Needle in a Haystack

Pip Squeak

The moment Emily walked in the door, her mother pounced on her.

"Where have you been?" she shrieked, grabbing her daughter in a fierce hug. "I've been so worried. You should have been home hours ago."

Anna held Emily's shoulders to look her over for injuries. Finding none, her anger set in, and she put her fists on her hips with a huff. She eyed her daughter waiting for an explanation. Emily took a moment to decide how much she should tell her. She took a deep breath and decided on the whole truth, hoping her mother would listen.

"I didn't have a key," she began slowly, setting her bag down beside the couch, "so I went to this restaurant near the bus stop. It's called Azure Luna."

Anna smacked herself on the forehead with her palm and scrambled around in her purse on the kitchen counter, producing a key. "I forgot to give you this." She walked back and set it in Emily's palm as they sat down on the couch.

"It's OK, Mom," she said, stuffing the key in her back pocket. "The restaurant was-"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. I'm just glad you're home safe," Anna soothed, giving her daughter an awkward side hug with both arms. Abruptly, she let go of her daughter and stood up. "Well, now that's settled. Dinner's in the fridge, and I have some things to work on." And she vanished into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Emily let her. She wanted to tell her mother everything, but it was clear she did not want further explanation of the day's events. She knew her mother was still dealing with the breakup, while putting on a brave face. She would tell her about the Fay contract later when she had it in hand to show her. Until then, she decided, working on her ever-growing pile of homework would help her adjust her sleep schedule.

At precisely 3:33 AM, just as she was dozing off on her books, Emily was startled by a bright light and buzzing noise filling her room. She blinked against the light and, as her eyes adjusted, a pixie the size of an action figure stood on her history book. He was handsome and well muscled, clad in purples, blues and greens that reminded her of pictures of ice flows in Antarctica. His hair was frosty blue and seemed to float about his ageless face like goose-down, and iridescent dragonfly wings buzzed intermittently, emerging from either side of his back. Under his arm was a poster tube only it was the width of a piece of legal paper.

With a flourish, he flipped the tube out from under his arm and presented it to Emily, bowing low, head down. "I present my Lady's contract, as promised," he squeaked in a tinny soprano.

Emily blinked hard. She pinched herself. No, she was awake.

'Can we eat it?' Ember asked, only half joking.

"You most certainly cannot!" he protested, standing to his full height, of about six inches, indignantly, cradling the tube to his chest.

Emily's jaw dropped. "You can hear her?" she whispered, astonished.

"Of course, I can hear both of you speak," he harrumphed in his tiny voice. "Haven't you ever heard of Don't Eat the messenger? You shifters really have no manners, and no concept of what other beings are capable of. Why my Lady would like YOU as a vessel, I'll never understand."

Emily blinked at the pixie, trying to decide if she should be offended. Instead, she asked, "What can I call you?"

"How dare you?!" he asked, placing a splayed hand on his chest and taking a step back, holding the tube with one muscly little arm and getting close to the edge of her book. "Asking a fairy their Name!"

"I wasn't asking for your name, only how I might address you," Emily soothed, holding her hands up in surrender. She was worried he might hurt himself if he tumbled off of her rather thick history book.

"Call me Pippin Longstocking," he said slowly, eyeing her. His dragonfly wings twitched with consideration rather than buzzing with agitation for the first time since his arrival.

Emily opened her mouth to apologize, but Ember stopped her, pushing forward to take control of their body. Emily was surprised, but she didn't put up any resistance. Ember stood up and bowed deep without a hint a mockery, and said in her rumbling contralto, "Sir Pippin Longstocking, messenger of Lady Sabine, please accept our humblest apologies. And please be patient with our lack of knowledge. We have not, to memory, encountered the Fay before yestereve."

Pippin preened at the formality of being called Sir, and had a smug smile on his face by the time she sat back down. He proffered the tube to her again, and this time Ember took it and opened it, scanning over the contents, and immediately relinquished control back to Emily.

She understood why. It was written in English, but also in Fay legalese. There were many "Thee's and Thou's" and it was about as thick as her history book when it was unrolled. Emily considered the size of the tube and realized there had to be Fay magic involved to get it to fit. She set the tube aside and resigned herself to reading through the whole thing, when she heard a tiny throat clear. Emily looked up to see Pippin still standing on her history book, one toe tapping, hands on his hips. He reminded her strongly of some depictions of Tinker Bell, and she had to fight to keep the smile off her face.

"I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with your customs. Am I supposed to tip the messenger?" she asked, wondering what you pay pixies. Pippin rolled his eyes so hard, his whole head went with them, downy hair flowing behind.

"You're supposed to feed the messenger," he sassed back, like a thirteen-year-old. "Why would you push over a messenger?" he grumbled to himself, crossing his arms. She didn't know Fay customs, but he clearly didn't know mundane customs.

"Let me see what I can do about that," she said, heading to the kitchen.

She came back with a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread and a can of orange soda and set them down in front of Pippin. He looked at it suspiciously, sniffing the air delicately. She spun a bite onto the fork and held it up for him to inspect.

"It's all I have, and it's good, see," she said before stuffing the bite into her mouth. She realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before and closed her eyes to savor her mother's spaghetti.

"What do you," she started, but trailed off when she opened her eyes to see Pippin sitting in the middle of the empty plate, belly slightly bulging, holding the last morsel of garlic bread in one hand, the other wrapped around her orange soda. As she watched, he popped the last bit of garlic bread into his mouth and chugged the last of her soda, leaning back until he was lying down. The empty can rolled away, and he let out a loud, long belch punctuated by a snore.

'Has to be Fay dimensional magic,' she thought, shaking her head.