“I don’t know about that, Sabby. But what I can tell you is that pixies are closest to hummingbirds, comparatively.”
That throws me.
“Did Mandy have wings that I missed somehow?” I ask.
“I don’t believe so. It’s rare for a pixie to be born with wings these days! You see, pixies used to flock near flowers and sap-producing maple trees, and flight was more useful then. Since humans learned to refine sugar, pixies have become endemic to cities instead, and prefer to keep their fluttering near humankind. Also, they’re colorful. And a delight to watch.”
“So… the hummingbird thing is an analogy. Not a scientific categorization.”
Bulan offers me a neutral look. “Perhaps.”
“You weren’t ever educated, were you?”
“I was not!” he says proudly. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Fortunately,Sabby, as energetic and charming as pixies are, they have a sneaky side too. An ability to manipulate situations in their favor, much like—”
“A hummingbird?” I smirk.
“—a siren. All this to say, I bet Mandy will return with everything you requested. And likely at a bargain price!”
This sounds almost too good to be true. “Do you think she’s as harmless as she looks?”
“Only because you’re straight as a headboard,” Bulan laughs heartily. “At least she isn’t fay! They can be such brats, I swear.”
“You’ve said that twice now.”
“Precisely. I’m providing information,” says Bulan. “That’s the service I agreed to provide. That, and tape cutting.”
“You’re a fantastic tape cutter,” I agree. I readjust his iPad and pat him generously on the head. “Not to mention the cheapest pet I’ve ever owned. Please don’t ever tell me how you sustain yourself biologically.”
That night, I visit the commuter rail platform again. Just in case Grandma ascended at high tide today, without being so kind as to let me know.
While I’m recovering from the process of becoming a human puddle, a seagull poops on my head.
Tuesday starts off about as miserably as Monday finished.
I am once again unable to board the commuter train leaving Salem—though I’m wise enough this time around to wear a hat, in case I’m visited by more seagulls. While I’m debating the pros and cons of reaching out to my manager, Desmond, about the fact that Steve’s essentially ignoring me, a young couple walks inside Grandma’s shop, a tale of plain woe on their faces.
Clients!
The bride-to-be introduces herself as Myra… Myrafififi… no, that’s not it… Murphy? Okay, I can’t remember her full name. The point is,Fiand her fiancé, Asher, are in trouble, and their peril is so serious they’re willing to seek my help. Sweeping her showy red hair behind her back, Fi outlines her dilemma: for months, the couple meticulously planned their mostly DIY wedding—and apparently, Fi’s mom kicked that off years before then—but as their wedding day drew closer, the couple grew concerned about Fi’s ability to coordinate the ceremony while participating in it. Fi’s mom disagreed. She said that Fi should be more than capable of being in two places at once. It is, apparently, part of Fi’s druidic heritage.
Fi is relatably neutral on said heritage.
Once they’d heard about me, Fi and Asher realized they could avoid blackmailing a non-paranormally acquainted wedding coordinator into ignoring the “unusual” aspects of the wedding. They are very excited to have found the right person.
I am not that person. But I’m desperate. See: my bruises from yesterday’s attempt to flee, my near-empty bank account, and the food stores in Grandma’s house that give me far too few options for a safe-to-eat dinner.
Anyway, Fi and Asher’s requests don’t seem unreasonable. Unlike Dave and Amanda’s wedding, their event has actual functional parts. Not to mention a full guest list! The complicating factor is that it’s also going to be heldthis weekend. At sunrise, on Saturday. Meaning I have less than five days to figure out stuff like what a vendor actually does, how a wedding florist and coordinator should work with said vendors, and—oh yeah—how to be a boss.
I can barely remember to brush my teeth at night. How am I supposed to be a good boss, and not just a girl boss? To be ethical and manage at least a week’s pay and benefits for my pixie employee?
Well, that’s a later Sabby problem. Today Sabby needs to teach Mandy not to run with scissors blade-first. Between running errands for Fi’s wedding, I ask the pixie to change out the front window of theshop so it looks slightly less “Grandma Rose.” We reposition the dead-eyed, dreadlocked mannequin so that she gazes into the abyss beside a three-tiered layer cake.
If that’s not a symbol of marriage, what is?
With Bulan and Mandy’s encouragement, on Wednesday, I tack a handmade sign on the shop door. It readsSPÜKTACULAR WEDDINGS, LLC.
I still can’t leave Salem, and I haven’t heard back from anyone at EFG, but who knows, maybe my emails to Desmond and Steve were so banal and blandly written that they forgot about them. I do send a follow-up to HR in case they need me to file something more official.
