Kissing Frogs

by Kim Deister

  I hooked my phone to a set of speakers and tucked moss around them. Finn created a playlist for me a few days ago and it was perfect for my froggy collection, lilting Irish music invoking myth and magic. It was a little, wooded fairy land, the irony not lost on me.

  The judges stopped in front of my booth and waved for me to join them. As we talked, a photographer walked around and took pictures. When she was done, the judges left me to drift around and examine my work. They whispered among themselves, taking notes and picking up different pieces for closer looks. They ignored me, only occasionally asking questions and I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad. By the time they finished, I was a nervous wreck.

  It took them less time than I anticipated to make their way around the arena and when they were done, they left the arena floor without another word. We still had a half hour before the doors opened to the public, so I wandered across the plywood-covered ice to Taylor’s booth. It was as gorgeous as her displays always were, thanks in no small part to her widely talented husband. Mark made furniture in his spare time and designed all of the cabinets and tables in her booth. They were ingenious, everything modular and mounted on wheels. They were easy to move and could be reconfigured to whatever she needed. The pale wood was the perfect backdrop to her pottery pieces. I needed to hit him up, enforce the best friend’s privilege.

  “Hey, stranger,” she called as I approached. “How’s your pirate? I saw him earlier, using those lovely muscles of his.”

  “Shush! Why don’t you announce it to the world?!” I grumbled at her as she grinned mischievously at me. “And the pirate is fine. He’s at work,” I answered in a much quieter voice. “He was here long enough to be my manual labor and cause a stir among some of the ladies. What about you? Is Mark hiding somewhere around here or did he run for the hills?”

  “He was here, but he left as soon as he could get away with it. He’s actually with your man. Finn’s laying some ink on him this afternoon.”

  “What? How did I not know that?”

  “Probably because Finn didn’t know. Mark decided last night that he wanted the new guy to ink him so he put himself on his schedule. We ran into him when Mark left, so they took off together. Coffee man date.”

  “So, what’s Mark getting this time?”

  “A Samoan tribal design he’s been working on. And Mark’s making another appointment with the pirate. For me.”

  “Are you serious? You’re going to have Finn tattoo you?” She never let anyone other than her husband ink her. And then another, more disturbing thought occurred to me. “Please tell me it’s not going to be anywhere pervy. It would be weird to have my boyfriend play with my best friend’s boob.”

  “No worries. No boobs or any other controversial body area. Just the forearm. Strictly G-rated, I promise.” She patted me on the arm. “By the way, what the hell happened to your poor truck? I saw it coming in and she looks like you tried to batter a house down with it. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I had a minor altercation with a moose out on Grandma Fi’s lane.”

  The wide-eyed shock on Taylor’s face almost made the whole thing worth it. “You hit a moose? And your truck isn’t totaled? How is that possible?”

  “More like the moose hit me.” I told my best friend the story and watched her face as it went from shock to disbelief to amusement. The amusement faded away when I told her about what I thought I saw in the woods, the flash of someone watching. Telling her about my exchange with Macy/Siofra in my yard didn’t help.

  “Holy shit, girl. You’ve got to be kidding me. The French teacher is Siofra? I bet that wasn’t on her resumé.”

  “I bet not.”

  “And here I thought you were the crazy one.”

  Before I could say anything else, a hush fell over the arena. I looked over my shoulder and saw the judges coming back onto the floor. I gave Taylor a quick hug and jogged back to my booth as they began announcing the results. “Best in Category” awards were first and most of them were no surprise. Taylor got her category’s award for her pottery and I whooped a loud cheer for her.

  Finally, it was time for my own category. At most of these shows, it was usually a tight competition between a few of us. I was the newcomer on the scene and I hadn't won at all, not in the top slots anyway. But I thought I had a pretty good chance this time, better than I’d ever had before, thanks to Finn and my new collection. When the judges approached my booth, I realized that I’d done it. I heard a whoop and looked over to see Taylor clapping as wildly I had for her.

  One of the judges handed me a framed certificate and shook my hand. One of the others pinned a ribbon to my gazebo. The win meant I was still in the running for the big prize. Which was awesome, except for the fact that I was up for it against my best friend. That sucked.

  The judges handed out a myriad of smaller awards, too. Taylor picked up a couple, one of them for a gorgeous teapot that looked like a hummingbird in flight that I coveted for myself. I picked up a few more, too, for some of my more complicated pieces. I also got one for the creativity of the display I designed for my booth, which had been paid for with blood, sweat, and tears.

  Finally, it was time for the big announcement. Even losing wouldn’t be a bad thing. Exposure is exposure and money is money. At the very least, I was looking at a small, dedicated spread in the magazine and almost three grand in my bank account. The judges called us up and we all stood in a loose arc around them. None of us seemed to be capable of standing still. Taylor grabbed my hand and squeezed it so hard I felt my bones grind. One of the judges cleared his throat and began to announce the top three winners.

  The third prize went to a local artist who for his watercolors of birds. I held my breath as they announced the second prize, not registering for a moment that the name called was my own. That meant eight grand in my bank account and a three-page spread in a national magazine. I didn't win, but it was better than I hoped for. After a whole lot of suspense-building posturing, they announced the grand prize winner, Taylor. We squealed like school girls and jumped up and down hugging each other. If it couldn’t be me, I was thrilled it was her.

  Now that the pressure was off, we all could relax for a few minutes. But once the doors opened, I was so busy I barely had time to breathe.

  The arena floor was a seething mass of people. I couldn’t even see Taylor through the crowd. The holidays were coming and it was a big draw for a lot of locals, traveling from all over the state, even Canada, to be here. More importantly, there were sure to be buyers among them. A lot of buyers came up from New York City and down from Canada to scout out new sources for the next big thing and that was a lucrative deal, if you could get it. A buyer approached Taylor earlier this year, a tiny little shop in SoHo that catered to the boho-riche crowd. In the first six months, the sales of her pottery earned her enough to place a hefty down payment on a gorgeous new house.

  It looked like it was finally my turn. Two buyers had already approached me, contracts in hand just waiting for my name to filled in the blank. One was from a boutique in Ottawa, nestled into the ByWard Market. I knew the shop, popular among tourist and locals alike. They offered me a great deal, but the tariffs involved would take a huge bite out of my profits. So, I signed my name with a flourish on another dotted line, cementing a deal with a trendy little shop in Greenwich Village. I snapped a pic of it and sent it without a message to Mac, Finn, and Taylor. I knew the moment Taylor got it because her shriek rang out even over the crowd, accompanied by a long-distance fist bump. Finally! Something’s going my way…

  I was riding high on my newfound success and rode higher as the day went on. I usually did pretty well at the fairs and shows I went to, but they were nothing like this. A lot of my Finn the Frog collection was for more serious buyers with price tags that matched. It wasn’t the kind of stuff that universally appealed to the average shopper, so I had brought a healthy inventory of those things, too, the kinds of pieces that had prices that didn�
�t require the sale of a kidney. Even aside from the Finn collection, I had at least three times the inventory I usually did and still sold out of a quarter of it within the first couple of hours.

  It appeared I was going to make bank from this event. My stuff was selling fast and I was getting custom orders like crazy. Like the work I did for Chloe, that was where the dollars were at. Most of it came from people I knew in the local area or through my website. I got some at these shows, but not usually too many. But even in the first hour, I had twice the potential custom orders than I usually got after an entire event, or even a few events. It seemed that fairy-induced stress hadn’t killed my creative muse.

  By lunchtime, I was ready to drop where I stood. Even the plywood floor under my tables was starting to look good as a potential napping spot. Business finally slowed a little when customers took a breather and went out to the café kiosks that lined the lobby. I took the time to rearrange my displays, trying to fill in the empty spaces. I was bent over, sliding a box back under the table, when I felt the sting of a hand across my butt. It shocked me and I stood up too fast. The world spun and I almost face-planted on the floor. After a moment, the world settled back into place and I saw my harasser. My sister. But before I could give her crap, I noticed that she held a small pizza box from which savory smells emanated. I immediately forgot about my ass as my mouth began to water. I snatched the box out of her hands and opened it to find two slices of my favorite pizza. Pepperoni with jalapeños and pineapples. She could smack my ass all she wanted if I got pizza.

  “Mac, my love, you are my hero!” I beamed at her with joy as I practically stuck my nose into it. My sister was well acquainted with my love affair with pizza, so she ignored me as she looked around my setup.

  “I do what I can. Besides, I figured you could use a congratulatory lunch. I got your text. Congrats, little sister!” She reached around the pizza box to give me a hug and a loud smack on the cheek. “You’ve hit the big time!”

  I blushed, but it felt good to have Mac say something nice about my work. Most of the time, she treated it like a hobby, not a real job. She really was trying to change things between us.

  “I fed Taylor, too. She looked about as dead on her feet as you do. I took a slew of orders for her while she ate.” She took it upon herself to rearrange some of the displays as she talked. “Looks like you are doing pretty damn well today, too.”

  “You fed Taylor before your own sister? That’s messed up, Mac,” I pouted in mock hurt.

  “Shut up. Hers was ready and yours wasn’t. And you got fresh pizza, so stop giving me crap and eat before you fall on your face. I’ll take care of your customers,” she said. She dropped a pile of napkins onto my worktable next to a tall drink with a neon pink straw.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I plopped down onto the stool and dug in. Greasy pizza had never tasted so good. I tore into it like a hungry wildebeest and had to force myself to slow down and eat like a civilized human being. After a necessary bathroom break, I was refreshed and ready to take over again. Mac gave me more love and left me to it.

  The second wave of potential customers wandered into the arena before Mac was even out of sight. If anything, the afternoon was even busier than the morning had been. And if the steady stream of sales was any indication, this event would be my best yet. Even the vanity pieces were selling, the ones every designer created to show off their skills. From a marketing standpoint, they were usually a complete loss. They took forever and used the best of everything which made them crazy expensive. Most of time, they were so over-the-top that no one could see themselves actually wearing them, so nobody ever bought them. But every one of them sold without even any haggling. Even my silk scarves sold and they were only meant to be decorative. I even had orders for more. It was unbelievable.

  But it wasn't all sunshine and unicorns. My paranoia rose its ugly head soon after Mac left when I spotted a dark-haired woman in the crowd. Every time I looked up, it seemed like she was nearby. I tried to ignore her, but that was next to impossible. It felt like her eyes were always on me, watching and waiting. I wasn’t sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it was Macy, or Siofra, or whatever she was calling herself today. Even as I spoke with customers, only half of my attention was on them. The rest of it was on her. The tension in the air was so palpable that it amazed me no one else seemed to notice it.

  Every instinct screamed at me to run, but what was the point? I was no match against her. The bitch had magic and I had a decent running pace. No match. I thought about asking security throw her out, but what would I tell them? That there was a random woman in the crowd of hundreds that made me nervous for no good reason? That I thought the woman was really an immortal aes sidhe who was mad at me because I took her man? Somehow, I didn’t think either of these would go over too well and being the crazy chick wasn't good for business.

  As I thought about it, I realized that I was also a flaming idiot. I just saw Macy/Siofra last night and yet here I stood, just hours later, completely unprepared... again. No iron, no salt, no anything. Nothing but some tools and a giant display of jewelry. And if she was who I thought she was, the inspiration for that jewelry was likely not lost on her. That wouldn't exactly endear me to her.

  I had been too complacent and I had a feeling that I was about to pay for it. How stupid am I? Even after everything that had been happening, my dumb ass totally neglected to be prepared. I was too damn complacent, despite Grandma Fi’s best efforts. But it was hard to change how I viewed the world overnight, especially after a lifetime of dismissing magic as nothing more than fantasy. And I was going to pay for it now.

  As soon as I had a lull in clients, I grabbed my cell phone with one thing in mind… cluing in Finn. The mystery woman was nowhere in sight when I began to text him. I hated bugging him at work and being one of those girlfriends, but I figured this was a Code Red situation. But before I could finish my message, my phone was plucked out of my hands, accompanied by a soft “tsk tsk” sound. I looked up and standing in front of me was not the woman I expected.

  Standing in front of me was Chloe MacAuliffe. The girl was a little weird, but relief flooded through me when I saw her standing in front of me instead of a pissed off fairy. I looked around surreptitiously, but the suspected fairy was nowhere in sight. I was so relieved that I momentarily forgot that she had just taken my phone away from me for no apparent reason.

  “Hey, Chloe! How are you?” I noticed she was wearing some of the things I made her and I beamed. “I see you’re wearing your jewelry. They look great with your eyes!”

  Instead of answering me, she met my eyes with a measured look. I wasn’t easily intimidated, but this awkwardness was uncomfortable. The stubborn part of me refused to look away, even as I started to squirm under her gaze. The silence stretched on until I was on the verge of going batty. This was beyond weird and bordering on full-on disturbing. When she finally spoke, her voice was deadly calm.

  “You do know who I really am, don’t you?”

  The feeling of relief fled, leaving behind icy dread. Chloe was Siofra. Macy was Siofra. I had let the one person I was trying to avoid into my house. And now she held my phone, my lifeline, in her hand.

  I glanced behind her toward Taylor's booth. She wasn’t that far from me, but she was too busy to notice what was happening. Even if she did, what could she do for me? She knew the deal with Siofra, but I doubted that she had an Anti-Fairy Protection Kit with her. So, thanks to my too slow texting and my epic failure at preparedness, I was on my own. Fantastic.

  "Well? Do you know who I am or don't you?" Her face was peaceful, a ghost of a seemingly sweet smile playing on her lips. But it didn’t match the coldness of her eyes, the icicles in her voice. The threat was unmistakable.

  This wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. My inner bitch didn’t want to give her ego the satisfaction, but I didn't think my bitch mode would go over too well. If anything, it would prove to be detrimental to
my health. So, I restrained myself, figuring I was in enough trouble as it was. But my inner bitch wouldn’t let me completely off the hook. I ignored her question and answered her with one of my own.

  “What do you want, Siofra?” I mentally patted myself on the back when I heard my voice, strong and unwavering. It sure as hell didn’t sound like I was quivering with fear, which I was, at least on the inside.

  I didn’t give a damn what Siofra wanted, but I knew she’d be sure to tell me regardless of my feelings on the subject. Being in public gave me a margin of safety, since I couldn’t imagine that she would choose a public place to do away with me. But then again, she was an immortal fairy. The laws of humans probably didn’t mean a whole lot to her and that didn’t bode well for my prolonged longevity. Grandma Fiona always told me I had the Irish gift of blarney. She usually didn't mean that as a compliment, but I sure as hell hoped it would help me make it out of this alive.

  The moment I said her name, Siofra’s mask of sweetness faded away, replaced by lofty smugness. “So, you do know who I am. And what exactly do you know about me?”

  Just the way she asked the question irritated me. It sounded as if she expected me to fall to my knees in abject worship of her gloriousness, as if she were a goddess instead of a fairy with a bad attitude. My instinct for survival was on hiatus because all I wanted to do was scoff, which was not a wise course of action if I wanted to see tomorrow. I went immediately into Girl Mode and tried to find something about her to insult, but the bitch was physically flawless and I hated her.

  “I know who you are and I know what you are. So, I ask again, what do you want?” I tried for a tone that was snooty, rather than snarky. Her nostrils flared, showing me that I failed.