Chapter 8
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
Aunt Libby stood beside the open door to my bedroom with her arms folded across her chest. Her lips were pinched so tight they’d gone white.
“Answer me, young lady.”
“I didn’t do that!” I said.
My room was a mess, everything everywhere. Clothes were hanging out the open drawers of my dresser, the dusty oil painting of foggy mountains hanging askew. My bedding was clumped in a big ball on the floor, even my curtains had fallen to the ground. The only thing in the entire room that hadn’t been touched was... Yvette.
“I suppose you’re going to blame the fairies,” my aunt said. The lingering trace of a Cape Breton accent always came out when she was angry. It exploded into an unmistakeable brogue just now.
“Maybe it was Mikey,” I said, almos
