Page 12 of Perfectly Charmed Pixie

My gaze traveled the packed shelves. Little signs here and there declared what was in the different jars and satchels. Much of it appeared geared toward human ailment, but other species were represented well. The merchandise appeared well cared for and was displayed nicely. It was a positive sign.

“May I help you?”

I twirled, wings fluttering and hair floating around me. The voice was higher pitched than I’d been expecting. It was also feminine. Gaze traveling down, I was surprised when it wasn’t a warlock or witch, but a brownie standing behind the counter. And not just any brownie, a young one.

“Hello?” I flew closer and also lower. I hated it when those blessed with height lorded it over others. “Perhaps I have the wrong establishment. I was looking for Warlock Vander Kines.”

The small brownie tilted her head, overly large, brown eyes looking me up and down. Brownies were deceptively cute. Thank the goddess they tended toward peaceful interactions. I had no idea what the world would look like if they decided to fight fairies for the right to rule. Most likely, they would have burned the place to the ground centuries ago.

“You’re pretty,” she said, instantly earning her a spot in my good graces. “I don’t think I’ve seen an aqua-colored pixie before. You look familiar. What kind of pixie are you?”

Some considered the question rude. I didn’t. I was proud of what I was. “I’m a social pixie. I host a show on Home and Kitchen called—”

“Interspecies Habitat! Oh,” she happily giggled, “I love that show.” The little brownie clapped her hands and hopped up and down. “Parsnip. I should have known it was you when you flew through the door.” Leaning forward, she asked, “Are you here for a show? Is there someone local that you’re filming?”

The anxiety eating away at me subsided. This was what social pixies lived for. It’s where we drew our power from. Adoration. And this small brownie had that in spades.

“We’re doing a show in Rutherford Haven.” It had taken me about an hour to make the trip from Rutherford Haven to Richmond.

The brownie nodded vigorously enough to shift the clips in her hair. They were silver and appeared to be in the shape of squirrels. I thought I saw one of them move for a moment, but most likely, that was simply an optical illusion.

“I’m Byx.”

“Hello, Byx. It’s nice to meet you.” I shifted closer and held out my hand.

Byx took it and eagerly pumped my arm. It wasn’t often the hand I shook was smaller than mine.

“Van!” Byx suddenly yelled, making me fly slightly higher. “You’ve got a customer!”

“Another one?” The muffled sound was deep and resonating.

Even from far away, it sent a little shiver down my spine.

Byx rolled her eyes. “Yeah,another one. Imagine that, customers when we’re open.” Leaning toward me, Byx conspiratorially whispered, “Van’s a little lost on pop culture, so don’t mind him.” Pulling back, Byx’s grin was full of pride. “He may not look like it, but Van’s the best warlock around. I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but you’ve come to the right place.”

Brownies weren’t known for overinflating magical prowess, so I took Byx’s word to heart even though she was young.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Hey, Byx, what have we got?” Closer, that deep voice sounded even better.

The tall, broad warlock that stepped through the open doorway nearly took my breath away. Dark, luscious hair dusted his neck, and the lightest sprinkling of white shot through the temples. Warlocks grayed earlier in life than other species. Some thought it was part of the cost of manipulating magic. Others thought it was simply a part of natural warlock genetics. Whatever the cause, the small touch fit Vander Kines well.

After cleaning his hands off on a small towel, Vander shifted toward the counter, holding out his right hand, rings wrapped around the base of nearly every finger, the tips of his digits black, the color fading as it moved up his fingers. All warlocks looked like they’d dipped their fingers in ink.

“Vander Kines.” His soul-soothing voice reached out to me, wrapping me in a cool blanket.

I blinked, gazing into those hazel eyes. The colors dancing within were fascinating. They were colors that shouldn’t complement each other so well, and yet they lived in exquisite harmony.

“Parsnip,” I managed to eke through my arid throat.

“He’s a social pixie,” Byx chimed in. And just like that, all the amused joy shimmering within those spectacular eyes faded—distrust and maybe dislike filtering in.

“Social, huh?” Vander pulled his hand away, and I tried not to bristle.

This was the life of a social pixie. We were either adored or abhorred. Many viewed us as vain. They weren’t necessarily wrong, but I didn’t see it as the disease they did. I was proud of who I was, who I’d been born to be.

“Do you have a problem with that?” I asked, arms crossed, wings beating fast enough to raise me high enough to stare Vander in the eyes.

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