Read Online A Fairy's Guide to Disaster by A W Hartoin - Free Book Online Page A

anything else to say.
    The wood-like creature lifted its knee, then extended a leg and took a carefully balanced step toward me. The step was so slow it disarmed me completely and I nearly giggled.
    “What happened to you?” he asked.
    I clutched my earring. I no longer felt like giggling.
    “Nothing,” I said.
    “You’re covered with bruises and scratches.”
    I looked down and realized he spoke the truth. Some of them were fairly fresh from the jewelry bin. The rest were dried and flaking from when the mantel had been torn off the wall.
    “There was an accident,” I said.
    “A bad one, looks like. Do you need help?”
    “I’m looking for someone. A little boy.”
    “A wood fairy like us?” it asked.
    I stared at the creature. Did it mean us as in the two of us? How could we both be wood fairies? He didn’t even have wings. The creature took another slow step forward and I took a step back.
    “I am a wood fairy, although a different type, as you can see,” he said. “I’m Soren Maple. And you are?”
    “Matilda Whipplethorn. What type are you?”
    “I’m a dryad.”
    “I’m just a plain old wood fairy, I guess,” I said.
    Soren’s face looked as hard as oak, but it curved into a gentle smile. Warmth and sweetness radiated off of him. I could find nothing inside myself that said to fear him.
    “There’s nothing plain about you,” he said.
    I smiled back at him.
    “Come with me, Matilda Whipplethorn, and we shall see,” said Soren.
    “See what?” I asked.
    “If we can find your little boy.” Soren turned and walked away with his high-stepping, slow gate. I glanced around. The antique mall lay quiet and deserted except for the occasional human. I wasn’t sure I should take his help, but neither did I want to wander around aimlessly. It really wasn’t much of a choice. I hefted the earring and followed him through a warren of wooden chair legs and hoped for the best.

CHAPTER 7

    THE furniture stood like a gleaming maple forest in a quiet corner of the antique mall, each piece elegantly carved and smelling of lemon oil. I stared with wonder at the canopy bed in particular. Its four posts twisted toward the ceiling and the silk lining in the top formed a beautiful sun-burst pattern. The huge headboard below was a riot of scrollwork and various fruits carved with such artistic talent as I had never seen.
    “Oh,” I whispered.
    Soren ducked his head. A tinge of pink bloomed on his golden cheeks. “Welcome to my home.”
    “It’s so beautiful. Do you live on the inside?” I asked, although I doubted it. Soren was so big, how could he fit?
    “No, we nest on the outside.” Soren waved at the furniture.
    I eyed the area Soren was waving at, but couldn’t see anything.
    “You should wave as they’re waving to you,” he said.
    “Where?” I asked.
    “Everywhere. You only have to really look in order to see. Just like humans. Although humans never bother to look.”
    So I really looked. I ran my eyes carefully over the beautiful bed, the matching highboy, the bookcases, and dressers. And then they were there, dozens of spindly arms just like Soren’s, waving at me in a most cheerful fashion.
    “I see them. I see them,” I said, waving wildly.
    “My family,” said Soren as the dryads climbed slowly down the furniture, stopping to wave every few steps. When they got closer, I felt a blush come over my own cheeks. They didn’t seem naked, but I couldn’t make out any clothes either. I was able to ignore this with Soren because there was only one of him. A whole family of possibly naked dryads made me want to run the other way, no matter how friendly they seemed. I backed up a few steps, uncertain about what to do.
    “What’s wrong, Matilda Whipplethorn?” asked Soren.
    “They’re…” I hesitated. Should I say it? I didn’t want to insult anyone.
    “Yes?”
    “Are they wearing clothes?” I asked at last.
    Soren grinned at me. His wood-grained lips stretched farther than I’d