The Fairest Kind of Love

by Crystal Cestari

  “Hi!” I stand, extending my hand to Papa. “It’s really nice to officially meet you all. Your farm is so—”

  Papa, still as a statue, leans on his cane and glares at me. He forces us to hold our breath an excruciatingly long time before he speaks, as if he were waiting for the pony express to deliver his thoughts. Amani mouths an “uh-oh” my way, and I can’t help but concur.

  “When we brought you home from Chicago,” he says to Jane finally, his words slow and deliberate, “we talked about this. How this . . . foolishness is holding you back.”

  “Foolishness?” I blurt out, covering my mouth with my hand as Jane buries her face in hers. Her father transfers his withering stare to me.

  “Yes, foolishness,” he repeats harshly. I’m sensing he’s not a guy used to repeating himself. “Jane’s endeavors go against our way of life.”

  Huh? Feeling dumb, I ask, “So you’re against love?”

  Offended, Papa scowls. “Of course not. Fairies cherish love and peace above all else. We’ve been committed to harmony since the beginning of time, and we consider it our sacred duty to maintain balance. There are consequences to using magic—you have to show restraint. Jane doesn’t wield her magic properly and acts like the world is ending if she can’t make her matches. She has to learn balance, timing. Stop flaunting her so-called abilities.”

  “But it’s not like with dust,” Rose interjects, instantly attracting all the vitriol in the room. “There aren’t huge side effects to what Jane does.”

  “No side effects?” Papa bellows. “What about when she told Pastor Jacob that Rebecca, his wife of thirty years, was not his match? Or when she stood up at Thanksgiving and announced that cousin Jeffrey’s fiancé is destined to marry a werewolf?” He snorts like a bull, lips pursed and quivering at bad memories. Behind him, Mama nods solemnly while Peter wrings his hands. “Jane stepping in and toying with people’s hearts is simply unacceptable.”

  Living with a witch means I’ve heard similar logic before; Mom’s all about making sure her spells aren’t throwing off some sort of cosmic plan. But his views are way skewed and misinformed.

  “That’s not what matchmaking is,” I counter, unable to stop myself. I won’t let someone tarnish the magic and optimism of matchmaking, especially when Jane is crumbling beside me. “Jane doesn’t force people to fall in love against their will. We’re not brewing love potions or holding hearts hostage. Match-makers are like love conduits, just helping things along. What we do is beautiful, it’s hopeful, it’s—”

  “Enough.” Papa doesn’t have to yell; his blue wings reach full span, filling the room with his command. “I will not be lectured in my own home.”

  “Papa, maybe we should hear Amber out, get another perspective,” Peter tries gingerly. Ivy watches from the corner of her eye, a sliver of a smile on her lips. “We’ve never met another matchmaker before; maybe she can illustrate Jane’s situation differently.”

  “No. We’ve talked about this more than enough. Jane needs to learn how to respect magic and the dangers it can create. And she’s not going to learn that by hanging around with those who don’t see the repercussions of their actions.” He looks at his daughter, a mix of concern and frustration swirling in his eyes. “You will stay in this house until these people have left the farm.” We’re all dealt a major case of side-eye as he turns, Mama jumping up at his side, before he adds, “Love is not something to be trifled with.”

  “I NEVER THOUGHT I’D meet someone who hates matchmakers more than I do,” Ivy says as we sit outside the farm bakery. I figured we could all use something sweet to wash out the ugly taste from our mouths, but this is a far cry from MarshmElla’s. Everything is made with ingredients grown on the premises, meaning the choices are über healthy and therefore über unsatisfying. I’m sorry, but sugar-free vegan zucchini brownies aren’t exactly my first choice when I want to eat my feelings.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we didn’t mention your whole siren thing; they probably would’ve lost their minds,” I say, spitting out a chunk of vegetable. “I know all supernaturals have drama about overstepping the Fates, and I guess that’s what they think matchmaking is, but, like, you’re telling me these fairies never use the dust they’re harvesting? Or sell it to others who could then abuse the crap out of it? How is giving someone access to powerful magic like fairy dust any different than revealing a match?”

  “It doesn’t add up,” Amani agrees, pushing her plate away. “I thought they were going to lock me up for being a precog, and yet this whole place is literally sparkling with magic.”

  “Fairies are pacifists,” Rose mumbles, head buried in crossed arms on the table. She looks up, rubbing her temples. “We don’t actually have any magic of our own, and we distrust those that do.”

  “But those wings—you can fly!” I exclaim.

  Rose frowns. “That’s not magic; it’s biology. And the dust . . . it’s from the earth. It’s natural. They see it as a duty to take care of the coruscents, which are so rare. They harness the earth’s bounty . . . they don’t view it as magic, per se.”

  Amani and I exchange a look. “That makes NO SENSE. Fairy dust is like the most magical substance in the world! It can do almost anything! I mean, what does your family do with all this dust once they’ve performed their sacred rites or whatever? There is a ton of it lying around here.”

  “Most of it gets stored away, kept for magical emergencies or whatever. Very small portions get sold to vetted vendors, but getting fairy-approved is nearly impossible.”

  Amani has to physically stop me from pulling my hair out. “But it does happen, and clearly dust gets in other people’s hands!” I yell. “This is why black magic markets exist!” I think of Roscoe, salivating as he runs his tattooed hands over his precious dragon eggs. He would probably cry himself dry seeing all this dust.

  “Obviously I don’t agree with any of this,” Rose says, wings drooping behind her. “I’m just telling you how things work here. Fairies have serious trust issues, and they push away what they don’t want to deal with.” My heart swells with a sudden rush of appreciation for my own mom. She may not have understood what I was going through, but she didn’t make matters worse by pushing me away. She never shunned me or purposely made me feel less than. There was so much I wanted to say to the Parents Wisteria, but I didn’t get the chance. And what’s worse, I got next to zero time with Jane, who is now locked away Rapunzel-style, unable to leave the house. I was hoping we could hunker down for some serious shoptalk, swap some matchmaker war stories, and maybe, just maybe, pick her little brain about why my visions are going all wonky. All I want is someone to tell me what’s wrong with me. Is that so much to ask?

  “Well, you’re better off without them,” Ivy declares. Rose turns to her, annoyed. “I mean, why bother with people who are clearly idiots?”

  I sigh.

  “What?” Ivy asks.

  “That’s her family.” Though I don’t know why I have to explain it, especially after all the drama the Chamberlains have been through. “Rose is trying to make things better between them. And besides, they weren’t all idiots, were they?” I do a suggestive eyebrow waggle in Ivy’s direction.

  Ivy’s taken aback. “Ew! What? Why are you doing that?” She blushes, which is saying a lot considering how pale she’s become. “God, why are you always so weird?”

  As if on cue, Peter finds us, approaching with the gait of a guilty puppy who just chewed up all his owner’s shoes. He holds a bouquet of wildflowers—the non-fairy-dust kind—and after a few awkward attempts, finally places them down in front of his cousin.

  “Rose, are you okay?” His wings shudder behind him.

  She shakes her head, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. He kneels down beside her, gently patting her back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know you’re just trying to make things better for Jane, to make my parents see the error of their ways. But fairies are nothing if not stubborn idealists.” Rose chokes on
an abbreviated laugh and wraps her arms around her cousin. Both pairs of iridescent wings float upward as they embrace. I sneak a peek at Ivy, who watches the exchange with silent adoration.

  Rose pulls back, holding Peter’s hands. “What are we gonna do with them, Pete?”

  “Scrub their brains with dust and hope for sparkling results?” He quickly looks at the rest of us, giving a shy smile. “May I join you all?” Rose scoots over, patting the space next to her.

  Peter sits, shoulders bowing forward. “Well, that was a completely terrible first impression, wasn’t it?”

  “Pretty bad.” Amani grins.

  “The worst,” I one-up. “And your fairy snacks are gross.” Peter takes our teasing in stride, though I notice that Ivy, who was happy to bash on the whole scene moments ago, remains suspiciously quiet.

  “I don’t believe I caught your name,” Peter says to her, extending a hand.

  “Ivy,” she says, in a tone so soft and gentle, I didn’t think her vocal cords were capable of it.

  “Lovely.” They shake hands, lingering at each other’s touch, eyes locked. “And can I assume you’re magical too?”

  “Well, not exactly. . . .”

  He gives her a lopsided grin. “That’s okay, neither am I. Not really.”

  “Your parents must really love you, then.” I regret it as soon as it comes out; Amani’s pinching the bridge of her nose in embarrassment. When will I ever develop a filter? But Peter just nods sadly.

  “They love Jane too; they just can’t get past themselves. They have to want to see things differently, though. No one can do that for them.”

  “What do you think will be the best way to get through to them?” I ask. “Because besides a karate chop to the face, I can’t think of any solutions. I need to talk to your sister, and since she’s trapped in your house, that seems a little difficult to achieve.”

  “Since when have you ever karate-chopped someone?” Amani asks, amused at the thought.

  “All the time. In my head.”

  “Right.”

  Peter sighs. “Well, they can’t keep her in there forever. Tomorrow is the summer solstice, and there’s no way they’ll let her miss that, even if they are mad.” Tomorrow?! No! I hadn’t planned on this trip being an overnighter. I’m not exactly psyched to hang around. “You all can stay with me,” he continues. “It’ll be cozy, but we’ll make it work.”

  Ivy straightens, flashing her best ex-siren smile. “In the meantime, maybe you can show us what this fairy dust is all about?” Even though I know these two are meant to be, I’m surprised Ivy’s focused on Peter and not—oh, I don’t know—badgering Rose to grant her a lifesaving wish? Unless she’s thinking she’ll convince this boy to do her bidding like in the old days instead, which could work to my advantage. If getting face time with Jane is going to be a nonstarter, maybe my new buddy Rose would be willing to cover me in gold and wish my malfunctions away. I know I promised Mom I wouldn’t use the dust, but if a fairy did it for me . . .

  Peter returns Ivy’s cheerful expression. “I’d be delighted.” He offers her his arm, and as she snuggles into his side, we head off for a guided tour.

  “Looks like siren habits die hard,” Amani observes, nodding at Ivy clutching Peter’s arm.

  “Yeah, but he has no idea what he’s getting himself into,” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh Gods! I haven’t told you yet!” I shout, pulling her in conspiratorially. “Peter is Ivy’s match!”

  “WHAT?!”

  “YES!”

  Amani chuckles, shaking her head in surprise. “A fairy taming a siren. What a world.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” I laugh.

  The farm doesn’t seem as enchanting the second time around. These fairies have created a perfect little utopia (well, aside from the snacks), but it’s completely cut off from the rest of the world, shutting them off from anything they don’t want to see or deal with. Their Swiss-cheese logic toward magic use is pretty hypocritical, and I feel awful that Jane is growing up in a community that would rather suppress magic than let it thrive. No wonder Rose helped her create a safe space to share her gift.

  We approach a sequoia with a spiraling staircase carved into its trunk. Peter points up to the maze of rope bridges crisscrossing above at dizzying heights, saying something I can’t hear. Apparently he’s been giving a little tour spiel along the way, though only Ivy is listening. I’m not really interested in the historical highlights of a place that I want to leave as soon as possible.

  “This here is the only way earthbound individuals can access the canopy area,” he says, proudly gesturing to the passageway.

  Amani frowns. It doesn’t take a genius to tell she is over fairyland too. “Earthbound individuals?”

  “Erm, those who can’t fly.” Peter’s ears turn red, his wings cowering behind him. “We don’t use this entrance much.”

  “Then why do you have it?”

  “Emergencies, I guess.” He quickly turns to grab a basket filled with work gloves and paper masks. “Here, I’ll need you all to put these on. For protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  Peter blinks rapidly, suddenly unsure of himself. “Didn’t you want to see the dust? The canopy is the best part.”

  “Wait . . . we’re going up THERE?” My voice cracks. Staring at the twirling staircase with no end in sight, my legs liquefy, wobbling on the limestone below. Do I really have to go up to the top? Is this truly necessary? I don’t think I’ll look back on this time in regret if I just sit here quietly while the rest journey upward.

  “It’ll be okay.” Rose squeezes my arm. “Despite everything, it really is beautiful. You should see it.” I want to believe her, but I also want my brain to remain safely in my skull, and not splattered from an inevitable thirty-foot fall. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” She presses a pair of gloves into my hands. “Just put these on. For safety.”

  “Safety for us or the dust?” I ask, wary of doing anything the fairies want me to.

  “Both actually. We try to keep the dust in its purest state possible, free from any skin oil or germs,” Peter recites. He sounds like a nerdy voice-over instructional video on how to stay safe in the workplace. “But it’s also highly volatile. Fairies can handle its power, but you all . . .” He trails off, eyes clouding.

  The thought of interacting with dust visibly perks Ivy’s interest. “What happens?” she asks innocently, but her question doesn’t land well with her match.

  “Just . . . don’t,” he warns, tone hardening. “If you have dust on your person, and even think about something you’re wishing for, it could be activated.” Pearly wings splay sideways, a pseudo stop sign preventing the topic from going further. The authoritative vibe doesn’t sit well on his gangly frame, but we all let it go, not eager to have a second showdown today.

  Amani snaps her mask on her face, leaning into me. “If he’s secretly taking us up there to lock us up for being magical, I’m going to be super pissed.”

  I didn’t even think about that! Great, another thing to worry about. As if the frightening height was not enough. “You and me both, sister.”

  We wind our way up the tree, climbing higher and higher. For someone with wings, the distance aboveground wouldn’t even faze them, but my nerves are getting the best of me. There’s no handrail (I mean, why would there be), so I press my left shoulder into the trunk, wanting to feel something solid as the world spins below. Everyone else is way far ahead of me, but I could care less. Last place and alive works for me. My breathing quickens, possibly from the change in altitude, but more likely because everything inside me is screaming, THIS IS SCARY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I wish Charlie were here. To hold me, keep me steady. He’s always so good at making me feel safe, even just thinking about his sweet mushy face puts a little more strength in my step. Don’t die, I tell myself. So you can kiss Charlie again.

  Getting to the top off
ers no relief, as the rope bridges sway constantly in the breeze. A never-ending labyrinth of walkways expands before me, swooping under and over each other, each leading to a glittering collection of coruscents. Now that we’re on their level, it’s clear these flowers must have prehistoric roots. They are even larger than I thought—probably as tall as the fairies who tend to them—stamens swaying on their own to an inaudible rhythm, baskets of shimmering gold perched at the petals. Though it’d be smarter to keep my gaze on this once-in-a-lifetime view, my stupid eyes peer down, spinning over the skyscraping height. I cross one bridge at the speed of snail, then decide I’ve had enough sightseeing. I sit down on the wooden planks of the bridge, wrapping my arms around the rope for security.

  Rose takes a seat in front of me, maneuvering the height without worry and doing her best not to shake the bridge more than necessary. “You doing okay?”

  “Besides being on the verge of vomit, perfect.”

  “We won’t stay up here long.” She hugs her knees to her chest, lavender wings fluttering in the breeze. “It’s pretty, though, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Though currently my eyes are closed, trying to recall all the calming meditations Mom forced on me over the years. I zero in on her voice, hoping to leech some of her impossible tranquility.

  “Did you get a good glimpse of the dust?” Rose asks, trying to distract me with something sparkly.

  “Not really. I’m kind of in survival mode right now.”

  “C’mon. We’ll go together.” She helps me up—an impressive feat considering I’m like a baby deer attempting to cross ice—and guides me to the nearest barrel full of twinkling dust. Even though it’s now twilight, the granules continue to glow, somehow even more shiny without the sun’s reflection. Taking a tentative step closer, I hold on to Rose’s hand for balance and peer over the edge. Instantly I’m drawn in, entranced by the glistening powder. It calls to me, begging me closer, in some intense, Ring of Power–level mind control. I haven’t even touched it and can practically feel its sorcery coursing through my veins. I stagger back, shaking away the feeling of alchemic allure. Dang, there’s no way I’m touching this stuff. But Rose can.