unidentified woman was. I hadn’t heard from the voice of doom yet which I wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or a good thing. Still, at least no one was trying to eat or hit me so oddly this was probably the best first encounter I’d had in two weeks. And I still (so far) wasn’t dead yet… so yay me.

“The Queen speaks highly of her potential,” said a different female voice.

“Potential? Potential Darwin Award material sure but potential princess material? No way! The Queen did everything short of hanging a sign around her neck saying ‘this-is-a-red-riding-hood-costume-if-you-don’t-believe-me-look-at-the-hooded-scarlet-cloak-oh-and-by-the-way-remember-the-big-bad-wolf-that-ate-granny?’ and guess what, she left the sword lying around and very nearly died! And then when she meets us… she faints!”

“To be fair they did say she was prone to the fainting thing,” said the second voice. “Should we splash some water on her or something?”

“Do you have any water on you?” asked the first voice.

“Well, no. My canteen is in the van. You?” replied the second voice.

“Same here.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“I could urinate on her if it helps?” said a deep male voice.

“Ewwwww!” squealed both female voices before the first voice added. “Why would you even suggest that?”

My own mental ‘ewwwwwww’ added to that of the two female voices. I wasn’t sure if this counted as mortal danger but it wasn’t high on my list of things to experience that was for sure. And where were my pixies in all this? Being pee’d on by demonic knights sounded exactly like the sort of thing that they should be protecting me from. If it wasn’t, I’d sure as hell be adding it to that list of things that momma doesn’t like that Pell kept.

“Well, partly to hear you two squeal like school girls and partly to see if it would encourage the faker to admit she’s been awake for at least most of this conversation.”

“What do you mean she’s awake?” asked the second female voice. “She looks the same as she did when we carried her here.”

“Two reasons. One, she’s moved her left arm under the cloak you put under her head and two, she held her breath when I threatened to urinate on her.”

Ooooo… busted.

“Um… hey guys,” I said, cautiously opening first one eye then the other. The sight that greeted me caused me to let out a relieved sigh.

“Princess,” said the first woman, her blue Pyskie skin and white hair now visible where her helmet had been removed. “It is good to see that you are unharmed. I am Tate.”

As she curtseyed I noticed now what I had originally taken to be a shield on her back was actually armour covering her wings like the rest of her body. That, and the vicious looking axe in her hand, gave the impression of someone you didn’t want to mess with.

Huh. What do you know? It seems my ‘subjects’ were seriously kick ass.

“Princess,” said the second woman. Like the first she carried a fearsome looking hand weapon though in her case it was a Mjolnir like war hammer. Unlike Tate her plate armour was engraved with intricate rune patterns. “My name is Felice.”

Accepting a hand from each I was gently lifted to my feet.

“I’m guessing you know my name then,” I said, sheepishly ducking my head to avoid looking them in the eyes.

It’s one thing to be cowardly but an altogether different proposition to be caught being cowardly. Well, unless you make like the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz and own it. Probably not an option for a princess, however unwillingly I found myself one.

“Of course Princess Alannah,” replied Tate. “I would like apologise for anything that I may have said that caused offence.”

“It’s fine,” I replied. “Really.”

Well, maybe not fine but y’know noblesse oblige and all that. I really hated people that walked around with a sense of self-entitlement and if I had to be royalty was I determined to be more of the ‘bicycling monarchy’ sort than the ‘pomp and circumstance’ sort. Royalty for my money was about service rather than entitlement. I may not want to be a Pyskie princess but I was going to try my hardest not to be a stuck up Pyskie princess.

“Good. Now perhaps it is time for us to become acquainted,” said a deep rumbling voice from behind me.

It was the sort of voice that made James Earl Jones sound a bit girly. Deep, resonant and masculine with a little bit of an accent I couldn’t quite place. I turned to come face-to-chest with a towering wall of flesh and steel. He gave the definite impression that the sculpting in his armour wasn’t the lust filled fantasy of a sexually repressed blacksmith but rather a reflection of what was actually under the steel and chainmail. As ideal male physiques went, the armour was perfect apart from a small dent in the chest plate that was about my head height. As the rest of the armour was polished so perfectly that the armour shone I could only assume such an imperfection was recent.

Letting out a small whimper I slowly panned my head upwards from his chest to see the demonic pumpkin-like visor gazing down at me, its glowing triangular eye holes and jagged mouth seemingly beckoning me to hell itself.

“Grab her! She’s passing out again!” yelled Tate as I felt my legs buckle. “And for Goddess’s sake take that helmet off will you! You’re scaring the poor child.”

As my vision started to grey out I saw the armoured figure pull off his helmet to reveal a handsome golden skinned man who glowed with a warm amber light. Unlike Queen Joan’s long spun gold hair his golden hair was styled in a fashionably short razor cut with black tips. And yeah, it definitely looked like it involved styling and product but it really worked for him giving him a sort of rakish appearance. It might have been my light-headedness from impending unconsciousness but I could have sworn he looked familiar.

“Sorry Princess,” said Tate. “You have a task for tonight, so we’re a bit pressed for time.”

Before I could ponder the meaning to her words I felt a stinging open handed slap across my face that left my ears ringing.

“HEY!” I shrieked, reaching up to cup my cheek and shaking myself free of the Felice’s grasp.

“Annnnnnd… she’s back,” said Tate, rather too smugly for my liking.

“I’ll give you something back,” I hissed, shaking a fist at her in warning.

“*AHEM* the King…” said Felice, gesturing with her head from Tate to the armoured male figure.

“What? Oh… OH!” replied Tate, before curtseying to the ‘King’.

“Princess Alannah Louise Goodspeed, Heir to the Sundered Thrones, may I introduce you to his most royal funkaliciousness King Jack o’ the Lantern, co-regent of the Pixies; Lord of moors, forests and the gardens; Lord of Tupelo, Memphis and Las Vegas; Keeper of the Shoes of Azure Leather; and Guardian of the Golden Light,” intoned Felice.

I’m the heir to what now? I know my ears are still ringing from the slap but did she just say I was heir to the Thunder Dome? Though actually the ‘two men enter, one man leaves’ thing would be kind of easy to carry off bloodlessly if I was one of the contestants and was allowed to change it to ‘two men enter, one man and one woman leaves’.

Looking at my two Pyskie companions I could see that I was expected to say something.

“Um… it’s a pleasure to meet you your royal… funkaliciousness…”

Is funkaliciousness even a word?

“Thank you, thank you very much. I’m sure it is a pleasure for you,” he replied, lifting up my hand to lightly kiss it. “May I say that you look very beautiful princess?”

I shivered as his lips brushed my skin, goosebumps spreading from the back of my hand all the way up my arm.

“Umm… I guess?” I said with a shiver.

“In which case, you look very beautiful princess.”

“Ummm… thank you.”

Oooooo… he was teasing me. Yet I didn’t mind. There was just something about this guy. A sort of personal magnetism that made you feel like you were the only boy-transformed-into-a-girl in the world.

“So you’re Queen Joan’s co-regent and… husband?”

“Got it in one little lady,” replied King Jack, adding a clicking sound at the end as he pointed at me forming his fingers into a horizontal ‘L-shape’. “Though there’s more than enough King Jack left to go around if you know what I mean and King Jack likes to go around.”

If Queen Joan was regal class, King Jack was… something else. The only reason these two could have for being together was an arranged royal marriage. Well, either that or he was hiding a foot long that Subway would be proud of under that armoured codpiece.

Okay, deep breath. Ignore the very handsome golden man and focus on what got me into this mess.

“So what was with the whole demonic knight scaring the crap out of me thing?” I asked, pointing to his armoured helmet.

“It puts fear into my enemies,” he said, a slightly defensive tone to his voice.

“Helllloooooo?” I said waving my hands over myself. “Scared witless and not your enemy.”

“See, I told you it would scare her,” said Tate in a voice that reminded me of a small child proven right after an argument. All it lacked was a ‘neh-nah’.

“Tate did have a point Your Funkaliciousness,” added Felice. “Given that time is of the essence it perhaps wasn’t the most opportune moment to overwhelm the poor child with your magnificence.”

Felice exuded the same sort of obsequiousness that a career civil servant had in the presence of their elected masters, running the fine line between being a kiss ass and strangling them with a reel of government red tape.

“Well, I apologise if you’re all shook up,” said the King, punctuating his apology with a respectful bow. “A fool such as I should have known better.”

That was a trifle… unexpected. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as I first thought. What was it that dad always said? You shouldn’t judge people on first impressions. Maybe dad was right.

“Oh… well thank you.”

“And if you’d like to stop by my chambers tonight, I could think of some ways in which I could make it up to you,” said the King, wiggling his eye brows suggestively in a way that Roger Moore would have been proud of.

On second thoughts you know nothing dad.

“I think I’ll pass on the offer but thank you.”

“Your loss princess because King Jack’s a big hunk o’ love and let me tell you, there ain’t nothing that King Jack won’t do to give a lady satisfaction. And King Jack he ain’t had no complaints.”

Oh phul-eeze. It was all I could do from sticking two fingers down my throat and miming being sick. And what’s up with this third person royalty thing anyway. There was no way Alannah was doing that.

“Sooooooo…” I said, pointedly ignoring the come on and gesturing to the small assemblage of armoured Pyskies that had filed into the area around us. “Who are these?”

“My elite bodyguard and let me tell you King Jack’s body is certainly worth guarding. You won’t find a more perfectly perfect male physique than King Jack’s outside of a Michelangelo sculpture. And being impossibly handsome is just one of King Jack’s many virtues.”

We won’t mention that they had to remove his modesty and humility to make room for his impossible handsomeness because they clearly weren’t amongst his virtues.

“As for guardians of this magnificent body, they are as you would expect nothing less than the most drop dead gorgeous collection of amazons you will ever meet.”

And girl was that statement true. It was like the King was being guarded by those models that were in the Robert Palmer music video, ‘Addicted to Love’. Well, that’s assuming the models in the video were blue, winged, armour clad and were wearing a lot less make-up.

“My bodyguard leave a trail of broken hearts and broken bones in their wake. Heartbreakers one and all,” said the King before adding with a full on leer. “Though they pale in comparison to your beauty, princess.”

“Hey! I’m right here!” squealed Tate. “I’ll remember this when you’re feeling lonesome tonight.”

“Now Tate,” whined the King. “I know that you can be a hard headed woman but please don’t be cruel.”

“Cruel?!? I’ll show you cruel,” hissed Tate. “Let’s see if you’re feeling so clever when a part of you is far less golden than now and far bluer. How about that eh?”

“Taaaaaaaate… Baby, don’t make me beg. C’mon… let me be your teddy bear… y’know you want to.”

So that’s how it was with the King’s elite bodyguard. It seemed a lot more than guarding that magnificent muscled body that looked like it had been etched from marble was going on than the title bodyguard would suggest.

Wait… did I just think that?

“The King has a degree of personal magnetism that you will find hard to resist outside of your Pyskie form,” whispered Felice as she gently lifted my jaw closed with the tips of her fingers. “If you shift to Pyskie form you’ll find it doesn’t affect you.”

“But Tate…”

“Is… how would you say it in your idiom? Ahh…. Tate is taking one for the team,” said Felice. “More than once on most nights actually.”

“Wait… what?”

“The King and the Queen have been on separate plains of reality since the 1670s. The King has… needs. Needs that Tate… satisfies?”

“And the Queen knows this?”

“Yes. She even approved Tate.”

“Wait… so Tate is some sort of courtesan?”

“I’d suggest you never use that word in her presence Princess. If you value your wings that is.”

“I’m sorry,” I added hastily, trying to speak around the foot clearly wedged in my mouth. “I intended no offence. Y’know in Firefly Inara is one of my favourite characters…. After Simon and Kaylee because that’s an ‘awwwwww’ thing and y’know Jayne… because *tscha* Jayne… and obviously Mal… and River just for the kick ass awkwardness… and then who wouldn’t love Wash and Zoe…”

“Not helping,” replied Felice, amusement evident in the sing-songy tone of her voice.

“Sorry. Again. Sorry.”

“You caused me no offence Princess and I’m sure Tate doesn’t need to know of your misspeaking.”

“Thank you,” I answered gratefully. “Thank you… though…”

“Though?”

“I’m curious how she can…”

“How she can put up with him?” asked Felice with a cheeky smile. “Let’s just say that God choose to balance the shortcomings in the King’s personality with rather longer ones elsewhere…”

Oh?

Oh!!

“And what… she’s been playing hide the sausage with him since the 1670s?”

I at least had the good grace to blush when I asked that question. My imagination was working overtime on what size exactly the sausage in question was. I’m betting it wasn’t a cocktail sausage.

Wait… I did it again didn’t I?

“Pretty much though we did lose him for a few years in the 1950s and 60s but other than that, yes. Personally, rather her than me though.”

“Yeah,” I replied, watching him go through the usual motions of male apology to Tate while she stood with her back to him, her arms folded. I don’t know why he went to the trouble personally. Clearly that bitch wasn’t worthy of him. Now, on the other hand I wouldn’t… no, bad thought! Bad!

“Happening again?” asked Felice. I just nodded my head in reply, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

“You could just shift to Pyskie form?”

I shook my head in reply. I was a Goodspeed and we were stubborn people. I can beat this. I was greater than the sum of my hormones. Or should that be wo-mones? Either way, mind over matter. As long as I avoided focusing on his bronzed golden skin and the armour that invited you to peel it off to view the rippling muscles and perfect set of abs underneath and… *groan* not again.

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you. It takes a few minutes to take hold but once he’s under your skin you’ll find your body starting to react strongly to him like a drug. I’ve seen him turn hundreds of human girls into screaming teen groupies before. If you shift to Pyskie form it will purge that reaction from your system.”

“Why doesn’t Queen Joan have this effect on me?” I said, with a tone of voice even I would admit was whiney.

“Were you in male or female form when you met her?”

“Uhhh… female under a male glamour.”

“Then there is your answer.”

“Sorry?”

“You do know you’re a straight girl, right?” said Felice, reaching out to reassuringly touch my arm. “If you were a lesbian or bisexual in female form then the Queen would have affected you. I would therefore suggest from your reaction to the King, that in female form you are a very straight girl.”

Oh, that’s just… peachy. I knew I was straight in female form but very straight? Not even a little bi? Urrgh. Kill me now.

“Tikka?” giggled a voice from behind me.

“And where have you been Sonnet?” I asked, instinctively adopting that motherly grump of disapproval. I still didn’t dare to open my eyes either in case I got a case of the King Jacks.

“Tikka.”

“And that’s supposed to be an excuse?”

“Umm… tikka?”

“And what about the others?” I asked with a snort of disapproval.

“Tikka! Tikka!”

“To be fair princess, your daughters have been very helpful in enabling us to contain ‘not grandma’ and make sure she didn’t hurt herself or anyone else.”

“Ummm… how is Granny Constance?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

In my defence I’ve had a stressful day followed by a panic filled evening. That one or two small details may have escaped my attention, such as the werewolf formerly known as Granny Constance, should not be held against me.

“Still a werewolf if that’s what you’re asking.”

“She’s not roaming the library is she?” I asked, cracking open an eye to glance around the immediate vicinity.

“Between your pixies and ours we have her safely contained for now. I’ll be conducting the banishing ritual at dawn. If we’re lucky there will be enough of her left to salvage… something.”

“I could call upon the Family for help,” I offered. “They might not like it but they may be able to provide some experience in the matter? At the very least, they could lend their magick?”

I was reluctant to do it because admitting I needed help from the Family was basically handing them something to use against me but I couldn’t let a sweet old lady die just because of my pride.

“Thank you princess but you will find that you do not have anyone with more experience at banishment rites than we do given our long life spans. More importantly, the Family cannot know of our presence. I know that this business with the weres is a human matter but if the Golden Court was to become aware that our forces were nearby, they would mobilise their own against us.”

“I could hide your involvement?”

“Unfortunately, your pixies alone are not sufficient to contain the creature. No, this will come down to our experience and the strength of will and Talent of the possessed.”

“Uncle John said Granny Constance was one of the most powerful witches he knew of,” I added hopefully.

“Then there may yet be hope for her.”

“And if there isn’t enough of her left?” I asked. I had a horrible feeling I knew the answer to that question.

“Then she will be rendered unto God.”

Oh. That sounded very… final.

“Can… can I see her?”

“Of course princess,” said Felice, slipping her arm through mine. “Allow me to be your guide.”

Felice steered me through a maze of stacks until we came to what had once been a small reading section, the desks now moved to create a small clearing. A large opaque golden orb dominated the clearing with a dimly visible figure inside that could just be seen clawing at the inner lining.

“Wow,” I whispered as I gazed at the scene before me.

“Yes,” replied Felice, squeezing my arm. “Wow.”

It wasn’t the orb that caused my wow, I had seen more modest versions before after all. No, it was the figures floating in the air above it that took my breath away. There were easily at least a hundred pixies dancing in the air above the orb, maybe more. As they swooped and looped around it was impossible to accurately gauge exactly how many there were.

“It’s amazing… I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

“It’s a sight I never tire of even after 1500 years,” replied Felice, her voice heavy with a touch of reverence. “They are filled with so much joy and life.”

“Momma!” called Pell, swooping down to hug me. “Momma, play!”

“Maybe later sweetie,” I said returning the hug.

“If you want to change out of your pink skin and join them princess it will do no harm to the containment spell,” said Felice as what I assumed was one of her own pixies landed on her shoulder.

“That’s okay I nee–“

I was interrupted by another one of my litter dropping on top of my head.

“Tikka! Giddy-up momma!” squealed the pixie as she picked up handfuls of my long blonde hair and held it like reins.

“Snowflake,” I hissed, feeling my face flush with colour.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Felice moved a hand to cover her mouth in what I could only assume was an attempt to mask a traitorous giggle.

“Giddy-up momma horsey!” squealed Snowflake, gently kicking at my ears with her heels.

“Sweetie, we’re not at home now,” I said, singing the words to her as I tried to remove her from my head. “Ow. Watch the hair will you?”

“Momma!” sang out a chorus of voices.

Looking up I saw the rest of my litter swooping down from the giggling ring of pixies to envelope me in hugs. The feelings of love that they broadcast were so overwhelming that I couldn’t keep my eyes from misting up as I returned 13 tiny little hugs (and didn’t return one insistent giddy-up).

“So, ummm, the banishing ritual… do you think it will work?” I asked as casually as one could when covered in 13 small furry pixies while the 14th kept digging imaginary spurs into my ears.

“I have experience of conducting a few in the past. Given the number of pixies with us some of the older ones may well provide their assistance,” replied Felice.

“So you channel their wild magick like a familiar?” I asked, pondering just how euphemistically the word ‘assistance’ was being used in this case.

It was the sort of word that when used by the Family in the context of creatures of the Golden Court could be used interchangeably with the word ‘compelled’, for there was no choice involved. However, the way that Felice’s nose wrinkled in disgust gave testament to the fact that it wasn’t the case.

“No, of course not princess. You are not alone in viewing your litter as your children. We accept only that which is freely offered. It is the Pyskie way. The human witches and warlocks take from the creatures of the Golden Court much like the humans do Mother Nature, thoughtlessly and without care for the cost of doing so, but we of the Pyskie understand that all life is interconnected. It is that same understanding that allows us when in Pyskie form to manipulate ‘pure’ magick directly from the wellspring that all living creatures are part of rather than as the human’s do through the filter of their ‘familiars’.”

“Wait… you access the wellspring directly?” I asked.

I may have rebelled against the Family but there was a time once when I didn’t. One of the earliest lessons they teach little warlocks and witches was the story of the wellspring. Supposedly it was a tree, a great yew tree in fact, that had existed since the birth of the world. It was supposed to be the link between the creator and all life. No one, not even the Golden Court, knew where the tree was but that didn’t stop people searching for it. Supposedly even the smallest part of the tree could amplify the possessors Talent to incredible levels.

As you can imagine accessing the wellspring directly was a Holy Grail type objective for many witches and warlocks just as possessing a part of the tree was for the Golden Court. The closest any witch or warlock had come to it was the use of familiars. There were tales of illegal alchemical attempts to infuse the wellspring connected essence of animals and other creatures into witches and warlocks but that never ended well. For an example of this see: Weres, Wolf and Pires, Vam.

“Despite our human origins our Pyskie state is more than human. It is this that allows us to tap into the wellspring. The stronger our human Talent was, the stronger that link to the wellspring.”

Now that was a frightening thought. I’d been tested as a child by both House Goodspeed and by House Grimm and by all accounts I had an exceptional gift, greater even that that of my siblings or parents. In human terms I had the potential to be not just powerful but a legendary practitioner of the Craft. The sort that gets books written about their exploits. Direct access to the wellspring of pure magick with my level of Talent… the words of Pitt the Elder came to mind, ‘Unlimited power is apt to corrupt the minds of those who possess it’. I’d seen that first hand as a child and wasn’t about to go down that road however well-intentioned the paving of it was.

And then there was the Family.

I shuddered to think what the Family would do if they knew that my Pyskie form could access the wellspring directly. Given what they had done to Tracy Fairborn it seemed certain at the very least that they would be hunting down litters of pixies to bond their chosen witches and warlocks to so as to create more good little soldiers for the cause. I couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing that humans were so disconnected from the wellspring.

Thankful I had neither the knowledge of the Craft nor inclination to use it to make my potential come true. I just needed the Pyskie to understand this and let me get out of this whole royalty / coming war thing and let me get on with my life as normally as anyone subject to a pixie bonding was able to.

“Is the banishment ritual complex?” I asked, turning my attention back to Felice.

“It is challenging. It will depend on the physical and magickal strength of ‘not grandma’ if it has any chance of succeeding.”

I really hoped for once that my luck would hold and Granny Constance was saveable. God knows I could really use a break right now. I seemed to be responsible for the deaths of more old people than old age. The Witchfinders had killed Agnes to get close to me and I suspected that Granny Constance wasn’t just a random were attack. Weres weren’t creatures of the Golden Court, and only a witch or warlock could become a were-something due to its nature. The animal avatar needed to feed off the host’s Talent when it wasn’t dominant, something that it couldn’t do with a mundane.

During the day when the avatar’s influence was weakened it was still enough to prevent the possessed from seeking help but when the sun set the avatar was in complete control. The ability to shift to wolf form was dependant on the phases of the moon but suffice to say that when an unsuspecting lover said of their partner that they were an animal in bed they weren’t always wrong. So, with that in mind what were the odds that a little old lady would be randomly attacked by a were? I think that question pretty much answered itself. This had the hallmark of a targeted hit all over it. The real question, the only one that really mattered, was am I the mark? I had a feeling I needed to find that out pretty quickly.

“Wait… if you’re conducting the ritual yourself… does that makes you a cleric?” I asked.

I stopped as Felice pointed to the runes inscribed on her armour. That and the war hammer suddenly made sense. A cleric was basically a witch or warlock that had trained in a specialist version of the Craft. They had originally been a tool of the Church, the title cleric invented to distinguish them from the witches and warlocks that the Church was simultaneously and hypocritically persecuting. Raised as monks, they were fed a diet of Faith and Craft and over time they had evolved a very distinct form of the Craft. They were able to turn the undead, exorcise the possessed, that sort of thing. Their focus took the form not of a ring or a wand but of a symbol of their faith — the cross, the ankh, even runes. It was rare to find one now, the Reformation and the Age of Enlightenment had reduced their numbers until only a handful of monasteries remained that could train one. Some, but by no means all, Family Houses employed a cleric for their specialisms but most Houses had a few witches and warlocks who dabbled as amateur clerics focussing on those areas of the Craft. I knew that Opa Grimm had a several trained clerics working for the Family full-time as opposed to House Goodspeed who only had a couple of part-time amateur clerics.

“Yes my princess. I was inducted as a child during the reign of Pope Anastasius II and would serve the Church for 20 years until I found my own pixie children.”

I have no idea when that was but the name sounded old. Like Roman early church old.

“Where you there at the defeat of the Golden Court?” I asked.

Even with the small bit of information imparted by the Queen my knowledge of what actually happened to lead the Golden Court to leave our world was still largely lacking. If the Golden Court were truly returning and I couldn’t get out of this princess gig then I needed to know what happened. I had a feeling my life might just depend on it.

“No. I missed it by the smallest span of time as I did not become a Pyskie until the early sixth century. Perhaps I was fortunate in this as there are very few Pyskie alive today who were at the Battle of Buckland St Mary, not because of the length of time as 1500 years in well within our lifespans, but because of the casualties we took in driving the Fey from this realm.”

“Which is why we are so hesitant about showing our hand now,” intoned the deep male voice of the King.

“You were there? At Buckland St Mary?” I asked. If Queen Joan was, King Jack had to be.

“I was. At the head of 2,000 of the finest warriors I will ever lead into battle. By the end of the battle that evening I led just 52 warriors from the field. The Golden Court led none from the field at the end and left closer to 5,000 behind including 60 of note. Two of Queen Mab’s own sons were amongst that number.”

“The Golden Court had underestimated us and allowed Queen Joan to dictate the timing and location of the battle,” added Tate in a quiet voice. “Yet despite this were it not for the deaths of her sons and the loss of her much favoured third son, the Golden Court still had more than enough forces in reserve to have finished us in a second engagement.”

I watched as the King wrapped Tate in a surprisingly tender embrace, wiping away her tears.

“Queen Mab has seven sons… had seven sons,” said Felice, picking up the thread of the story. “Her eldest two, Princes Oak and Hawthorn, died in the battle but it was the loss of her youngest son, Prince Rowan that drove the Queen into a black grief that saw her accept defeat and withdraw the Golden Court from this realm.”

“Rowan didn’t die in the battle?” I asked, uncertain as to the use of the word “loss”.

“No. We had all assumed he had but when we buried the dead he was not amongst them,” said Tate in a low voice. “Yet I know he was there because I saw him in the battle.”

“So what happened to him?”

“No one knows for sure,” said Felice. “There are rumours that he fled wounded from the battle and upon learning of the withdrawal of the Golden Court from this realm and of the wards erected by Queen Joan to prevent its return or others to follow it, he fled the British Isles for new lands.”

“Actually, there are more than rumours,” said the King. “I met him a century after the battle in what is now Germany.”

“What?” exclaimed a shocked Tate, struggling free from the King’s embrace.

“This is only known to Queen Joan and now the three of you. If Queen Mab were to know of this she would throw her forces at the wards in such numbers they would not be able to hold, caring not for the losses to her forces would sustain in breaking them. And then this realm would fall quickly to the might of the Golden Court for we are not yet strong enough to oppose her.”

“So where is he?” I asked.

“I do not know where he is now but back then Prince Rowan took the name Caorthann, the Irish name for the tree he was named for, and had settled in a small village in the Black Forest. When I met him he had undergone a profound change in his attitudes to humanity, having experienced first-hand the kindness of humans in nursing his wounds after the battle. Unable to follow the Golden Court into exile he decided to spend time amongst the humans and had by the time I met him, taken a human wife.”

“Something that would have appalled Queen Mab,” said Felice.

“Yes,” said the King. “Which is why he begged me not to reveal that he still lived to the Golden Court. His human wife was pregnant with their child at the time. In return for my silence he promised never to return to these isles and to keep his existence hidden. To my knowledge he has kept his word.”

“So wait… that means her title isn’t just hyperbole. There really is a human line that does uni–“

Felice’s words petered out under the sharp glare emanating from the King towards her.

“A human line that what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” replied Felice, staring intently at her shoes. “An idle thought that has no consequence princess.”

No consequence my ass. As much as I was a princess to the Seditious Court, and oddly I don’t seem to remember applying for that position, it seemed there was another human prince or princess to the Golden Court running around out there. I just hoped the poor dumb schmuck had better luck than I did though knowing my luck it was probably Xander and we were destined to duel it out on Mount Doom or something. Mind you, if it was Xander at would be quite comical actually given he wouldn’t be able to see his own subjects. Not that I didn’t wish I couldn’t see mine at times given their propensity for hitting me.

“Your Funkaliciousness,” announced a new Pyskie as she approached us. Kneeling in front of the King she held out a familiar velvet wrapped bundle.

“You can keep that,” I said, moving away from the bundle.

I was 17 years old and had already killed my first person. I know in some cultures this would be celebrated as a rite of passage to manhood. I would be a ‘made man’ for want of a better term. I however had no intention of celebrating such an act and even less intention of adding a second death to that list. A small part of something precious died in me that night and I didn’t want to lose anything further.

“It is yours by birth right,” said the King, carefully drawing a long blade from the bundle.

As he turned the blade over in his hand I noticed the precious metals covering the basket hilt gleam in the reflection of his own internally generated warm light.

“The sword hilt is iron. However, the Queen had it coated with gold, silver and copper melted down from 16th Century coins. The blade itself is of the finest metal and has one edge coated in silver that you will find helpful against creatures such as weres.”

Yeah, it would have been really helpful if the Queen had highlighted that fact. A word, a text… maybe a link to a youtube tutorial… otherwise how was I supposed to know the stupid sword was for fighting werewolves?

“It is perfectly balanced for you despite its size thanks to modifications made by the finest Gnomish blacksmiths. It has also been enchanted as a singing sword fit for a princess. It will sing of your purity of heart in peace so as to inspire the good character of your subjects and in battle it will sing of your bravery to drive your warriors to victory. If you were to select a champion or the sword were to be held by a warrior of the Seditious Court, it would whisper to them a song of victory and glory everlasting so as to inspire them to greatness whenever they hold the sword and fight in your name.”

“And it’s singing to you now?” I asked the King, straining against the silence of the library and the sound of giggling pixies to hear anything.

“Carmina Burana. O Fortuna,” he said looking pleased with himself.

“And does it sing the same song to everyone?”

“Let’s find out,” said Tate, taking the sword from the King. “Ooohhh… Wagner. Ride of the Valkyries. Felice?”

“Julia Ward Howe. Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

“Figures with a religious girl like you,” replied Tate, mock rolling her eyes.

“Princess?” asked Felice, offering me the sword. “Are you not curious to hear the song that the singing sword finds in your heart?”

Curious? Hell yeah. Who wouldn’t be in such circumstances? It would be like having your own personal theme tune. Whatever mine was, I was hoping it was seriously kick ass.

“Only to hear the song,” I said gingerly grasping the offered hilt. “Don’t see this as accepting the sword or anything, okay?”

“Of course princess,” replied Felice with a maddening hint of obsequiousness.

“I’m serious. Let’s get this over with.”

As my grasp closed around the hilt and Felice released her grip of the blade I felt a hair raising tingling on the back of my neck. A tingling that quickly turned into a gentle humming behind my ears and then burst into a full orchestral score. Drums. Keyboard. Guitar… it certainly wasn’t classical which suited me fine. Who wanted the sort of soundtrack you got from an upmarket action movie? No mine was definitely… pop. In fact as the vocal track started it was definitely familiar.

♬ ‘…Not a word from your lips… you just took for granted that I want to skinny dip…’ ♬

Wait a minute… I recognise that song. It’s… oh… that’s just peachy.

“Princess?” asked Tate expectantly.

“Uh… something classical and uhhh… inspiring. I’m not a big classical music fan,” I said trying to pass the sword back to the King as the ‘na-na-nas’ started in my head. “It’ll come to me.”

Yeah, it’ll come to me after I google inspirational music and pretend it was that.

“Lots of big classical stuff going on,” I said gesturing to the sword and then my ears. Could I improvise the name of a classical music song in my moment of crisis? Nope.

I couldn’t help but notice that while I was speaking Felice was swaying slightly to herself and appeared to be mumbling something under her breath. I was fairly certain I saw her mouth the words ‘cherry wine’ before her face lit up like she’d just discovered that she had the winning lottery numbers on a double rollover week.

“OMG!” squee’d Felice as she wrapped me in a hug. “Everyone! She’s pure of heart!”

“Well, fuck me… seriously?” asked Tate. In response Felice just squee’d more.

“Whoa. Everyone! Rejoice! The princess is a virgin!” called out Tate to the crowd of Pyskie’s that had gathered a short distance from us.

“And frankly that’s probably rarer than meeting a Troll in this day and age,” murmured Tate sotto voce to the King.

All it took was for my mother to be here and for me to be only wearing my boxers and I’m fairly certain I’ve had this as a nightmare. I’d just been outted as a virgin in front of a bunch of complete strangers who just happened to be all gorgeous women. I think my poor, battered, often absent, masculine ego was just about ready to throw in the towel right now.

“What? No? Why… why would you even say that?” I called out, trying to prise myself free from Felice. “I’ve done lots of girls! Really! I’m a bad boy! Honest!”

“If that’s the case your virgin-ness, why did the sword sing Jermaine Stewart’s ‘We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off?’?” asked Tate smugly.

“How should I know? It’s your people’s freaking swo-- no, wait… you could hear that? How come you could hear that and I couldn’t hear yours?” I stammered.

“Umm… ‘it will sing of your purity of heart in peace so as to inspire the good character of your subjects and in battle it will sing of your bravery to drive your warriors to victory’ remember? And as for us, ‘if you were to select a champion or the sword were to be held by a warrior of the Seditious Court, it would whisper to them a song of victory and glory everlasting’. Emphasis on the ‘whisper’. I apologise your virgin-ness if we appear to have forgotten to mention that it wouldn’t sing to just you. Oopsie. Our bad.”

Oh great. This is really, really… peachy.

And no way, no how did that bitch not do that to me deliberately. This is game on. Tate is so going down to China Town. There would be revenging.

“I apologise for my earlier remarks Princess,” said the King, bowing respectfully to me. “I had not appreciated that you were of such pure heart.”

“What? No! Don’t apologise… it’s not…” I said, feeling my face burning in what I had no doubt was a similar shade of crimson to my dress. “Maybe it’s just referring to my female state? Wait… yes, that’s it. Because I obviously haven’t y’know… done ‘it’ in this form.”

Advantage Alan.

“Ummm… actually, the sword sings about both your forms your virgin-ness,” said Tate. “If you had been deflowered in either form it would have changed the song.”

Game, set and match sword.

“Well it’s wrong. What does it know? It’s just rusty metal… right? Am I right? Anyway, I can prove it to you. I’ve done ‘it’ lots of times. Let’s.. umm... do ‘it’… right now. On that desk over there. The King can drizzle me in uh… his… golden love… syrup and uh… butter my muffin? He could toast… my… teacake?”

Yeah… wasn’t really sure where I was going there. It turns out I can’t talk dirty to save my life. Or it seems to save my reputation which just goes to show how screwed up a world we live in when I’m trying to prove I’m not a virgin. Oh, and it appears I just propositioned the King for heterosexual sex with me as the girl. *groan* That damned personal magnetism of his again. This is just so… so…

Peachy.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

“Hush Princess. It would be wrong for your first time to be so… tawdry,” said the King, softly pressing a finger against my lips. “Your first time should be special.”

“Awwwwww,” squealed Felice again as she hugged me tighter.

“Will you stop doing that!” I hissed as I once more struggled to free myself from her grasp.

“Forgive me princess,” said Felice, releasing me. “It just fills this jaundiced heart with joy to find one such as yourself in today’s world.”

“It’s not that unusual,” I muttered, more to myself than Felice.

“Tscha!” snorted Tate. “Pound for pound you’re probably worth more than gold if we sold you to some rich Arab, particularly with those extra few pounds of puppy fat you’re carrying there.”

“Probably not helping here,” whispered Felice behind her hand to Tate.

“So uhhmm… princess. Have you asked the sword for your battle song?” asked Tate.

Ohhh… she’s just baiting me now.

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously princess,” said Felice. “Remember the song to inspire in battle?”

“So how do I make it do that?” I asked, looking at the hilt for a hint of an Apple style iPod control without luck.

“You could ask the sword your virgin-ness,” said Tate.

“Oh… OH! Okay!”

Well this had potential. My battle song. The sword couldn’t really go wrong there could it? Battle song seemed fairly defining as a category.

“Sword… uh… play my battle song. Please?” I asked holding it out before me and willing it to play something inspiring and even masculine. I always like the theme to the movie Glory. That would be pretty kick ass. Right now, I’d even take the Magnificent Seven theme. Hell, the 60s Batman theme would be a step up from proclaiming my purity to the world.

And the song that I will lead my armies into battle with — or not lead them into battle with if I had my way — is…

Drums… that’s good… annnnnd… it’s turned into a pop song? What sort of battle song is a pop song? I guess I should at least be glad it’s not Waterloo by Abba. It’s actually familiar. I think I own it… female singer…

Oh. Oh, no.

Sara Bareilles. Brave.

♬ ‘…Honestly I wanna see you be brave…’ ♬

Great. Freaking sarcasm from a sword.

“Can I get this thing melted down?” I asked.

“Princess!” gasped Felice. “It’s an enchanted blade. That would be unthinkable.”

♬ ‘….Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, Show me how big your brave is…’ ♬

“How about having it repurposed? Maybe made into some nice garden rake? I mean who uses swords anymore anyway? No one, that’s who.”

“Princess! This is your ancestor’s sword,” replied Tate, an almost reverential tone to her voice. “This is the weapon of a Pyskie princess. Not as clumsy or random as a gun. This is an elegant weapon for a more civilised age. For over 5000 years, the Pyskie have been the guardians of peace and justice in this realm.”

I watched as Tate and Felice shared a quick fist bump. A deeply suspicious fist bump for my mind.

Waaaaaait a cotton picking minute now… I’ve heard that speech before somewhere… did they just quote Star Wars to me?!?

“Well this isn’t really a civilised age is it? Even if it was, as I said who would use a sword in this day and age? And for the record you are hardly Jedi knights.”

Yeah, so you can take your midichlorians and shove them where the sun don’t shine.

“If you were to face an elf you would soon see the value of your sword princess,” said Felice, her face set in a stern expression.

I mean seriously? I know elves are all ‘I know kung-fu’ and there is no way in hell I’d ever want to fight one but surely a gun would make more sense. No way, no how do I ever want to get close enough to an elf to be able to use a sword.

“Well that’s stupid. An elf would carve me up in seconds that close. No, the answer is guns. They got really big in the 18th Century. Look them up. That’s what you need to defeat the Golden Court. I doubt they have guns in this ‘other’ realm they’ve been hiding in.”

“You are mistaken princess if you think a gun will save you against an elf but this isn’t just about killing,” said the King, addressing me with the tone of voice a teacher might use for a child that kept missing the obvious. “Anyone can kill. No, it’s about honour as well. Facing your opponent in single combat with only your skill with the blade and the blessings of the goddess to see you to victory.”

Oh this is just peachy. It seems that I’m the Princess of the Luddites.

“Well that’s kinda stupid surely? They have trolls. Sword proof trolls.”

Yeah, skin like granite in daylight remember.

“Yes they have trolls but these aren’t just ordinary swords,” said the King drawing his own blade. “Every single one of us here carries an enchanted blade that is capable of cutting through the armour of one of the human’s tanks.”

“But–“

“This matter is not up for further discussion,” said the King raising his hand. “Nor is the matter of your accepting the sword up for further discussion.”

“Now listen here yo–“

“This conversation is over. Ealhwyn, please make the necessary arrangements for our departure,” said the King turning to one of the Pyskie’s gathered a short distance from us.

“Felice, you will need to brief the princess on her task.”

“Hey, I’m tal–“

“Princess, I’m sure it has been an immense pleasure beyond your wildest dreams for you to meet me,” said the King, taking my hand in his and brushing his lips across the back of it in a courtly chaste kiss. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head now little lady, you’ll get to see me again.”

He said something else after that but I was distracted by the sparkling golden light around him and the music that filled my ears.

♬…Blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night, blinded by the light…♬

*Sigh* Our babies will be sooooooooo beautiful…

“She’s gone again,” I heard Tate say as she waved a hand in front of my unseeing eyes. “Felice, could you sheath the sword? I hated this song first time around in the 70s.”

I think three of each would be good. They’d have their father’s gorgeous looks, his dazzling smile, his sparkling eyes…

“She’s revved up alright. Feel her pulse,” said Felice as she removed the sword from my unresisting grasp.

And of course they’d have to be lots and lots and lots of practicing before we started making babies. Just to be sure that we were doing it right you understand… *sigh*

“Forced shift?” said Tate as she carefully checked my pulse.

“Probably for the best.”

“On three?”

In my blissful haze I felt a slight buffeting as the two Pyskies wrapped me in an embrace.

“One. Two. Three. Shift.”

I felt my whole body convulse as all the air was expelled from my lungs and something flowed into me, filling my whole being. Normally, the shift from human to Pyskie was something that barely even registered. A gentle all over tingling. This however was a shock. Not painful but definitely unsettling.

“Wha… what did you do?” I gasped as the air rushed back into my lungs.

“Detoxed the King out of your system,” said Tate as the two Pyskies released me. “If you shift back to human now you will find you aren’t in his thrall anymore.”

I pictured the King in my mind and was relieved to note the absence of any desire to procreate with him. That being said as I looked towards the door he had left the library through I couldn’t help but feel a little empty. As if something important was gone from the room. Maybe it was just the absence of the golden light the King generated but since he’d left the colours in the library seemed a little more muted than before.

“So what happens now?” I asked, shifting back to my human female state.

I still couldn’t shift to my male state on my own for some reason that no one seemed to understand. Aunt Sophie had even suggested that maybe I had been resisting the change to male using my raw Talent subconsciously which was one of the stupidest suggestions I’d ever heard.

“Felice and a couple of our detachment will stay to oversee the banishment ritual. The rest will regroup with the King.”

“And what about me?”

“You’ll go home princess,” said Felice.

“And what about the wolves?”

“They’ve already left. When they couldn’t break down the door they left the building, probably assuming that the old woman would finish you off.”

“And that’s it? Sorry you nearly ended up as Alannah Snacks but we’ll be going?”

“No one can know of our presence here princess,” said Felice. “We are in no position to engage the Golden Court yet.”

“You keep saying that,” I squealed in frustration. “Just how many warriors do you actually have in this realm?”

I noticed the glance shared between Felice and Tate.

“Oh my god… it’s a bad number isn’t it.”

Please, please may it be at least a four figure number.

“You have to remember princess that our presence here was never intended to be as an army. The Queen withdrew our forces to the realm of á†lfhá¡m during the early stages of human industrialisation when she felt that our time here in Middangeard was drawing to an end. Those that remained were left as watchmen under the King’s banner, intended to deal with any trouble from the scattered remnants of the Golden Court that were left behind when Queen Mab departed this realm for á‰sageard,” said Felice.

Great. Now it appears I’ve got to Wikipedia the crap out of Anglo-Saxon realms to work out what half of that meant. Only I could get involved in an adventure that has a homework component.

“So what are we talking? A legion?”

That would still be okay, right? A legion was like five thousand soldiers if memory served.

“Uhhh… smaller than that. More of a symbolic number for the Pyskie.”

“Exactly how small a number are we talking here?”

“Fifty-Two,” said Felice. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it.

“FIFTY-TWO?!?”

“Plus the King,” added Tate helpfully.

“Right, so fifty-three really,” said Felice. “Plus obviously yourself. So that’s fifty-four.”

“Well, fifty-one given we’re going to detail two warriors to pick her up again every time she passed out,” muttered Tate.

“So how many of the Golden Court’s forces are in our realm? Whatever you called it?”

“Middangeard. And they only have a modest force here right now. We estimate it to be about five hundred.”

Modest?!? We’re outnumbered 10-to-1. We are so fu… dged.

Wait, did I say ‘we’? I clearly meant ‘they’. No way, no how that I’m getting in the middle of someone else’s war. It’s not like I’m running for Prime Minister and I’m looking for a small war to pad out the middle sections of my autobiography to cover the crushing failures of my domestic policy after all.

“Pffft! Only five hundred? Silly me for worrying,” I laughed, trying to keep the creeping edge of hysteria from my voice.

“That’s the spirit princess,” said Felice cheerfully. “It’s not like we’re facing the full ten thousand we believe that Queen Mab has under her banner waiting to cross over when the five hundred have lowered the wards keeping her in á‰sageard. Besides, we expect further reinforcements from the Queen Joan’s forces soon.”

“How soon is soon?”

Today would be a good start…

“The Queen expects to make the crossing to Middangeard in a matter of weeks with two thousand Pyskie warriors plus whatever forces you are able to persuade our allies to bring to the field locally.”

TWO THOUSAND?!?! Oh god… I’m going to die horribly to a soundtrack of ‘If I die young’ by The Band Perry.

“Ummm… I’d like to abdicate please?”

“Ohhhhh… you kidder,” said Tate as she pinched my cheeks. “Besides you can’t. Royalty is in your very precious blood.”

“I don’t think I can do this…”

“You’ll be fine,” said Felice. “Once you’ve faced down your first troll in single combat you’ll be wondering what you were worrying about.”

“I was always more of a lover than a fighter…”

“Not according to the sword you weren’t your virgin-ness,” giggled Tate.

I’m sooooooo going to get my Pyskie subjects to build a tower I can send Tate too. Her and that other bitch…

“You don’t happen to know a Pyskie named Aelfwyn do you?”

“Why yes princess. She’s my sister,” replied a grinning Tate.

Great. That’s just peachy. My two most troubling subjects are related. That being said, something didn’t seem to ring true about it.

“Your sister? What are the odds of two members of the same family finding pixie nests?”

“When I say sister I mean my spiritual sister. The sister of my heart.”

“Spiritual sister?”

“I didn’t get to choose my blood relations but I do get to choose my family. Aelfwyn has been like a sister to me so she is the sister I choose to have.”

I could see in the words she didn’t speak and the expression on her face that there was more to it than she was saying, some sort of trauma in her past relating to her blood family. Something that time couldn’t heal just dull.

“I have full confidence in you princess,” said Felice, rubbing my arm in a show of support. “And if you do die I’m sure you will go out in a death worthy of a princess.”

“I think I’m going to need a lie down,” I said, slumping heavily into a nearby chair. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to die. I just want to live a quiet normal life.”

“Define normal,” said Tate as she lifted Snowflake from my head.

“No trolls. No country house wolves. No coming wars. No princess-ing.”

“You can run away from all of those bar one. You are a princess of the Pyskie. There is no avoiding it,” said Tate.

“We’ll I’m going to tr–“

I was cut off by a double clicking sound from a radio clipped on the back of Tate’s weapon’s belt that I hadn’t noticed before.

“The King has left the building,” she announced as she clicked the radio once in response. “And it’s time for you to go too princess.”

“What about Granny Constance?”

“We can do nothing until dawn, when the animal avatar will be in flux.”

“Can you… can you let me…”

“Know what happens to her? Yes,” said Felice. “I will leave a black stone for you if she dies or a white stone if she lives.”

“Or you could maybe text me? I could give you my mobile number?”

“…”

“Or I could do that,” agreed Felice, pulling a small hidden smartphone from her belt.

Yeah, they won’t embrace guns but they will use a walkie-talkie thingy and a smart phone. Can you say hy-po-crites?

“Well I guess I should say thanks for coming to my rescue anyway,” I said.

“You’re welcome your virgin-ness,” said Tate. “Though to be honest we weren’t here to rescue you.”

“Then why were you here?”

“We’re here with a task for you from Queen Joan.”

Great. It seems that I wasn’t saved. I was accidentally saved. That’s just sooooooo typical of the way my luck is running right now.

“The Queen has decreed that you shall act as the emissary of the Seditious Court in Middangeard,” said Felice. “The Golden Court does not know of your existence princess and even if they did it would be as nothing more than a human witch, someone their forces would not be concerned with. The Queen believes that this gives us the opportunity to use you as an emissary to build alliances with unaligned forces in this realm.”

“Hello? Have you forgotten I’m seventeen! What do I know about diplomacy?”

“The Queen thought of that princess. Tate and I have been assigned to assist you in your mission. We will brief you on the task at hand and provide tutoring for you in the art of diplomacy.”

“Ummm… won’t your presence tip off the Golden Court thereby defeating the point of my stealth emissary-ness?”

“That’s easily solved princess,” replied Tate with a wave of her hand.

I watched as her appearance rippled to be replaced by that of a delicately featured raven haired girl somewhere in her late teens to early twenties, looking much like I imagined Joan of Arc did in her armour. The smug look on her face was however disturbed by the crash of metal behind her.

“Ooops! I like totally forgot about my wing armour y’know?” she giggled.

“I on the other hand didn’t,” said the dirty blonde haired girl with the pixie haircut holding two pieces of armour in her hands. “Don’t worry, we have a supply of normal clothes as well princess.”

“Just think of us as your new BFFs!” squealed Tate clapping her hands.

“Or not, as the case may be,” said Felice noticing my expression. “She’s watched a lot of American High School dramas. Don’t disillusion her. This is sort of a dream come true for her.”

“Yeah well, how am I going to explain you?”

“Ve could be exchange stuuu-dents from Sveden?” said Tate in the sort of Swedish accent that would make the Swedish Chef cringe.

“Or not, as the case may be,” said Felice quickly. Clearly my face was being very expressive again. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Riiiiiiiight.”

“Besides, your first mission is an easy one princess,” said Felice, handing me a small strip of rolled up paper. “We need you to make contact with the most organised of the unaligned Faerie groups. Don’t worry, they will make the first contact. You just need to give them this message to initiate the dialogue once they do.”

“And how am I to do that?”

“I’m sorry about this princess,” said Felice. “But you understand, orders are orders.”

“Sorry about what?” I asked as I started to unroll the strip of paper.

This had the sort of ominous edge to it that most of my dealings with the Pyskie seemed to take on sooner or later. My sixth sense was metaphorically waving its arms madly screaming ‘Danger Will Robinson! Danger!’

“It’s time for the Goodspeed children to go home,” announced Felice with a clap of her hands.

“Tikka!” said Sonnet, kissing me on the cheek before disappearing in a swirl of light. Once the last of my pixies had disappeared Felice nodded to Tate.

“You need to wrap the message around your tooth when you place it under your pillow tonight. The tooth fairy will read the message when it collects your tooth,” said Felice.

“But I haven’t lost any teeth, so how would that work?” I asked. By this point my sixth sense was metaphorically hyperventilating into a metaphorical paper bag.

“We have orders for that. Suffice to say our solution while extreme isn’t permanent.”

“Whoa! What do you mean extreme?” I asked, taking a step back from Felice. In reply Felice pointed to my left, just outside the range of my vision. Turning my head, I saw Tate standing there, an evil looking smile on her lips.

“Batter up!”

The last thing I saw was an armour clad fist coming towards me.
 

~o~O~o~
 
“Hey… Alannah, are you okay?”

I groggily opened by eyes to see Tracy’s concerned face looking down at me. As awareness started to come back to me I noticed I was slouched on a sofa in the school’s makeshift common room.

“Ohhh… that’s a nasty looking bruise on your face,” said Tracy, wincing in sympathy.

I gingerly touched my sore cheek while my tongue explored my mouth and did a quick headcount... well, toothcount. It was all going so well until I found that one of my molars was missing.

“That bitch hit me!”

My shout quickly turned into a whimper as the throbbing in my jaw started.

“George, could you get the first aid kit?” called Tracy. I noticed then that George had been hovering in the doorway to the common room. He nodded his head in reply and quickly left for the nurse’s office.

“So?” asked Tracy, expectantly as she sat down on the sofa next to me.

“So what?”

“This clearly isn’t just a random thing. This is more of your adventures isn’t it?” she squealed bouncing up and down. “Who was it this time?”

“What makes you think this wasn’t just a random attack?”

“This note,” she said, holding up an envelope with the ‘Princess Alannah Goodspeed’ written on the front in elaborate copper plate script. “And that potion.”

I looked in the direction that Tracy had pointed towards to see a pixie hovering in the air clutching a glass potion bottle. She was wearing a white apron with a tiny watch hanging from it. The contrast with her blue fur gave her a very nurse-like look. She wasn’t one of mine though, the fur pattern was all wrong. I think she was the one I saw with Felice.

“Tikka-Takk!”

I accepted the proffered potion and carefully turned it over in my hand. It was one of those fancy 19th Century style apothecary bottles. On the front was a label with more of the elaborate copper plate script on it.

“Drink me,” I said, reading the label aloud. “Well… that’s original.”

Whatever this potion did I had a feeling it wasn’t about to make me shrink. That being said it was given to me by a pixie so I was pretty confident that it wouldn’t do me any harm.

“I think there is more writing on the back,” said Tracy.

“Let’s have a look. Ahhh… ‘Dr Culpepper’s Tooth Serum. We guarantee you’ll grow a new tooth in 24 hours or less.¹’. Well, that would be useful.”

Still didn’t make up for the pain of having one of my teeth knocked out though. Ah well, the sooner it’s drunk the sooner I get my tooth back. Removing the glass stopper, I tipped the contents into my mouth in one gulp.

“Hmmm… fruity flavoured,” I said to a shocked Tracy as I put the potion bottle down. “That was unexpected. I thought it was going to taste medicine bad in that way of only yucky tasting medicine working.”

“I can’t believe you just drank that… anyway there’s something written here in small print on the label,” said Tracy, examining the discarded potion bottle.

“What does it say?”

“¹ Dr Culpepper’s Tooth Serum guarantees to grow you a new tooth in 24 hours or less or your money back!^{2 3}”

“Well that’s good right? Nothing wrong in having confidence in their product.”

“Ummm… There are more footnotes.”

“² Dr Culpepper cannot guarantee that the new tooth will be a human tooth.”

Oh that’s just peachy. How the hell am I going to explain a narwhale tusk or something?

“³ Side effects include: very occasionally none at all; a rash; headaches; your skin peeling off like slices of salami; death; nausea; death; hiccups; death; uncontrolled vomiting; death; diarrhoea; all your teeth falling out; death; the new tooth exploding, death; your existing teeth exploding; and the possibility of death. PS: Our lawyers insist we mention there is a chance of death.”

“Well let’s hope contraindication roulette goes in my favour hey?” I said with more bravado than I was feeling right now. If it wasn’t for the fact that it had been given to me by a pixie I’d probably be looking to make myself sick to get rid of it from my system.

“We can hope,” said Tracy as she edged back from me slightly. “You will give me a warning if you feel any of your teeth wanting to explode?”

“Trust me, you’ll know if I feel that my teeth are going to explode. The screaming will be a significant clue.”

“Soooo… should I be bowing or something ‘princess’?” asked Tracy.

“She’s a princess now?” said George as he returned with the first aid kit. “That’s got to be some sort of record. You were a guy a couple of months ago and now you’re a princess?”

“It’s complicated. Not that anyone gave me a choice about it,” I grumbled.

“Nice dress by the way,” said George as he opened the first aid kit. “It’s a bit… formal though isn’t it for school?”

I groaned as I remembered I was still wearing the froufrou nightmare the Queen had given me. Was it too much to hope that it morphed back into my clothes while I was out?

“You weren’t wearing that two hours ago,” said Tracy, pulling down a torn piece of the hem from where it had got tangled up in the many, many layers of petticoats underneath.

There was probably enough silk under the dress that I could safely jump from an aeroplane and act as my own parachute. That’s a thought… maybe I could run away and join a stunt sky diving team. I have my own wings after all if it all goes a bit ‘pete tong’. Alannah the Aerial Angel. It has a ring to it.

“So, the edited highlights?” asked George as he gently dabbed at my bruised cheek with something anti-septic smelling.

“Indoor country house werewolves which I guess is Family stuff? Pixie stuff I can’t talk about… princess stuff I don’t want to talk about… oh, and it seems I’ve got a meeting with the tooth fairy tonight.”

“Hence the tooth.”

“Hence the tooth,” I agreed.

“Are we going to have to alert someone about the weres?” asked George as he dipped a cotton bud into the antiseptic.

“No, they are gone for now.”

“But telling the Family would help strengthen your case about the Witchfinders.”

“Not without proof it wouldn’t. The Family Council wants to keep its head in the sand and ignore everything going on around it… or should I say, around me.”

“You need to tell someone. Next time the weres might not come back for just you.”

I glanced heavenwards for a second pondering George’s words.

“Okay, okay… I’ll speak to mum tonight. She can decide whether to tell the other Council members okay?”

“Good call,” said George as he dabbed with the cotton bud at my lip. “I could remove most of the bruising with the Craft you know.”

I felt myself wince as the cotton bud touched my bottom lip which knowing my luck signalled a split lip in addition to all my other problems.

“As much as it is cutting off my nose to spite my face, I’m going to decline. I drank the potion because my tooth was removed with the express intention of it being returned,” I said. “Everything else after that I can wait to heal normally.”

“Fine. Just make sure that no one kisses your lips too hard for a few days or you’ll know about it. The left side of your bottom lip has quite a nasty cut on it.”

“Trust me, that’s not going to be a problem.”

“If you stopped hiding behind that glamour of yours then maybe you’d have more people looking to kiss you. You are quite pretty, even with the cuts and bruises.”

“Well, the glamour is gone so I’m not hiding now but I don’t see anyone queuing up to kiss me,” I said gesturing to myself and then the empty room.

An odd look crossed George’s face that I couldn’t quite read before suddenly morphing into a lopsided smile.

“We can’t have that then can we?” said George. “So, I’m going to kiss you.”

A small gasp escaped from Tracy as George leaned forward to kiss me. I recoiled slightly but my head quickly came to rest against the back of the couch. My whole world seemed to revolve around George’s lips as I watched them in a mixture of horror and something else I couldn’t quite place. At the last moment, George lightly touched my chin and tilted my head enough that his lips pressed against the uninjured side of my mouth rather than full on. The kiss was soft but with a hint of strength and chaste in that it was closed mouth. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be properly kissed by George.

“Was that okay?” murmured George under his breath as his lips pulled away from mine.

Internally I was torn between laughing it off and engaging him in a very masculine conversation about sports or grabbing him by his shirt collar and bringing him back for a real kiss. If I had to guess that probably counted as ‘okay’.

“It wasn’t… awful,” I whispered back in response before feeling my face flush with embarrassment.

And it most definitely wasn’t awful. I just wasn’t really sure what it was as I reached up and touched my tingling lips. Would I like him to do it again? I… maybe… it wouldn’t be the worst thing… would it?

“I don’t know, you’ve only been a girl for a couple of months and you’re already a princess who has kissed the hottest boy in school!” giggled Tracy, causing me to blush even more.

“So you think I’m the hottest boy in school?” asked George, puffing his chest up like a proud peacock.

“You know damn well you are,” laughed Tracy as she slapped his arm. “Not that the school has much in the way of competition at the moment.”

“You can only beat the opponent before you,” said a grinning George. “And that doesn’t change the fact you think I’m hot.”

“What about you Alannah? Do you think he’s hot?” asked Tracy.

Her face looked like it would split in two if her smile was any wider. In contrast, I felt my skin burn so hotly that I was fairly certain I was about to set the furniture on fire.

“Now, now Tracy,” said George, gesturing to me. “You’re embarrassing her.”

“Sorry, I’m only teasing,” said Tracy.

“Let’s get you home eh?” said George as he slowly pulled me to my feet. “We can take my car if you want?”

“You’ve got a car?” asked Tracy.

“Yup, passed me test the week after my 17th birthday. First time and not a single lesson either.”

“So what are you driving? Some clapped out old wreck?”

“A 1967 English racing green Jaguar E-Type Series 1 Coupe.”

“How could you afford that?” I asked, feeling on safer ground talking about old cars than I did the effect of George’s kiss on me.

“I can’t. It came with Mr Goodfellow and the mill. One previous careful owner and only 2,000 miles on the clock.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, what she said,” said Tracy with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m assuming that’s all good?”

“Let’s go find out shall we?” said a grinning George.

“I call shotgun!” yelled Tracy as she bounced up and down on the spot.

Bitch!

“Fine. I guess it’s only appropriate for royalty to travel in the back of the car,” I said with a mock dismissive wave. “Carry on Parker.”

“Yes milady,” intoned George in a passable imitation. “F.A.B.”
 

~o~O~o~
 
As George’s car pulled away, I stretched my legs to try and work the kinks out. Whoever marketed that car as a four-seater needed to be done under the Trades Description Act. I’d seen wider parcel shelves in cars.

True to form for my luck, the lights were on in the house so that ruled out the easy way of getting home. I just had to hope I could make it past mum without her noticing the froufrou monstrosity. If not, I’d just have to take it like a man.

Yeah, maybe not the best metaphor… though knowing my luck it was probably a simile.

“Alan is that you?” called my mother’s voice from the kitchen as I closed the front door.

“Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a moment?”

“If it’s okay I’d like to just drop some stuff off in my room?”

Like the monstrosity I was wearing.

“This won’t take long Alan.”

“Muuuuuuuum…”

“Now Alan,” called my mother, using the voice of maternal doom. A voice that said that if I disobeyed not only would there be consequences for me but probably for my children and their children. Shoulders slumping, I followed the sound of my mother’s voice to the kitchen.

“Ahhh… good Alan. I wanted to speak to yo–“

The rest of my mother’s words died unspoken as she got a full look at me. She canted her head first one way and then the other before she spoke, her words formed with a deliberateness when she spoke.

“I… I’m fairly certain that you weren’t wearing that dress when you left for school this morning.”

“Yeah… surprise?”

“Somewhat… and my god, what happened to your face?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, covering my split lip with my palm. “It’s worse than it looks.”

“Is this to do with whatever happened between you and that boy today?”

“What?”

“I got a call from your Uncle John.”

Oh… the Xander business. And I’m guessing I’m the one that is going to carry the can for this. Fantastic.

“It’s not what Uncle John said mum!”

“Oh? So Xander didn’t try and start a fight with you and you never came to the aid of Tracy Freeborn?” said mum with an amused smile.

“I… wait… you believe me? You never believe me.”

“It might be more accurate to say I believe you when there are corroborating statements,” she said, motioning for me to step closer for a hug. “I am proud of you... of the person you are. I probably don’t say that enough.”

*blink* *blink*

So this is what going mad feels like? It’s oddly more comforting than I thought. Certainly less hard work involved. I’d always thought I’d have to take up one of the arts to really go mad.

“Ummm… thanks?”

“Your dad is proud of you too you know.”

Yeah… two sets of parental praise in a minute? This is where she tells me I’m adopted or something.

“Where is dad anyway?”

“He called today to say he expected to be in Munich at the House Grimm library for a few more days. He still hasn’t found a cure for you but he thinks there might be a few possible trails. You know what your father is like with books,” said mum, rolling her eyes for effect.

Yeah. I knew how he was with books alright. He has a whole secret library for goodness sake hidden in Godespeed House. The million dollar question though was should I push my luck and mention the secret library? Did mum even know about it? Maybe this was one of those moments where discretion was the better part of valour?

“Now go change out of that awful dress and when you’ve washed up you can tell me all about why you would even dream of wearing it.”

Dream? More of a nightmare.

“Okay mum,” I said grabbing my book bag. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“Good boy.”

It was only when I got to the top of the stairs that I realised she kissed me on the cheek before I left. If this was what Stepford Parents were like, you could sign me up.
 

~o~O~o~
 
Throwing my book bag on my bed, I swore under my breath as I noticed the sword resting against my wardrobe door.

“Tikka!” called Sonnet as I entered the room, swooping around me.

“She knocked out one of my teeth!” I hissed pointing to my jaw. “Pell, add that to the list of things that I don’t like. That and being urinated on by demonic knights.”

“Tikka?” asked Pell as she tugged at the corner of a journal book that was only slightly smaller than she was.

“No, not teeth… people hitting me!”

“Tikka... hugs?” asked Rainbow.

“No, it’s not something that hugs ca–“

Actually, screw it. I could really do with a hug right now. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to be a princess on a secret diplomatic mission. Which has an oddly familiar ring to it now I think about it. I don’t want to fight anyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to kill anyone. So what do I do?

“Sonnet… hide the sword at the back of my wardrobe, okay?” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to change and head down for dinner.”

And really hope that at the stroke of midnight my clothes change back. God, I really loved those trainers. I’d just broken them in so they were comfortable while still keeping that new look.

Unzipping the back of my dress I slid out of it before grabbing a set of jeans and a sweat top from where they were lying on the floor. A few moments later I was pulling on a battered pair of old trainers and feeling far less princess-y.

“That is so much better having changed,” I sighed looking at myself in my full length mirror.

“Tikka… change for dinner?” asked Sonnet.

“Tikka… Downton Abbey!” answered Pell, with an emphatic nod. “Tikka, dress! Tikka!”

“What? Wait… noooooooooo!”

In a swirl of light my clothes transformed from something comfortable and modern to a floaty floral dress right out of the pages of a Ralph Lauren collection. Tugging at the string of pearls that nearly hung down to my waist, I watched as my litter gathered expectantly around me.

“Tikka?” asked Sonnet.

“Pretty momma!” called out a chorus of small pixie voices.

“It’s… uhm… lovely,” I said gazing into each of their eyes. The level of eagerness to please that shone back stopped dead the idea of trying to explain how this wasn’t the outfit I wanted to wear. I just had to face it.

Fate was determined to stop me from ever wearing trainers again.
 

~o~O~o~
 
Ackholt Woods — 1am

Clicking the torch twice towards the woods, the hooded figure pulled their heavy woollen cloak closer against the damp night air. Stamping their feet to keep warm, the figure didn’t have to wait long for a single point of light to flash back from the treeline.

“You’re late,” said the similarly hooded newcomer as he emerged from the treeline. “I was expecting you 30 minutes ago.”

“There were too many people about. I couldn’t risk being seen as it would lead to some awkward questions.”

“It may not matter soon.”

“Things are that bad?”

“Worse.”

“So what went wrong? Why haven’t you retrieved him?”

“He’s tricky.”

“We are talking about the same boy?”

“Apparently he has hidden depths.”

“Trust me, Alan doesn’t. I should know,” said the first figure with a derisory snort.

“He still eluded three weres. That’s not something to dismiss.”

“I heard. Oh he can run. I don’t doubt that. The little coward is yellow to his core.”

“Yet Father is convinced he is the one. His Talent makes him the weapon we need.”

“He was the weapon you needed seventeen years ago!”

“Look, I’ve apologised for that. I’ve scrutinised the spell in minute detail and I still don’t understand why it has lasted so long.”

“I’ve lost decades of my life due to your failure to understand what went wrong! It was only supposed to last for three months! Instead, I get twenty plus years of my real-self buried under this simpering fool. Would you tell me how I can get that back?”

“Father says he has a potion containing a few drops from the Fountain of Youth. Your youth can be returned. You will get the chance to live your life again as you wish it to be.”

“It better.”

“And you are finally beginning to gain more and more control of your mind. A year ago you struggled to hold control of your mind for an hour. Now you can control your mind for two or three hours. At this rate it should only be a matter of weeks before you are in complete control.”

“Hours. Not all the time. Hours. I’m only myself for a few hours every day! It’s like being a prisoner in my own head.”

“It will take time. Don’t forget the other you has lived for longer than you have in a real sense. The fake you has a fully formed personality… memories.”

“And what of the memories once this is over? What am I to do with those?”

“We have a potion that can remove those.”

“Good. I want this to all go away!”

“I can only say again how sorry I am. I never meant you any harm.”

“I know… so what happens now?”

“Father is sending me additional resources to capture Alan.”

“I still can’t believe you failed.”

“You underestimate him. Just look at the way he managed to subvert the binding ritual, the first time he outwitted us. No one expected that. We won’t make the mistake of underestimating his deviousness a third time.”

“You better not. Father will not be pleased if the idiot child eludes you again.”

“I won’t fail again,” said the figure with a shudder. “Father couldn’t show his true self to you all the time you were under the spell but he’s far worse than he ever was when we were kids. It hasn’t helped that things have not been going well since the Grand Coven was dissolved last week.”

“The Grand Coven’s gone?”

“Yes. The Chairman of House Elegast was assassinated a little over a week ago. The signs point to it being one of his own Family but there are accusations that another of the Great Houses was behind it. Mistrust now dominates the relations between the Great Houses and the Lesser Houses are already seeking allies to protect themselves against the coming war. The English Houses won’t be able to stand aloof from this for long. The smart money is on House Rasputin being the first to move against one of the other Great Houses.”

“As much as I hate to say this, Alan alleges that the Witchfinders have returned. Could it not be them that are behind the murder?”

“Father does not believe this to the case. He believes that whoever was behind the attack is trying to cover their tracks with a false trail.”

“And the dissolution of the Great Coven is what has forced father to move up his timetable for Alan?”

“Yes.”

“Then make sure you don’t screw up this time.”

“I will. There is something else but I don’t quite know how to say it…”

“I don’t have time for anything other than direct.”

“It’s the other you… one of our Elders suggests that there is a chance given how long the spell has run, that in a very literal sense, we’re talking about the other you being a real person.”

“Okay?”

“This other you isn’t part of the plan. If this other you learns of your existence... of their eventual fate… well… they may fight against you.”

“I’d like to see that. I’m the real person.”

“You need to take this seriously. The other you is far more experienced than you are and if they realise what is happening, more desperate.”

“You forget, I have both our memories. They have none of mine since I awakened.”

“No, you only have some of their memories. The spell hasn’t weakened enough to give you total access to their memories yet. They could with enough will power hide things from you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m the real one,” said the first figure turning back towards town. “Cheer up! We’re going to be in Father’s good books again and I’m going to get my life back. My son isn't going to elude you a third time. We’re home free!”

“Damn it, Angelika,” cursed the second figure. “I really wish you wouldn’t tempt fate like that.”
 

~o~O~o~
 
Next morning — Goodspeed Residence

I was half-way through my morning porridge when my iPhone chimed. An icon depicting a white speech bubble against a green background along with an unknown number appeared on the lock screen. However, while the number was unknown to me the message and its sender became instantly clear.

It was a picture of a black stone.
 

~o~O~o~
 
Godespeed Free School — later that morning
 
“How’s the tooth?” asked George as he fell into step next to me. “Here let me take your books.”

I nodded gratefully to him as he took my rucksack from me, using my free hand to cradle the side of my jaw. However, my physical pain was a welcome distraction from the emotional pain I felt. The death of Granny Constance weighed heavily on my mind yet I couldn’t tell anyone about it without revealing the presence of the Pyskies. Felice had promised that they would leave her body to be found later this morning so at least she would have a proper funeral.

“The tooth? It’s growing. More tender than anything, though I think most of the discomfort is from the new tooth emerging at an accelerated rate.”

“Well you are teething,” chuckled George before hastily adding. “But least that proves the potion is working. I confess to have had some doubt about that.”

“You and me both.”

“Guys,” said Tracy as she joined us. “How’s the tooth?”

“Growing,” George and I both said in unison. I felt myself blush as George turned to me and grinned.

“So any news from the tooth fairy?” asked Tracy.

“Not yet. Though I’m not entirely sure how this is supposed to work.”

“What no return note?” said Tracy.

“Nope. And they definitely took my tooth. I wrapped it in the note and put it under my pillow last night. When I awoke the tooth and note were gone and a coin was in its place. Oh, by the way, the going rate appears to be a  £1 for a tooth.”

“Better than I ever got,” grumbled Tracy.

“You and me both,” I replied. It seemed the tooth fairy paid well these days unlike when I was a kid.

“So when do you think you’ll hear from the tooth fairy?” asked Tracy.

“Maybe tonight? I really don’t know.”

“I think it might be sooner than that,” said George.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because someone keeps ‘psssst’-ing us from that doorway,” said George, pointing to a dark shrouded classroom.

“OMG! An adventure!” squealed Tracy. “Please, please, please let me come! Pleeeeeease!”

Urrrgh. It was like being accompanied by an overly energetic puppy. And there’s me not being a morning person in the mix as well.

“Well, I’d love to go on an adventure but I’m going to be late for maths if I don’t hurry,” I said glancing at my watch.

“Seriously?! You’d take maths over this?”

Ohhhh… any day of the week. If I had a choice. Which is sort of turns out that I don’t. Also, if I don’t go now am I likely to face Tate removing another tooth to recall the tooth fairy? Now that’s a horrible thought.

“Oh well… I guess I’ll catch up with you both at next lunch?” I asked.

“Oh no! Don’t think you’re going on an adventure without me!” warned Tracy. “I spend my days as a social pariah thanks to my gremlins. The thought of actually going on an adventure with the one person who has less good luck than me is too good to pass up!”

“And don’t think for a moment that I’d trust either of you to survive an adventure on your own,” said George. “So I’m coming too.”

Great. It’s turning into a regular Family outing. That being said it would be nice given some of the stuff I’ve come across these last few weeks to have some company. Plus, you never know maybe whatever I meet might want to eat one of them instead of me? What’s that old expression… I don’t need to be able to outrun the lion, just you?

“You aren’t any good at athletics are you?”

“George is county cross country champion and I used to be a good 1500 metre runner. Why?” asked Tracy.

Oh that’s just peachy. It turns out that both of them can probably outrun me. Alannah snacks for lions appear back on the menu. I really need to start hanging out with some out of shape people.

“Fine… but make sure you follow my lead okay?” I huffed.

“No problem,” they replied in unison, grinning like lunatics.

“Let’s see what our new friend wants then shall we?” I asked as I stepped into the darkened classroom and reached for the light switch.

“No lights,” hissed a voice.

Initially I couldn’t see anything but my eyes adjusted enough that I could finally see something swooped through the air a few feet in front of me. The light from the hallway through just enough illumination into the room that with effort I could see the figure fairly clearly as it came to a hoover at head height.

“Hey, how are youse doin’?” asked the tiny humanoid with a thick caricature of a New York accent.

It took me a couple of seconds to place the deep male voice with the small figure hovering in the air on tiny butterfly wings in front of us, as it seemed so at odds. It was probably the least androgynous faerie I could ever imagine. The intricately patterned wings seemed to form the shape of an ornate spade shape like you see on expensive card decks and this was rounded off by the sort of dark coloured men’s suit that Edward G Robinson would have thought was the height of fashion. Under one arm he held a closed violin case, the neck of which was pointing at me like it was an old fashioned tommy gun.

“Ey! Paisano! I’m talking to youse!”

“Uhhh… me?”

“Yeah, youse blondey. Youse the broad from the Seditious Court who’s lookin’ to meet with the boss right? We got ya note.”

George mimed the question ‘Seditious Court’ to me but I waved him off with a frown. The look he gave me back however indicated that we would be speaking about this later. So much for keeping all this courtly stuff secret.

“Uhhh… I am the emissary.”

“Yeah, you’re the broad.”

“How dare you! You will address a princess in a more respectful tone,” interrupted George, with a quick wink to me that the tiny goodfellas reject couldn’t see. “One does not address a member of the royal family as impertinently as you did.”

Maybe it was the suit that Mr Goodfellow had picked out for him but George seemed to have the whole authoritative butler from Downton Abbey thing going on. God it was sexy.

No! Bad girl! Bad!

The small figure produced a small unlit cigar from a suit pocket that it chewed on thoughtfully for a moment before speaking.

“I apologise princess,” he said with a nod of his head. “I meant no disrespect to the Seditious Court.”

“None was taken Mr…?”

“Bayleaf. I run the Boss’s lower east side of England operation, specialising in calcium extraction and trading.”

“You’re the tooth fairy!” squealed Tracy, leaning in closer to get a better look at the miniature being. “OMG… he’s wearing tiny little spats! It’s soooooooooooo cute!”

Spats. A generation from now, will people be able to even recognise them? Never has an item of clothing crashed out of the fashion world as quickly as spats, well maybe with the exception of the kipper tie. The only reason I even know what Tracy is talking about is due to my love of old movies and that it’s the nickname of the villain in Some Like It Hot.

“Ey! Who youse callin’ a fairy ya crazy broad?”

“Oh… sorry,” said Tracy recoiling as Bayleaf puffed himself up a bit in front of her. “What are you then?”

“I ain’t no fairy. I’m a faerie.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Trust me toots, the —y vs. —ie ending makes all the difference.”

“Umm… okay? I’m uh, sorry?”

“That’s better. I’m technically on of the ferlies, an off-shoot of the fey but mostly I’m a Capo for the Boss.”

“That… doesn’t sound very friendly,” I said, looking at Bayleaf more critically. “Just what does being a ‘Capo’ involve?”

“I oversee the tooth racket for my patch, ensuring that the boss gets the goods for a fair price. Somethin’ that ain’t that easy in this day an’ age, I can tell ya. Youse ever tried negotiating with a parent over the cost of a tooth? Twenty years ago, ya’d be payin’ pennies now they’re all Gordon Gecko an’ we’re payin’ pounds.”

“Wait… you reveal yourself to the mundane?” asked Tracy. “So why doesn’t everyone know you are real?”

“What are youse stupid? Of course we don’ reveal ourselves to ‘em. We do it in their dreams.”

Well I guess that kinda made sense.

“That’s got to be costly for your operation,” said George. “If the parents artificially inflate the market price for the raw goods.”

“Eh, tell me about it. We got overheads. No one ever thinks about da overheads. I don’ just gotta pays the tooth fee. I gotta pay for da collectors, da sprinkling of fairy dust to enter the parents’ dreams, storage for the raw materials and then da processing to extract the damn calcium. An’ then we gotta negotiate a sale price for the pure calcium with the toothpaste companies. Youse thinks the bogeyman is scary? Try negotiatin’ wid a multi-national corporations!”

“Wait… you reveal yourself to corporations?” asked Tracy.

“What is it with youse about us revealing ourselves? Of course not, we use a glamour when we meet with da company reps,” said Bayleaf of me, before leering at Tracy. “Though if you wants me to reveal myself we could maybe meet up later and it could be arranged…”

“Moving on… let me get this straight they put bits of teeth in toothpaste?” I asked, trying to work out which of the two things repulsed me most. Tracy being hit on by a tooth fairy or the thought of bits of total stranger’s teeth being brushed across mine twice a day.

“Ya-huh! Where da youse think all dat enamel strengthening stuff they advertise comes from?”

I was really hoping the answer to that one was toxic chemicals not bits of other people’s teeth. The say hell is other people but they were wrong. Hell is clearly other people’s teeth.

“I think I may be sick,” I gasped, dry heaving a little at the thought.

“Well make sure ya do it away from me, capiche?” said Bayleaf. “This outfits Italian.”

Unlike him from the sound of that accent. He’d seen the Godfather too many times and eaten too much Goodfellas Pizza for my money.

“So your boss is like the head tooth fairy?” asked George.

“Amongst other things. You might know her by her more famous name though,” said Bayleaf. “She’s-“

The accent, the suit… it all suddenly made sense.

“She’s the Fairy Godmother,” I groaned, face palming.

So this is what the Pyskie meant by most organised of the unaligned Faerie groups. Organised as in Organised Crime.

“So youse ready to come wid me princess?” asked Bayleaf. “And are you bringin’ da entourage?”

“No I’m not ready but yes I’m coming and yes I’m bringing them,” I replied gesturing to George and Tracy. “So how does this work?”

“I’ll open a doorway to the bosses place. Nugget here will keep an eye on you so don’t try anything funny.”

“Nugget?”

A deep rumbling of stone against stone sounded from the hallway behind us. Turning slowly I found myself staring at a troll that was very impressive by human standards but a little small by troll standards. Smoothly polished stone skin with arms like tree trunks it stood easily, eight or nine feet tall. It had to stoop to fit in the hallway and it pretty much obscured all the light from the hallway, save for a faint silhouette, as it moved towards us.

The room was silent save for the sound of my uncontrollable hiccups.
 

~o~O~o~
 
End of chapter 4