Letting go of the handle, I pound on the door. Someone’s gotta be in there, right?
On the third time my fists hit the wood, the door springs inward. I dash inside, not knowing what to expect, but too desperate to care.
As soon as I’m in, I freeze. Behind me, the door slams shut. It’s probably already locked.
Oh, well.
My first impression is that I’ve somehow found my way back to Hildy’s inn. There’s a roaring fire in the center that makes everything look like it’s bathed in orange. It’s warm. Cozy. The air smells like smoke and—my stomach rumbles—freshly cooked food. But while Hildy’s inn was loud and disorienting, more of a tavern than anything else with all of the eaters and the drinkers, this crowded space is a little more homey.
I can’t even begin to guess how many… creatures are inside. They’re all about my height, maybe an inch or two smaller, and most of them are sitting on small wooden blocks, busy doing something with their hands. Sewing? Unless I’m wrong, it looks like they’re all sewing.
The one nearest to the door looks up from her work, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape when she sees me standing there. She tucks her needle into the length of brown fabric she was working on, rising up from her block before laying her sewing down on top of it. After wiping her hands on her skirt, she scurries over to me.
The first thing she says to me is, “You’re not an imp.”
Is that what these creatures are? Now that she’s standing in front of me, I get a good look at her. She’s human-shaped—two eyes, two arms, two legs—though, like Hildy, she has a tail reaching out from under her skirt, twitching by her ankle. Her skin is the color of walnuts, her eyes
like a freshly minted penny. She’s got the same pointed ears as the fae, though I wouldn’t call her beautiful or enchanting. She’s cute, though, and she sounds the way I would expect a fairy would.
“Um. No. Sorry.” I wave behind me at the closed door. “I hope I’m not intruding or anything. I saw the cakes and—”
She squeals. “A guest! We have a guest!”
Her voice is high-pitched, but she’s loud enough that some of the other imps glance over at us. A hush breaks out, followed by a chorus of whispers and murmurs.
I wave.
The imp starts to reach for my arm, thinks better of it, then claps her hands together instead. “Stay here,” she tells me. “Let me get the clan leader. She’ll be so happy that we have a guest.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to—” And she’s gone.
You think I’d be used to the staring by now. And, come on. These imps have copper eyes and tails. I can’t be the weirdest thing they’ve ever seen, right?
While I wait for the clan leader, I glance around again. On second inspection, I think that I might’ve stumbled on some kind of workshop, kind of like the North Pole. Only instead of toy-making elves, I’ve got little imp tailors.
Okay, then.
To my left, I notice a table that’s designed to match the toadstool outside. It’s carved from wood, painted red and white at the top, and it also holds a tray. This one isn’t lined with mini-cakes, though. I count six bottles, two rows of three, all made of green glass.
“Ah, I see you’ve found the growing potion. You have, you have.”
I whip my head around at the sweet, tinkling voice.
The imp standing behind me now isn’t the same one from before. From her voice, her features, and her dress, she’s also a female, but she’s clearly much older than the other one. She has the same bright copper eyes, though, and she gives me a tight-lipped smile when I say, “Growing potion?”
Her hair is dark brown streaked with white and it falls to her elbows. When she nods, it bounces. “It is. When you’re ready to leave our tree, you take a bottle and you go, then you grow, grow, grow.”
So I’m not stuck like this forever. That’s good to know. And the imps aren’t thinking about keeping me trapped inside of their tree. That’s even better.
“Welcome, guest. I’m Shanley Whitethorn, elder imp of this clan. Tell me, tell me, yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Elle.”
Is it bad that I only hesitated for a moment before I answered? In the last month that I’ve been in Faerie, I’ve begun to accept that I have to be Elle if I want to keep my freedom—and my sanity.
“Elle. Then welcome, welcome, Elle. We don’t often get guests, and it’s been so long since the wisps invited anyone to our tree. The rider scares most travelers in these parts away.”
I gasp. I can’t help it. “You know about the rider?”