she moved away.
“No, really. Not that I deny the accusation, luv, but
somethin’ took a chunk out o’ me backside for sure,”
“Liar! What would I do with a chunk of you?”
The voice was high but firm and came from the vicinity
of the flowerbed. Jon-Tom crawled over for a close look,
searching for the source of the denial.
Tiny hands parted the stalks, which were as yellow as
the thick-petaled flowers, and he found himself staring at
something small, winged, feminine, and drastically
overweight.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “A fat fairy.”
“Watch your mouth, buster,” she said as she sort of
lumbered out lightly until she was standing on a broken
log. The log was brown with red longitudinal stripes
running through the bark. “I know I’ve got a small
personal problem, and I don’t need some big-mouthed
human reminding me of the fact.”
“Sorry.” Jon-Tom tried to sound contrite. “You are a
fairy, aren’t you? One of the enchanted folk?”
“Nah,” she snapped back, “I’m a stevedore from
Snarken.”
Jon-Tom studied her closely. Her clothing resembled
wisps of spun gossamer lavender candy. A miniature tiara
gleamed on her head. Long hair trailed below her waist.
The tiara had been knocked askew and covered one eye.
She grunted as she struggled to straighten it. In her right
hand she clutched a tiny gold wand. Her wings were
shards of cellophane mottled with thin red stripes.
“We were told,” Folly said breathlessly, “that you
could help us.”
“Now, why would I want to do that? We’ve got enough
problems of our own.” She stared at Jon-Tom. “That’s a