Celia and the Fairies Page 5

  Grammy stirred her tea. “I wish you luck, my dear, but if I were you, I wouldn’t count on Jonathan changing his mind. His company is everything to him. He wouldn’t sell it for all the tea in China.”

  Vicky grinned. Foolish old lady. Clearly she didn’t realize it was a mistake to underestimate Vicky McClutchy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Celia walked into the center of the Triple Trees, protected by the canopy of branches overhead. She thought about all the times she’d come here with Paul. This spot had always felt special, but was it magic?

  With fumbling fingers she loosened the drawstring on the bag, then pulled out the flute. Even in the shade, the silver glistened. She’d never seen metal like this before—it glittered like diamonds. To think that something so magical and lovely had been in her room all those years, right under her feet, and she’d never known.

  Something scampered through the underbrush, startling her, but she didn’t see anything. A bunny or squirrel maybe? She held her breath and listened again, but whatever it was had gone.

  Now she was alone in the woods, about to call a fairy girl with a magic flute. Her heart began to pound the same way it did when she ventured out in the dark, and she knew it was now or never. Celia lifted the flute to her lips and blew softly into the hole. No sound came out, but the space around her became charged with electricity and she saw a bright ball of light in the distance coming her way.

  She lowered the hand holding the flute to her side and took a deep breath. Fairies were real then! She’d believed her grandmother, or at least she had wanted to believe her grandmother, but one small part of her had wondered if her parents were right, that all the fairy talk was nonsense. Her mother and father usually knew everything. But not this time.

  The light pulsed closer to Celia, zipping through the air in a zigzag pattern. The fairy stopped a foot from Celia’s face, her wings fluttering fast and furious, like a hummingbird hovering in midair.

  The Triple Trees leaned forward slightly in admiration, and Celia caught a whiff of honey and cinnamon. The fairy girl in front of her matched the image she’d seen in her dream, but she had to be sure. “Mira?” she asked, once she found her voice.

  “Of course. Who else?” Mira smoothed the front of her frock as she bobbed in place. She was resplendent in a glittery silver dress, as shiny bright as the flute. Her voice had a saucy tone Celia hadn’t been expecting. Her grandmother had made fairies sound like they were all goodness and light, but Mira had the kind of edge to her voice that Paul’s mother called “smart,” as in “There’s no need to get smart about it, mister.”

  A small crowd of fairies gathered nearby in a midair cluster. Celia was afraid to take her eyes off Mira, but at a glance she saw there were about a dozen of them, boys and girls, and all dazzlingly beautiful. They wore glimmering clothing in various shades and were as unique as snowflakes—no two had the same skin tone or hair color. Their wings moved quickly in an iridescent blur.

  Seeing Celia’s look, Mira said, “Don’t pay any attention to them. They haven’t seen a real person up close like I have, so they’ll be gawking.” She turned and motioned for them to scoot, and they flew back a few feet. “Bunch of fledglings. I tried to leave them behind, but there was no stopping them once they learned we’d be meeting.”

  “I got your message in my dream,” Celia said shyly. “My grandmother helped me find where she hid the flute.”

  “Your grandmother?” Mira tapped her fingers together, thinking. “Oh yes, the original Celia. The finest human being ever. You look a lot like her. Or at least like she used to look. You humans get older so much faster than we do.”

  “Have you known a lot of people?” Celia asked. She extended her arm in a graceful curve, and Mira landed on her wrist.

  “I’ve known my share of people. I’ve been assigned to your house since I reached the rank of fairy master class. I’ve done a good job of it, if I do say so myself.”

  Behind her the other fairies twittered with laughter. Mira turned in irritation to scold them. “It’s not boasting if it’s true. Since I’ve watched over your house, there’s been more joy than sadness, and your family has put light and positivity out into the world. Positivity is our main goal. It’s the best you can do,” she explained to Celia, hopscotching up her arm. “Evil can’t thrive in a positive environment. That’s one of our precepts.”

  “What’s a precept?” Celia asked.

  “A precept is a saying that sums up what we’re about and gives us direction. Our precepts help us remember what we need to do. Our work is very important. Without us, the world would be a horrible, horrible place.”

  “In my dream you said something about evil. Your scream was so terrible, I thought something awful had happened. I was really worried and scared,” Celia said.

  Mira said, “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I needed to get your attention. It worked.”

  “So there isn’t an emergency?” Celia asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, there’s an emergency all right.” Mira tossed back her hair. “I just don’t know the details yet, but I can feel it coming, and it has to do with Vicky McClutchy.”

  “The one who wants to buy my parents’ company?” Celia said.

  Mira nodded. “The very same.”

  “But I know all about that. I heard them talking about it one night.” From her perch on the landing, Celia had heard her parents rehash the meeting at McClutchy Toys. Her father had ranted about “that woman” and vowed never to talk to her again. “She wanted to buy Lovejoy World, and my father said no. When he says no, that’s it.” She knew from firsthand experience how stubborn her father could be. He never budged.

  “I’m sorry to have to say this, but you are wrong.” Mira waved a finger close to Celia’s nose. “Vicky McClutchy is crafty. She’s ingenious at getting what she wants. I’ve seen her do it again and again. Even when she was a little girl she’d stop at nothing to get her way, bending the rules and cheating with no regard for anyone else.”

  “Can’t you put good suggestions in her head?” Celia asked. “That’s what my grandmother said fairies do. Just use your magic and make her good.”

  “Hah!” Mira tapped a foot. “If it were that simple, don’t you think we would have thought of that ourselves?” Behind her the group of fairies twittered with laughter. “That’s enough,” Mira shouted over her shoulder. “It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know our ways yet.”

  “I don’t understand what you want me to do,” Celia said. “I don’t have any powers or magic. And the flute is broken.” She held it up. “I could only find one half.”

  “Well, that’s a problem,” Mira said, flapping a hand. “You need to find the other half pronto. But even without it, you do have power. All humans do, but most of them don’t know it. We fairies can only nudge people in the right direction and ward off evil when we can. We’re that little voice in your head making suggestions. Guiding you even when you feel like you’re all alone. That’s all we can do, but sometimes it’s enough. Sometimes it’s not.”

  One of the other fairy girls flew closer. “Tell her about Paul,” the girl said, zinging around her excitedly.

  “I was getting to that,” Mira said impatiently.

  “What about Paul?” Celia wondered.

  “I have the feeling Paul is going to play an important part in helping you on this assignment. He’s your connection to Vicky McClutchy.” Mira was so close to her face, Celia almost went cross-eyed.

  “Vicky McClutchy is Paul’s aunt!” said a fairy boy with an impish grin. “She grew up next door!”

  “She’s his aunt?” Now Celia was really confused. Paul never mentioned having an Aunt Vicky, and her parents only referred to her as the owner of McClutchy Toys. No one had ever linked her to the neighborhood. “Really? But Paul never talks about her.”

  “She’s really his aunt, his mother’s sister. And boy, those two girls did not get along when they were growing up,” Mira said, flying away
from Celia and waving an arm like sword-fighting. “Vicky is one bad cookie. If she were my aunt, I wouldn’t talk about her either.”

  Celia could feel the movement of fairies circling her. One of them landed on her shoulder and grabbed her hair for support. “I’m not sure what you want me to do. My grandmother said you would explain what I need to know.”

  “Oh yes, your grandmother,” Mira said, smiling. “She was such a good friend to the Watchful Woods fairies and me in particular. She saved my life, you know.”

  “That was when Mira was out at night by herself,” another fairy said in a singsong voice. “Precept number two—never go out at night alone. That’s when the shadow things lurk in the dark. Everyone knows that.”

  “Okay, enough about that, Garnet,” Mira grumbled. “All fairies makes mistakes when they’re just starting out. Besides, it was a long time ago, and I was just a fledgling. Let’s get back to the subject at hand, which is Vicky McClutchy. Boyd here,” Mira said as she jabbed a thumb in the direction of a smiling boy fairy to her right, “never did have much luck getting through to Vicky in her growing up years, and now she’s set in her ways.”

  “Hey,” Boyd protested. “It’s not my fault I got a tough case. You got it easy with your assignment. The Lovejoys are naturally good. Anyone could be successful if they had that house.”

  “Anyway,” Mira said to Celia, “for now your assignment is this—find the other half of the flute. Trust me, you’re going to need it. Oh, and you also need to keep an eye on things and report back to us when you know more about what’s going on with your father and Vicky.”

  “But there won’t be any more to tell,” Celia said. “Vicky McClutchy asked to buy my parents’ company and my dad said no. It’s all over.”

  “Trust me,” Mira said. “It’s not over yet.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Paul waited until Celia left the clearing and was a safe distance away before clicking off the tape recorder. What the heck was she doing out there talking to herself like a crazy person? He tucked the recorder into his pocket for safekeeping.

  After he’d followed her out to the Triple Trees, he crouched behind a bush to spy. She’d lifted some kind of whistle to her lips, but he didn’t hear a sound. The next part was the most confusing. Celia started talking to no one, asking questions and acting excited and nervous. At one point it looked like she was calling her arm “Mira.” And then, weirdest of all, she kept saying his name and his aunt’s name. What the heck was that all about?

  Girls liked to make stuff up, Paul knew that. When they were younger, Celia was always trying to get him to play school or pioneer days or some other lame thing. But he’d never seen anything like this before. Why would she pretend by herself? Maybe it would make sense once he listened to the recording at home.

  He dawdled down the path toward his house and was lost in thought when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, making him yelp in surprise. “Aunt Vicky,” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same thing of you, you little runt.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy look. “This is the Lovejoy’s private property. You’re trespassing.”

  “I know it’s their property,” he said, gulping. She still had a tight hold on his collar. With a little more force, she’d lift him right off his feet. “It’s okay if I play here. Celia and I do it all the time.”

  “Nice story, but I just saw the girl go by a few minutes ago and she looked very unhappy. What did you do to her?” Aunt Vicky released her grip and put her face up to his. Her eyes narrowed accusingly.

  “I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Paul said. “We weren’t even playing together. I was spying on her and I recorded her with this.” He pulled it out to show her. “Celia was all by herself in the woods and was talking to no one. She kept going on and on about magic and fairies and stuff. She kept saying your name, too.”

  “Really. Fairies, you say? And she was talking about me? Why am I not surprised?” Aunt Vicky snorted. “The whole family is loony. Like father, like daughter, I guess.” She forced the recorder out of his hands. “I’ll take this, thank you.” She turned and strode away toward his house.

  “But you’ll give it back, right, Aunty Vicky?” Paul called as he tried to catch up. “Cause I really need it. It’s part of my spy kit. Okay?”

  “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll get it back.” Vicky didn’t slow down and didn’t turn around. Paul’s mom always said Aunt Vicky never gave anyone an inch. Paul rushed to stay alongside her. She said, “I’m staying at your house all week while my condo gets painted.”

  This was news. Paul knew about Aunt Vicky’s million-dollar condo in the city because his mother had shown him photos of it in a magazine. He and his parents had never been invited to visit, but he didn’t care. It didn’t look like his type of place anyway. Lots of oddball sculptures and expensive furniture. Nothing fun at all. “Does my mom know you’re staying with us? She never said you’re gonna be staying at our house this week.” His aunt kept walking, a determined look on her face. “Aunt Vicky?”

  His aunt waved away his concerns. “She’ll find out when I tell her.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Celia saw Paul coming her way in the school cafeteria, she wanted to hide under the table. He wore an oversized hoodie, slouchy pants, and a goofy grin that widened as he got closer. She chewed her ham and cheese sandwich and looked down, hoping he wouldn’t stop to talk.

  “Hey, Celia,” he said, a little too loudly.

  She swallowed before answering. “Hey.” The other girls at the table stopped what they were doing to look. Mentally she wished Paul away. Not now! Not here! Go back to your own spot, Paul! It was one thing to talk on the bus or after school. Nobody really noticed, and if anyone commented, she could easily explain. I have to be nice to him—he’s my neighbor. But here in the cafeteria, in front of the whole school? That was another story. Talk about awkward.

  Oblivious to the stares, Paul bobbed his head and said, “Hey, Celia, I was thinking maybe you could come over and help finish that castle after school. It’s gonna be really cool when it’s all done.”

  “I don’t think so,” Celia said. Next to her, Sasha Turner snickered.

  “But you hafta come.” He looked let down. “Last week you said you could come over next week, and now this week is the next week. You said you would. You promised!”

  Celia didn’t remember promising, though it was possible. She’d given him the brush-off on the bus but couldn’t recall the exact wording. “Paul, I told you my grandmother needs me to be with her after school.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not coming over to your house anymore.” Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

  “Go away, little boy,” called out a girl on the far end of the table. Her name was Bethany or Bethanne or something like that. A sixth grader.

  Celia stared down at her plastic bag full of carrot sticks. Beneath the table, Paul’s shoes were within view, and they weren’t moving.

  “My aunt Vicky is staying with us this week. She owns this cool company, McClutchy Toys, and she brought a new game system and all these cool games, even the kind I’m not allowed to play. You gotta come. It’s boring playing all by myself.”

  Celia’s head jerked up at the mention of his aunt’s name. “Your aunt Vicky? Why is she staying with you?”

  “She’s at our house until her condo is done getting painted. All week probably. My mom says it’s gonna be one long week.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table. “The games she brought are really cool. Really cool! Please, Celia? Will you come?”

  “Maybe,” Celia said quietly. “I have to check with my Grammy first to see if it’s okay.”

  “And if she says yes, then you’ll come over?” His face lit up.

  Celia leaned over and whispered, “Yes, then I’ll come over. You better go now, Paul. We can talk on the bus.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Celia asked for permission to play at Pa
ul’s after school, and her grandmother thought it was a good idea. “This will give you a chance to see what Vicky McClutchy is up to,” Grammy said thoughtfully. “If the fairies are right, she’s got something up her sleeve.”

  “Mira said she’s a bad cookie,” Celia said.

  “No one is all bad or all good,” her grandmother said. “Everyone has their reasons for the way they act. In this case, Vicky McClutchy isn’t bad, she’s just misguided. She can only see things from her point of view, so she doesn’t understand how her actions affect other people. It’s a very sad way to be.”

  “When I’m at Paul’s, should I look through her things and spy on her?” Celia asked.

  “Oh bless you, no.” Her grandmother smoothed Celia’s hair. “Vicky will probably be at work this time of day. Just spend time with Paul and keep your eyes and ears open. Things happen when they’re supposed to happen.”

  When Celia arrived at Paul’s house, he was waiting at the front door. “Yay, Celia, you’re here! I hoped and hoped you’d come.”

  In the foyer, Celia was greeted by the smell of frying onions. She hung her coat on the peg behind the door and followed Paul to the den. He was in a chatty mood and didn’t stop talking, not once, not even when his mother called from the kitchen for them not to make a mess and to please keep the volume down. Celia said a silent thank-you that she no longer had to come here after school.

  Paul and Celia settled down in front of the large TV. Next to it, the dog, Clem, snored loudly in his usual spot. Paul chose a game that involved following ordinary people who randomly turned into something scary—a monster, a vampire, a zombie—there were a dozen possibilities in all. You never knew what the people would turn into, or when—this was the worst part for Celia, who hated being both surprised and scared. Each evil creature required a different method of killing. If you got it wrong, they killed you, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Blood and guts everywhere.