Madam Baba Yaga told the fairies that their wings would recover in a moon’s span.
“Four weeks?” the cheerhexers cried.
“What about regionals?”
“We can’t compete with regular cheers.”
“How embarrassing.”
“We’re famous for our flying formations.”
“What are we going to do?” They looked beseechingly at their leader.
Faybelle put her hands on her hips. “Who am I?” she asked them.
“Faybelle Thorn, daughter of the Dark Fairy.”
“That’s correct. So stop all your whining and have some confidence. I will figure this out, and we will claim that trophy!”
Because the wilted-wing sickness wasn’t contagious, the fairies were allowed to leave the infirmary and were told to go about life as usual. But that was impossible, for there was nothing usual about being earthbound. The sky was calling. But the fairies could not answer.
The situation was the hot topic on Blondie’s Mirror-Cast show that evening. It hadn’t taken long for Blondie to get the scoop. Being in the know about everything, she reported that Faybelle had been infected. Had Cupid told her? Possibly, but Blondie never revealed her secret sources. Or was it simply that Faybelle couldn’t hide the truth? It was obvious she had no flight. And covering her wings with Hunter’s cloak only drew attention to the matter—like a bald guy trying to cover his scalp with an ill-fitting toupee. But even though everyone knew, Faybelle couldn’t bear to have them stare at her wings, so she tossed Hunter’s cloak aside and chose a shimmering cape she’d worn to a masquerade ball last year. At least it didn’t make her sweat.
“What does this mean for your original play, Once Upon a Spell?” Blondie asked Justine during her show.
“Well, callbacks are tomorrow afternoon,” Justine said. “If neither Faybelle nor Farrah gets better, it looks like the part of the wicked fairy queen will be going to Cupid. I just hope Cupid doesn’t get sick. I really need a flying actor.”
Blondie looked into the camera. “Did you hear that, Cupid? Take your vitamins and get plenty of sleep. You can’t get sick or Justine’s play will be an epic fairy fail.”
Faybelle turned off her MirrorPad. Too bad there wasn’t some sort of fairytale flu spreading across campus. And too bad she’d been forbidden to use magic. She could steal Cupid’s voice but make it look like laryngitis. She could shoot pixie music into her ear and make it seem like an earache. But even if she could use magic, it would be foolish to attack Cupid. Madam Baba Yaga would figure it out. She’d punish Faybelle. Everyone would know. And Faybelle would never get the role.
Oh, to be wingless and magicless was torture! How did ordinary students stand it?
Somehow, some way, she would keep Cupid from going to callbacks. Better yet, she’d persuade Cupid to drop out of the play entirely. Then Justine would be forced to wait for the wilted-wing spell to wear off. What other choice would she have? But that also brought risk, because the spell would wear off for all the fairies, meaning Farrah would be in the running again. Faybelle versus Farrah? She would be back where she’d started. What a mess!
She leaned against her closet door.
“You okay?” Bunny asked. She sat at her desk, working on thronework.
Faybelle was as far from being okay as an ogre was from being charming. Her shoulders were aching, her neck sore. Her wings had always felt weightless, as if spun from air, but now it was like carrying a backpack filled with stones. “I’m fine,” she lied, though the bottoms of her feet throbbed something fierce. Show no weakness.
“You sure?” Bunny pushed her top hat away from her eyes. Her long ears twitched. “You don’t look fine. I mean, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. And you’re not complaining about my carrot tops, like you usually do.”
It was true. Faybelle’s energy level was at a low simmer, at best.
Her MirrorPhone rang. Her mother’s face appeared on the screen. “Darling, I just heard. Madam Baba Yaga assures me that you will be fine. Your wings will recover completely. I’ll send the driver immediately to pick you up.”
Faybelle stepped into the hallway so she could speak to her mother in private. “Mom, I can’t go home. I can’t miss classes or I’ll fall behind. I have too much work to do. I have Villain Club, cheerhexers to lead. I’m swamped.”
“Nonsense. Your health is more important than schoolwork. I’ll call Headmaster Grimm and demand that you be given special permission to leave. You must recover here, my darling. Healing from dark magic requires special care.”
“Did Professor Yaga tell you this was dark magic?” Faybelle asked.
“I know when dark magic is afoot,” she replied. “No one needs to inform me of such matters. I am dark magic, as are you, my love.”
“Yes, but you’ve never been hit by a dark magic spell.” Faybelle cringed, pained by deep feelings of shame. “You never…” She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t speak the horrid truth. Faybelle looked away. How could she admit that she’d made such an amateur mistake? That she was a victim of her own magic? That she’d paralyzed her own wings?
The Dark Fairy’s voice boomed from the speaker. “I will demand an inquiry. Someone attacked my child. This will not stand!”
“No, Mom, don’t.” Faybelle looked around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. The only movement was Lizzie Hearts’s plump hedgehog waddling between rooms, searching for treats. “I don’t want you to make a big deal about this. I don’t want you to investigate. I’m old enough to fight my own battles.” And I’m old enough to clean up my own messes.
Her mother looked at her. Though the Dark Fairy was far away and her face was on a small screen, Faybelle felt the power of her mother’s gaze. “Faybelle, did you…?” Her mother paused. Did she suspect the truth? “Very well,” she said. “Fight your battle. But if, at any time, I sense you need me, I will fly at lightning speed to fight by your side.” She blew a kiss.
“Thanks, Mom.” Did other villains have such good relationships with their parents? That might make for an interesting topic of discussion at the next Villain Club meeting.
Back in the room, Spindle yapped at Faybelle’s feet. She picked him up and nuzzled his cheek. He chewed on her finger, his tail wagging as if charged by its own motor. “I’m going to dinner,” she told him. “I’ll bring you back a treat.”
“I can’t go,” Bunny said, hunched over a hextbook. “Could you bring me a salad?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m guessing… no.” Bunny’s ears drooped.
“I’ve taught you well.” Then she whispered in Spindle’s furry ear, “But for you, my love, I’ll bring back whatever your little heart desires.” Now, if only she could get what her heart desired.