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  DAY AND KNIGHT

  ALL'S FAE IN LOVE AND CHOCOLATE

  Story #1

  By

  Michelle L. Levigne

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2011

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-116-5

  ISBN 10: 1-60174-116-2

  Day and Knight

  Copyright © 2011 by Michelle L. Levigne

  Cover art and design by Victoria Conrad

  Copyright © 2011

  The original three ALL'S FAE IN LOVE AND CHOCOLATE short stories--Day and Knight, Smoke and Mirrors, and She Blinded Me with Science--were published electronically, separately, between 2005 and 2006, by New Concepts Publishing. An anthology of all three stories was made available in paper in 2006.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  Chapter One

  Anybody with any sense at all knows children have a magic of their own.

  The Fae, being essentially magical creatures, found it hard to resist the surge of energy, alertness and personal magic that came from being in the presence of just a few Human children. Which, Glori supposed, was why the false belief in Fae kidnapping infants became so prevalent and so frustratingly hard to stamp out. Then the Industrial Revolution polluted the magical atmosphere by shortening childhood. As the 20th century turned into the 21st, there was less magic to be found out in the erroneously labeled "real world."

  What was a Fae supposed to do?

  Get hold of Human children and prolong their childhood, of course.

  Today, an enterprising Fae who didn't want to live in the hidden Fae Enclaves--and lose access to the latest movies and TV shows--didn't have to go through the legal wrangling of adopting a Human child. She could become an elementary school teacher or run a daycare center. With the help of a few judicious cleaning, security, bully-prevention and healing spells, the place practically ran itself, leaving her free to play with the little darlings.

  Glori only took two dozen or so children at a time, because that was all she could manage on her own, even with the help of her magic. It was the smallest number she could get away with before someone started asking uncomfortable questions, such as how she controlled all those children without helpers. She sometimes wondered how ordinary daycare teachers managed without magic, even with the help of three or four assistants. Routine was of paramount importance, of course.

  Monday was Dreaming Day. The children loved sitting in the story circle on their personal "magic carpets" and telling about their adventures every weekend. Glori wrote their words on the white boards that covered one wall of the room, to help the children practice their alphabet. Reading was very important.

  Then the children painted pictures or made sculptures of clay or paper, or built incredible machines out of blocks and Tinker Toys or Legos or whatever they found in the magically replenished bins of "scrips and scraps." They finished up the day making up stories about whatever they had created and performed little plays using the clothes she bought at the Salvation Army store. Sometimes after they left, Glori gave life to the five-legged dogs and the trees with tentacles instead of roots or the houses on stilts and let them run around for a while.

  Tuesday was Field Trip day. She loaded her charges into her van, which always had just enough seats, no matter how many children she loaded into it. She always drove through the park, which brought them out at their destination before anyone could ask, "Are we there yet?" No matter how far away it was. Even in another city. The art museum, the zoo, the natural history museum, the county fair, the health museum, the local newspaper, the candy factory. All of them were within a ten-minute ride. Glori did regret having to mute the psychedelic rainbow that surrounded the van when she warped time and space, but she didn't want to risk the children talking too much about their mode of transportation.

  Wednesday was School Day, for the children to learn colors, letters, numbers and geography. If she slipped a little Fae geography into the lessons, who would know? No one listened to children when they prattled about countries and cities that no one had heard of.

  Thursday was Career Day, when working people came into the daycare in the mornings and talked about their jobs. Then, in the afternoon, the children played at being that particular worker. Policemen and firemen were extremely popular, along with veterinarians, bakers, florists and magicians. Glori was delighted when her cousin Alexi, who had become a magician in Las Vegas, spent the day teaching the children magic tricks that didn't need any "real" magic.

  The only occupation she never introduced to her children with a guest speaker was that of an exterminator. Insects of any kind gave her the collywobbles. She expended twice as much magical energy on the spells to repel all kinds of vermin, from dust mites to cockroaches to rats, as she spent on all her other spells that ran the daycare, combined.

  Friday was Anything Day, when the children could make suggestions and vote on what they wanted to do. Seven times out of ten, they wanted stories in the afternoon, after a hard morning of playing on the playground and coloring pictures and eating their lunches like ladies and gentlemen.

  Glori loved storytime the best. Especially when the children asked her to wear her Faerie Princess hat, tall and conical, with lots of gossamer veils. She loved telling them true stories about the Fae, about magic spells that went wrong in funny ways. They loved stories about brave knights and clever princesses who wandered into the land of the Fae and earned the right to stay. She always had at least two children who wanted to sit on her lap while she told the stories. Thanks to her spells, no one argued, though sometimes tears threatened.

  And sometimes, when she finished telling an especially involved story about magic, the children made up magic spells of their own. Glori loved watching the streamers of magic forming in the air, powered by their innocent, pure belief. As soon as the children stopped, as soon as they let something distract them or their parents came to take them home, the hazy rainbow streaks of magic faded immediately. Fridays were beautiful and special to her, but sometimes they were painful and sad, because they reminded her that her precious children weren't hers, they weren't even Fae, and when they grew up they would lose almost all their magic.

  All in all, however, life was perfect. The only thing that could make her life any better was to have a child of her own, but Glori was still a very young Fae. She had decades to go until she was old enough to have a baby. Besides, having a baby meant finding a husband, and she had yet to meet a single Fae male worth the trouble of housebreaking him.

  Because, to be honest, she knew she wasn't quite housebroken herself. Glori suspected the reason she loved children so much was because she was still very much a child. Thanks to her housecleaning spells, she rarely had to pick up after herself at the end of the day. She snapped her fingers to set the spells in motion, then closed the door on the daycare and walked away. She didn't even lock up. The doors and windows closed and locked themselves. The wastebaskets slid around the room and the trash jumped into them, and then the garbage bags inside the wastebaskets tied themselves and flew to the bin in the storage room. Blocks, dolls and trucks toddled over to wherever they
belonged. Mops and brooms took care of crumbs and sticky spots where juice had spilled during the day.

  The sanitation and healing spells went to work to eradicate any germs that had crept in with the children during the day. The vermin-repelling spells focused on any insects or larger pests that had approached the daycare during the day. When Glori walked into her daycare every morning, everything was glistening clean, sanitized and safe for her children. What more could a young, single, independent Fae girl want out of life?

  Her life and her business were perfect for twelve years, four months and three days, until that particular Monday morning, when Glori walked into her daycare center and found it overrun.

  Infested.

  Filthy.

  Disgusting.

  Part of it was her fault. She had closed the door on the spilled juice, half-eaten apples and scattered cookie crumbs on Friday and walked away. She didn't take care of the paint buckets and modeling clay tubs sitting open, the scattered toys and muddy footprints. She simply expected the spells to do their usual work over the weekend. She hadn't stayed to ensure the spells actually got to work.

  "Bother," she muttered, and snapped her fingers to get the spells going. She only had forty-five minutes until the first child arrived.

  A boing sound, like from a bad cartoon, reverberated through the building. Glori gasped, feeling as if a spring had snapped out of place inside a delicate piece of machinery--and that machinery, strangely, was inside her head.

  No! It couldn't be her. Could it? She closed her eyes and did a quick physical and magical inventory. She couldn't find anything wrong. But something was wrong with her magic spells around the daycare center. Her nose and ears told her that much. Was the problem with her, or had someone sabotaged the spells she wove around the building? She did a quick scan of the interweaving of spells that kept the daycare going.

  With her eyes set for magic-sight, she saw twisted strands and colors that had gone sour and muddy. Something had definitely gone wrong. She couldn't believe it was sabotage. So what had happened?

  Judging from the stink, the mess and the moving carpet of roaches, ants and flies covering walls, floor and ceiling, not just the maintenance spells had failed. The protective shield around her daycare center had imploded.

  She held her nose and stared at the dark miasma in the atmosphere and wondered if all the vermin in the neighborhood had actually been invited to inhabit the daycare. It happened sometimes, when magic broke down and inverted on itself. Great-Aunt Geffelina had the same thing happen when she tried to cure a certain prince of chronic hoarseness. Was it her fault she had phrased it as "a frog in the throat," and the poor fellow ended up as a frog?

  The general antidote to such malfunctions was, of course, the kiss of a Fae princess or prince. Unfortunately, this being 21st century America, princesses were in short supply. As in, non-existent. The closest thing the Fae now had to royalty was a certain noxious male who had had his lecherous eye on Glori since they graduated from diapers, several centuries ago. His name, and he lived down to it, was Theodosius. Glori would rather live without magic than ever look at Theodosius, much less ask him for a kiss.

  Besides, time was of the essence. She didn't have even a few minutes to waste, to ask for help. The second-best cure was at hand, however. Glori always carried four bars of Hershey's Special Dark in her purse to provide energy for heavy-duty, on-the-spot magic. She unwrapped the first bar and started chewing. The first blast of dark chocolate through her system untangled the threads of magic woven around her building. The dark cloud of an imminent headache fled. Glori giggled in the first rush of flavonoids and the magical elements in chocolate that Human scientists hadn't discovered. She snapped her fingers and the writhing black carpet of vermin scuttled away.

  But they didn't scuttle far enough. Scowling, Glori narrowed her eyes to see into infra-magic, slightly to the left of ultra-violet, and saw every single revolting little body now hidden inside the walls of her building. The magic barriers that should have kept the wretched creatures outside now wouldn't let them out. Her inner clock was ticking. She didn't have the time or the chocolate to do extended battle. She compromised by putting the disgusting creatures to sleep. A sharp nod brought bucket, mop, broom and dustpan flying through the room. She used up the last bar of chocolate when she enforced the sanitation spell.

  By the time the first mini-van pulled into the parking lot, Glori had the place spotless.

  While she greeted her children and exchanged news with the various mothers, fathers and grandparents dropping them off, she pushed and prodded and yanked on the threads, trying to force the magic to let the roaches, ants and flies outside. Surely they would be much happier outside, instead of sleeping the day away inside her walls?

  By the time Grandpa Tucker dropped off Jerry, Glori had lost every last bit of boost from the dark chocolate--and had to admit defeat. Something was very wrong. Her magic had never acted this way before. It was too well established for something natural to make it go so utterly wonky, without warning.

  The problem couldn't be in her, could it? She did another physical inventory and still couldn't detect anything wrong. Then again, if her magic had turned unreliable, how could she be sure? The only thing she could be sure of was that she had to leave the insects sleeping inside the walls and put that particular problem aside to deal with later. Her children were here, the most joyous part of her day had begun, and she wasn't going to let a few wonky spells and some bugs ruin her fun!

  She supposed it was a blessing the unwelcome guests didn't include mice. She couldn't stand mice, ever since that accident with her Cousin Bibbetty, the pumpkin and the four white mice, while she was in training.

  Glori worked herself into a headache for the first time in 146 years, delicately balanced between keeping the children healthy and playing happily, and keeping the roaches, flies and ants asleep inside the walls all day long. She nearly wept when the last mini-van pulled out of the parking lot at the end of the day, and she was alone again with her uncharacteristically uncooperative building. Glori closed the door, locked it, and let go of the guiding strings of magic she had been clenching tight with her mind all day.

  There was a near-soundless explosion as the magic released and all the horrid, icky, creepy-crawly things inside her building woke up. Glori shuddered as she imagined that black carpet writhing across the floor of the main room, through the storage room, covering her little cubbyhole kitchen, trying to invade all her plastic bins of fruit and cookies. She could almost see them covering the bookshelves, creeping between the pages, climbing the castle of blocks Tabitha had built before her mother showed up. She swore she could hear the scratching of their legs as they slithered among the stacks of carpet the children used for storytime, the munching of thousands of jaws eating the tempera paint powder. She could see them sliding down the brushes and hear them eating the paste.

  She bit on her thumb knuckle to stifle a moan. This situation was unbearable. There hadn't been a single insect when she bought the old freestanding dry cleaner building thirteen years ago. No vermin had invaded when she tore up the blacktop and surrounded the building with topsoil, and planted grass, trees and flowers. It was a slap against her housekeeping skills and a black blot on her magic that there were bugs here now.

  Time to call an exterminator.

  Adult Humans did have their uses, after all.

  And as Madeline's mother claimed, the number one reason for keeping a man around was to kill bugs--wasn't it? The woman had been married three times, so she ought to know, shouldn't she?

  * * * *

  Lance Knight loved the full moon. Nothing better than brilliant moonlight to illuminate the creeping, slithering, multi-legged, buzzing, hissing, flying creatures that he hunted. The full moon was only a few nights away, and that always put him in a good mood. So, when he received the distressed call for help at two minutes before quitting time on Monday, he looked at the knight errant painted on the side of h
is truck, skewering a giant rat like his ancestors used to skewer dragons, and cheerfully promised to hurry right over.

  Yeah, the full moon was his friend. Some people might joke about werewolves and other creatures that came out in the light of the full moon, but he didn't mind. He could handle furry critters without any problem. It was the dark of the moon, the quiet and cold and the subliminal hissing whispers and memories that made him shudder.

  Way back in the 13th century, Sir Mortimer, his ancestor, had made the mistake of skewering and not killing a Faerie when the pointy-eared freak kidnapped his little sister. The Faerie promptly blasted Sir Mortimer with a curse on him and all his male descendants: to live with vermin and to be vermin until graced with the kiss of a Faerie Princess.

  At the dark of the moon, Sir Mortimer and all his male descendants turned into...

  Not rats. That would have been bearable. Big, muscular rats with enormous, sharp teeth had some dignity. At least people had good reason to be afraid of rats.

  No, they turned into mice. Cute little Cinderella-type mice, with enormous ears and long whiskers and tails that curled into corkscrews. And fur that peculiar shade of gray that looked almost lavender. It was humiliating, because sometimes Lance swore that the other mice were laughing at him.

  That frustration and personal experience did help in the exterminating business. After all, who would be better at finding and destroying vermin than someone who thought like the filthy nuisances, two nights out of every month? And the motivation to wipe out anything that might be laughing at him had driven him to a "Superior" rating with the local Better Business Bureau, and half a dozen exterminator associations. Great for business.

  It didn't do much good for a guy's love life, though.

  Lance considered yet another visit to a few of his regular singles' chat rooms on the Internet as he climbed into his truck and pulled out into Monday evening rush hour traffic. Even successful exterminators and lonely were-mice needed companionship.