Even though it was plenty warm inside the stone building, Faybelle flung Hunter’s cloak over her shoulders and attached it at her neck. It hung all the way to her shins—more than enough fabric to cover her wilted wings.
The infirmary was an old-fashioned name for the student clinic. Small nurse fairies tended the facility’s patients, applying bandages, dispensing medicine, mending broken bones, that sort of stuff. Farrah, the two first-year fairies, and the six cheerhexers were sitting on benches in the waiting room. The cheerhexers didn’t cheer Faybelle’s entrance as they usually did. They all sat listless, shoulders drooping, expressions heavy with worry. No twinkle in their eyes. No sparkle in their presence. They were the saddest bunch of fairies Faybelle had ever seen.
“Hi, Faybelle. Hi, Cupid,” Farrah said. “What are you doing here?”
“Headmaster Grimm sent us,” Cupid explained. “We’re supposed to get our wings examined.”
The blue in Farrah’s eyes had dulled. They looked gray. “Oh, I hope you’re not sick,” she said.
“Of course I’m not sick,” Faybelle insisted.
“We’re waiting for our results,” Farrah explained. She held a cotton ball to her index finger. “They took a drop of blood for a blood test.”
Madam Baba Yaga stood at the end of the hall. Slightly hunched over, she beckoned with a gnarled finger. “Ms. Thorn, Ms. Cupid, this way, please.”
The girls joined the professor in an examination room. A nurse fairy stuck a thermometer in Cupid’s mouth while another wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.
“We must take your vital signs,” Madam Baba Yaga explained. “Take a seat, Ms. Thorn, and wait your turn.”
“This is a waste of everyone’s time because I’m not sick,” Faybelle insisted.
As Madam Baba Yaga supervised, a nurse fairy pricked Cupid’s finger and placed a drop of blood into a little vial. Madam Baba Yaga held the vial up to her nose. She sniffed it. She added a pinch of green powder, then murmured some magical words. The blood did not respond.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Faybelle said huffily. “I’m not sick.”
“That remains to be seen.” Madam Baba Yaga inspected Cupid’s wings with a magnifying glass. “Are they working as usual?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” Cupid said. “I would have flown here, but Faybelle was walking, so I walked with her. My wings are perfect.” To demonstrate, she lifted herself off the floor and fluttered around the room.
“Indeed.” Madam Baba Yaga wrote some notes in a file. “You may be excused, Ms. Cupid. It would appear that you are not affected.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Cupid hurried toward the door but then turned. “Good luck, Faybelle.”
Faybelle paced like a caged beast. She began to sweat beneath the cloak.
“You appear to be a bit agitated,” Madam Baba Yaga observed.
“I’m not agitated!” Faybelle bellowed.
Madam Baba Yaga stared at the cloak. Then she waved her hand at the nurse fairies. “Leave us,” she told them. They flitted from the room. The door closed, and Faybelle and the professor were alone. A bead of sweat rolled down Faybelle’s nose.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without that heavy cloak?” the professor asked.
“No. It’s the latest style. I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. In fact, I’m going to call the tailor at Fairy Fashion and Finery and order a dozen more.” She wiped the sweat with the back of her hand. “I’ll go do that right now.” She started toward the door, but Madam Baba Yaga blocked her path.
“Ms. Thorn, I do not have to inspect your wings to know that they have been wilted.” She pulled a twig from her matted hair and, using its blunt end, she scratched the back of her neck. “My eyes may be old and bloodshot, but I can clearly see that you’ve lost your sparkle.”
Was this true? Faybelle looked in a mirror that hung above the examination room’s sink. She did look different. Her skin was less luminous. Her eyes were dull. She looked… Oh horror of horrors! Could it be true? She looked ordinary.
Madam Baba Yaga tossed the twig aside, then picked up another file. Faybelle’s name was written on the file’s cover. “You have no record of illness,” she said, “aside from a few bumps and bruises from cheerhexing. Yet here you are, along with nine other fairies, stricken by a mysterious ailment. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Faybelle turned away from the mirror. “Like what?” She wasn’t lying, just playing dumb.
Madam Baba Yaga plucked the vial from the counter. Cupid’s drop of blood wobbled from the movement. “When coming into contact with the magic detection powder, Ms. Cupid’s blood remained unaltered. However…” She picked up a different vial. It also contained a drop of blood. She sprinkled green powder into the vial. The drop began to boil. A puff of black steam shot out the top. “This blood shows clear signs that it has recently been exposed to dark magic. This blood belongs to Ms. Goodfairy.”
“Really?” Faybelle examined her nails. “How dreadfully uninteresting.” Another bead of sweat trailed down her neck. If the professor wanted a confession, she’d have to try much harder.
“Do you remember my advice on cheerhexing? I clearly told you not to use your magic touch unwisely. I advised you to hone your skills slowly. Broken teacups are one thing, but attacking your fellow fairies—”
“I didn’t attack them,” Faybelle blurted.
They stood in silence for a moment. The cloak was smothering. Faybelle needed fresh air. She backed up until her legs came into contact with the edge of a chair. Then she sat. She wanted to crumple into a ball. Her wings felt so heavy. Her heart felt heavy, too.
When Madam Baba Yaga spoke, her voice was gentle. “The spell will wear off?”
“Yes,” Faybelle admitted. “In a moon’s span.”
“Good.” The professor washed the vials in the sink. “I’m curious, Ms. Thorn. What was your motive for attacking fellow students?”
“To eliminate my competition.”
“I see.” She nodded, but she didn’t look like she approved. “You will refrain from magic until this situation is resolved.”
“No magic?” Faybelle gasped.
“Do not press your luck, Ms. Thorn.”
Faybelle went silent.
“No magic. None at all. Do you understand?”
Faybelle groaned. “Yes.” The punishment could have been much worse. She could have been expelled, but, still, no magic felt harsh.
Madam Baba Yaga opened the examination room door. “There are times in life, Ms. Thorn, when magic is not necessary. When the terms of competition should be fair and square.”
“A villain doesn’t fight fair and square,” Faybelle said. “A villain does what she has to do to win.”
Madam Baba Yaga pressed her fingertips together and gave Faybelle a knowing look. “Sometimes it is the victory won fairly that proves to be the most rewarding. But, alas, here you are. No role in the play. No regionals. No flight.”
“Whatever after,” Faybelle grumbled as she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and trudged away. She’d deal with this in her own way. Her own wicked way.