Faeries Gone Wild

by MaryJanice Davidson

Sidney knew the answer to that one, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her night job in the MR for sex. She had just bought a house here in Reverie, beyond the willow park. She was an official member of the community—so long as she continued to toe the line.

  Beneath her a flat-faced flannel superhero gave her the glad eye.

  “Sorry, Spidey, not here for a swing on your web. I’m working. Besides, I prefer men who don’t wear tights.”

  A crinkle in the dark depths alerted her. Her fingers slid over something smooth yet untoothlike. A piece of notebook paper? The frayed ends, ripped from around a spiral binder, tickled her nose.

  “No tooth?” Sidney muttered between the smothering flannel. “This can’t be good.”

  She clutched a corner of the paper and began to shimmy backward.

  Jimmy Hanson had shown up as a TLFR on Sidney’s ScryeTracker™ this evening. Hanson was an eight-year-old mortal male. A known drooler, occasional snorer. Sidney had retrieved two TLFRs from the boy previously. A TLFR was a Tooth Left For Retrieval.

  Sidney had been born and raised a tooth faery, a fine and noble occupation. It was a family profession. Take the tooth and leave the cash. There were days she couldn’t recall the names of some of her twenty siblings, but she never forgot a tooth.

  The notepaper sprang free from beneath Jimmy’s pillow. Sidney, clutching the end of it, sailed feet over head in a mid-air somersault. Her crinolined skirts ballooned. She flapped her wings to gain control and halt a dangerous trajectory.

  Coming up straight to hover below the NASCAR ceiling fan, she shot a glance to the bed—snores and drool. The kid remained oblivious.

  Wasn’t as if he could see her anyway. When she was small—not her normal size—glamour naturally cloaked her from mortal eyes and made her appear but a shimmering light, much like a glow bug. The only living things that could see her were others of her kind.

  There were certain mortal children who could See faeries. Sidney flew a wide path around them after an encounter last year, which had seen her fleeing for her life from a huge insect net. A kill jar reeking of deadly chemicals had glinted wickedly, wielded by a grimy kid hand.

  Tucking the crinkled paper under an arm, Sidney buzzed out of Jimmy’s bedroom and headed down a dark hallway toward a dim light.

  In the kitchen, Sidney landed on the glossy black stovetop with a skid. Losing balance, she slid, wobbled, and finally crashed into the backboard control panel, cheek smashed to the digital Bake button.

  “Another anal house wife,” she sputtered. “Can’t be satisfied with a clean surface, no, it’s got to be slick as a river stone and flash back her perfectly coifed reflection.”

  Standing and casting a glance over her shoulder, Sidney ensured her awkward landing had gone unseen. If there were brownies lurking in the corners, they’d snicker gruffly and tell the entire realm of Faery, gossipmongers that they were.

  Satisfied she was alone, Sidney read the note: Dear toothe fairy. You doo not egzist. My mom says soo.

  The note fluttered to the black-and-gray-speckled stove surface. Standing there, utter shock prickling the back of her neck, Sidney couldn’t find her voice. Her wings shivered. Her heart squeezed and missed a beat.

  “What the—? Why would anyone—?”

  It was a given that eventually children grew out of Belief. It was a necessity to her job. Else Sidney would be collecting wisdom teeth and dental crowns from the geriatric set. And she didn’t even want to consider how much adults would expect to get paid for their teeth. Kids were cheap.

  But this note.

  She dropped her gaze across the words, scrawled in purple crayon. “I don’t exist?”

  Curling her fingers into a fist, Sidney stomped the stovetop. She tore the paper and then kicked the shreds to the floor.

  “I do exist!”

  Her bottom lip quivered. Erratic thoughts flooded her better senses.

  “This better be the only one. If everyone starts thinking like Jimmy’s mom, I’ll be out of a job. I like my job. I need my job.”

  Without her job, she’d have to move back to Faery. Her entire career had been focused on following the rules and ensuring a permanent position here in the MR.

  There was nothing for Sidney in Faery, except to take up pixie-pestering or something mundane and stupid like mushroom farming. In Faery she had been less than someone, lost amongst a sea of Tooth siblings, and always the last one to be considered when hand-me-downs were passed on or seconds at meals were passed around.

  She liked the Mortal Realm. She liked television and TiVo, and 800-thread-count sheets, and hot showers with high-tech showerheads that put the rain to shame.

  And the food. Cheetos and gooey Hawaiian pizza. And oh, did she love strawberries. Faery didn’t have strawberries. She had no idea why not, but it was true. If she must claim an addiction, it was to the sweet red fruit bejeweled with crunchy minuscule seeds.

  Here in the MR Sidney Tooth had a purpose. She held down two jobs and supported herself, just like the mortal career women she admired. And she was proud of that, if a little tired from working so much.

  She had already sacrificed so much, including sheet twisting. But if she had to work twenty-four hours straight to remain in the MR, she would do so.

  “I’m not giving up my strawberries. I refuse.”

  Even more, she knew the satisfaction of being needed was something she’d never find back in Faery.

  “This is just . . . one kid. One mom. One pestiferous non-believer!”

  Sweeping her wings to flight, Sidney sullenly fluttered through the kitchen.

  She wondered what the non-believing mother had done with the tooth. Sidney got paid per tooth, though Faery currency was only good in Faery. Here in the Mortal Realm she had a mortgage to pay, which necessitated the day job at the Reverie library.

  Flying a wide arc past the stainless-steel refrigerator, Sidney noticed the white flyer secured to the fridge door with a plastic Spider-Man magnet. She fluttered closer.

  She read the print beneath a picture of a cartoon faery: Ban the Tooth Fairy. A big red X had been stamped across the faery’s body. Sidney clutched a hand to her chest. Reverie High School, Tuesday night. 7:00 P.M. Please attend to discuss a citywide ban on the Tooth Fairy. Refreshments will be served. Bring a treat to share.

  “ ‘Ban the . . .’ ” The sickening thud of her racing heart made Sidney swallow back a wail. A gasping stutter followed. “Th-they want t-to run me out of Reverie?”

  Below, a huge white cat pounced at the bottom of the fridge, dislodging a grocery shopping list and a magnet advertising Prozac. Cats could see faeries.

  Sidney summoned the urge to kick feline butt. Catastrophe threatened her well-being. When facing dire consequences it never hurt to slap around a few cats.

  Right. And that would prove what?

  That to the cat nation she was the most dangerous faery around. Or maybe that she had to get her frustrations out by kicking fluff-balls? Or was it that she was sexually frustrated? Did lack of orgasm cause anger issues?

  Her forehead slapped the flyer and she hung there, wings barely flapping. “Wait one mini mortal second. What am I doing? This has nothing to do with my sex life. That’s another issue entirely.”

  A non-issue, actually. If she didn’t have sex, how could it be issue-worthy?

  Quirking a brow and stiffening her wings, Sidney mined the fortitude that had seen her through many a tough pickle (as well, many scrapes with house cats). “They can’t ban me. I won’t let them!”

  Determination focusing her path, Sidney zoomed through the dark hallway toward Jimmy’s room. The speed of flight moved her as if a beam of light. Anger fisted her fingers. She was upset. She was a little worried, actually.

  And she wasn’t looking where she was going.

  Sidney slammed into a hard object that happened to be flying in the air at the same level as she. Stunned to a stop, she briefly hung in the air. Dust spumed about her—and not her own.<
br />
  She got a look at the faery who’d just dusted her. Tall, blond, and sun-bronzed sexy. Then she dropped, wings snapping up like a malfunctioning propeller, and hit the floor snoring.

  Chapter

  2

  The faery dropped like a rock. Dart Sand zoomed to the floor. His toes sank into the low-pile tan carpeting.

  As usual, he’d dusted without trying.

  “I’ve got to stop doing that.”

  What did a faery expect when she collided into another faery going mach speed? This one needed warning lights!

  He leaned over the sleeping flight hazard and got an earful. She snored louder than Cooper Henderson, Reverie’s resident carpenter.

  Dart looked over the splay of limbs, wings, and polka dots. “Must be a tooth faery.”

  That was the only other faery who would be in a mortal’s house at night. Besides brownies. Those sturdy-bodied clean freaks were a vicious lot. Dart still sported a scar on his ankle from the time he hadn’t flown from the path of a troop of determined house brownies.

  He hooked his hands akimbo and leaned in for closer inspection.

  An indeterminate shade of brown hair scattered about the tooth faery’s head in a non-style. Dart hadn’t seen the color on any of his kind. Ever.

  His own hair was golden. It could stun the eye for leagues away, and he always wore it the same color, even when wearing glamour.

  One wing was folded behind her back, the other crooked out over her shoulder. The usual sheen a faery’s wings gave off wasn’t evident. Dart’s wings were bright as chrome but twenty times more dazzling.

  “She looks more mortal than faery,” he mused over the fallen faery.

  Dart had never discriminated against looks when dating. He liked females, young, old, tall, short, plain, or sexy. And . . . vacuous. He preferred them a little stupid or, rather, accepting. Man, did he need them to be accepting.

  “Definitely thinks she’s mortal,” he decided of the faery. “Must spend a lot of time here in the MR.”

  Because he felt sure the red and white polka-dot skirt would give any faery a laughing fit. And what was with those sensible white shoes? Big silver buckles glinted and captured Dart’s reflection. Hmm . . . He checked his hair. As he adjusted his glamour, the gold locks sprang into perfection.

  As for his own mortal glamour, he preferred stylish suede pants and a stonewashed T-shirt. Organic, of course. A tight shirt stretched across his abs and pecs made all the faeries swoon. Yeah, even the males, but that didn’t bother Dart. He was comfortable with his sexuality, and it was the females he preferred, all the way.

  Faeries were all about plea sure and gratification, especially the personal kind. Too bad he couldn’t seem to keep them beyond the first date.

  Thing is, Dart wanted to get serious. He was ready to settle, to have a wife to come home to each morning after a long night of dusting. And a little one to train in the family profession of sandman. He’d call the boy Fleche, and he would be the first of a large brood.

  The dream of family tormented, because the truth always smacked Dart back to reality.

  “It’s because you like the fluttery flower faeries. Easy on the eyes and fast to bed. You’ll never find a woman with the patience to get to know the real Dart Sand. Patience?” He chuffed out a breath. “Look who’s talking.”

  And then there were the rules of the Night Worker’s Guild. Made it difficult to have a relationship in the MR beyond a stolen quickie. So patience wasn’t even the issue.

  Huffing out a sigh, Dart knelt over the snoring faery and stroked the hair from her face. Despite the awkward clothing and mortal-blah hair, her face was beautiful. Round and delicate, and the color of moonbeams. Her lips parted to emit a raucous snore—but they were red, plump lips, deserving of a kiss.

  Dart leaned in, yet before getting lip-to-lip he noticed she smelled like strawberries. A mortal delicacy. Just like her? He had to find out. So he kissed her.

  And it hurt.

  Head swinging back and to the left, Dart yowled as the force of the punch knocked him off balance. He caught himself yet landed in a sprawl across the entrance to Jimmy’s bedroom. “What in Turkish toadstools are you doing, woman?”

  “Me?” She fluttered up to float before him, wings beating the air and fisted hands to her polka-dot hips. “You had your lips on mine.”

  “That is how a kiss generally works.”

  “A kiss? Do you always steal your pleasures from unconscious women? What did you do to me?” She swiped a hand over her eyes. A few particles of sand dust fell away. “Uggh! You’re a sandman. You dusted me to sleep!”

  “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t control it.”

  Dart stood and brushed himself off. That was the first time he’d been punched for a kiss. “Nice polka dots.”

  She smacked an elbow into her palm, fist balled, serving him a nasty mortal gesture.

  “Chill, tooth faery. Who put up your hackles? I’m just trying to make conversation.”

  Slapping her arms across her chest—a nicely abundant chest, Dart noticed—she tipped up her nose. “I don’t see how my choice of attire should be a topic for rude remarks.”

  “I said the polka dots were nice.”

  “Facetiously.”

  Yeah, well. This wasn’t going as it should. Time to rewind and start the conversation over.

  “I’m Dart. Dart Sand.”

  He offered a hand to shake but guessed correctly it wouldn’t be reciprocated. Smoothing the untouched palm down his abs, Dart stretched back his shoulders and puffed up his chest. “So, I’ve never run into you on rounds before. You do all of Reverie?”

  “I live here. And I’ve never heard of you, either. Do you live in the MR?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Care to expound?”

  “Nope.” What was there to say? That his libido always got him in trouble and reassigned before he could begin to consider settling in a town?

  “I don’t need your kind of trouble, Sand,” she snapped.

  “Tr-trouble? Who put the bee in your bonnet? And for that matter, where is your bonnet? Shouldn’t mortal wannabes at least play the part?”

  “Mortal?” Her left eyelid quivered. A stern thrust of spine drew her up stiffly, a fist slapped aside her hip.

  Okay, so the mortal comment might have been too much. Take it down a notch, Dart.

  “Dart Sand, eh?”

  She gave him the once-over and, Dart noticed, lingered on his muscles. Females never could look away.

  He turned up his palm, which twisted his forearm and bulged the biceps tighter. “That’s my name. What’s yours, pretty lady?”

  “You,” she said pointedly, “are fraternizing with a fellow Night Worker, I’ll have you know.”

  “Hey now, this doesn’t need to get ugly.”

  Night Workers were not allowed to fraternize in the MR. That was a big no-no in the guild rule book. Three strikes and you’re busted, back on a fast retrieval to Faery. Dart had tallied up a fair share of strikes, but the Sidhe Special Force goons hadn’t caught him. Lately.

  “And anyway, you’re fraternizing, too, Miss Tooth.”

  “Not for long.” She spun and gave him a flitter of her lackluster wings.

  Again that strawberry scent touched Dart and he inhaled, drawing her into his being. By all that was green, she smelled great. Lickable.

  “That’s Sidney Tooth,” she said over a shoulder.

  “Can’t wait to run into you again, Sidney!” he called.

  She returned yet another rude gesture and was gone in a flit, buzzing through Jimmy’s room toward the open window.

  Dart couldn’t help but smile. “Cranky faery.”

  And then he smiled even wider. “Pretty, though. Not so much cranky as a spitfire. Different from any of the faeries I’ve dated.”

  “Date” being his euphemism for “slept with.”

  The tooth faery wasn’t his particular kind of woman. She didn’t seem at all accepting
, and far removed from the stupid scale, to boot.

  “I think you need another kiss, Sidney Tooth. No one turns down Dart Sand’s kisses. And I’m not about to break that record.”

  Chapter

  3

  Exhausted after a night of unpleasant surprises, Sidney stomped into her bedroom. When not on night rounds, she assumed normal appearance, which was as close to mortal size, coloring, and shape as she could be. She lived in a mortal house—though redesigned by a Faery construction crew; it was iron-free and very spare with electronic devices. Sidney existed in this realm right alongside mortals. It took a lot of energy to be small, but her job was worth it.

  Daylight appeared on the horizon, brighter than a cartoon sun on a cereal box. Her shift at the library started in half an hour.

  The sandman’s infuriating comment really twisted her wings the wrong way.

  “I happen to like polka dots.”

  She smoothed her palms over the wide skirt poufed even wider thanks to the crinoline beneath. This outfit was her official tooth faery costume. Should a kid ever See her, this was exactly the image Sidney wished to portray: not overt, but homespun, very kid-friendly. It’s what her mother wore, and Sidney had fond memories of catching a few moments of her mother’s time when she was younger.

  She shed the skirt and crinoline with a mental command and they dropped to the floor, followed by the white ruffled shirt.

  “Mortal?” she muttered the sandman’s other insult. Her left eyelid quivered. “Mortal?”

  That one hurt. Just because she preferred the MR didn’t mean she wanted to be mortal. A faery could hardly hold a mortal job without glamour to mask her wings.

  “Where’s that mirror?”

  Shuffling a path through clothing strewn about the bedroom, Sidney mined her way to the corner of the room. Dragging away shirt after skirt after scarf after shawl finally revealed a floor-length mirror.

  Standing there before the mirror in big-girl panties and a sensible bra gave Sidney a startle. Had it really been so long since she’d looked at herself in a mirror?

  She tugged out the elastic waistband of the panties and then released it with a snap. Just because everyone else was wearing dental-floss underwear didn’t mean she had to. It was a mortal fad. Faery women didn’t subscribe to the foolish fashion. Did they?