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

thought possible.
    “Oh, thank you. So kind of you to say.”
    I bit my lip. “Um.”
    “Mother,” said Soren, waving to the closest dryad who was walking toward us with painfully slow steps, even slower than Soren’s. She had the same intricate wood-graining, but she was slightly shorter with large eyes and a small bow of a mouth.
    “Mother, this is Matilda Whipplethorn and…” Soren grinned even wider, “she thinks we’re naked.”
    Soren’s mother clasped her hands together. “Music to a mother’s ears.”
    I looked back and forth between them. Soren’s mother laid a warm hand on my shoulder. Again, I felt nothing but sweetness coming from the dryad.
    “We’re not naked, dear. We’re painters,” Soren’s mother said.
    “Painters?” I asked. “What do you paint?”
    “The greatest canvas. Ourselves.” She held her hand up in front of me and rubbed away a strip of wood-graining, revealing pale brown skin.
    “Oh.” I didn’t want to state the obvious. Paint wasn’t clothes. No one with sense would think so. Maybe Soren and his family weren’t dangerous, but they might be crazy. “I think I’d better go.”
    “Does this help?” Soren’s mother stepped back and appeared to lift her skin right off her hip.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Our clothing, dear. We’re painters. We paint everything to match our beloved trees. It is a huge compliment that you thought the illusion perfect.”
    I dropped my hands. “It is perfect.” I turned to Soren. “I was worried you were naked the whole time.”
    “I should’ve known. You looked at me so oddly.” Soren laughed and was joined by his family. They all crowded in, patting me and giving thanks for my compliments.
    Soren’s mother put her long arm around my shoulders and led me away. “Don’t crush the child, people. I suspect Soren brought her to us for a purpose, not just to feed our vanity. Vanity is our great weakness, that and walnuts. You don’t have any walnuts, do you?”
    “Sorry, no,” I said.
    “Too bad,” she said. “What would you have us do, my son?”
    “I would have us help.” Soren put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell them, Matilda Whipplethorn.”
    “I’m looking for someone. A little boy. He’s a wood fairy. A wood fairy like me, I mean.”
    “He’s your brother?” asked Soren’s mother. “Another Whipplethorn?”
    I grimaced. “Not a bit. He’s not my brother and he says he’s a Whipplethorn, but he’s not.”
    Soren examined my earring and tested the sharp tip with his finger. “What is he then?”
    “He’s an Ogle. His family moved into Whipplethorn Manor late and changed their name. My family is original to the house. We came with the first stick of wood. We’re real Whipplethorns.”
    All the dryads nodded as one. “So sad,” some said.
    “I thought it might be something like that. Such a sad thing,” said Soren’s mother.
    “Sad? It’s not sad. He’s just pretending to be a Whipplethorn and going around acting better than us when he isn’t even one of us.” I planted the ball of my earring on the floor and held it like a flagpole.
    “Perhaps you’re too young to understand. Take us for example. We dryads are tied to our trees.” She gestured to the furniture. “First we lived in our trees in the forest, and then our trees were cut and fashioned into furniture. We’ve traveled from house to house and finally to this antique mall, but we’ll never willingly be separated from our trees. Something terrible must’ve happened to separate the Ogles from their home. You’re wood fairies like us. You must feel the same about your trees as we do.”
    I considered what she was saying. I’d never thought about it before, but my parents said we came with the first stick of wood to Whipplethorn Manor. They said that our family had always been with the mantel. Did that mean we were with the mantel before it was a mantel? I did know Gerald’s family didn’t belong to any particular bit of wood