“Shh!” I say, and cover her mouth with my hand and pull her into me.
“I-I saw them, too,” says Karen. “What are...” But her voice trails off.
“What am I? I’m a fairy witch, but please keep this between us, okay?”
“A fairy witch... okay, wow. That’s a new one.”
“I’m going to take this with me,” I say to Karen, carefully lifting my notebook and the living drawing from the coffee table, closing it even as the image inside squeals in fury. Maybe it’s afraid of the dark, which is ironic. I tuck my notebook into the crook of my arm. “I think the drawing is attracting whatever it was that attacked your daughter. I know just what to do with it, and I think I can help you.”
Karen presses her hands together like she’s praying. “Please... please help us. Just keep that thing away from my daughter.”
“I’ll do my best, I promise. It made a mistake coming here. And I’m going to make sure it never returns.”
Karen nods, teary-eyed, exhausted herself.
Paxton and I take our leave, the door shutting gently behind us.
We walk back to the Prius in silence. My notepad shifts slightly in my purse, like the drawing within is trying to break free.
Once we’re inside my car and the doors are locked, I start it with the push of a button.
“So,” Paxton says softly. “Where to now?”
I grip the steering wheel and pull out of the cul-de-sac.
“We need to speak to Queen Maple,” I say. “We need real answers. And I have a feeling she’ll know a thing or two about rogue fairies.”
“Doesn’t she live far away from here?”
“She does, but I know a shortcut. Many shortcuts, in fact. They’re all over.”
“Fairy doors?”
“You got it, kiddo. We just need to find a park with at least one magical tree.”
4.
We find a park ten minutes away, tucked between a school and a retirement community. The setting isn’t expansive—just a few swings, a play structure, and a meandering walking trail, but it’s quiet. Almost too quiet.
“Is this place safe?” I ask my kid sister, as we pull into the parking lot, trusting her ability to quickly read the energy of a space.
Paxton closes her eyes, tilts her head, tuning into something I can’t see or feel. Then nods. “It feels safe... and serene.”
Serene is a good sign of a fairy presence.
“Good enough. Let’s go.”
First, I tuck my purse under the front seat and step out of the Prius. Cool night air brushes against my cheek as I take Paxton’s hand. Together, we head toward the grove of oak trees gathered in the shadows at the far end of the park.
“There aren’t that many trees,” observes Pax, glancing around.
“True, but most parks have at least one magical tree,” I say, leading the way. “You just have to know what to look for.”
“And magical trees have fairy doors?”
“Exactly.”
I head straight toward a massive oak at the edge of the grove. It’s not the tallest, but it’s the most commanding: broad and perfectly rounded, its symmetrical crown shaped like a living dome. Its bark is thick and deeply furrowed, curling in places like the folds of a wise old face. Gnarled roots spread outward like ancient fingers clutching the earth, and its limbs stretch wide in all directions, balanced and open, as if inviting us closer. Silver moonlight dapples its trunk, and the leaves shimmer faintly in the stillness. My heart flutters with recognition. This is it.
