Before the brownie could scold them, I cleared my throat, causing them to freeze where they were. “Be careful, Bea. Don’t cut your feet on the broken glass.”
It took me a second to take in the whole mess of my kitchen. A cutting board full of chopped vegetables covered the small table I usually ate at with the discards lying on the floor underneath. A couple of drawers were pulled out with various contents scattered on the floor. And a wisp of black smoke rose from my oven.
Ignoring my instructions, the brownie rushed over and, using some oven mitts she’d found in one of the drawers, opened the door and retrieved a blackened hunk of what must have been food at some point. “I’m so sorry, Miss Charli. This was supposed to be a surprise for you in the morning, but those three ruined everything!” She glared at the three pixies still hovering, their tiny wings creating a slight buzz.
As soon as the accusation left Bea’s lips, the other three exploded into piercing protests, pointing at her and each other. I’d never understood the language of the pixies, and the middle of the night was not the time to start learning.
I held up my hand to stop everyone from shouting and pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. Ever since we’d returned from Charleston, several of their local magical folks had taken us up on our invitation to come live in Honeysuckle Hollow. We thought at the time that only a few would take us up on our offer. Instead, our small supernatural Southern town had become the hub for many disenfranchised or mistreated fae.
With exponential growth came a lack of housing. Like me, several Honeysuckle residents volunteered to accept temporary borders. David, the half-brownie half-dryad who had helped us solve a murder and prove my grandmother’s innocence in Charleston, was staying with Mason. Since I had a bigger place, I offered to house more than most. Beyond the four in the kitchen, I had at least three others supposed to move in with me sometime over the next week.
Taking a deep breath, I attempted to speak. Before I uttered one word, Bea slammed the casserole dish down on top of the stove and wagged a finger at the other three. “I told them that they shouldn’t eat your food unless they were willing to replace it with something else like I was doing. And that the pie especially was yours and not for them because it’s your favorite. Plus, it came from your boyfriend.”
I had told Bea about my history and preference for chess pie after Mason brought one over to help bolster me for the challenges he knew were coming. Perhaps I’d been too naive in thinking nothing would really change when I opened my home to the guests. Right now, I could have used a big fat piece of the pie to curb my current nighttime annoyance.
“It’s fine,” I reassured her, attempting to smile at the pixies. “But I’d appreciate if you would take more care when trying to eat or make food and try not to make as much mess. Or at least clean it up. Also, I’d appreciate if we kept the noise level or any ruckus to a minimum.”
One of the pixies zipped over to Bea and whispered in her ear. The brownie’s expression of anger softened. “Nug is asking what you’re going to do to them?”
I blinked twice in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I think they’re worried that you would use that in order to cast a spell of punishment or something on them.” Bea pointed at the object I still gripped in my left hand.
Looking down, I noticed the hairbrush I’d grabbed in my sleepy panic. “Oh. Uh, I’m not planning on doing anything to them. I just want everything cleaned up.” My heart squeezed a little, realizing they expected harm from me instead of kindness.
I put the brush down and held my hands up, addressing the pixie still hovering close to Bea’s shoulder. “I would never do anything to any of you. That’s not how we do things here in Honeysuckle, and I’m sorry if it’s how you were treated before you arrived.”
A tense silence followed my words until all three pixies burst into animated flight around my kitchen. I cringed, wondering what damage they might cause in their flurry of excitement until they circled right above my head. Although I couldn’t understand the exact words they spoke, the tone and musicality of what they said sounded like gratitude.
Bea chortled. “I’ll make sure everything’s cleaned up before you get up in the morning.”
“And no more middle-of-the-night cooking fests, please,” I begged with a yawn. “If anyone’s gonna burn down my house, let’s do it in the daytime.”
With a nod, I left the kitchen, muttering a wish under my breath that everything would be in decent shape come dawn. I trudged back upstairs and thought about asking Nana to come over and spellcast a fireproof protective charm over my entire house. Just in case.
When I got to my bed, I noticed a familiar furry lump curled up right in the middle of my pillow. “Move it or lose it, Peachy Poo. I gotta get some sleep or I’ll be a walking zombie tomorrow. Or I guess, later today.”
She didn’t even move an inch. Exhausted, I clambered into bed and rolled onto my side, accepting the minuscule little corner of the pillow left for me. As I closed my eyes, images of shattered pie plates and tiny flapping wings chased me into sleep.
I woke up to my head boiling like a volcano about to blow. Just what I needed, to get sick on top of everything else I had to get done today. Raising my hand to check my forehead for a fever, I touched fur.
I plucked my kitty from her
