Page 6 of Perfectly Charmed Pixie

Blowing out a raspberry, Byx cracked a smile, a hint of sharp tooth slipping into view. “Yeah, I know. I just hate being a burden. I could do more, earn something to help out.”

“You have never once been a burden. Never think that again.”

I wished telling Byx that would stop the thoughts. I knew better. Guilt didn’t work that way, even when it was misplaced.

“I know.” Byx’s voice was too soft for my liking and didn’t exude the confidence I wished it did.

Regardless, I didn’t argue. “I’ve always been grateful Georgiana left you in my care. I’m not saying she wasn’t crazy to do it, but I’m not one to pass up a good offer. And you, Byx, were the best damn offer I’ve ever gotten.”

I wasn’t exaggerating even a little. Byx wasn’t a child. She hadn’t been a child when Georgiana died. Byx had been young though. She’d been too young to be alone and make her way in the world. Georgiana had relatives, other brownies that could have taken Byx in. She’d had choices, and she’d chosen me. I could have sat there all day debating the wisdom of that particular decision. But like I’d just said, I didn’t regret agreeing to watch over Georgiana’s only child. I loved Byx like she was my own.

“Mamma always did say you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box.” Byx punctuated her point with a dramatic eye roll.

“Yeah? Well, your mamma’s the one who left you with me, so what does that say about her?”

Byx’s surprise morphed into a smile that damn near split her face, and happy giggles quickly followed. “She’d zap you a good one if she heard you say that.”

“No doubt. Your mamma zapped me on more occasions than I’d like to remember.”

Georgiana had been a spitfire of a brownie. I’d been a young and a far stupider warlock when we met. I wouldn’t be half the warlock I was now if it hadn’t been for her guidance. I owed that brownie more than I could ever repay. I’d loved her like family and had been thunderstruck when I learned she was dying. I don’t know if I would have made it through if Byx hadn’t been with me or if I hadn’t needed to suck it up and get my shit together to care for her. Maybe Georgiana had known that. Maybe she’d left her daughter in my care more for my benefit than Byx’s.

Unfortunately, Georgiana had passed on, and I’d never be able to ask her.

Byx’s laughter slowly sobered, and she asked seriously, “Do you really have enough work to pay the rent?”

I gave Byx’s question the attention it deserved. Mentally thinking over the jobs I’d done and still had contracted. I added their values and gave a slow nod. “Not gonna lie, it’ll be tight. But I’ve got enough.” I sent a longing glance toward my nearly empty bottle of beer. Some things would definitely need sacrificing. The care of the brownie sitting before me wasn’t one of them. I’d starve before I let Byx go without. Of that, I was certain.

ChapterThree

Parsnip

Bed and breakfasts were nice and all, but those establishments’ owners were too busy for my liking. Call me high maintenance, but when I was on location, Divia always made sure to rent me my own home. I liked the privacy.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. I was a social pixie. Large crowds should be my jam. They used to be. Before Jed.

My head hurt, and I was exhausted. That wasn’t a surprise. Low-grade headaches and I were well acquainted. Lance said it was a side effect of triggering the charm I wore. Activating a charm required a small amount of my life force. Lance promised it wasn’t much, maybe a week or two off my allotted total. It was a price I was more than willing to pay. What would a longer life of ridicule and condescension get me?

Thinking of my waning charm, I reached for my phone. Lance promised a new delivery of charms would be at my doorstep when I got back to my rental home tonight. The stoop was conspicuously absent of said box of charms.

With a quick click, I pulled up Lance’s contact information. The phone rang and rang until it finally went to voicemail. I sat there, listening to the sound of Lance’s grating voice. A lot of warlocks had deep, resonating voices. Not Lance. His high-pitched squeal made my head hurt worse.

When the prompt ended, I left a hasty message. “My charms aren’t here. I need them ASAP.” I hit the end button.

I never gave much information when I left Lance messages. I paid the warlock handsomely to keep his mouth shut, but that didn’t mean others didn’t have access to Lance’s phone. I didn’t need my secret leaked to the public due to stupidity.

Flattening my wings, I lay back on my temporary bed. It was comfortable enough. Not as soft as my bed at my brother’s home, but it would do. Overall, I’d been pleasantly surprised by the accommodations in Rutherford Haven. It was…quaint. Not as large as most cities, but big enough to support a fair number of restaurants, bars, and clothiers. Peaches said I should make a trip to Petal’s Posh Pants. He said they specialized in pixie clothes and had the finest spider silk available.

Pixies could never have enough clothes, and I liked shopping. Pulling up the internet on my phone, I searched for the store and found it easily enough. If the photos were anything to go by, it did look like they had an array of colorful options. I tended to stay away from the brighter colors. My aqua-colored hair and wings were bright enough, and the color clashed with several others. My options were limited, but I always chose the finest fabric and the best color to accentuate mynaturalpixie beauty.

I stared down at my nails, remembering that I needed to repaint them. Old hurts and anger rushed into my chest, weighing me down. Once upon a time, this had been my natural color. I’d been this bright, this beautiful. Jed had stolen my color. He’d taken so much from me. Fairy law had been harsh, but nothing would take away what had already been done.

I’d been told not to hold too much of a grudge toward Jed. He was addicted. It was a disease that had taken hold of his mind. Had he not been addicted, Jed wouldn’t have caged me. He wouldn’t have held me captive for months on end—alone. I wouldn’t have faded. I wouldn’t be…this…

I threw my phone across the bed. It landed with a soft thump. I’d gotten tired of my therapist telling me that, like I should feel sorry for Jed, that I should have sympathy for my captor. Fuck that. I was the victim, not that ogre.

I silently fumed, repetitively fisting my hands. My anger didn’t do any good. It never did. Night after night, I swallowed it down. I was a social pixie. We didn’t show negative emotions. I couldn’t afford to be angry or scared. I had to be shimmering and full of joy. I had to always be my best and give the world what it wanted, what I needed to survive. No one wanted a depressed, traumatized, brooding pixie. It simply wasn’t done.

Pushing off the bed, I flew to the mirror. It was a lovely piece of glass, framed in antiqued bronze and running nearly from floor to ceiling. Turning this way and that, I watched my aqua dust scatter, filling the air in a cool haze. My hair wasn’t exactly right. The ombre effect was too sharp, the ends not as dark as they should be. It was something only I noticed. The camera didn’t catch all the details my eyes took in, imprinting them onto my brain and continuously criticizing them.

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