Slightly annoyed, I complain, “You know, this escape is for my benefit. Wouldn’t it be good for me to…I don’t know…take part in some of the actual planning?”
“You just did.”
“Yeah, after the fact, when you already had this part worked out.”
He flashes me an irresistible grin. “And didn’t that work out well?”
I playfully shove his shoulder. He uses the momentum to stand on his feet. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything in particular planned. I’m just making it up as I observe what’s going on around us. Which, forgive me, but you can’t come watch. I promise I’ll run everything by you and ask for your input once it all comes together in my head.” He grabs his satchel and loops it over his shoulder. “Besides,” he adds with a wink, “you’ve got leg squats to do.”
I groan and chuck my bread at him as he ascends. It would’ve hit him square in the chest if he hadn’t caught it. “Nice shot. Now quit playing with your food and eat it!” he shouts, reaching the top and tossing the sourdough back into my lap.
More leg squats…hummph!
I’m about to devour the most wonderful tasting oatmeal I’ve ever had in my life. Or at least I think I am – I’ll never know for sure since I doubt I’ll be able to taste it. Starla made it. I see chunks of strawberries, blueberries, minced almonds and a swirl of honey on top. I practically drool when Jack hands it to me, wisps of steam escaping the jar, a wooden spoon staked firmly in place.
“Oh, wow. Wish we had a cook like her in the Hollow. How you’re not fat I’ll never know.”
He chuckles with amusement. “If anything’ll put meat on your bones, it’s this.”
It’s thick and gooey and in a few minutes, I feel heavy inside. I chase it down with several chugs of water, not caring that he’s entertained by me downing a bucket of water. Maybe he’s waiting to see if I choke or drop it on my head or something.
“So, Mister-I’m-making-it-up-as-I-go-along, have you come up with anything?”
“Well…” Oh, no. This doesn’t sound good already. Why do his eyes always avert to anything but me when he’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like? “Look, getting you out of this prison is nothing. The danger is what lies outside the boundary…”
“Yeah. And?” I beckon.
“Rosalie…no one will look twice if all they see are two faeries together.”
My forehead furrows, forcing my eyes to squint a bit as I try to figure out the puzzle. “O-kaaay… I’m a little short to pass as a faerie, so what in Mother Nature are you thinking that’s going to make me look like one?”
His cheeks fill with air and I’m stuck waiting impatiently for him to blow it out slowly. “Pixie dust.”
There’s no hesitation when I scream, “Are you nuts? You can’t use pixie dust on complicated organisms like us. It never works right and sometimes really screws up the fae.”
“And sometimes it does work,” he quickly rebuts.
“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one it’ll be sprinkled on! Not to mention it’s completely forbidden and punishable with prison time.”
“And that would make your life different, how?” he scoffs.
I groan, but not from his snarky remark. My insides are growling over the heavy meal churning in my stomach. Note to self…eat heavy meals slower.
“What about passing me off as a younger faerie?” I ask, my hand instinctively covering my upset stomach.
“Yeah, Rosalie,” he mocks. “We’ll just put your nasty hair in pigtails and let you skip around.”
“Uh…okay!” I mock back. “Why not? It seems a heck of a lot better than jinxing me with dust.”
“And what happens if we cross paths with a spriggan or a faerie? Your face won’t pass as a child’s. Either way, we’d have to use pixie dust on you to make you pass. I’d rather try to raise you two inches than try to alter your face.”
I throw my head back in frustration and groan loudly, my hands poised on my h*ps with attitude. I feel a rush of dizziness when I try to roll my eyes. It’s not like he can see, so I surprise myself by even trying. My head pulls forward again. “I don’t know, Jack.”
“Look, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. How about I try experimenting with the dust? I’ll start small, like an earthworm or something, and make my way up…determine if we can even consider this kind of magic.”
Maybe it’ll work. I just don’t know. But I feel kind of bad for anything he dusts if it doesn’t work out.
He takes my silence and lack of facial negativity as a yes, and begins to lift upward.
“You’re going already?” I’ve hardly seen him lately.
“Yeah. I’ve got traps to set if I’m going to have anything to try this on.”
He departs, and I sit and lean back at an angle. I’ve got a lot of leg exercises before me today and I’m hoping this will aid my digestion along. I have to hand it to Jack. He’s bound and determined to get me out of here, especially if he’s considering such drastic actions as testing dust on animals. It’s frowned upon by my species, so I’m pretty sure it is by his species as well. But I suppose with as much time as he’s spent in the forest getting lost with his friend Bastian, he’s probably got a few spots he can work in without being noticed by other fae.
But even if he can find a safe way to use dust on the animals, do I really want him trying it on me? Possibly getting caught and punished for it aside, pixies have seriously messed themselves up doing this in the past. Even I’ve witnessed a mishap or two. An older pixie named Berry once thought her nose looked too big for her body, so she tried to size it down. She made it so small she couldn’t even breathe through it. It ended up no bigger than the length of an ant. The elders didn’t imprison her since she did it to herself, but they did decide to make her live with it for a year before they would allow it to be fixed. Luckily for her, the effects wore off after a month and they didn’t redo it just to punish her further…she had learned her lesson.
Berry was lucky, because plenty of others have suffered permanent effects. One male had monstrously oversized biceps, uneven on both arms so it looked super ridiculous, and another attempted to permanently paint her eyebrows, resulting in a funky green stain splotched all over her face.
Pixie dust wasn’t meant to be used on pixies. Its main purpose is to aid the growth of nature where natural methods like fertilizing and replanting fail. And organisms like plants and trees are far less complicated than our bodily structures, so they’re easier to manipulate. Which is why I’m so afraid of Jack thinking the only way to get me safely out of here is to sprinkle some dust on me. That, and it’s possible I’ll be so disfigured no one will be able to look at me without cringing; if they find the courage to look at all.
Jack stops by in the morning long enough to tell me he’s gotten the dust to stretch the length of an earthworm and a mouse spider without complications. I shiver in disgust at the thought of that spider gaining mass. I’m a nature girl and I love all of Mother Nature’s creatures, but still, anything with fangs or pinchers creeps me out.
“What else are you going to try?”
He shrugs. “Depends on what I find in my traps today.” I sigh and shake my head. “Don’t worry, Rosalie. I’ll find a way to make this work.”
I huff. Sure…no problem. You just have to find a few animals to play with first. The idea doesn’t sit well with me, but I decide not to mention it. As well as I’ve gotten to know Jack, I’m pretty sure he feels bad about doing it. And I know he wouldn’t move forward if he thought it would truly hurt them. Still, the idea of what he’s doing goes against nature, and I can’t help but feel guilty for being the reason.
In just two days, I might be free. Those words overtake my thoughts as I fail to keep count of the number of laps I make around the hole. In just two days, I may permanently disfigure myself. I may not make it past the spriggans, through the woods, or down the river. Or even find my way home. But it’s possible I may. The pixie dust may work wonders. I may make it past the spriggans, through the woods, and down the river. And I may even make it home to my tree house. To Poppy.
My body goes numb and I stop dead in my tracks, because I realize, that whether I make it out of here or not, I won’t ever see Jack again.
In just two days.
I’m not doing too well in my battle to release Jack from my emotions. I try to convince myself that it’s just a crush and that the feelings will never be returned, but I’m failing miserably at it. My heart keeps fighting back with an endless list of what ifs. What if what you’re feeling isn’t a crush, but love, and you just don’t understand the difference – it’s not like you have experience in this department, right? What if there was a way to make this relationship last, whether stuck in this prison indefinitely, or out in the real world, where we can sneak off and meet up with each other in secret? What if the pixie elders would allow you to have this relationship, because of what you’ve gone through, and that they’ll see he’s worthy of keeping close to the heart?
And the cruelest one of all – What if Jack loves you back?
It’s with desperation that I analyze his features, words and bodily movements for anything that tells me the permanent separation looming before us will devastate him as much as it does me. I’ve noticed his smiles have lessened these past several days. And he’s only been coming by to give me rations and update his progress. Is he really busy the entire time he’s gone? Or is this his way of distancing himself from me? And perhaps forcing me into it as well... Maybe seeing me less is making the inevitable easier for him. Because whether my heart likes it or not, the reality of separation is as blinding as the midday sun…when I get to see it, of course.
“I managed to trap a chipmunk and a fox,” he says as he opens the satchel containing my dinner. “The good news is that I was able to stretch both in size a bit.”
“What’s the bad news?” I urge, fearful of what happened to them. And what exactly is considered bad? Bad like its limbs were different lengths? Bad like its fur caught on fire? What? I’m nervous and he isn’t responding quickly enough, taking his sweet time pulling things out for me to eat: bread, a mixture of nuts, a good chunk of banana.
“I wouldn’t really say bad news.” Then what would you say? Come on already! “Both of them stretched, but it was only temporary. Eventually the magic wore off and they reduced back to size.”
My eyes squint, trying to determine if this should even be considered bad. “Is that it? That’s the only thing that happened to them? It wore off?”
“Yeah,” he states nonchalantly, as if this wasn’t the best news ever. He sits and pats the ground beside him. “Rosalie, sit. You need to rest from here on out.”
I obediently sit and begin gnawing on the nuts like a squirrel. I’m sure it’s not attractive to watch, but I’m focusing hard on Jack’s experiment. The fox is larger in size than either of us, but I don’t really know how much our systems differ. The same goes for the chipmunk.
“How long did the magic last?”
“The fox, not very long. Maybe an hour. The chipmunk held out a few more hours. The spider, however, was still big today.”
“So is the magic fading faster ‘cause they’re bigger or ‘cause they’re more complex?”
“No idea.” I turn to glare at him, my eyes exuding something fierce. “What?” he exclaims. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. Your guess is as good as mine.”
I release my evil eyes and return to my nuts. I sigh as I munch on the few in my mouth. “So basically” – crunch, crunch – “if we’re lucky” – crunch, crunch – “any dust used on me is going to wear off anywhere between the spider and chipmunk. So a few hours to…”
“A few days probably. At least one and a half so far.”
“Is that enough time to get me far enough away from the spriggans and faeries?”
“Should be.”
“Well, all right then. Guess I’m getting dusted.” I drop the bag of nuts and decide to comfort myself with melt-on-my-tongue bread.
“You’re taking this pretty well, Rosalie.” I hear the contradiction in his voice.
I laugh, a little wickedly too, and shake my head. “No, Jack. I’m not. It completely terrifies me. I’m just doing my best not to focus on it anymore. It is what it is and it’s what I need to do to get out of here. So I’ll do it. But I should warn you, I’ll probably pee myself when you do it.”
He laughs and extends his arm over my shoulders, rubbing the farthest one, trying to comfort me. And I hate myself for enjoying it. Because I have to let him go. I should be strong and shrug him off me, but I figure reality’s going to slap me hard enough in the face tomorrow anyway. This time tomorrow I’ll be on my own and I’ll never be able to feel his touch again. So what’s the point of denying myself the pleasure of it today?
“What time is it?” I ask, popping another bite of bread into my mouth.
“I’d say around six in the evening. And I hate to leave you, but you need to rest as well as you can, and I need to get everything together that you’ll need. I didn’t dare pack a bag before now. I was afraid someone would find it and start asking questions. Lately Starla’s been particularly interested in my increased appetite.”