Chapter Thirty-Five #3
Dian, however, was incandescent. ‘You think I need you to cast magic, Moth? I can do it all on my own!’ With a snarl of rage, they took a single and impressive leap onto the table, sending Moth flying through the air.
Dian’s face may have been a similar colour to Frida’s, but she could have sworn she saw a defiant smile grace their uptilted lips.
One moment, Dian was facing the much too small window, and the next their aura sparkled, the rush of petrichor and rain flooded time and space, and they were climbing imperiously out into thin air, their forest of emerald curls flying.
For a split second, Frida saw the whisper of a grand staircase.
When she blinked, it was gone, and Dian was looking back up at them smugly from the moonlit grass.
Wow.
‘Oh well done, Dian.’ Moth pumped his furry pedipalps in the air, giving a little hop and a leap. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Dian raised a solitary victorious middle finger. Apparently that gesture was both time-insensitive and cross-cultural.
‘Go on, Frida Rose. Your turn.’ Moth hurdled onto her shoulder and was about to launch away in Dian’s wake, but then he leaned in, his voice a thread of repentant silk, and whispered, ‘Sometimes when they’re stuck, it helps to make them laugh.
If you can’t think of a joke, you have to try to make them angry.
Either way. Otherwise, it can be hard for them to unstick themselves.
They need the help, although they will never ask for it.
’ He stared at her with his big, black eyes.
‘You might want to remember that, Frida Rose.’
Whatever joy she’d felt at Dian’s performance drained away, as if Moth had just pulled the plug. Stuck. They were stuck, stuck, stuck. Lucky’s chirps echoed through her head. Maybe there was no Moth in the future to help unstick them.
‘I won’t wait here all night,’ Dian called from outside.
Moth scuttled out of the window, clicking his paws with delight.
Frida followed behind more slowly, trying to shake off the unease Moth’s words had stirred in her.
In the end, she was the one who could have done with some lubrication, and when she finally landed with a thud, knees scraped and her shirt torn on a rusty nail, Dian was beneath the elm tree, looking high and mighty.
‘All ok down there, dragon-who’s-not-a-dragon?’ Their voice rustled with laughter.
Frida scowled up at them from where she sat nursing her dignity on the ground, but when Dian beamed back, she caught her breath.
A full-double-eye-twinkle, as if they’d surprised even themselves.
Maybe they hadn’t been sure if they could magic themselves out of there.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
It was the first time Dian had smiled at her.
It looked easy, as if their face had simply forgotten for a while, and now they were back, lips wide, white teeth gleaming, skin crinkling around the edges of their luscious eyes, eyelashes glittering.
Dian reached out a hand, and she grabbed it without thinking.
She hadn’t noticed before, in the throes of being pulled in and out of their magic, but now when her fingers scaped against their calloused palm, her breathing hitched.
She’d just assumed their palms were silken.
A fairy who could do magic didn’t need to get their hands dirty, did they?
But when their callouses met hers, she couldn’t help the warmth that flooded her, as if they’d let her learn a secret.
For a moment, they both just stood there, surrounded by buttery moonlight, the fallen fruits of the elm tree, and the heady scent of freedom.
‘What do we do now?’ Frida whispered. The green darkness around them smelling of freshly cut grass and flowers.
Dian looked so young and joyful, their face totally luminous, that she wished the two of them could stay just like this, forever.
She wished she could freeze this moment in time.
But then their ears pricked up, and their head snapped around.
The moment died as she watched the familiar bite of fear flood back in as the dappled patterns on their cheeks flared, then paled under the toothy leaves, their pupils swelling, swirling with dread.
‘Someone’s coming,’ they hissed, the two broken words falling from their tongue.
She bit back a whimper. ‘Humans?’
Dian’s chin dipped, a muscle in their jaw feathering. A question brimmed in their burning gaze, in the urgent rapid tilt of their brows. She looked up at them, understanding without them having to speak. They were asking her permission this time.
‘Yes.’ Then she nodded wildly, her voice almost disbelieving. ‘Yes! If you can.’
Relief touched the corners of their lips, and their fingers curled around hers.
Moth, wherever he was, let out a tinkling, long-suffering sigh. ‘Here we go again.’
Then Frida heard the voices, male and loud as the gravel crunched, but the raindrops had already started to descend, and they all – even Moth – breathed a blessed sigh of relief as Dian’s calm waters enveloped them.