Page 27 of Perfectly Charmed Pixie

Instead of leaning forward, I released Parsnip’s chin, groaning when he gazed up at me with wide, uncertain eyes. Parsnip needed kissing. He needed hot and heavy lovin’ between, or maybe on top of, the sheets. I could give him all that and more, but it would have to wait. I wasn’t in this for a one- or two-night stand. This wasn’t about getting off and forgetting. This was about decades, hopefully centuries, together. I needed to find my cool factor and slow my pace. This was a marathon, not a dash.

Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you still have the other charm, the one you brought into my shop?”

Parsnip blinked, long and slow. Clarity filled his eyes, and his cheeks flushed crimson. “I-I’ve got it,” he stuttered before flying to an adjacent room. He came back with a quiescent stone wrapped in spider silk.

I held out my hand, and Parsnip dropped the dead stone into it. The stone itself was small. A larger, heavier one would be uncomfortable and draw more attention. Besides, it didn’t need to be any larger.

Even though it was dead, the magical signature was still there. It was like reading the lyrics to a song but without melody, no beat or sound accompanying it.

“How long will it take?” Parsnip worried his bottom lip.

I considered the question and asked, “When do you need it?”

“I activated my last charm three days ago. I’ve got seven, maybe ten days left.” He rubbed his right temple, eyes narrowed.

Parsnip knew he had given up some of his life force to activate the charm. I wasn’t sure he understood that it continued drawing magic from him while he wore it. His headache was easy to see. I suspected he was a lot more tired than he once was and that fatigue worsened the longer he wore each charm. As the maker’s magic wore off, it would siphon increasing amounts of power from its wearer until even that wasn’t enough to sustain its purpose.

Charms like this did that. The charm itself wasn’t malicious. There was no conscious intent behind it. The charm simply did what it had been programmed to do.

“I’ll have something in plenty of time.” I wanted to get it done quickly, to make something that wouldn’t draw on Parsnip’s life force. I had an alternative plan, one that Byx would zap me for if she knew. Good thing I was excellent at keeping secrets, even my own.

For the first time that evening, Parsnip’s body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and his wing speed decreased until his toes touched the carpeted rug.

“It’s going to be okay.” I couldn’t help soothing. “I’ve got this, and the world will never know. Okay?”

I got a slow but reassured nod. “Promise?”

“On my very life.”

Parsnip didn’t know how true those words were.

He didn’t need to know.

ChapterEleven

Parsnip

I’d never seen a nature pixie at work, not face-to-face. I’d watched them on television. A few had shows on Home and Kitchen television. They didn’t seek out media attention the way social pixies did, but their love of their land and the plants growing on it often pushed them out of their comfort zone.

Surprisingly, nature pixies weren’t very good at teaching others how to care for plants or the land. It was such an innate aspect of their makeup that they couldn’t explain it. Nature pixies simplyfeltplants. That wasn’t something they could impart to other species. The shows hadn’t been disasters, per se, but they hadn’t been very successful either. Home-and-hearth pixie programs hadn’t been total failures, but they were kind of hit-and-miss too.

The ground rumbled and creaked. Mike had his camera out, mouth parted in complete awe as he filmed Peaches, who looked ethereal. The dimmer winter sun did nothing to take away from his golden beauty. Hovering above the ground, body relaxed and head bent, Peaches would have appeared to be sleeping if not for the constant hum of his wings and the golden-yellow dust surrounding him in a magical cloud.

“Fuck, that’s good shit,” Mike muttered, zooming in on the ground as it parted, splitting along a narrow line, widening by steady degrees. “He’s really doing it.”

He was indeed. There was no need to bring in heavy equipment. No need to mar Peaches’s land with tire tracks and gasoline. The surrounding trees and vegetation heeded Peaches’s wishes, pulling back the dirt and opening a cavernous hole with the exact dimensions needed to create Lucroy’s underground haven—a haven I wasn’t convinced was truly necessary.

“Divia’s gonna be sorry she missed this,” Mike proclaimed, and I didn’t disagree.

Divia would have loved to see Peaches in action. She’d been called away, off to scout another location and a couple for upcoming episodes. I liked Divia and missed her when she was gone, but it was a lot easier working with Mike without the siren nearby.

The minutes ticked by, and I had a vague thought that I wished I had timed this. Mike’s camera would let us know later. I think it was fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later when Peaches’s raised his head, tilting it back and allowing the weak sunlight to shine on his cheeks. Lowering to the ground, Peaches’s booted feet hit the earth, and he wobbled ever so slightly.

I started for him, but he was instantly swarmed by chittering sprites, their clicks and squeals indistinguishable in my mind. It was grating.

“Shh,” Peaches scolded. “I’m fine. That just took a little more out of me than I expected.” Holding out his hand, Peaches allowed several sprites to alight on his palm. They crowded in. Those that couldn’t fit took up residence on his shoulders, the top of his head, or in his hair. I wondered if there was a sprite on the property that wasn’t clinging to him.

A full-body shudder ran through me. I had no idea how Peaches could stand them. They ate his dust and flitted about constantly. My brain knew they weren’t like Jed, that sprites were different from ogres in nearly every way possible. Peaches’s sprites wouldn’t cage him. They wouldn’t seal him inside a dark room, kept away from the rest of the world. I didn’t understand how, but I’d even heard rumors the sprites had saved Peaches’s life.

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