Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Is this your burrow?” Story asks. From the corner of my eye, I take in her perched form on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess… I’m sorry the place is—”
A dump. A garage. Shit.
“Amazing,” Story finishes for me, her voice full of awe. She bounces down my arm into my waiting palm. Her delicate face could light the room with her excitement, her joy. Her bare toes dance on my hand as she spins. “This place is amazing,” she whispers.
I shake my head and ruefully smile. All righty then. Who am I to argue with a pixie? Amazing it is.
I nervously wiggle and can’t help but wince as I think about my negligible savings, yet I still open my mouth and hear myself say, “We need to get you some stuff.” My new friend has to feel comfortable.
She’s already staying in a shitty garage, no matter what she says, I know what this place is, and she hasn’t got anything.
The poor girl needs things of her own. She needs necessities, and that at least is something I can do.
When I lost my home… When I got kicked out, I can only imagine how much harder that whole experience would have been if I hadn’t had my things, my memories to cling to.
Story has nothing but the clothes on her back. And it hurts something inside me.
I don’t want her to suffer, and if I can give her a tiny little piece of herself back, maybe… Maybe there’s hope for me yet.
I grab my phone and start searching online; I find a few local stores that cater to pixies and, more importantly, have things within our price range.
I want my new friend to have the freedom to communicate and to feel at home, so I find myself getting excited when I spot a dinky pixie phone. Oh my god, it is sooo cute.
It takes us another few hours to pick everything up—you’ve got to love click and collect, especially when you can buy items like a wardrobe and a bed and everything fits neatly inside a rucksack. Let’s just say buying pixie-sized stuff is awesome.
When we get back to the garage, I gather my tools.
I flip a screwdriver and give Story an encouraging grin.
“Do you want to sleep in the shed with me, or do you want me to set something up so you have your own space in the garage?” Winter might be a concern, but I’m sure I can knock something up that will work.
“In the shed with you if that’s okay. I don’t want to be alone.”
“Okey dokey, let’s do this.” I clap my hands. I have some wood left over from securing the garage’s main up-and-over door, so at least this is within my budget—free. You’ve got to love free.
I hum as I knock together a wooden box, which will hopefully make a cosy bedroom. I don’t, of course, say anything to my friend, but it’s a bit like building Barbie’s dream house.
Is it wrong for me to be enjoying myself?
I install a shelf in the top corner of the shed and secure her new bedroom. I cut a chunk from a bathmat as it makes a perfect carpet, and while Story watches, bouncing from foot to foot, I place her new bed and wardrobe inside.
“I wish I could brighten up the walls,” Story says wistfully as she stands inside her room.
“Ohhh, I saw something. One sec—” I jump up and shimmy out of the shed, dive across the sofa, and dig into a bag of crap that I’ve been meaning to throw away.
“Nope… nope… oh there.” I pull out an old paint-by-numbers box that somehow got into Grandad’s things.
Let’s just say the fae assassin I knew did not do paint by numbers.
I grin when Story’s eyes light up with excitement.
The little pots of paint are pixie perfect, and I find a new mini lip-liner brush that will make a perfect-sized paintbrush.
Sat on my bed, I watch in awe as Story gets to work painting the most beautiful mural of a sunflower on her wall. She’s so artistic. When she has almost finished, I go and grab dinner. Our time eating should give the paint a chance to dry, and then Story can clean up and organise her things.
“Oh Tru, this has been the worst, but also the best day of my life,” she says, her bright blue eyes wide and earnest.
Wow, puff, my heart squishes. It’s an addictive feeling.
We make a wonderful team.
After we’ve had dinner, I sit on the sofa and contemplate logistics.
I need to think of the best way to make stairs, or perhaps even a ladder, so Story can access her new room without me.
There’s limited space in the shed what with all my stuff, and as Story’s place hugs the ceiling, I might’ve caused an issue.
I nibble my lip. Perhaps if I put a small door and erect something on the outside, that will make her more independent.
“Reow,” my cat admonishes me, interrupting my thoughts.
To prove to Dexter he’s eaten every treat and to show him I’m not hiding anything, I present my hands to him like a human magician shows an audience that there is nothing up their sleeves.
The cheeky cat waltzes across the sofa to me and sniffs my fingers to double-check.
“There’s nothing left,” I gripe.
I do not know how the hairy monster manages to make me feel so guilty. He eats better than I do.
I was hoping the treats would distract him and also encourage Dexter to be kind to Story.
She’s so tiny I’m worried for her safety.
I don’t want him to think it’s okay to hunt her.
But so far it looks as if Dexter will be on his best behaviour.
I have a strong feeling that he already knows pixies aren’t for eating, and he’s shown nothing to prove he will be a danger to my tiny friend, which is a relief.
I tickle him underneath his chin. “Who’s a good boy?
Yes, Dexter is. Dexter is such a good boy. ”
“I can’t believe how blessed I am. I really am grateful for all my beautiful things.
I mean you even have a beithíoch as a guardian.
I know I will be very safe here.” Story nods towards Dexter, who now has a back leg stuck in the air and is licking…
urm… his bum. I frown. Great first impression there, Dex. I wrinkle my nose at his enthusiasm.
What Story said slowly registers. “A beithíoch…” They’re huge fae monster cats, furless horrible eat-your-face-off things.
I look at Dexter’s ginger fur. I’ve only seen beithíoch on television, and my Dexter isn’t one. I hold in my laugh as I don’t want to be rude to my new friend. I guess Dexter would look big to a pixie. “He’s just a cat,” I say as gently as I can with a smile and a shrug.
Story blinks at me, and then with a nod, she taps her tiny nose. “Oh yes, of course,” she says as she adds a conspiring wink.
What the hell? My eyes flick about as I think, and my gaze lands back on Dexter. Nooo. No way. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. “Mert,” he says and then goes back to his cleaning.
Huh, mert indeed. I shake my head and blow out my cheeks.
I’m just going to ignore that whole conversation.
I turn away and force myself to focus back on the problem of getting my friend to bed.
I stare at the shed. Out of the corner of my eye I can’t help but watch Dexter.
Yep, I need to ignore that. He’s just a cat.
“What do you prefer to use, a ladder or stairs?” I ask Story, as ultimately she’s the one that’s going to be using whatever I knock up.
“Oh, um… I have something to show you. Please don’t be mad.”
I turn to look at her, and Story hops from foot to foot and nervously wrings her hands together. I give her an encouraging smile. Shit, things can’t get any worse than the monster cat.
She gulps and closes her eyes. Sparkly pink magic appears behind her. “Oooh pink,” I mumble appreciatively.
From one moment to the next Story has wings.
I gasp and clap my hands. The pink magical wings flutter as she rises from the sofa and zips towards me.
My eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head, and I go a little cross-eyed trying to focus on her as she hovers perfectly in place in front of me. I rapidly blink with shock.
“Oh my god, Story, you have wings,” I squeak out. The stunned awe in my voice makes her grin.
“Yes. My dad is a pixie, and my mum was a fairy. I inherited her wings.” She spins in a circle, giving me an excellent view of her beautiful appendages.
I lift my hand, and without touching them, my fingers trace the air around the delicate wings.
“Wow, they’re so pretty. The pink rose gold against your blue skin is breathtaking.
Why did you think I’d be mad?” Story’s grin is wiped away with my words, and she slowly sinks down to stand on the arm of the chair.
“I’m an abomination,” she whispers, and her wings disappear.
Dejectedly she plops on her bottom and crosses her legs.
What the fuck. I frown.
“When my wings appeared, my troupe threw me out. They said…” A tear rolls down her cheek, and a lump grows in my throat at seeing her pain. Wow, Story is different just like me. I knew there was something special about her. “They said—”
“They called you an abomination?” I finish for her gently, and she nods. My heart hurts for her.
“They threw me out, and I had nowhere else to go but the park as it’s a free territory.
I’ve been there for weeks. I thought I was being careful, and then those awful boys trapped me and I thought I was going to die.
For a moment, just for a moment”—she lifts her eyes and looks at me as more tears stream down her face, and she hiccups as she rubs a hand across her cheeks—“I was glad. I wanted to die, as who would want an abomination like me?”
“You’re not an abomination, Story. You. Are. Incredible,” I say earnestly. “You’re the prettiest fae I have ever seen.”
“I am?” she asks in disbelief.
“Yes, you are,” I reply. My voice rings with my conviction.
“But don’t tell Tilly,” I wink, “as it will upset her.” I see it when the truth of my words registers as her eyes widen.
Story rushes towards me and jumps into my palm.
She throws her blue arms around my thumb and…
She hugs my thumb. I rapidly blink as my eyes fill up, and I have to swallow a few times to clear the emotion from my throat.
Carefully, gently, I wrap my fingers around her tiny body and hug her back.
“I got you,” I murmur.
I’ve got her back.