35. Fairy Cleaning Lady
THIRTY-FIVE
FAIRY CLEANING LADY
A pure-blooded witch’s home must embody the same precision and care demanded in all aspects of her life. Cleanliness is not merely a matter of hygiene, but a reflection of discipline and respect for one’s heritage.
Best practices include the diligent use of self-sweeping brooms, dust-repelling charms, and potions to banish clutter.
Every room should be immaculate, with magical artifacts displayed tastefully, untouched by dust or disorder.
A well-kept home is a testament to the character and clarity of mind of its owner, ensuring her surroundings mirror the excellence of her lineage.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
Minerva had done her best. She might have failed to retrieve the wrapper, but it had still found its way to Arthur. She deserved to rest.
Being a mouse was nice, in some ways. She had no guilt about her new, lazy ways.
She could sleep in till nine, have a snack and nap till noon.
So what if the mouse apartments were a mess again?
There was nobody to keep up appearances for.
The dust gathered in giant drifts that rivaled the snow now gathering on the shop’s windowsills. So what? Nobody minded.
This was a much nicer way to think about it.
The fact that she could probably disappear forever and nobody would care was a much more bitter pill to swallow.
Who had even missed her? Not one soul had thought to pay their respects since the Mudpuddle had returned. Not even Lucretia. She would have expected her niece to at least stop by and offer to arrange a celebration of life. Organize a search party. Do something.
The customers didn’t seem to miss her. They were just as happy to buy their books from Maida. Even the squirrels seemed to like Maida’s snacks just as much as they had enjoyed hers.
Over in the cafe, Rosie’s snickerdoodles were almost as popular as her lemon biscuits.
But Rosie’s cookies were Ordinary—baked with no real magic unless you counted the final blast of dragon fire that gave them a gooey caramelized crust. It was practically preposterous how delicious they were.
Minerva had to give credit where credit was due.
This entire experience was humbling.
Primrose Court didn’t need her anymore. With or without her, the Mudpuddle was still standing; the shop was still prospering, the coffee shop patrons were klatching and as far as she could tell, the contents of the Archives were still contained—thank the fates for that.
How long had she been living like this? A few days? A couple of weeks? A month?
Judging by the amount of snow falling outside the shop’s windows, it had to be closer to a month, she thought. An entire month since that mage had blasted her with his wretched fake magic and she was still a mouse. Shouldn’t the spell be worn off already?
What if she stayed stuck like this forever?
The bed was comfortable and warm, at least. Especially when piled high with the quilts she’d scavenged from the other empty apartments.
Beneath the covers, Minerva chased her tail.
She completed three circuits during which she made a fresh donut shaped depression in the tiny mouse feather bed.
She sniffed and snuffled as she hunkered down, ready to descend back into dreamland, where she hoped she might encounter Zephyr again.
Seeing him so regularly in her dreams helped with the loneliness. She just wished he would stop going on about that magic mirror. How on earth did he expect her to get down to the Archives?
Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today she would dream about sharing a nice wedge of cheddar or a creamy hunk of brie with Zippy. That was a dream she would not mind having again and again.
“I know you’re in there Minerva Lathrop! There’s no point in hiding. You’re not fooling me!”
Minerva’s eyes shot up. Were her ears deceiving her? Was that someone speaking to her? How?
“Come on now. Get out of bed. You’ve done a terrible job of keeping this place up. The least you can do is get up and have a spot of tea with me.”
Minerva’s curiosity was piqued when she heard the clink of china. Just enough to ask a question, though. Not enough to come out.
“Who is that?” she squeaked. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, you old fool!” The quilts were ripped off the bed rather unceremoniously, leaving Minerva exposed to the cool morning air. She shivered and blinked, willing her eyes to focus on the owner of the voice that sounded so familiar.
“Is that you, Beryl?” Minerva squinted. She thought she recognized the fairy Beryl Luna. Fairies could shrink and grow at will, but this did not explain what Beryl was doing standing in the mouse apartments.
“Fair as the forest it is I!” the well-aged fairy hooted. “And I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all these years, you old witch. How long have you been sitting on this micro estate?”
“You can understand me?” Minerva asked.
“Why not?” Granny shrugged.
“Because I’m a MOUSE.” Minerva frowned. “Hadn’t you noticed?”
“Well you’ve always been a bit mousy,” Granny teased. “So I hardly noticed.”
Minerva didn’t hesitate. She snapped her tail at Beryl.
“Now, now, you wouldn’t want to spill the tea, would you?” Granny chided. “It’s not very neighborly of you to lash out at me when I’ve come to pay you a visit and done you such a big favor. Come and have your tea.”
“Favor? What favor? Why couldn’t you just let me sleep!” Minerva grumbled.
“I’ve cleaned your whole apartment and what’s more, I’ve made you fresh tea and cakes!” Granny sounded affronted now. “And, I’ve brought you fresh clothes. Those rags you have on are filthy!”
Minerva blinked again, willing the sunspots away and her cloudy vision to clear. But even before she could see, she could smell the tea. When Granny held the cup beneath her nose she inhaled.
“Sweet elixir of life!” Minerva moaned.
“I told you, I’ve done your dishes and ironed your sheets as well. Have you never had a proper fairy housekeeper then?”
“Well…no,” Minerva confessed. “We didn’t go in for such luxuries in my family.”
“More’s the pity, you could have done with a bit of pampering.” Granny sniffed and patted the doll-sized ball gowns hanging on the rolling rack beside the bed.
“Where did you even find those?” Minerva blinked.
“Toy store,” Granny admitted. “But I had them altered.”
“How are you here? Why are you here?” Minerva asked.
She was thinking she was dreaming again.
She took a scone from the plate Granny was proffering and took a bite.
It was scrumptious, buttery and soft and flavored with juicy bits of raspberry.
She had to admit that short of a dream involving Zephyr and cheese, this was the best dream she’d had in ages.
Her eyes began to slide half shut as she dozed into her pleasure.
“Wake up!” Granny pinched her. “This is not a dream! I’m here to bail you out. Bring you back. Rescue you.”
“Ouch!” Minerva cried out. Now when she looked around, she could see that the apartment had been cleaned. Every surface glistened and glowed as if it had been given a fresh coat of paint and a polish.
“You did all this for me?” Minerva marveled.
“I did.” Granny dropped down into the chair beside the bed and helped herself to a scone. “’Twas nothing for a fairy.”
“But why?”
“Because we older folk need to stick together.”
“I can’t go back like this.” Minerva looked down at her ragged clothes and furry appendages. “Who would take me seriously? They barely took notice of me when I was a witch. I’m no longer needed out there. Leave me be. Let me live my mouse life.” She waved a dismissive hand towards the wall.
“Is that what you call what you’re doing now?” Granny Luna arched her brow and tapped a bedazzled sneaker. “Sleeping the days away, creeping about and stealing food. And here I thought you were just trying to avoid being charged with murder.”
“I didn’t do anything to Zephyr!” Minerva squeaked defensively.
“I believe you, and I’m sure the others will.” Granny dusted some crumbs off her skirt. “We’ll just get you cleaned up and you can speak to a constable.”
“And what then? Maida and Arthur make me their pet?” Minerva protested. “No thanks. That’s no life. Living with a cat and a dragon probably isn’t the greatest thing for my health.” Minerva sipped her tea.
“A dragon?” Beryl’s eyes grew wide. “What are you talking about, Minnie? Have you been nibbling on some toadstools?”
“No, Beryl. I saw Rosie shift with my own eyes,” Minerva bragged. “Bad as my eyes are, that was one shift I couldn’t mistake. But you musn’t tell anyone.”
Minerva hated to admit it, but she rather enjoyed having the scoop. For once she wasn’t the last one on the street to hear the good gossip.
She’d missed out on female friendships for so long. Certainly her family would never have allowed her to socialize with a fairy. But Beryl was a lot of fun. And Minerva had nothing to lose. So long as the fairy kept her secrets.
“Promise you won’t tell anyone about me, Beryl? You’re welcome to visit me here whenever you like. You can even take up residence in one of the apartments. Have some friends over. Throw a party in the ballroom. Just don’t tell anyone that I’m still here.”
Granny Luna’s eyes grew wide at the mention of the ballroom. “That would be so much fun. But not without you, Minerva! More tea?”
Minerva nodded and allowed her to pour a second cup of the strawberry scented tea.
“There are plenty of folk who miss you. I miss you. I do wish you’d reconsider and let me tell the others you’re okay,” Granny Luna tried again.
“I’m not okay. I’m a mouse who can’t do magic anymore,” Minerva lamented. “You can shrink and grow, and come and go as you like. But I’m stuck like this.”
“We could still play tricks on the customers in the bookshop,” Granny suggested.
“No,” Minerva argued. “Even if I wanted to do that, it wouldn’t be the same for me. I don’t want anybody to see me like this. How do you think it feels to actually become a mouse after being called mousy for most of my life?”
“May the Morrigan take your detractors away!” Beryl cursed.
“I’m sorry I said you smell. You’re really not all that bad, you know.
I actually think you’re kind of cute. I, for one, don’t care one whit whether you’re a mouse or a witch.
In fact, I think I might prefer you this way. Will you at least think about it?”
“Fine.” Minerva nodded. Now that her belly was full, her lids were growing heavy again. “I promise I will think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Beryl said.
“How did you figure out I was here?” Minerva asked, struggling to stay awake long enough to hear the answer.
“Sure as the winds, Rosie’s cat showed me.”
Zephyr came to Minerva almost immediately, somewhere in the space between dreams and waking. He was more insistent than ever.
“My mirror, Minnie! You need to get it. Go and get it right now.”
“Get your own mirror, Zippy,” Minerva mumbled, snuggling into her donut shaped hole. “I don’t care how you look, anyway. Don’t you know that already, you old fool? I loved you even when you had crumbs in your beard.”
“No, Minnie. You have to get the mirror.” There were tears in his eyes now. “Please. It’s important. It’s not just for me, Minnie. It’s for you!”
And then he was gone. The dream was gone. And she was awake.
Minerva sat up in the darkened apartment, dazed, confused and foggy, feeling more alone than she ever had.
There was only one thing to be done. She was going to have to find a way into the Archives, already. She was sick of always dreaming the same dream.