“How do you come to summon me?”
The fairy’s gossamer wings fluttered rapidly as he stalked across the table.
“My godmother taught me when I was a child.”
“Damned godmothers,” he grumbled, “always where they don’t belong.” He kicked an eggshell out of his way and sat on the edge of the battered recipe book.
“Well, here I am. What do you want?”
My fingers twisted my apron.
“The head cook is ill today and confined to bed. She can’t prepare the evening feast.”
“And you want me to heal her,” he yawned, examining his dirty nails.
“What? No! I don’t want that viper healed. Her tongue is as bitter as the sop she calls gravy.”
The fairy blinked.
“You want me to kill her?”
I paused longer than I intended.
“I get to prepare the feast in her place. If my food is the best they’ve had… or at least better than hers… they might promote me to her position.”
“I can’t cook.” He stood up, preparing to leave.
“I don’t want you to cook,” I said quickly. I eyed the empty mixing bowl, ready to slam it over him.
He looked up at me, quirking an eyebrow.
“Look,” I explained, “I’ve been her assistant for years and I know how to cook. I just need an edge. Something that will wow the queen.”
The fairy paced the table, his beautiful face crumpled in thought.
“I think there’s something I can do. It will make your food transcendent, irresistible.”
He tried to look clever. “But something like that has a price.”
I was prepared for that.
“I’ll give you a memory.”
He tried not to look interested.
“Memories are powerful things. So are names. Give me a memory and your middle name.”
I shook my head firmly. My godmother had taught me well.
“No names. But I’ll give you any memory you want. As long as it’s not how to cook.”
He looked at me appraisingly. I knew what he saw. A young woman with blooms in her cheeks and pretty blue eyes.
“Give me the memory of your first kiss and the deal is done.”
I averted my face and took a breath.
“Deal.”
He gave a little hop and a bubble formed in the air in front of me. I saw the reflection of the butcher’s son as the bubble floated away. It dropped into his tiny hand, transformed into a seed which he promptly tucked away. I didn’t know tights had pockets.
He was all business now as I explained my menu and showed him the pot of cherry sauce.
“It will cut the richness of the roast,” I said proudly. “A step up from cook’s rancid gravy, I’m sure.”
He nodded and flew to the edge of the pot.
“This will work fine,” he declared.
“What will you do?”
“I’ll give you the final spice. The one thing that will make them crave for more. Fairy dust. Humans can’t get enough of it.”
He leaned over the pot, his wings keeping him balanced.
He scraped his nails through his shaggy hair. I watched the sparkling flakes drift into the sauce.
“That’s kind of gross,” I told him.
He shook the last of the… dust… from his head.
“Never pull back the curtain,” he told me solemnly and disappeared.
#
“Well? How did it go?”
I sat in my room, my face in my hands.
The fairy flew in a lazy circle before perching on the shelf beside me. I was still in my dress and apron, sticky and sweaty and stained.
“Oh, it went great,” I growled. “Even better than planned. The dinner was a grand success.”
He cocked his head in confusion.
“You have a strange reaction to success.”
I threw myself back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.
“Everything was perfect. The servants listened to my orders. Each course was ready on time. It couldn’t have been smoother.”
“And?” he asked with exasperation.
“They loved the food,” I said miserably.
The silence stretched taut as a wire.
“You are very odd,” he decided.
“You don’t understand,” I snapped.
“The queen more than loved it. They sang and danced as they ate. After the meal she promoted me to head cook. She still had cherry juice on her chin.”
He nodded. “It’s a tragedy,” he agreed.
I sat up and looked straight into his large green eyes.
“She is demanding that I cook the sauce again. She wants it every night!”
I watched his face.
“You knew this would happen,” I whispered.
“Of course,” he said cheerfully. He started to swing his legs.
“You tricked me.”
His legs paused and then continued.
“I told you they would crave for more.”
“I didn’t think you meant it literally,” I cried.
He stared at me until I felt foolish.
“So, the fairy… dust… is addictive?”
He shrugged kindly.
“If I don’t deliver, I’ll lose everything.” I rubbed my neck.
His legs kept swinging.
“I need a regular supply. It’s the only way.”
We looked at each other. I sighed.
“What’s the price?”
He closed his eyes and hummed to himself. He breathed in deeply and smacked his lips.
“There is only one price for something like that.” He paused dramatically. “Your firstborn child.”
My mouth fell open.
“It’s the only way,” he said firmly. “I’ll supply you with dust every day, until your first child is born. The fairy keeps the kid and you and I can negotiate new terms.”
A sound caught in my throat.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “It’s just the first one. You can keep all the others you want. And until then we’ll make a great team.”
I bowed my head, letting my hair fall forward.
“Deal,” my voice came out rough.
“Done!” he cried, trying hard not to look like he was gloating. He jumped into the air and snapped his heels together.
I watched him, my eyes wide and dry.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
He paused his jig and looked at me. His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“You have a strange reaction to losing a child,” he said slowly.
I stood up and took off my apron.
“I won’t be losing anything,” I said with a smile.
His leg slowly lowered.
“Haven’t you looked at the memory I sold you? The butcher’s son chews tobacco and his breath smells like garlic.”
I shuddered.
“Anyway, I don’t plan on getting married.”
This time his mouth fell open.
“I’m a career girl,” I explained brightly. “I plan on running that kitchen until the day I die.”
I looked at his bemused face.
“You’re right about one thing,” I smiled consolingly.
“We are going to make a beautiful team.”