The Fairest Kind of Love Page 11

  Sensing an opportunity, I begin, “Hey, can I ask you a favor?”

  Rose crosses her arms, stiffening. “I’m surprised it took you this long.”

  “Huh?”

  “Most people can’t wait to ask a fairy to grant them a wish,” she says, disappointment in her eyes. Her wings lower behind her, the tips curling around her waist protectively. “I thought you’d be different.”

  What? That’s not fair. She’s the one who wanted me to help her first! “Wait a minute, it’s not like that. . . .”

  “Sure, sure.” She swats my comment away. “I get it. Why else would someone come out to a fairy farm?” Looks like Wisteria distrust runs deep, and I am not here for it. After another crestfallen stare, she flies off into the treetops, leaving me to stew. But just as I’m about to call after her, Amani pops up from behind, scaring me half to death.

  “Hey!”

  “Gah! You do not sneak up on someone when you’re thirty feet up in the air!” I yelp.

  “Sorry. It’s just . . . I had a terrible vision.” Her stony expression alarms me further.

  “Oh Gods, are we going to plummet to our deaths? Please say no.”

  “No . . . well, I hope not . . . but no, it was about Ivy. And maybe Peter, I don’t know.” She shakes her head, rubbing at her temples. “The vision is really unclear. . . . More like a feeling than a picture. Maybe all this dust is somehow interfering. But it’s bad.” Her dark brown eyes widen in worry. “Something bad is going to happen between them.”

  Trying to calm whatever demons are dancing in her head, I rub my best friend’s upper arms. “Like what? Is she going to use the dust to become a supersiren and rule over us all?”

  Amani bites her lip.

  “Even so,” I continue, “it’s not like we can prevent her from saving her life. Are these the choices: a dead Ivy or an evil-mastermind Ivy?”

  “I don’t know,” she emphasizes, gripping the rope handrail. “What I’m feeling now . . . it’s bad. Like, ‘Warning: Danger Ahead.’ But there’s nothing we can do except watch the storm roll in.”

  We look toward Peter and Ivy, off in the distance a few bridges away. Moonlight and flowers halo the couple, the surrounding dust adding to the glow of blossoming romance. They chat happily, Peter’s wings anxiously fluttering as he awkwardly tries to get closer to her, and Ivy, calm and mellow, doesn’t pull out any of her usual male-melting tricks. She just stands and smiles, listening to his nervous chatter, and doesn’t even take stock of the fairy magic around her—the whole reason she’s here—because she’s completely bewitched by Peter’s presence. It’s innocent, sweet: she doesn’t appear to be setting a trap, or if she is, she’s fooling us all.

  From this view, there doesn’t seem to be any impending danger, but clearly I’m not seeing the whole picture, because Amani looks on like she’s seen a ghost. Or worse, a monster.

  THE NEXT MORNING, IVY sneaks away to spend time with Peter, while Amani and I play dress-up in borrowed clothes from some of Jane and Rose’s cousins. It’s all strapless dresses and halter tops (clothes that easily accommodate wings), which veer wildly outside my strict T-shirt-and-jeans aesthetic. My girly-girl bestie is in fashion heaven, though, eating up all the flowy bohemian vibes.

  “Maybe I should have been a fairy,” she says, twirling around in a floral-print backless dress as we walk aimlessly through the farm. Her long, dark hair catches the sunlight, looking impossibly shiny and beautiful. All around us, fairies fly by with various party supplies, starting to prep for tonight’s solstice shindig. A long trail of golden ribbon flutters past my head, flapping in the warm summer breeze.

  “I would be crazy jealous if you could fly,” I say. “Would you carry me around, fly me from place to place, my own personal supernatural ride-share service?”

  “Absolutely not,” she laughs. “Besides, you hate heights.”

  “True. Also, I hate it here. I could never be a fairy. I’ve eaten more vegetables in the past day than I have in the past year. My insides feel so clean, it’s horrible.” I kick a rock for added effect.

  “You are such a baby.”

  “Yes. Also, I miss my boyfriend. Wah.”

  “Me too.” Amani pouts. “But we just have to make it till this party tonight.”

  “Blah.” I pull awkwardly at the strapless dress Amani made me wear. Why does this kind of garment exist? I’m afraid I’m going to flash someone at any second. “I’m beginning to think no one here will ever help me, and I should just sign my life away to Roscoe.”

  “What? Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m serious!” I slump down in the grass, tucking my feet under me in the most ladylike move I’ve ever performed. “This fairy angle is going nowhere. Rose got all anti even though I didn’t so much as breathe the word ‘wish,’ and Jane’s practically locked away in a tower.” Rose doesn’t live on the farm, and she conveniently failed to mention where exactly she resides. I sent her a couple “Hey, can we talk?” texts, but she’s yet to answer. I get that there’s a lot of weird fairy mojo surrounding wishes, but I don’t think I did anything wrong here. It’s not like I barged in, demanding favors like “Yo! Fix me, fairies!” No. While I hoped maybe someone would be willing to help, I genuinely came here to make sure a siren didn’t die on my watch, and that a fellow matchmaker knows she’s not alone in the world. Hmph.

  “Yeah, well, it’s better than being beholden to a dark warlock!” Amani shoots back. “Have some hope.”

  My hope jar is running dry, but I guess trying to stay positive for a few more hours won’t hurt. At least I’m with my best friend, even if it’s not my ideal locale.

  We lie under the canopy, looking up at the sky, which seems to shimmer with the surrounding dust. “Vincent would like it here,” she observes after a while. “If it weren’t for the whole burning-up-in-sunlight thing.”

  I poke her ribs. “Man, vampires are so high-maintenance.”

  “Seriously. Yet it’s weird how normal watching your boyfriend drink blood can become.”

  “Okay, Buffy,” I laugh, and she joins in.

  “No higher compliment!”

  Watching Amani’s face light up about Vincent, it’s like her heart is actually aglow, radiating a brightness throughout her entire being. It’s beautiful.

  “You love him,” I whisper, nudging her shoulder.

  Every last pearly white shines at the trees above, palms clasping her cheeks as if they’re about to burst. “I do,” she admits. “I really do. And you don’t have to say it—”

  “Told you so!” I beam. But it’s not my superior matchmaking skills that have me giddy; it’s seeing my best friend blissfully happy, as she so deserves to be. Her joy means more to me than the satisfaction of being right, especially considering my matchmaking has been on the fritz.

  “What about Charlie?” She turns to me, propping herself up on her elbow.

  “What do you mean?” My heart flutters at the sound of his name.

  “I bet he’d geek out over a place like this,” she says. “Aren’t you guys doing some sort of ‘fancy date’ challenge for each other? How could he possibly top a summer party at a fairy farm?”

  I sit up. “Amani! You are a genius! There’s no way he could outdo me if he came here, even with all his Blitzman bling.” I roll the idea around, thinking of how cute he’d be seeing all the wings and dust. “I did tell my mom there’d be no boys, though.”

  “Well, it’s not like he’s sleeping over or something,” she reasons. “Plus, what Mama Sand doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  I make a dismissive sound with my tongue. “Please. She’ll know. She always knows. Sometimes I think her eyes are actual crystal balls.”

  Amani grimaces. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

  “I know. Especially for me.” But she does have a point. If we’re stuck at this farm until nightfall, I may as well have a handsome boy at my side. I dial his number before I can talk myself out of it.

  “Wha
t’s wrong?” he answers.

  “Hello to you too. Why does something have to be wrong?”

  “Why are you calling me instead of text? Are you on fire?”

  “No, I . . . I miss you.” The words tumble out without thought, but hearing them aloud cements their truth. I want him here, I want him now. His musky boy scent, his nerdy laugh, his fingers tangled up in my hair: I want it all right now.

  My honesty surprises him as much as it did me. “Say no more,” he replies after a beat. “Well, actually I need you to say a little bit more. I have no idea where you are.”

  A set of GPS coordinates and a few hours later, Charlie arrives via helicopter, which is apparently something the Blitzmans have access to (#richpeopleproblems). I convince the grumbly gatekeeper to let him through, and the sight of his glasses and bumblebee-printed button-down propels my feet toward him, and before he can finish saying, “What is this place?” I’m kissing him, long and deep, gripping the back of his neck. Thanks to my fairy couture, his hands run over my bare shoulders, causing him to pull back in shock.

  “You’re wearing a dress.” He smiles. “A strapless one.”

  “You like?” I reply, never before realizing how flirty two simple words could be.

  His lips press to my right ear as he whispers, “Very much.”

  I lean my cheek into his, maintaining my grasp on my beautiful boy. “I missed you. Like, a lot.”

  “Same. So much the same.” He pulls me even closer, and I wish I had an invisibility cloak so I could just keep kissing him. “So, this place seems insane. Give me the tour; I need a distraction.” It’s the last thing I want—I’m over this glittering nightmare and want to hightail it out of here with a cute boy in tow—and glossing over all the drama brewing underneath is not my style.

  “There’s really not much to see,” I say.

  “Be serious, Sand. This place is literally glowing.”

  “Gah, fine.” I point to the canopy (no way am I going up there again) and blab about the coruscents, his eyes sparkling. For so long he lived in a world where magic didn’t exist, and now that I’ve opened that door, he can’t get enough.

  We approach a patch of wildflowers tucked into an outer corner of the commune, and spy Ivy and Peter snuggled on a two-person swing, her head resting dreamily on his shoulder.

  “Holy crap, is that Ivy?” Charlie gasps.

  “Shh!” I grab him, pulling him down behind a boulder so they don’t see us.

  “She looks so . . . tranquil! How is that possible?”

  “That’s the power of love, baby.”

  “I always thought she’d be matched with, like, a minotaur or something. That dude looks so chill.”

  I shrug. “Opposites attract, I guess.”

  “But we’re not opposites, are we?”

  I climb onto his lap, stroking his cheeks with my thumbs. “We defy clichés.” Peering through his lenses, I see again the static of his match, a pixelated jumble of images and feelings. Gods, I’m beyond tired of this. For all my visions, but especially with Charlie. I came here full of hope, thinking a fairy who understands my matchmaking sorrow would be kind enough to lend a magical favor. But years of people abusing fairy friendships have led to deep-rooted distrust, and now I’m back to square one. I promised Mom I wouldn’t use the dust on myself, but now it seems I’m out of options. Either I make a wish on my own and wait for the Fates to roll the dice, or I place my needs in the hands of a madman, whose deal is sure to be laced with misfortune. Neither is great, but I have to do something. I can’t spend my life toiling in this uncertainty, wondering what is wrong with me and if my faulty magic will lead to bigger problems. I have to act, but I don’t know what’s best.

  At the very least, I hope to get one question answered tonight. Even if my matchmaking troubles can’t get resolved, I’m hoping Jane can reveal once and for all if Charlie is truly my match. We’ve defied the odds for so long now, but can we do it forever?

  THE SUMMER SOLSTICE HAS always been one of my favorite pagan holidays. On the longest day of the year, Dawning Day meets to honor the sun, with festivities including a bonfire by the lake and lots of summery foods. Last year I made strawberry panna cotta and watermelon macarons, and we danced and sang until the stars appeared. It’s a night of magic and wonder, of relishing something beautiful and sharing it with people you love.

  But tonight, so far away from home, I’m not in the party mood. Amani tries to make the best of things, weaving daisies into my choppy hair. Peter’s cottage is not exactly a Sephora, but somehow she’s managed to gather up every blossom and ribbon she could find to get us all flower-child glam. She excitedly helps Ivy and me prep for the celebration, but I can’t help feel disappointed over how this trip has gone.

  “Word on the street is that for the summer solstice, fairies will cover themselves in a layer of dust for a sunshiny effect,” Amani says while spritzing us with rose water. “But they can do that since they’re immune to its magic. It’s probably best for us to steer clear.”

  “Well, not me,” Ivy croaks from the corner of the room. “I’m getting some dust tonight.” She’s sprawled lethargically on a bench, hair faded to a silvery white, skin almost translucent. For someone who used to be positively obsessed with her appearance, she’s made zero effort to join our girly party prep. Amani tried to put some lipstick on her, but she resisted, preferring to stay curled in a ball. If this whole siren thing doesn’t get resolved soon, she could just vanish into the ether completely.

  “Oh really?” I ask, curious as to how she thinks she’ll pull this off.

  “Yes. I’m going to ask Peter to grant me a wish,” she slurs slightly, eyes unfocused.

  “Have you explained to him what’s happening to you?”

  Ivy’s head wobbles. “No, no. He won’t look at me the same.”

  “You’re right; he’ll probably admire you more for what you’ve been through and what you did for your sister,” I say.

  Ivy looks over at me, eyes glassy.

  “You talk about it like I was some noble unicorn,” she grumbles, body heavy with self-loathing. “I did it for selfish reasons. I didn’t want to lose my sister.”

  Regardless of her reasoning, being up front with Peter about her wish is the only way to go. Based on my experience with Rose, maybe he’ll be more willing to help if he understands what’s at risk. I don’t know if Rose thought I’d wish for something dumb like fame or fortune or what, but I don’t want him rejecting her without knowing the whole story. “Just be honest with him,” I tell Ivy. “I can tell you care about him; he deserves to know what’s going on.”

  Ivy props herself up on her elbows with much effort. “Seriously, Amber, I know what I’m—” But she’s interrupted by a coughing spasm that shakes her whole body. Sharp, violent coughs fill the room, and when she finally stops, it’s like she expelled part of her soul, her cheeks devoid of any color. Amani and I exchange worried looks.

  “C’mon, let’s get you up.” Amani rushes to Ivy’s side, being patient and sweet with her despite her precognition of impending doom. It’s impossible to know how Ivy using fairy dust will play out, but it’s clear that time is up for the ex-siren. My stomach flops like a fish out of water. I want to help but I’m worried what the outcome may be.

  There’s a knock at the door, and Charlie walks in with daisies pinned to his shirt. I love how he can just roll with whatever situation he’s thrown into. What a pro. “Are we ready to party or what?”

  Outside, evening sunlight streams through the canopy, and the whole farm takes on an ethereal glow, thanks to hundreds of candles and strands of fairy lights (ha, get it?!) strung from the rope bridges above. A folksy band plays banjos and fiddles, while couples do-si-do, half in the air, half on the ground. The fairies themselves are slathered in dust, wingtip to toe, looking like golden gods and goddesses on holiday. Every surface, every guest, is gilded in powder, making it exceedingly challenging not to accidentally bump into something
and get dust all over ourselves. Amani guides Ivy by the arm, taking slow, deliberate steps, and we part ways upon seeing Peter, looking handsome in summer linens. He waves them over, and I give Amani’s hand a squeeze before continuing to stroll with my sweetie.

  Unsurprisingly, I find my way to the dessert table, despite having been burned by all my previous fairy food offerings. A stack of cute cookie boxes catches my eye; inside are several quarter-sized granola bites, and while the treats themselves are less than memorable, I nab the little box to bring home and show to Ella. “How lucky this dress has pockets!” The top flaps of the box fold into a swirling flower, eliminating the need for stickers or ribbon to keep it closed. She’s been looking for portable ways to share her desserts at street fairs, and this may do the trick.

  As we munch on almond butter tarts and sugar-free banana bread, I keep my eyes peeled for Rose and Jane. I’d like to leave things on a high note, though I’m worried I won’t get the chance to say good-bye. After searching through the crowd, being very careful not to brush up against any of the abundantly scattered dust, Charlie and I decide to sneak away to a cozy spot on the outskirts of the celebration, forever outcasts resuming our natural post.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Charlie says as we’re seated under an archway of honeysuckle and lights.

  “You didn’t, actually.” I feign offense.

  “You look radiant.” He takes my hand. “I love you in jeans, but this fairy peasant look really works for you too.”

  “Is that so?” My lips inch toward his.

  “Very,” he breathes before moving in for the kiss. I feel intoxicated, bubbles of joy rushing through my body, making me warm all over. Kissing my sweet boyfriend, I suddenly remember my quest to have the best fancy date ever.