At first, all I could see were piles of junk. It was to the extent that I thought maybe the little fox-sprite thought I was trash littering the woods and was simply trying to throw me away properly. However, my eyes slowly began to pick out the shapes of tiny, dilapidated houses that were once constructed of various natural and stolen materials.

It seems this fairy village was attacked… Well, it isn’t my problem.

The fox scampers away into the wreckage.

It certainly is curious, it’s not as if a fairy burrow is a place one can stumble into. Even people that want to find them can’t just come across them; so how was this one attacked in the first place? It was even tucked partially into the concave of a short cliff and built in and amongst a few trees. It’s hardly the most conspicuous burrow I’ve seen. That dubious honor belongs to a group that tried to take over a dishware shop while the owner was away for a week; they’d done a number on the teapots.

There was one more curious aspect about all this: why were the fairies still here?

Surely, whatever attacked could come back again. Assuming it didn’t fully succeed in whatever its (their?) goal was. It would be a pain to move, but most creatures agree that being eaten is more of a pain. And yet, the occasional sparkle rippled in the air—a telltale sign that fae were around, reacting with the ambient magic and disrupting its normally invisible flow.

I tried not to breathe deeply, all the fairy dust in the air was sure to trigger my allergies. I could already predict how my poor sinuses would ache from such a potent exposure. At these levels I’m sure that even the most magically disinclined person would be able to smell the irritating powder they produce when distressed. Ugh. The whole place reeked of mildew, like cloth left too long in a wet heap.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost didn’t notice when my translucent abductor returned. There on its back sat the pocket-sized queen. Like all fae queens, she bares the leyline swirls on her wings, ever shifting with the currents. Otherwise, she wears the same simple sewn-leaf clothing as any other uncontracted fae. She sits regally, despite how worn out she is and must be; her pride would allow nothing else before a stranger.

“Welcome, Magis,” she addresses me, “please, lend me your time.”

“No.” I scoff, tempted to leave immediately. “But I will listen to the passing breeze.”

The fairy queen’s polite smile remains firmly in place. Her golden eyes beckon me forward, she invites me to sit on a nearby boulder. I make myself as comfortable as one can be on a cold damp rock that has only a thin mat of moss for a cushion.

Soon enough the branches and hollows of the closest trees shimmer; they’ve gathered round to watch the negotiations. One by one they drop the reflexive energy manipulation that had kept their miniature humanoid forms hidden between the rays of light. Where it was once midmorning, the immediate area was now considerably dimmer. Amongst the trees they sat like false stars, forming loose constellations. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising if they fooled travelers in such a manner.

“As you have seen, our burrow has met with misfortune… we would like to request your aid.” She peers up at me with glimmering eyes, her voice carries to my ears clearly despite how she quieted. She holds my stare a moment more before continuing. “My kin, and even myself, have had our magic greatly reduced by the tragic events that have occurred here.” Several onlookers make pitiful noises to support the words of their queen. “You see, it was the Dark Army of the Supreme Evil that did this…” She paused for dramatic effect. “They sent the hounds.” She did well to modulate her voice, sounding just the right amount of harrowed and carefully held together to pull on my heartstrings. It was annoyingly effective. Probably why she did it.

She waited for me to respond. More specifically, to offer my help. Tough luck there miss fairy, I’ve been ducking royal summons for years. The silence stretches on, deeply uncomfortable.

She begins to sniffle, tears welling fully into her glowing eyes and trailing glistening paths down her face. The tiniest pink lips twist into a pout that she brings a dainty hand up to cover modestly. It’s almost too much. Some of the others have moved closer together, clinging on to one another for comfort.

Really, fae are far too good at acting.

I sigh, raising my eyebrows at the queen pointedly.

She maintains her mini melodrama a moment more, in hopes that I’ll give in, before her face cracks. The tears and their trails disappear as if they never existed; well, I suppose they didn’t, it’s not like fae have tear ducts after all. She frowns at me, crossing her arms.

If she wants my help, she’ll have to make a proper offer instead of attempting to swindle it out of me for free.

“Fine.” She huffs a dark strand of long curling hair from her face, still being dramatic. “What do you want?” Her expression is now a full-on petulant glare, upset that her pity-act hadn’t worked. I feel the smugness in the smile that draws itself on my face; this is what I was waiting for.

“Hmm? Dear breeze, do you mean to offer me a gift?” After all, she had yet to say exactly what she wanted me to do for her.

She tsked. Something that sounded like “stupid heartless Magis” mumbled under her breath. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped; fae are such sore losers. Despite all her posturing, it was the subtle buzzing of her dragonfly-like wings that actually gave away her growing agitation.

I purposefully yawn audibly, putting on my own show of boredom and indifference. I didn’t have to fake my desire to stand up, hoping the feeling and blood flow would return quickly to my numb backside and thighs. I twist left and right, stretching my lower back. I wonder if I’ll have to take a step towards the circle before she finally gives in. I watch her face make some interesting expressions before it returns to a more neutral mask.

“An important item was stolen from us. We want you to get it back.”

“And that item would be…?”

She hesitates, frustrated by the vulnerability of honesty.

“Our fairy-stone.” She looks away.

I don’t have to fake or exaggerate the way my eyes widen. That is quite serious. No wonder they went out of their way to lure a Magis. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t think I didn’t notice my stolen commission under that pile of house-crumbs. Ehem. Anyway, without that stone the fairies of this burrow couldn’t draw magic out of the leylines to eat. Certainly, they could go join another group, but the little queen was toast. Even if the queen of that burrow didn’t kill her for encroaching, she wouldn’t be able to absorb the magic attuned to another queen’s stone.

…I really don’t wanna get involved…

…It’s gonna be so messy…

…It involves the Dork Lord…

…Hhhnnnngggggg…

Fine...

“A wisp contract, an ounce of moon-dew, a casket-bird quill, three sacks of wick-wolf char, oh! And I want my book back.”

“Deal.” She extended her magic out to mine and just like that it was sealed. The onlookers cheered, although the more mischievous of the lot were disappointed about their trick not succeeding. They would still get what they really wanted, in the end.

The queen invited me to a celebratory feast, but I refused, as she knew I would. I wanted to get out of the forest without becoming a meal, after all.

When night truly fell, my temporary fox-guide lead me to a will-o-wisp grove. Yet another place that couldn’t be readily stumbled upon. The night here felt deeper and darker than anywhere else; a place suitable for the shy wisps to hide, awaiting the call of lost souls. Only the heatless blue flames swirling in their lamps were visible, drifting in lazy patterns as they gathered magic to fuel themselves.

The spirit guides take no notice of our presence, knowing we are exactly where we mean to be.

Unfortunately, that’s where the easy part ends. Finding spirits is about knowing where to look, contracting them is another matter entirely. It’s to the point where I was content to never try it myself at all. But, well, you gotta do what you gotta do, as they say. Here goes—

I call the magic from the wound-up ball of energy in my heart, digging deep into the reserves and letting it flow out formlessly. It begins to permeate the air, creating the same disruptive shimmer as the fairies’ camouflage. The blue flames all around blaze, absorbing the loose magic. They cast enough light now to see the forms of the wills that bare them, hanging at the end of curling wooden staffs. The glowing blue eyes set in their pale green faces turn to me, practically ravenous.

The extra energy is a feast before them, but they will never be full no matter how much they eat.

I cut them off. The free trial period is over. But even the most benign spirits can be rather cranky when you yank a food source away. They glower at me, frowning intensely at the loss. The more precocious of the lot take up aggressive stances. Although they don’t look very threatening, the wisp-fire lashing out around them is no joke. At this intensity, touching it would turn my skin to ice near instantly.

Fog descends around the grove, forced to take form by the unnatural chill in the air. It sends a shiver down my spine, creeping between the fibers of my clothes. Frost gathers in the grass, glinting on the blades.

The water-sprite had long since moved further away, unwilling to be turned into a fox-cicle.

Just four slightly disgruntled will-o-wisps had torn the clouds out of the sky and pinned them to the ground. I’d hate to see one that’s actually upset.

Now, this is the part where a smart person would run away. Too bad for me, but you can’t reach an agreement that way, so… once again, I must make the objectively wrong choice.

The little spirits growl, mimicking the sounds of beasts they’ve heard. The air is cold enough now that every breath I take adds to the fog. It obscures everything but the light of their flames hovering just above the earth.

With only about half my magic left, I have to be careful which spells I choose. In this state, they’d just consume anything that was too weak or too aligned to their cold nature.

A flame lashes out to my left, a spiraling tendril hiding within a thicker patch of fog and attempts to tag my leg. I roll away, coating my body in a more potent version of the warming spell that hisses where it touches the frosted ground and immediately sublimates the ice into the clouds. I wince.

Nice… great work, me!

Perhaps I should write a book on how not to apply magic in combat. I cancel the fire spell as I get back to my feet, only to be grazed by a lump of ice flying past my face. My cheeks are numb, but the blood ignites a warm rivulet down one beneath a dulled sting. I duck behind a tree before three ice lances can turn me into a kebab, feeling the thump thump thump as they puncture the tree. I take a moment to settle my heartrate, the blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear their movements.

Enough fumbling, it’s time to get serious.

Feeling for the spirits’ and their magic amongst the saturated air, I dive out from my cover into an open area, slamming an open palm to the ground. The earth shakes, revolting against my will, even so, I force the earth-shaping spell deeper.

Cracks start to hairline out, forming a radius around my hand.

Got you.