by Shay Emms
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Cover
Artwork
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication/Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Artwork
About the Author
Airily
a Bird Fairies Novel
Shay Emms
Filles Vertes Publishing
Coeur d’Alene, ID
Copyright © 2019 by Shay Emms
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Shay Emms/Filles Vertes Publishing
PO Box 1075
Coeur d’Alene, ID 83814
www.FillesVertesPublishing.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2019 Filles Vertes Publishing
Book Title/ Shay Emms. -- 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-946802-37-8
Dedication:
To the multitudes who helped me on this book. A book might be written alone but it's never completed alone.
Acknowledgments:
I would like to thank everyone at Filles Vertes Publishing.
Thank you for your work and edits and understanding.
CHAPTER ONE
A
irily curled her skinny bird-toes around the edge of the For Sale sign in the front yard. Across the lonely strip of two-lane blacktop nothing but trees were visible. The next house was acres away, and the land between was filled with small farms and patches of forest.
Beside her, Black Burn, the crow fairy, puffed up her feathers and grinned. “I’m not lying this time,” she said.
Airily frowned at her. Burn was supposed to be a grown-up, but she caused more trouble than Airily’s two younger siblings.
“It’s an untouched field of wild blueberries?” Airily asked.
Burn crossed her heart with her index finger. Like most animal-form fae, she looked human from the waist up, yet she had some bird-like attributes. She had wings on her back, tail feathers for flight, and scaly bird legs for perching—just like Airily.
“It’s a little farther than Poppa Jay usually lets you stray—about three miles across the Road. Keep the stream to your left, and at the big bend turn south for another mile.”
“Why don’t you tell Poppa yourself?” Airily looked up at Burn, who was big for a crow. At twelve years old, Airily hadn’t reached adult size for a sparrow fae—not that another inch would close the gap. The best Airily could hope for was to top out at five inches tall.
“Your Poppa is off collecting stale peanuts from the
Anderson’s squirrel feeder.” Burn’s grin widened. “Plus, it’s more fun to tell you and see if you’ll do it.”
Humans hadn’t lived in the House for two years, which meant Airily’s family collected food from the outdoors like wild sparrows—foraging from bird feeders, trash cans, and the woods around the neighborhood. When people lived in the House, they’d collected bread, sugar, cereal, spices, and fresh fruit all year round.
Airily patted the empty collecting sack slung across her chest. “Alright. Are there any hawks, eagles, or falcons?”
“None that I saw,” Burn said, all business. “There’s a flock of regular crows. Fly through their territory quick, and you shouldn’t have a problem. Also, listen to their calls. They’ll let you know if there’s any danger.”
Airily was supposed to go to the Leonetti’s backyard to check for cherry tomatoes, but wild blueberries were so much better. She’d do it. Poppa didn’t have to know where the blueberries came from. Decision made, she spread her wings, ready to take flight.
“Airily!”
She jerked as her feet clenched the For Sale sign.
Black Burn snickered. “Busted.”
With a sigh of annoyance, Airily turned around. Her baby brother, Witter, flapped his wings madly and waved his arms in the air to get her attention. He landed next to her, his tail feathers bristling.
“What are you two doing?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously at Burn.
“Nothing,” Airily said.
“Then why are you out front?” Witter puffed out his chest and gripped the lapel of his vest like a tiny prosecutor from the TV shows Airily used to watch through the House
windows.
“I was just talking to Burn. She told me about a really good blueberry patch. That’s all.”
“You’re going across the Road, aren’t you?” Witter said. He tried to look stern like Poppa, but the closest he came was a pout on the verge of tears.
“I wasn’t going far,” Airily said. “I thought you’d like some berries.”
“We don’t cross the Road, and you know why.” Witter’s voice rose and wavered. He was about to cry.
Airily hopped nervously. She looked at Burn, who nodded and took off. The windy backwash of her glossy black wings nearly blew Airily and Witter off the sign as she disappeared into the pine trees. Sometimes, the tricky crow was surprisingly sensitive.
“Witter, that was an accident.” A lump formed in Airily’s throat as she remembered.
Witter’s pout quivered. “I’ll tell Poppa on you.”
Airily’s sympathy dried up like a puddle in summer.
Witter always tattled, and Poppa always believed him. Airily broke rules that shouldn’t apply to her at her age. She already collected nearly as much food as Poppa himself.
“Fine,” Airily said angrily. “I’ll go get stupid, nasty, green tomatoes. And while we eat them tonight, you can think about the blueberries you could’ve had.”
“Good!” Witter said. “I don’t mind green tomatoes. We can make jam.”
“Not without sugar.”
The Sparrows couldn’t get basic supplies without humans in the House. People didn’t throw out things like that.
Witter ran out of threats, and Airily was out of patience. She stuck her tongue out at him and launched herself off the sign. She flew straight for the Road, Witter’s strangled cry wilting behind her. At the edge of the asphalt, she winged upwards and turned sharply, soaring over the roof toward the Leonetti’s garden.
With her collecting sack stuffed with two near-ripe cherry tomatoes, Airily sped over the patchwork fields and forest that made up their rural neighborhood. The orderly rows of the Dover’s maple trees gave way to the Anderson’s back meadow. To her left were the woods and to her right, farther off, was the Road. When the roof of the House came into view, Airily banked right. As she flew closer, a tiny dot launched from the top branches of a cherry tree in their backyard.
“Airily!” cried a high, thin voice.
Airily flapped faster as Fluppence waved. Her little sister seemed excited about something. She slowed as they met in mid-air. Fluppence turned tight circles around her.
“What is it, Flup?”
“You’ll never guess. Come on.” Fluppence bobbed in the air. Her short, brown hair was wind-blown into a dandelion poof. She shot away from Airily, over the House, and settled on the front gable of the roof.
Airily f
ollowed. “What? What happened?”
“Look.” She pointed at the acre of ragged front lawn.
“What? What are—”
Hanging from the bottom of the For Sale sign was a new placard with big, red letters—Sold.
“We’ll have people again! That means real food! The House will be warm come winter, and there’ll be books again, and paper, and all sorts of stuff.” Fluppence hopped up and down on the roof.
Airily laughed and danced with her sister, overjoyed by the prospect of all the things they hadn’t had in so long.
“The human who’s selling the house pulled up this afternoon,” Fluppence said. “I thought more people were going to look at it, but she hung the new sign and left.”
“Does Poppa know?”
Fluppence shook her head. “He’s not home yet.”
“He’ll be happy.” For once, Airily thought.
Poppa, still young and handsome, had gotten grimmer
after Momma died. He always seemed tired and overworked. Airily couldn’t remember the last time he laughed. The
arrival of new tenants might get him to crack a smile.
“I have to go tell Owlby. He’ll want the news for The Daily Whoot.” Fluppence flapped away.
“Don’t be long,” Airily shouted after her sister. She gazed at the Sold sign, excitement bubbling inside her. Who cared about blueberries when people were moving in?
At least Fluppence had a friend to tell. Owlby was the sole owner, reporter, and publisher of The Daily Whoot to which Fluppence was a dedicated subscriber. They were good friends— even if Owlby was older by hundreds of years.
Airily dove off the roof, fluttered over the yard, and headed for the woods behind the House. Black Burn would be interested in her news, if only to scoff at the Sparrows’ need of humans in the first place.
CHAPTER TWO
P
oppa stood in front of Airily, Fluppence, and Witter like a general reviewing his troops. They stood at
attention. Airily tried not to laugh, biting her cheek to keep the giggles away. Fluppence and Witter shook with barely-controlled laughter. Even Poppa smiled, thin but genuine—the first in ages.
“Alright,” Poppa said. He combed a hand through the spiky brown crest of his bangs, making sure his hair pointed skyward and wouldn’t flop in his face during such an
important speech.
“Alright,” he repeated. “You kids are too young to
remember what it’s like when new humans move into the house. But back when I was your age, the Spooners moved out and the Jacobis moved in, long before I met your mom.” He sucked in a breath, and his smile pressed into a pained line. “So, there’s work to be done! Are you up for the job?”
“Yes, sir!” Airily, Fluppence, and Witter said in unison. They tried for a snappy salute but ended up knocking elbows instead.
Poppa covered his laugh with a cough. “Very good. Now, we don’t know when the new people will move in. It could be soon, only a week or two. Or it could be more than a month. Either way, we need to be prepared.” Poppa drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “We must check all the secret passageways and doors, repair and clean them all, evict the mice, and make sure we haven’t left anything downstairs. One last sweep and then we don't go into the House anymore. Sometimes workers come to make repairs before the people come. I’ll be testing the taps and plumbing since we’re to have running water again.”
Everyone cheered. For years they’d had to fetch thimbles of water from the neighbors to keep a plastic bottle with a spigot filled. In winter they melted snow, and when it rained, they put bowls under the drips in the roof.
Fluppence raised her hand. “Will we have electricity, too?”
“Yes,” Poppa told her.
The Christmas lights strung around their attic apartment had been useless for a year and a half. Electricity had lasted longer than the water, but both had been shut off as the House remained empty.
“It might not hurt to check the wiring to make sure mice haven’t chewed through it,” Poppa added. “Fluppence,
Witter, you’ll be working in the House with me. Airily, you’ll be collecting most of the food until I’m done with the house. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Airily said, saluting again.
Poppa laughed freely this time, and Airily was pleased she’d been the one to cause it.
With the family meeting over, it was time for dinner.
Airily got the plates from a set of cupboards made from a jewelry box her grandfather had repurposed. Most of their dishes were jar lids and screw tops rescued from the trash.
She set the plates on the table, a doll furniture picnic bench that had been in the family for generations. Poppa got the largest plate, a lid from a jar of capers She set herself the pretty red lid from a jam jar, and Witter and Fluppence got the last two screw tops from spice jars.
“Witter, get the silverware.”
Obedient as ever, Witter fetched the silverware—which was really woodenware—from a cupboard made from an old tea tin. Poppa whittled all their silverware from well-dried oak in the evenings. They had forks, spoons, chopsticks, and knives with aluminum blades made from soda cans.
Airily fluffed her wings with pride. They came from a long line of clever sparrow fae. Poppa’s grandfather had built their whole house. He’d carved it from a wooden roof beam that intersected with the chimney brick. In the kitchen, there was an ancient brick oven built into the chimney. It had kept them warm in winter when the house was empty.
Airily and Witter took their seats while Poppa and
Fluppence served the meal. Flup’s sole skill was cooking. Her little sister liked two things: food and books. After Momma was gone, Fluppence and Poppa took over kitchen duties.
Poppa placed a platter of soft-boiled peanuts in the center of the table. He sliced through the peanuts and divvied out portions. Next to the peanuts was a fried cake made of ground sunflower seeds and whatever fruit Fluppence had handy to mash in. Topping the cakes was a fresh salad of greens taken from the Andersons’ garden, including fresh basil and oregano.
Airily grinned as she ate. Soon enough there’d be more than stale peanuts.
A rumble shook the house, waking Airily. In the
pillowed-nest next to hers, Fluppence slept on, oblivious to the noise.
Their bedroom door banged open, and Witter bounced in.
“It’s here! The moving truck!” he said. He hopped in place, tail feathers twitching in excitement.
Fluppence pulled her blanket over her head and muttered, “Go away.”
“Let’s go see.” Airily tossed her blanket to the floor and jumped out of bed, excited the people had come so quickly. Only a week had passed since they’d finished getting the House ready.
She held Witter’s hand the way she used to before he’d become such a tattling pest. They charged down the short hall—chimney brick on one side, wood and plaster on the other. In the living room, they picked up the pace, racing through the combination kitchen and dining room. Finally, the pair crept through the roof beam tunnel leading outside. The front door of their apartment opened under the eaves, disguised by a fake nest made from dusty twigs and wood glue. Airily and Witter jostled to be first. She elbowed him sharply, and Witter was forced to let her win.
Airily launched from the nest. The wings on her back spread and caught the summer air. Tail feathers fanned, she tucked up her spindly bird-legs. Her pajamas flapped as she flew over the roof, settling at the front of the House with a good view of the front yard and driveway.
Witter landed beside her a split-second later, and they stared down at the huge moving truck. Men in identical blue shirts were opening the back of the truck and pulling out a long ramp.
“Are those the new people?” Witter asked.
“I hope not,” Airily said.
The two men didn’t look friendly. One was a tall man with big arms and a
wobbling gut. The other was skinny and tattooed. As the men piled boxes on the dead grass of the front yard, a car pulled in behind the truck, leaving lots of space for the movers to work. Airily nudged Witter. “I bet those are the people.”
Witter nodded, and they watched intently, leaning
forward until their claws gripped the edge of the rough
shingles.
The first one out of the car was the driver, a tall, willow-thin woman with brown skin. Next, the passenger side door opened, and a man stepped out, smiling at the house. He was a good bit shorter than the woman, but his tightly-curled hair added an inch or two. They walked onto the lawn and clasped hands.
“That must be her husband,” Airily said.
“Our new home,” the man said with a grin. He pushed thick glasses up his nose and craned his neck to look up at the roof.
Instinctively, Airily and Witter broke and flew in separate directions. Airily landed on the red brick of the living room fireplace. Witter circled the roof, then settled on the other side of the chimney.
“Come on Josh, we’re here,” the woman yelled, turning back toward the car.
Slowly the back door of the car opened and a boy got out. “But Mom…” He frowned at the house, then at the land around them. “Why are we so far from town?”
The boy wore glasses, like the man, but had longer, springy curls of hair. He was thin, like his mother. His jeans were baggy, and his T-shirt hung loosely on pointed
shoulders.
“There aren’t even people here, Dad.” The boy’s voice tightened into a whine. “Just trees and stuff.”
The father laughed and said, “You’ll get to like it, I promise. Wait till you see the stars from here. It’s nothing we could’ve seen in L.A. No more driving hours to Mojave.”
“And you’ll make friends in school,” his mother said.
The boy scoffed. “Not with a bunch of farm kids, I won’t.”