A Fairy's Guide to Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)

by A.W. Hartoin

  I leapt off the side of the mantel onto the wheel well. The truck lurched forward and I fell, clutching Ezekiel to my chest. I threw my arm out and my fingers caught a brace on the side of the truck bed. As I held on, I saw the storeroom window cover shaking. Iris must’ve been ramming herself against the wood. I couldn’t imagine Gerald doing any such thing. I crawled across the wheel well to the window to see my sister’s terrified face peeking around the edge.

  “Get out!” I shouted.

  “I can’t!” Iris shouted back.

  “Get one of Daddy’s axes!”

  “I couldn’t find one!” Iris rammed herself against the cover again.

  The truck picked up speed and the wind blew Ezekiel and me a couple of inches away from the storeroom window. The truck went over a bump and we hung in the air for a moment. A gust came and blew us farther away.

  Iris stuck her hand through the opening in the window. “Come back in,” she yelled.

  I fought the rising wind as I scampered across the wheel well. Another gust and we’d be gone. Iris couldn’t get out, so I had no choice but to go back in. I made it to the window and grabbed Iris’s hand. I pulled myself close to the opening and used my body to thrust Ezekiel through.

  “Take him!” I yelled.

  Iris let go of my hand and took the baby. I tried to get a grip on the window frame, but a gust came and swept me away. I tumbled through the air, bits of dust and debris buffeting me, getting in my eyes and scratching my skin. I shut my eyes tight until I hit something with my hip. The sharp pain made me open my eyes and I saw the truck gate speeding toward me. I spread my wings and managed to miss it. Then I was out of the truck, behind it, in a swirl of choking dust.

  “Iris!” I yelled, gagging on the dirt that coated my mouth.

  I beat my wings to fight the air currents and steady myself. Then I flew straight up, out of the truck’s wake and into the calm air above. I flew, extending and beating my wings hard to keep up. The truck surged ahead, but I managed to match it. I may not have had good hearing, but there was nothing wrong with my wings. It almost felt good up there in the bright sunlight, stretching my wings to their full potential. I rarely got to fly fast. There was usually no call for it, and Mom disapproved. She feared I’d sprain my wings, even though Grandma Vi pointed out numerous times that sprains were rare and didn’t amount to much when they did happen. I did feel a pain across my shoulders, but it was a good kind of pain. It made me feel strong, like I could do anything.

  The truck slowed down to make a turn and I dove. I flattened my wings against my body and zipped through the air like a dart. I flipped my feet down at the last second to land by the window just before the truck picked up speed again.

  “Matilda,” yelled Iris.

  I touched the window edge and Iris grabbed my wrists and hauled me inside, scraping my shoulder and tearing the puffed sleeve of the shirt under my jumper. We tumbled to the floor and lay for a moment, gasping.

  “Wow,” I said.

  Iris buried her face in my shoulder. “I thought you were gone.”

  “No way. Not a chance,” I said. “I’d never leave you.”

  Iris started weeping, little sobs of relief. Behind that gentle sound came a not-so-gentle sound. An angry rant rattled the wardrobe. Gerald. Dear Lord, I’d forgotten all about him. Ezekiel sat near the wardrobe, staring at it with his fist in his mouth. He had a look of utter distaste on his little face. Apparently, even babies didn’t like Gerald.

  I rubbed Iris’s shoulders and took the key from her. I went to the wardrobe, took a deep breath, and turned the large wooden key in the lock. The door sprang open and Gerald burst out of the wardrobe. His face was a strange kind of purplish-red and he sputtered with rage, practically incoherent. I scooped up Ezekiel, who was wagging his finger at Gerald and looking quite disapproving.

  “Now Gerald, I had to do it,” I said as I backed up. “I’m your babysitter. I couldn’t let you run off.”

  “I’ll kill you. I’ll pull off your wings and beat you with them.” Gerald stalked toward me with his hands curved into two claws, sharp and furious.

  I put out my hand and caught him by the forehead before he could strike me. I held him at arm’s length while he sputtered and swung at me.

  Iris came around from behind me, tisking and wagging her finger at Gerald, like Ezekiel. “Gerald, you look so silly. Is that any way for a genius to behave?” Iris sounded just like her teacher Miss Molly when she was lecturing Gerald on one of his many misdeeds. Miss Molly had a way of handling Gerald, which was probably why Mr. Thomas let him skip two grades so she could deal with him.

  Gerald dropped his hands and backed away. “I am not silly,” he said. Even as he spoke, he gave the impression of puffing up like one of those weird tropical fish I’d seen in a book.

  “That’s right. Geniuses are never silly,” I said, thinking that they weren’t very much fun either.

  “I am a genius, you know,” said Gerald. “Everyone says so.”

  “Well,” I said. “You’re something all right.”

  “Just so you know,” said Gerald.

  “I know exactly what you are, Gerald.”

  Gerald’s eyebrows knotted together and he threw me a suspicious look. Then the truck turned and we all stumbled to the right. Gerald and Iris ran to the window, crowding together in their excitement. Their wings spread wide, the colors complimenting each other. They looked quite beautiful together.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “We’re in town,” said Iris.

  “Downtown,” corrected Gerald.

  Iris lurched into him and jolted him away from the window. “How would you know, smarty-pants?”

  “I know lots of things you don’t know, stupid.”

  “Name one,” said Iris.

  Gerald stepped back from her and glanced back and forth between us. He clamped his lips together so tight they turned white and trembled.

  Iris crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “Go ahead, Genius. Name one. One thing. Come on, name it.”

  Gerald fairly vibrated from the force of holding back whatever he knew. He was famous for blurting out facts that nobody cared about. But I thought this fact might be one we would care about. We might care about it very much.

  “What is it, Gerald?” I asked softly.

  He turned away. “Nothing,” he said.

  I shifted Ezekiel to my other hip and he nuzzled into my shoulder. The warmth of his small body soothed me, and was a reminder that Gerald, despite all his obnoxiousness, wasn’t so very old either. He was just a little fairy, really, and I was supposed to be taking care of him, like Ezekiel, no matter what.

  I walked over to him, balancing carefully in the shifting mantel, and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry about all this, Gerald.”

  He raised his eyes to me, angry and defiant. “I just want to go home,” he said.

  “I know. Maybe I should’ve let you go when you had the chance. I was trying to do what babysitters are supposed to do. You’re the genius. You understand that, right?”

  Gerald shrugged. “Whatever. I’m hungry.”

  I looked up at the door in the ceiling. Getting food wasn’t going to be easy, but I’d have to figure it out. The truck turned again and skidded to a halt. I fell onto the remains of the bed, narrowly avoiding squashing little Ezekiel. Iris and Gerald made their way back to the window and listened.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “We stopped,” said Gerald.

  “I know that, Gerald,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

  “Maybe if you want to know, you should listen.” Gerald sneered at me.

  “Stop it, Gerald,” said Iris. “I can’t hear everything either.”

  “I can hear just as well as you and I even understand what they’re saying.”

  “Shut up, Gerald,” Iris and I said together.

  Gerald stomped across the room, muttering about his superiority and being unappreciated as Iris lean
ed out the window to hear better. Then she turned back to us, her eyes large and full of wonder.

  “We’re being sold,” she said.

  “They can’t sell us,” said Gerald. “We’re… we’re Whipplethorns.”

  Iris stomped her foot at him. “You mean we’re Whipplethorns. You’re just an Ogle.”

  Gerald bowed up. “We’re Whipplethorns, too.”

  “Not really,” said Iris. “You changed your surname, but you’re really still Ogles.”

  I stepped in between them. “Stop it, you two. That’s not important. And they’re not selling us. They don’t even know we’re here. They’re selling the mantel. Who are they selling it to?” I asked as Ezekiel nuzzled my cheek.

  “An antique dealer,” Iris replied.

  “A what?”

  Iris shrugged and turned back to the window. After a moment, she said, “They’re coming to get us. Hold on.”

  There was nothing for us to hang on to but each other. Gerald looked around, his wings opening and closing. I pulled Gerald to me and then Iris. I wrapped my arms around the three of them and held on as tight as I could.

  “What should we do?” Iris asked as something snapped above us.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said.

  Gerald grinned up at me. Little spots of pink appeared on his cheeks and he glowed with malicious joy.

  “Shut up, Gerald,” said Iris.

  He pulled back from us. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You were going to.”

  “I was not. I…”

  The mantel lurched and threw us into a corner. I braced my feet against the floor and clung to Iris and Gerald. Iris screeched as the bed slid past and knick knacks started flying. Then the mantel settled into a walking rhythm and we relaxed. Things shifted back and forth, but, at least, nothing was flying around and whacking us in the head.

  Just when I let go of the deep breath I was holding and started to feel this comforting rhythm might go on awhile, it stopped. The mantel shot violently upright to its normal position. It happened so fast, we didn’t have time to scream. We bounced off the wall and landed in a heap on the floor. The mantel was tilted slightly so everything, including us, slid a little towards the back wall and then settled quietly.

  “I think it’s over,” I said.

  Iris propped herself up into a seated position. “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe?” I asked as I tried to pry Gerald off me. He clung to my waist and was so glassy-eyed, I wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing.

  “We’re not alone,” said Iris.

  My mind started racing. Mom and Dad didn’t like to tell us stories about species they thought we’d never encounter in isolated Whipplethorn. Mom didn’t want to scare us, but I’d picked up a few stories at school and I figured I could handle about anything, except mindbenders because there was no way to fight them. They could read your mind and manipulate you. Trolls weren’t good either. I’d have been pretty worried about kindlers, if I wasn’t one. The gory tales about us were rampant at recess along with stories of humans, which were the most likely scenario.

  “You mean there are humans here,” I said.

  Iris wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Not just humans.”

  CHAPTER 4