Dead Heat, Part 11

“Pansy! Shut. Up.” Rose spat out through gritted teeth.

“You can’t talk to me like that, Big!” Pansy’s purple glow flitted down to occupy the space just in front of Rose’s face, sword drawn. “It’s LORD Pansy to the likes of you!”

“Act like an undisciplined child and I’ll treat you like one,” she said.

His tiny body quivered with rage, the pale wisps of his aura fluctuating from red to black.

A voice — his Queen’s, unless she missed her guess — shouted for him to stop, but Rose didn’t think he heard her. He locked his toothpick-sized sword in at his waist and zoomed toward her unprotected eyes with shocking speed.

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t noticed that while Rose was baiting him, she was also snagging Thelma from the easy-access pocket on the side of her carryall. The blast of pepper spray took him by surprise, sending him sailing to the ground in a choking, gasping haze.

Rose knew what it felt like. It may have been nonlethal, but her mother made sure both she and her brother knew what it felt like, so they’d never use it on anyone unless they absolutely needed to. It burned, but the worst of it would be getting a lungful. It felt like dying, gasping and unable to draw a breath.

Instantly, a swarm of angrily buzzing lights lifted from the grass and surrounded Rose in a swirl of glittering fury.

It might even have been beautiful had it not been for the aura of sharp menace rising from each individual light. An acrid scent, like burned rubber, billowed off of them to create a roiling cloud. The cloud spun around her in a way that made her try very hard not to think the word ‘tornado’.

Rose dropped Thelma, stomach churning and a tight knot of fear closing her throat. Her fingers scrabble for Louise, palms sweating. That was a lot of fairies. Suddenly, toothpick-sized swords didn’t seem so funny.

The wine-haired Queen rose to hover in front of Rose, her petal gown seeming none the worse for wear after being drenched in vinegar.

“This is not how we express our gratitude.”

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t sound angry or irritated. Didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow.

As if a switch had been thrown, each fairy paused in midair, wings flickering madly. (Well, most of them. The ones that blundered into the fairy in front of them seemed quite abashed, so Rose tried not to notice).

“Please accept my most sincere apologies for this double insult you have been dealt, especially in the face of your bravery and generosity.”

Midair, the queen curtseyed to Rose and she had to fight a ridiculous urge to curtsey back, uncomfortably aware of her stained and ripped hose. Rose realized she was clutching her can of bear mace against her chest, finger slippery against the trigger.

Rose tried to speak and found she had to clear her throat. “Your majesty,” she began, only to be interrupted by a choking, wheezing Pansy.

“YOUR. ROYAL. HIGHNESS!”

Before Rose could even consider how infuriating his investigation was, the Queen rose from her curtsey. Iridescent dragonfly wings whirring softly, the fairy moved so that she was within

Rose’s reach and extended an arm with an effortless grace that Rose knew to the bottom of her heart she would never be able to echo.

“Please,” the Queen said softly, “do me the honor of calling me Orchid.”

“Rose,” she replied, awkwardly raising her own hand towards the fairy. Queen Orchid moved forward to grip Rose’s outstretched pointer finger as if it were an orchestrated move and smiled with an open pleasure that Rose couldn’t believe was feigned.

“An auspicious name, Lady Rose.”

Rose blushed. “Just Rose, please.” She meant it. Being named Lady by this ethereal being felt more joke than honor, though she was sure the fairy meant it.

Pansy rose, lavender aura stuttering. “You are royalty! You cannot–”

“Lord Pansy,” Orchid interrupted with a tone that was at once disappointed and regretful, “you have been a loyal and devout attendant.”

That was all she said, but it was enough to draw a collective gasp from all of the fairies present. Pansy’s glow faded to a shocked pale purple, so withdrawn it might have been white. He lurched backwards as though she’d delivered a killing blow …

… and a muscular, green-tinged arm shot out from the shadow of the bridge to clutch him in a fist the size of Rose’s head.

“Squish Bug.”

Orchid whispered, her voice more an unintentional exhale than an exclamation, “No!”