FOUR

TINK PUSHED open the swinging door to the kitchen. Prilla’s wings skipped a beat. She had never seen so many fairies.

Fairies from twenty-five talents were at work in the kitchen. Some of the talents were quite specialized—sub-talents, really—such as the knowing-when-a-dish-is-done talent or the stove-to-plate-transfer talent.

The air was full of flying fairies. But as soon as Prilla entered, they all froze, registering her presence.

Prilla blushed so deeply that her glow turned orange.

Everyone went back to work. Tink looked for the source of the clatter she and Prilla had heard in the lobby. There it was, shattered china and a pool of pea soup—nothing to interest a pots-and-pans fairy.

Then Tink’s eyes were drawn to the racks that rose to the ceiling. She saw the steamer she’d fixed last week. And there was the pressure cooker that had given her endless trouble, and the circular tube pan that had kept going oblong.

She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t resist a little wave to each of them.

She turned to Prilla. If the child had any kitchen kind of talent, it would show on her face. She’d be all smiles, excited, eager.

But Prilla’s expression was vague, her eyes glassy. Tink had seen her wear that expression before.

Prilla was on the windowsill of a Clumsy girl’s bedroom. On the floor was an assortment of doll furniture. A large doll overwhelmed a chair at a kitchen table. A small doll stood nearby, its head barely clearing the top of the table.

The Clumsy girl was searching for something in a brown paper bag.

Prilla flew to the toy stove and put one hand on the handle of a kettle. She folded her wings, made herself doll-still, and tried to lower her glow. Inside she was roaring with laughter. Would the Clumsy think her a new doll?

The girl turned back. “I wish I…Wha—”

“Prilla!”

Prilla jumped in the air. There was Tink, one hand on her bangs and the other on her hip.

“What were you ... Never mind.” Tink didn’t care what Prilla had been doing. “You don’t see anything you’re talented at, do you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Tink sighed. “You’d know.”

Prilla sighed, too. She wondered if she could get away with pretending to have a talent.

Dulcie, a baking-talent fairy, flew to them bearing a basket of poppy puff rolls. “Try one.”

Prilla and Tink helped themselves. It was Prilla’s first food ever, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. She felt her mouth water, which was curious. She bit in cautiously.

Dulcie said, “Are you the new fairy? Fly with you. Is the roll too salty?”

Prilla was too busy tasting to answer. She shut her eyes. The roll wasn’t too salty. It was perfect, except that it melted away too fast. She took another bite. Mmm. Buttery. A little poppy-seed crunch. A hint of sweetness. A hint of an herb. Tarragon. She loved it. She’d like about ten more rolls. Eating was a joy.

Joy! Prilla remembered what Tink had said about the scout. Scouting was his joy.

She opened her eyes. “I have a talent!” She turned a cartwheel. “Tink, I have a talent. My talent is eating.”

Tink reached for her bangs. “That’s not a talent. Everyone loves Dulcie’s rolls.”

“Oh.” Why isn’t it a talent, Prilla wondered, even if everybody else also has it?

Dulcie said to Tink, “It’s true then? She doesn’t know what her talent is?”

Prilla felt herself blush again. She wished she were still a laugh.