About the Author:
De-ann Black is a bestselling author, traditionally published for over 15 years, with over 40 books published, scriptwriter and former newspaper journalist.
She splits her time between Scotland, Dublin and London.
Text copyright © 2010 by De-ann Black
Cover Art & Illustration © 2010 by De-ann Black
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Toffee Apple Publishing 2012
Smashwords Edition
Faeriefied
ISBN-13: 978-1-908072-87-0
Toffee Apple Publishing
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return toSmashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
We flew to the publishers at the eleventh hour and managed to change De-ann’s dedication thanking people you’ve never heard of and are never likely to meet.
As this book is about the faeries of Whispering Wood, we’ve dedicated it to ourselves — and to everyone who believes in faeries.
Sneezeweed.
Contents
Nothing - The Spectacular Plan
1 - Faeries Are Magic
2 - The Black Heart
3 - Night of the Creepy Willow
4 - Do Not Disturb
5 - Does My Bumblebee Look Big In This?
6 - Finlay’s Starwort Deal
7 - Faerie Rocket Science
8 - Fungus Fashions — Cultured Clothing
9 - The Revenge of the Horrible Hack
10 - The Local Press
11 - The Dreaded Blackthorn
12 - Sprite Spark
13 - Nettle–Wick the Troll
14 - Thunder and Frightening
15 - A Lucky Landing at the Savoury Dip
16 - Intruder Alert
17 - The Wandflower Faeries
18 - Spellbinding Mayhem
19 - Fading Faeries
20 - Extra Wild and Magical
21 - A Gremlin in the Tabloid
22 - A Monster in the Mist
23 - The Dewberry Puff Fiend
24 - Run Like Crazy
25 - A Caramel in the Works
26 - Faeriefied and Mesmerised
27 - Shadows of the Night
28 - Edge of Darkness
29 - I Remember You
Nothing - Nothing Again
More books by De-ann Black (sample chapters)
The Spectacular Plan
‘Everything starts with nothing
and ends with nothing, usually.’
Sneezeweed philosophy.
The faeries of Whispering Wood had a spectacular plan to save themselves from fading. Led by Sneezeweed, Daisy Fleabane and Mossy Stonecrop, they hoped the plan would succeed.
Faeries gather popular opinion as easily as bees gather nectar from flowers.The opinions of almost every faerie from Whispering Wood and other faerie realms had been gathered. Here is an extract from the Faerie News, written by Sneezeweed, that best explains the dilemma.
Faerie News:
We’re fading, and something must be done about it. In a hazelnut shell, humans have forgotten about us, or worse, they don’t believe we exist, and every time someone doubts us, a faerie fades away.
Your opinions on this dire matter have been gathered. There are those who think we should dabble with the thoughts of mortals and spellbind them into believing in us. In other words, they should be faeriefied. This measure is far too drastic. It’s against all the rules of faeries to enchant with undue consideration for the wishes of mortals by sprinkling them with faerie dust and telling them what to do. Only in the most bizarre and outrageous circumstances can mortals be faeriefied.
Others believe that we have no right to interfere with our natural fate. If we are destined to fade, maybe that’s what’s meant to be. Not a popular opinion, thankfully.
Almost everyone thinks that the plan put forward by me (Sneezeweed), Daisy Fleabane, Mossy Stonecrop and Thistle–Bee is our best option. Most of the other faeries of Whispering Wood agree with us. We hope to change our ways and help mortals to look at us in a different light, and once again believe in us.
Over the time of forever we have become dated, so the plan is to play the humans at their own game and become as modern as they are. The bluebell hat issue will, I promise, be dealt with.
The faeries of Whispering Wood have been unanimously authorised to forge ahead with this plan. If it works, other faerie realms will follow in our footsteps.
Modernisation will not be easy, but with a feisty attitude, uncommon sense, and a little bit of magic, I’m sure we’ll succeed. We’ll do it ourselves without any help from the witches, not that we have anything against witches, but we were here first, and as I’m always saying, witches create magic, but faeries ARE magic.’
And so it was decided to forge ahead with the spectacular plan…
WHISPERING WOOD
Deep within the heartland of the countryside was a strange and mysterious bluebell wood. Gnarled trees whispered on the breeze, and mortals who lived in the nearby town, on the far side of the coast, had named it Whispering Wood because they thought the leaves and branches whispered words that no one could ever fathom; little did they know it was the sound of the faeries filtering through the foliage. The faeries had lived there for longer than anyone could remember. They were mystical creatures with sparkling wings and bright character, and loved to dance by the glow of fireflies and starlight until dawn. In the bright light of day they created mayhem and mischief, and worked their magic, as faeries do.
Faerie meetings were held in the hub of the wood at the stone lilies — flowers so old they were fossilised into stone–like monuments. Meetings also took place when it was raining under the huge umbrella sedge, a bushy plant with spiky leaves that looked like a big green umbrella and grew beside the starwort stream. There were several streams winding through the woodland, past the silent mist, witch grass and tickle weeds, towards the coast and a sea so deeply blue and full of mystery. The sea held a special fascination for the faeries. When the weather was fair, they enjoyed a day out at the seashore, racing through the sea holly along the coastal sand and sailing across the frothy waves on magic seahorses.
Although they loved the seashore, the woodlands were their favourite. The trees, whose tangled roots were often shrouded in blue and purple mists, created a safe haven for the faeries, secluding them from mortal gaze, as no mortal was allowed to enter.
Few people had ever walked in this wood as it had a reputation for strangeness, especially in the darkle, the twilight time between day and evening, when unusual figures were said to glitter and sparkle and flit like lightning amongst the trees. No signs were needed to keep out trespassers, for this wood was spellbound, and any mortal with a passing thought to wander in the wood had this notion waved from their mind, and they would take another route to wherever they were heading.
No faerie in particular ruled, though a few were quite bossy. They existed together and whoever was best at whatever was needed happily did it. That’s just how it was. There were rules of course that the faeries abided by but even these were rather vague.
Vagueness and fantasy were part and parcel of faerie life, and they knew that one of their hardest tasks would be to learn everything they needed to know about modern mortals. Now, to be fair, they knew lots of things about mortals, it was just that sometimes years whizzed by without the faeries noticing the enormous progress made by people. It was sort of like gazing into the heart of a flower, getting lost in thoughts of wonderment, and then suddenly looking up and being surprised how much time had passed.
Then there was the memory thing. When you live as long as a faerie does, your memory off–loads excess knowledge that it thinks it doesn’t need. Even when faeries understand plenty about what’s going on in human life, it can so easily be forgotten again, wisped into nothing like bubbles on a breeze. Forgetfulness was a necessary safety valve. Some faeries in Whispering Wood were as old as…forever.That’s a lot of memory to store in a little faerie head.
Lists helped them remember things. They were good at making lists.Information was collected by various faeries. In fact, it was the Tooth Faerie who’d inadvertently come up with the awful statistic that people didn’t believe in them any more. She’d found it while miscalculating that only two and three ninths percent of children left a tooth under their pillows.
‘Approximately five billion, four hundred thousand, twenty–three and tix people don’t believe in us,’ she’d announced with a lisp, as some of her teeth were mithing. ‘If thith belief dwindles, you know what will happen — we’ll fade.’
This was true, and the faeries knew they had to fight for their survival in the modern world. It was time to reinvent themselves.
Chapter One
Faeries Are Magic
Beneath the glow of fireflies
Magic spells and starlit skies
We dream the dreams of faeries.
‘Take that stupid bluebell off your head,’ Sneezeweed shouted.
Thistle–Bee glared at Sneezeweed as he took the hat off and threw it angrily on the ground.
All the faeries of Whispering Wood were gathered at the stone lilies. It was quite a sight on a starlit night, aglow with sparkle and chatter. The lilies cast long shadows across the tangled grass and fireflies lit up the darkness. A sense of excitement singed the cool spring air, and the faeries were eager to discuss their plan.There was no time to waste.
‘We agreed to do this, so let’s do it right,’ said Sneezeweed.
‘It was only a bluebell,’ said Thistle–Bee.
‘It’s the impression it gives. You know what mortals are like — first impressions count.’ Sneezeweed knew all about first impressions because everyone thought he was quite tall and willowy for a faerie, and had a snooty, authoritative attitude when first meeting him. Later, when they got to know him better, they realised this was absolutely true.
He wore long robes and a flowing cloak of deep reds and browns. His wings were threaded with silver giving him a distinguished air and older appearance.Though the faeries weren’t of an age, they were more of an era. The ravages of time had failed to wither the rich autumn colouring of his clothes, nor the keen look in his hazel eyes. He was as tall as he needed to be amongst his own kind, but the faeries could magically make themselves as tall as the average mortal and disguise their wings with the appropriate clothing. Certainly there was still something about them that made them stand out from the mortal crowd, but nothing so bizarre that they wouldn’t blend into the throng of a pop music festival on a good day.
‘What about snowdrops?’ said Teasel, not the brightest light on the Christmas tree.
Numerous sets of disapproving eyes glared at the purple, tousle–haired faerie.Teasel knew he’d asked a stupid question and stepped back into the crowd.
Sneezeweed continued. ‘We either do this together or not at all. Anyone who is too flaky to cut it here can go and live at the bottom of Mrs Bell’s garden and flit about all they want and stick bluebells on their head.’
‘He’s talking funny,’ Mossy Stonecrop whispered to Daisy Fleabane, forgetting that whispers in this mysterious wood often sounded loud and clear.
Sneezeweed looked in their direction. ‘I’m trying to learn how to talk like twenty–first century mortals. The best way to learn is to do.’
‘What does flaky mean anyway?’ said Mossy.
‘Do you remember Viper Bugloss? He was here when you first arrived three seasons ago. Remember how he was always too cold to make icicle bicycles, and said it was too hot in September to come out from under the chestnut shade? He wouldn’t even dance around a faerie ring more than two circles because it made him dizzy —’
‘I remember,’ said Mossy.
‘Well, he was flaky.’
‘Ah,’ Mossy said, not wishing to be flaky ever.
Mossy’s great ambition was to impress Daisy Fleabane. He’d met her once at a faerie fayre when he lived in another wood, and had moved to Whispering in the hope that she would notice him. She could hardly miss him in his emerald robes with yellow stars and eyes as green as the ocean. The features of his pale, handsome face appeared to have been sculpted from marble, and his white–blonde hair was long enough to touch the neck of his collarless cloak.
Daisy however had her own ambitions. She’d set her heart on having a part of the woodland where she could encourage faeries to learn how to develop their magic powers and find ways to merge with mortals for the betterment of everyone. She planned to show them great methods for using faerie dust. For a daisy–like little faerie with long fair hair that glistened like barley sugar and a wispy white and pink appearance, she was quite fiery and bold. Her wings were the colour of wild roses — deep pinks and woodland green, and her skin the palest cream.
‘If we’re flaky,’ Sneezeweed said, ‘we’re history, we’re toast.’
Thistle–Bee was curious, and blunt. ‘Where did you learn to talk like that?You’re usually so pompous.’
‘I’ve been reading mortal magazines. Horrid things, but needs do as needs must. There’s a pile under the umbrella sedge. Gossip and gibberish if you ask me, but people buy millions of them every week.’
‘Are the magazines like our Faerie News?’ said Thistle–Bee.
‘Nothing like it.Theirs is full of chitchat, whereas ours is packed with useful nonsense.’
Thistle–Bee nodded, realising the difference. He was a striking looking individual with robes of hazy, sun burnished bronze and copper tints, and in the right light he was almost handsome. If anyone would miss wearing a fresh bluebell hat it would be him, but apart from the determined Daisy Fleabane, whom he secretly admired, he was the most likely to adapt to forgoing this pleasure.
‘I’ve read women’s magazines,’ Daisy confessed.
Everyone glared at her and even the fireflies paused mid–flutter. Things like that weren’t done unless there was a wonderful excuse.
Daisy flicked her hair defiantly. ‘The magazines just happened to be lying on the shelves in Mrs Bell’s ice cream shop. The breeze kept blowing the pages over and I read them by accident — a few times. It’s a very windy shop.’
Her excuse was quite acceptable.
‘Mortals are a strange lot,’ said Hairy Bitter Cress, his voice tinged with resentment. ‘They seem quite happy to believe in witches but scoff at the existence of faeries. It’s quite unfair.’
‘Witches have spells, potions and strange notions,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘Yes, they create magic, but we are magic. That’s the difference. We don’t need brooms to fly.’
‘What is it with brooms anyway? I mean, who came up with that bright idea?’ said Hairy Bitter Cress, a dark vision of a faerie dressed in robes of deep, inky blue.‘Who’d want to soar across the sky on a bristly old brush?’
‘The whys and wherefores of witches aren’t our concern,’ said Sneezeweed, realising they’d gone way off the subject as usual. ‘Mortals are. We must concentrate on the task in hand and not wisp to other topics no matter how trifling.’
Teasel felt compelled to divulge a useless grievance. ‘Last autumn I went as a tall faerie to a witches Hallowe’en party, and someone, I suspect it was a mortal dressed as a witch, said my wings looked fake. Plastic indeed.’
Teasel’s comment hung in the air for a moment and then Sneezeweed continued. ‘Can anyone think of other things we need to learn?’
‘Technology,’ said Daisy Fleabane. ‘Digital equipment and techie gadgets. We’ll need to learn about them.’
‘Who knows of such things?’ Sneezeweed asked the gathering.
‘Sprite Spark, the sprite, who lives at the edge of the wood,’ said Daisy. ‘He’s a bit of a geek. He should cost no more than, I don’t know, two stars, one perhaps.’
Sneezeweed nodded. ‘Excellent, we’ll enlist his help to teach us about new technology and computers.’ He glared accusingly at Sparkleberry who blushed as red as her shimmering strawberry robes.
An unfortunate incident with a washing machine earlier in the day when she’d mistaken it for a computer (same shape and size — vaguely) had left her wings crinkled and crumpled. Had she known what a forty–degree wash, spin and rinse would do to her wings she never would have ventured into the stupid thing. Her wings would straighten out in a few days but they were still too wrinkled to fly properly.
‘We’ll also need a human spokesperson to help us,’ said Daisy, who’d clearly given this a great deal of thought. ‘Someone powerful, someone who sort of rules the world.’
‘And who would that be?’ said Sneezeweed.
‘Journalists rule the world,’ said Daisy. ‘We’ll need one of those.’
Thistle–Bee wasn’t convinced. ‘I thought politicians ruled.’
‘No,’ said Daisy, ‘politicians may seem powerful, but they need good press to win campaigns, so this equates to: journalists don’t need politicians but politicians need journalists for publicity. Yes, it’s certainly journalists who rule the world. We’ll definitely need one of those.’
Sneezeweed seemed satisfied with this logic. ‘All those in favour raise their wings.’
A flurry of wings wafted across the grass, causing the glow–worms to flicker.The vote was unanimous, except for Sparkleberry whose wings were too crinkled to respond.
‘That’s settled,’ said Sneezeweed.
‘Where will we find a journalist?’ said Mossy.
No one had an immediate idea.
The air was abuzz as little faerie brains racked their memories for an answer.
Thistle–Bee finally had a suggestion. ‘Let’s put one of our postcard advertisements in the window of Mrs Bell’s ice cream shop.’
Everyone agreed.
‘Brilliant,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘Maybe Mossy Stonecrop could make a postcard for us in bright colours.’ Mossy had a wonderful eye for colour and design. He often created the postcard advertisements the faeries put in the window of the ice cream shop in town. They did this whenever they needed various things such as old beads and baubles that they used for making decorations and charm bracelets.
‘I’ll start on it right away,’ said Mossy, hurrying off and then stopping suddenly. ‘What will I write on the postcard?’
Everyone looked at Daisy because she had a way with words.
‘Something straightforward is always best,’ said Daisy. ‘How about —
Journalist wanted. Must believe in faeries.
We’ll contact you.’
‘Perfect,’ Mossy said, and headed off to create the postcard.
‘Speaking of advertisements,’ said Thistle–Bee, ‘could satellite television interview us? We could tell the world of our plight in between the shopping adverts.’
‘It’s a good thought,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘However, satellite can’t pick us up because of the faerie dust — the chaff affects the signal.’
There was a disappointed lull.
‘Perhaps Sprite Spark could find a way around the chaff,’ Thistle–Bee said hopefully.
Sneezeweed nodded in agreement. ‘We’ll ask him. In the meantime, the most intelligent among us need to learn three new mortal subjects. Those who are dimmer, learn one. Those who are completely hopeless, try your best — and well done.’
Hairy Bitter Cress spoke up. ‘Is there a list of subjects?’
‘Let me think,’ Sneezeweed said, rubbing his fingers across his brow. There were lists on just about everything. It was simply a matter of remembering where they were. ‘Ah yes, I think you’ll find it near the prickly poppies.’
No sooner had he pointed towards the poppies than it was found by Teasel and passed forward to Hairy Bitter Cress who flicked through the list and made his selection. ‘Fashion, fast cars and marvels.’
‘Fashion?’ said Thistle–Bee. ‘What can mortals possibly teach us about that?’
Daisy spoke up. ‘Everyone should learn their own fashion. Sneezeweed’s magazines are a hive of information. Adapt some of the mortal’s ridiculous fashions to suit our own tasteful style.’
The majority seemed happy with Daisy’s suggestion.
‘What are marvels?’ Teasel asked Sneezeweed, while the others busily chose their subjects from the list.
‘They’re tiny round glass balls that people roll along the floor as a game. And if you ever loose them, you go quite mad.’ Sneezeweed’s misinterpretation was overheard by Daisy, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. It had been a very confusing day.
Sparkleberry was the last to get her hands on the list but there wasn’t much left to choose from. Her wrinkled wings were proving to be a great drawback when trying to flit amongst the woodland.
Everyone’s eyes were on her. What would she choose?
Taking a deep breath she stabbed a confident finger at a subject that really did interest her. ‘Rocket science,’ she announced triumphantly.
There was a stunned silence, except for Thistle–Bee who let out a loud guffaw.
‘What’s so funny about rocket science?’ Sparkleberry said, wishing she could spread her wings to give herself a more capable appearance.
‘Rocket science is one of the hardest subjects there is,’ said Thistle–Bee. ‘I seriously doubt Daisy Fleabane could tackle it let alone you. And what’s the point, why is it of any use to us?’
Daisy wasn’t sure if she’d been flattered or insulted so she buttoned her lips on the matter.
Sparkleberry was adamant. ‘It’s one of the main subjects we should learn.Rockets are the only way mortals can ever reach the stars. We fly to the stars on the strength of our wings and magic. We should learn about their transport.’
Cheers and applause resounded from the faeries, and even Thistle–Bee had to admit it was a very clever point she’d made. If she was intelligent enough to think up this excuse, for everyone knew she’d just made it up so as not to look utterly stupid, then perhaps she could eventually understand rocket science, or at least enough to sound as though she knew what she was talking about.
Chapter Two
The Black Heart
Believe in the magic of faeries
Their secrets will unfold
Beyond the dreams of mortals
In mythical fields of old.
The ice cream shop was filled with the aroma of vanilla and strawberries, though this delicious scent wasn’t the main smell wafting past the nose of Mossy Stonecrop. He had flattened himself like a logo in one of the top corners of the postcard advertisement. The card was painted in vibrant colours and was stuck to the inside of the front window. The potent smell from the colourful ink was making his nose wiggle and wriggle wildly, even though he was supposed to remain very still. Mossy had taken the first shift of postcard duty because he was used to the stink from the ink, but he hadn’t counted on it being quite so pongy. He’d also taken the precaution of wearing an extra layer of clothing because Daisy Fleabane had said it was a very windy shop. He hadn’t encountered any gusts of wind since he’d been stuck up in full view of passers–by and wished he hadn’t worn his winter woollies. It was a bright and pleasant spring morning and the heat was a bit stifling.
Gazing at the people going by, he was optimistic that someone would notice the advertisement he’d taken, oh, hours probably, to draw in bold, colourful lettering. He hoped Daisy would be impressed.
The faeries had decided to take it in shifts to flatten themselves on to the postcard to watch for anyone who was interested in the vacancy for a journalist. Mossy kept his nose still, well, okay, it did wiggle a bit, until the ink stink had faded, but no one seemed to notice. After a whole morning of watching, he was glad his shift was over when he saw Daisy Fleabane flying in to replace him.
‘Has anyone bothered to read the postcard?’ Daisy said as they quickly changed places.
‘A few people have stopped to read it, but they didn’t look like journalists,’ Mossy said, while eagerly unravelling his thick, green scarf that was wound around his neck to keep out the supposed drafts. ‘They all smiled when they read it, and I can’t imagine a journalist who rules the world being quite so cheerful.’
‘Mmm,’ said Daisy. ‘At least it’s grabbing people’s attention. A journalist is sure to see it soon, perhaps within a week.’
The shop’s owner, Mrs Bell, a fully rounded figure of a woman with a nature that suited being in a shop that smelled of lovely things, like vanilla and fruits, gave Mossy a raspberry wafer and some lemonade to keep him going on the journey back to Whispering Wood. Mrs Bell had always believed in faeries. It was an accepted quaintness about her that her customers considered charming. She hadn’t entirely agreed with the faeries about advertising for a journalist as she feared the consequences, not for the faeries, for the journalist who would invariably become involved in one of their mad schemes. Last year they’d advertised for unwanted items for a jumble sale but had misspelled jumble as jungle and ended up with four monkeys, a juggling parrot and a wonky donkey. What a nonsense that was.
Daisy quite enjoyed being in the window, at first, as there was so much to see. She hadn’t realised how busy the town could be at lunchtime, packed with people hurrying to and from work or shopping. The ice cream shop was especially busy and Mrs Bell was dealing with so many customers she forgot about Daisy in the window.
Teasel was supposed to have taken the next shift, just after lunchtime, but he’d drifted off course and it was late afternoon when he arrived at the shop. By this time, poor Daisy had been frazzled by the heat of the mid–day sun shining through the glass.
When they found her, she was almost glazed to the window, and the sunlight had taken some of the colour out of her wings.
With the edges of her wings slightly crispy, Daisy had to trudge all the way back to the wood. And of course, it started to rain. She was still drying out beside a glow–worm when Mossy Stonecrop approached her.
‘I heard what happened. Are you all right?’ he said.
A pair of angry blue eyes peered out from her wringing wet hair. ‘Yes’, she said irritably.
‘You look a bit . . .’ he searched for the appropriate word. ‘A bit ruffled. Like the time when Mrs Bell’s cat took a mad notion to chase you round the garden.’
This was not a good memory.
‘Though your, eh, complexion looks very fresh,’ he added, trying not to upset her.
‘Have you been learning any new skills?’ she said, attempting to brush the tangles from her blonde hair that had definitely seen better days.
‘Yes,’ he said, bursting with enthusiasm. ‘Boxing.’
‘Making boxes?’ Daisy said, wondering why he was so excited about folding cardboard. Every year the faeries made thousands and hundreds of boxes to wrap the bobble jewellery they made. She wasn’t very good at making jewellery, or maths for that matter.
‘No’, he said, raising his hands into a mock fighting stance. ‘Boxing.’ He began bobbing around and shadow boxing with the glow–worms, his emerald cloak with its yellow stars flapping wildly. The glow–worms weren’t in the least bit scared of him.
‘Oh, right’, Daisy said, clearly unimpressed.
Mossy’s heart sank and the spark of enthusiasm dimmed in his green eyes. Why did he always say the wrong things to Daisy, or choose subjects to learn she couldn’t give a wisp about?
‘I thought it might come in useful,’ he said. ‘Apparently mortals think quite highly of boxers, and you never know when I may need to bop someone on the nose to protect you.’ His imagination was running away with him, for he often thought how wonderful it would be to save Daisy Fleabane and be her hero.
‘Ouch,’ she yelled, catching her brush on one particularly tight tangle as she tied her hair back in a ponytail. ‘I’m quite capable of bopping someone on the nose myself,’ she said, secretly picturing Teasel’s nose being on the receiving end. ‘Although I don’t think this sort of thing is to be encouraged.’
‘Blasted journalists,’ Hairy Bitter Cress shouted as he flew past Daisy and Mossy and landed near the knobbly knapweeds.
Sneezeweed, Daisy, Mossy and several other faeries, hurried over to see what was wrong. He’d been the last one to take a shift on the postcard.
‘What happened to you?’ said Sneezeweed, noticing that Hairy Bitter Cress was a paler shade of his usual deep inky blue.
‘Blasted journalists,’ Hairy Bitter Cress repeated, his voice fizzing with anger. He went on to tell them, without going into detail to spare them nightmares, about his narrow escape with a horribly nasty journalist.
‘This dreadful man sneered and said, at least twice, that he was a journalist and didn’t believe in faeries.’
A gasp of horror swept through the wood. No wonder Hairy Bitter Cress was a paler shade. Fading was a dreadful thing. If a faerie was repeatedly shouted at in disbelief they could fade away forever. Although no one said, they secretly thought it was lucky that the journalist had encountered such a strong willed faerie. Hairy Bitter Cress was indeed bitter natured and only his strength of character had prevented him from fading further.
‘What a stupid thing for him to say,’ Sneezeweed said, more determined than ever to make their plan work.
‘I’ll spare you the details,’ said Hairy Bitter Cress, ‘but suffice to say I had to resort to magic to deal with him. Mrs Bell says he’s known as the Horrible Hack.’
Sneezeweed frowned. ‘You didn’t, ahem . . .’
‘Yes, I gave him a spot on his nose the size of a bumblebee,’ said Hairy Bitter Cress. ‘He’ll think twice before saying he doesn’t believe in faeries to me.’
‘Well,’ said Sneezeweed, taking a deep breath, ‘at least you’re okay, so we must have a party to celebrate.’
No sooner were Sneezeweed’s words wafted into the woodland air than everyone flew off in various directions preparing for the party.
Only Sneezeweed and Mossy Stonecrop were left standing at the knobbly knapweeds.
‘Do you think it’s wise to continue searching for a journalist?’ said Mossy, concerned for the faeries’ welfare. ‘Our postcard advertisement has caused nothing but trouble so far. Daisy was frazzled and Hairy Bitter Cress was faded by the Horrible Hack.’
‘Perhaps there is an alternative,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘I’ll have a word with Mrs Bell and see if she knows any local journalists who aren’t horrible and are willing to believe in faeries. All we need is some decent publicity in the mortal newspapers. I’ll take Daisy with me tomorrow to talk to Mrs Bell. Apart from making the yummiest ice cream, she’s always helped us in the past.’
‘Great idea, and then there’s that strange person, what’s his name . . . Finlay?’
Sneezeweed gave a wary smile. ‘The elficologist?’
‘He believes in us. It’s a start,’ said Mossy.
‘The fellow’s an oddball so he could be just the man we need to help us with our spectacular plan,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘In the meantime, I suggest we enjoy our party tonight. It’ll help put the colour back into Hairy Bitter Cress.’
Thistle–Bee came striding towards them. ‘When is Sparkleberry due back from Sprite Spark’s house?’
Sneezeweed rubbed his brow thoughtfully. ‘Oh I think her crumpled wings will have slowed her down. She could take a whole dandelion clock to fly there, learn about computers and rocket science and then fly all the way back to Whispering.’
Thistle–Bee frowned. ‘I hope she’s back in time for the party. I’m going to organise a selection of mortal food for everyone to try. I’ve been reading about it in their magazines, and I thought we could acquaint ourselves with the food they eat.’
‘Brilliant suggestion,’ said Sneezeweed.
Mossy wasn’t keen on the idea of mortal food. He’d accidentally eaten some ages ago when he toppled into a tapioca pudding and thought it tasted yucky.
‘There’s a takeaway restaurant on the edge of town,’ said Thistle–Bee. ‘I’m going there to takeaway as big a pile of food as I can fly with. Probably get the wasps to carry a load back.’
‘Keep your eye out for a pickled onion,’ Sneezeweed called to Thistle–Bee as he flew off. ‘Always wanted to get my teeth into one of those.’
‘Right oh,’ Thistle–Bee shouted as he soared away with the wasps in tow.
Sparkleberry had only just arrived at Sprite Spark’s house at the far edge of Whispering Wood. Crinkled wings weren’t good for flying and she’d drifted off course several times before finally landing at the thatched roof house. Being a sprite, he was a faerie–like creature with strong wings that made him a powerful flier.
His house was beside a stream. Sparkleberry had met him a few times but she’d never felt intelligent enough to speak to him. He was really smart, bookish, geeky and very thin with straight, dark hair swept back from his young, sharp features. A black waistcoat was buttoned over his white shirt and he wore black trousers tucked into long, shiny brown boots.
Sprite Spark sounded disappointed as he invited Sparkleberry into his study. ‘I thought it was Daisy Fleabane who’d be coming to learn about computers and new technology.’
‘Daisy’s busy at the ice cream shop,’ Sparkleberry said, not yet knowing of Daisy’s disastrous day.
‘She’s always at that shop reading —’ he cut short what he was going to say to prevent revealing a secret.
‘We know about Daisy reading the mortal magazines,’ said Sparkleberry.
‘And you’re all okay about it?’
‘She had a wonderful excuse.’
Sprite Spark gave a tight smile. Faeries could be so unfathomable.
‘We were going to offer you one or two stars to help us learn about new technology,’ Sparkleberry said, ‘but how about three, if you can teach me a bit about rocket science as well.’
The sprite opened a cupboard door. Hundreds of bright, twinkling lights shone from inside the cupboard. Sparkleberry’s eyes were dazzled by the brightness. She hadn’t been dazed like that since she flew too close to a sunbeam.
‘I’m fully stocked with fallen stars,’ said the sprite. ‘I’ve been working overtime recently.’ He closed the cupboard door. ‘But I tell you what, I’ll happily teach you in return for more invitations to the parties at Whispering Wood.’
Sparkleberry was still seeing stars as she agreed. ‘Fine, you can attend all the parties you want with us.’ She was sure the others would be pleased with this deal as the sprite came to some of their parties anyway and he always brought extra marshmallows with him.
‘Where to begin,’ Sprite Spark said, looking around at all the gadgets in his study.
‘Computers. I need to know how to tell the difference between computers and eh . . . washing machines.’
He failed to stifle a loud chortle.‘Washing machines? You don’t know the difference?’
Sparkleberry turned around to show him her wings which were still rather crumpled. ‘This is what a washing machine did to me.’ He could see she was serious and in no mood to be mocked.
‘Right, let’s start with the fundamentals. This is a computer . . .’
Rain didn’t dampen the party spirit at Whispering Wood. Everyone sheltered under the huge umbrella sedge, and fireflies and glow–worms scattered themselves across the top of the sedge like Christmas lights over an umbrella.
Food was shielded from the downpour and everyone busily prepared for the party. Celebrations always included dancing, music, singing and lots of food and chatter. Tonight, it also provided the chance for some of the faeries to practise their new skills.
Teasel had made himself an eclectic guitar. It should have been an electric guitar, but he’d got his words muddled. Eclectic meant he’d used a little bit of everything to create his guitar. It was a mix of acorn shells, lily reeds, spider’s web and sticky gum. Despite the odd mix, it was strangely musical. He’d only had time to learn one new, modern song. This didn’t seem to matter because he couldn’t play the same notes twice, so each time he played the song it sounded entirely different. Everyone was impressed.
‘Teasel’s outdone himself,’ Sneezeweed remarked to Hairy Bitter Cress.
‘Never thought he had it in him,’ Hairy Bitter Cress agreed, tapping his feet in time to the beat.
‘Has anyone seen Sparkleberry yet?’ Thistle–Bee said, looking around in the hope of asking her to dance.
‘I assume she’ll be flying back now from Sprite Spark’s house,’ Sneezeweed said, checking the time on a nearby dandelion. ‘I estimate she should be here rather late, considering the state of her wings.’
Thistle–Bee nodded. ‘Though if she’s not back by one hour past midnight I shall go and look for her.’
‘Wheeee,’ Daisy Fleabane shouted as she whirled around the main dance circle at a terrific speed.
Mossy Stonecrop gazed on in amazement. He longed to ask Daisy to dance, but she was always so fast. Every time he plucked up the courage to ask her, she was whizzing off again.
‘Come on, Bitter Cress,’ Daisy shouted, encouraging him to join in the dancing. ‘It’ll bring back some of the colour to your wings.’
Before Hairy Bitter Cress could object, Daisy grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him into the fast whirling circle.
Mossy and Sneezeweed were then drawn into the dancing. The circle became so big it reached the edges of the umbrella sedge. Aglow with light, laughter, music and excitement, the sedge was the perfect cosy shelter against the rain that poured down around them.
After several wild reels, the faeries fell down, giddy from dancing. Mossy and Daisy landed together near the edge of the umbrella sedge.
‘It’s exciting learning about mortal things,’ Mossy said breathlessly, ‘but they’ll never be as much fun as a real faerie gathering.’
‘What were the parties like at your old wood? You never talk about why you came to live in Whispering,’ said Daisy.
‘The parties were great,’ he said.
‘Why did you ever want to leave?’ she said. He never mentioned his past and sometimes she wondered why he’d changed woods. For a faerie, this was a very unusual thing to do.
Mossy bit his lip. How could he ever tell her the truth?
‘I eh, I wanted to see what it would be like living somewhere else and I’d heard Whispering Wood was really magical.’ It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the real truth either.
Daisy studied his face and smiled. ‘You’re hiding a deep, dark secret, aren’t you, Mossy?’
‘No, I . . .’
‘That’s all right. Maybe one day you’ll tell me why you’re really here.’
Not for a moment did she think it was because of her. How could he tell her she was the reason — the only reason? Daisy filled his heart with joy, and he’d followed his heart to Whispering.
‘Get your gnashers into this,’ someone said, interrupting them. It was Thistle–Bee with a tray laden with sumptuous food.
‘Sorry?’ Daisy said, not understanding his slang.
‘I’ve been practising speaking like modern mortals. Apparently it’s a common phrase for — taste this, it’s delicious.’
Daisy and Mossy took a handful each.
Daisy sniffed it. ‘What is it?’
‘Fast food,’ said Thistle–Bee.
‘Why is it fast?’ Mossy said, helping himself to a — he didn’t know what it was but it looked crispy.
Thistle–Bee shrugged his shoulders. ‘Taste’s not bad though.’ He hurried off to let the others try it.
For a moment, Mossy was lost in thought as he peered out at the pouring rain, wondering if he could tell Daisy how much he liked her. In that moment, something changed. She stopped nibbling her fast food and gazed into the darkened wood and shivered.
‘Is there something wrong, Daisy?’ said Mossy.
‘I’ve got the feeling someone's watching us,’ she whispered.
Mossy glanced into the shadowy wood and smiled. ‘There’s always someone watching us — birds, rodents and insects. Numerous sets of eyes peer out from the bushes when we’re having a party.’
Daisy nodded. ‘I know, but . . .’ She shivered again.
‘You’ve probably caught a chill from the rain earlier. I’ll get you a glow–worm to keep you warm.’
‘No, Mossy,’ she insisted darkly. ‘There’s someone out there watching us who doesn’t have our best interests at heart.’
Mossy secretly searched the shadows, and then he saw a flicker of light. It was there and gone in a second. She was right. A sense of foreboding ran through him.
‘Stay where you are and pretend you’re enjoying the party,’ Mossy said, and headed off quickly to find Sneezeweed, Hairy Bitter Cress and Thistle–Bee.
Sneezeweed and the others were listening to Teasel playing his eclectic guitar. In between the wild twanging, Mossy told Sneezeweed about the suspicious flickering light in the wood.
‘Right,’ said Sneezeweed. ‘Arm yourselves with dandelion dust. We’ll have to find out who is lurking in our wood.’
‘By the wildest chance, could it be Sparkleberry?’ said Hairy Bitter Cress.
Mossy shook his head solemnly. ‘I sense a black heart out there.’
‘It would be best if Mossy and I went after them and you stayed here to protect the others,’ said Thistle–Bee, who was considered to be quite a fighter within the faerie realms.
Sneezeweed agreed. ‘Take a wasp with you — just in case.’
Armed with dandelion dust and a wasp each, Thistle–Bee and Mossy headed into the shadows where the light had flickered.
As Mossy walked away, Daisy called out in a low hush. ‘Mossy.’
He turned and looked at her.
‘Be careful.’
He nodded quickly and then followed Thistle–Bee into the rainy darkness. Daisy Fleabane cared about him. This was all the strength he needed.
Chapter Three
Night of the Creepy Willow
Whispering Wood was dark as night
Only the glow of the moon was alight
Strange voices murmured on the breeze
And a shadowy faerie hid within the trees.
Sparkleberry was fizzing — literally. Circling high above Whispering Wood, she was hiccupping and muttering angrily to herself because the faeries hadn’t noticed her. Her crumpled wings had made her fly off course repeatedly on the way back from Sprite Spark’s house. She’d circled over the wood several times and kept waving frantically for someone to come and give her a tow, but everyone had been too busy enjoying the party to see her fluttering wildly above them. To make matters worse, she’d eaten too much fizzy lemon sherbet pudding. It was all Sprite Spark’s fault. He shouldn’t have given her a third helping of pud.
‘Why can’t they see something red and sparkly in the night sky?’ she said. ‘It’s not as if they could mistake me for a comet,’ she added, having learned a little bit about rocket science from the sprite. She looked down at the umbrella sedge. The party seemed to have finished early — and was that Mossy Stonecrop and Thistle–Bee skulking near the silvery bogweed armed with wasps?
Exhausted from flying in circles in the rain and hiccupping lemon bubbles, she decided to make an emergency landing in the Creepy Willow tree in the oldest part of Whispering. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the nearest thing to hand. Four swoops, ten hiccups and she was there.
The branches broke her dodgy landing as she did a triple somersault to the ground. The tree’s roots were shrouded in green mist, and tonight there was something extra creepy about the willow. She kept glancing back over her wings, feeling someone or something watching her.
Shivering from the thought of it, she hurried off, accidentally dropping one of the books Sprite Spark had given her to read. It fell near the base of the willow and she scrambled around in the damp roots, her hands delving into the sludge, trying to find it. With the wind whistling through the branches she felt slightly disorientated, and blinked twice when she saw, or thought she saw, a hand, no, more like a long pointed finger, snatch the book and drag it into the undergrowth.
She was off. Running like mad, hurrying all the way back to the safety of the umbrella sedge. Like a beacon in the darkness, she could see it glowing in the distance and headed straight for it. Her crumpled wings flapped in a sparkling red flurry behind her, but at least the fright had cured her hiccups.
Sparkleberry was breathless and pale as an unripe strawberry and collapsed as she reached the umbrella sedge. A bendy snowdrop broke her fall.
Everyone crowded round to hear what had happened to her.
‘We were worried that you’d gone mithing,’ said the Tooth Faerie.
‘There’s something strange in the wood, near the Creepy Willow,’ said Sparkleberry.
‘We know,’ said Daisy Fleabane. ‘Mossy Stonecrop and Thistle–Bee have gone to find out who it is. We suspect it’s a . . . black heart.’
Sparkleberry gasped. ‘I think it stole my book. A weird finger appeared from the shadows and snatched it.’
Everyone shuddered.
‘Right,’ Sneezeweed announced. ‘Hairy Bitter Cress and I will keep a lookout for Mossy and Thistle–Bee. I suggest you all get some sleep. We’re going to need our wits about us to deal with this black heart. But at least Thistle–Bee is one of our best fighters and Mossy’s been learning boxing.’
The faeries took glow–worms and flower lanterns with them to light the night and went to bed.
Sneezeweed peered out into the depths of the dark wood. The rain was shimmering down beyond the sedge.
Hairy Bitter Cress stood beside him. He had regained some of the colour he’d lost earlier from fading. The deep, inky blue of his wings was almost back to full strength. The dancing had obviously done him the power of good.
‘Haven’t seen you dance like that in years,’ Sneezeweed said to him.
‘I trust we’re doing the right thing trying to learn the ways of mortals and searching for a journalist. Dangerous, very dangerous sorts if you ask me,’ Hairy Bitter Cress grumbled.
‘I’m going to ask Mrs Bell if she can recommend a local journalist who believes in faeries. A few of them must come into her ice cream shop and anyone who enjoys a vanilla wafer can’t be that horrible.’
‘True, true,’ said Hairy Bitter Cress.
‘And the elficologist —’
‘You’re not suggesting we involve Finlay.’
‘He’s better than nothing, don’t you think?’ said Sneezeweed.
‘The man’s a complete idiot,’ said Hairy Bitter Cress.
‘Yes, but he knows lots about elves and faeries. He has a degree in elficology.’
‘May I remind you of the incident involving the garden gnome?’
‘Ah, well, I heard it was very realistic,’ Sneezeweed said, stumbling to find an adequate excuse.
‘It was plastic,’ Hairy Bitter Cress shouted. ‘And that fool had been studying its habitat for weeks.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. Over enthusiasm probably got the better of Finlay.’
Hairy Bitter Cress snorted huffily and stomped off to another part of the sedge.
Sneezeweed smiled to himself. Bitter Cress was obviously back to his old miserable self and the effects of the fading hadn’t made a dent.
Wrapping his cloak around him against the cold, rainy night, Sneezeweed gazed out at the wood. There was a mysterious sense of menace in the air, and no sign of Mossy or Thistle–Bee.
Chapter Four
Do Not Disturb
Armed with dandelion dust
In the faeries hearts we trust
Through pouring rain and darkest night
The wasps and faeries march to fight.
Mossy’s wasp was snoring.
‘Shake him awake,’ Thistle–Bee said as they trudged through the wood in the pouring rain. ‘He’s supposed to be on alert.’
Mossy wasn’t keen to disturb the wasp that was snoozing snug and dry inside the rucksack on his back. ‘You shake him awake. You know what wasps are like when they’re in a bad mood. He’s as likely to attack us as he is anyone else.’
Thistle–Bee sighed heavily and stopped in his tracks. Mossy was right. There was only one thing to do. ‘Drop him off here. No point in carrying him all the way with us. He can wake up by himself in the morning.’
Mossy shrugged the rucksack off his back, careful not to disturb the wasp. They were one wasp down, but at least they had a spare, and pockets full of dandelion dust, though Mossy wondered if it would be much use in the downpour.
Thistle–Bee’s wasp was surprisingly lively and had been specially trained by Thistle–Bee himself. The low buzz it gave was rather reassuring, as was the fact that it flew behind them keeping a lookout despite the rain.
Thistle–Bee noticed the last wisp fall from a dandelion clock that was sheltered by a tree. ‘It’s midnight,’ he whispered to Mossy. ‘This is the time when black hearts are at their strongest.’
The rain was pounding down and ran like thin rivers of silver through the woodland.
Thistle–Bee nudged Mossy and indicated towards half a hazelnut shell floating by on the rainwater. Thistle–Bee could track a gnat at fifty paces in a storm. It was a knack he’d always had.
They exchanged a knowing glance. Only faeries could half a hazelnut so perfectly. Whoever was lurking in the wood was one of them.
A flicker of light cast a strange shadow across Mossy’s pale, sculptured features and his eyes looked like green glass, unblinking, searching through the night.
All was silent, except for the sound of the rain hitting the foliage. Even the wasp became quiet.
Then they heard a low, breathy snarl in the darkness. Mossy immediately sprang into a fighting stance and was ready to put his new boxing skills to the test if needed.
Thistle–Bee pulled Mossy aside and they stood with their backs guarded against a tree, looking out for any sign of furtive movement.
‘I think there’s only one of them,’ Thistle–Bee whispered. ‘We’ve got him outnumbered — two and a wasp against one.’
Mossy agreed, but he’d heard that black hearts were vicious and sensed they had a real fight on their hands.
‘Get a handful of dandelion dust ready, Mossy.’
‘Does it work in the rain?’ Mossy whispered.
‘It’s waterproof,’ Thistle–Bee assured him. ‘Just be careful with your aim.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘I’ll wrestle him to the ground and you dazzle him with the dandelion dust.’
Mossy gave him the thumbs up.
The wasp was buzzing, ready for action.
‘AARGH.’
A loud yell rang out from the trees a short distance away.
‘AARGH. Get off. Get off.’
Thistle–Bee and Mossy ran towards the frantic shouting.
As they got nearer they heard an angry buzzing noise. What they saw was a blur of activity as the wasp they’d left in Mossy’s rucksack attacked a shadowy figure — a faerie.
It was quite a fight in the dark rainy night.
The black heart had been foolish enough to try and steal the rucksack and the wasp wasn’t happy about being woken up.
The last they saw of the shadowy faerie he was being pursued by the wasp. He disappeared into the mist at the Creepy Willow tree, closely followed by the crazed stinger.
‘Did you recognise who the black heart was?’ Sneezeweed asked Thistle–Bee and Mossy on their return to the umbrella sedge.
Thistle–Bee shook his head. ‘Too dark, too manic and too crazy to tell who the fellow was, but from past experience we unfortunately haven’t seen the last of him.’
Mossy was listening to the conversation as everyone gathered round, but part of him was searching for Daisy Fleabane. Where was she? This was his heroic moment. Okay, he hadn’t actually wrestled the black heart, but he would have. He’d hoped she would be here to smile at him, say well done, perhaps give him a kiss . . .
Sparkleberry approached them, her pretty face etched with concern. ‘Daisy’s gone.’
‘Where was she last seen?’ Thistle–Bee was quick to ask.
‘Near the edge of the iris,’ said Sparkleberry. ‘And someone saw her put a bumblebee in a bag.’
‘Are you certain she took a bumblebee?’ said Mossy.
Sparkleberry nodded. ‘You know what Daisy’s like.’
No further explanation was necessary.
Mossy was worried. ‘Where would Daisy have gone?’
Sparkleberry paused before answering. ‘We think she went looking for you Mossy.’
Mossy’s heart soared then sank. Daisy Fleabane really did care about him, but now she’d put herself in danger to help him. He looked anxiously at Thistle–Bee.
‘Get a wasp that’s got a bit of buzz in it,’ he said to Mossy. ‘There’s not a moment to lose.’
Armed once again with two wasps and dandelion dust, they ventured back into the darkness to save Daisy.
Chapter Five
Does My Bumblebee Look Big In This?
Bumble, rumble
There’s trouble in the jumble.
Daisy Fleabane’s wings sparkled in the shimmering shadows of the rainy night as she made her way through the wood. She stopped to shelter from the raindrops under the glow of a droopy lantern flower and caught sight of her reflection in a stream, or rather, the sight of the bag tied around her waist with the bumblebee sticking out near the back, making her bottom look somewhat . . . big.
This wasn’t the time for vanity, and Daisy was never a vain faerie anyway, but she was concerned that the black heart would notice she was armed with a large insect. The element of surprise would be completely ruined.
She tried to stand with her posture flagpole straight but that just gave her a funny shaped silhouette in the reflection of the stream. And having her pockets stuffed full of sticky iced doughnut chunks didn’t help matters. She looked like her clothes were a complete jumbled mess.
‘Daaaiiisy.Daaaiiisy.’
It was Mossy Stonecrop’s voice. She recognised it immediately. Several thoughts ran through her head at once. Were Mossy and Thistle–Bee in danger? Did
they need her help? Where were they? And where exactly could she stash this bumblebee? Bumblebee borrowing without written permission was frowned upon.
Before she had a chance to hide the telltale bumble, Thistle–Bee caught sight of her.
‘She’s over here, Mossy.’
‘Are you all right, Daisy?’ Thistle–Bee said, striding towards her with his wasp in tow.
‘Yes, yes, fine,’ she said with a tight smile, trying to stand face on so as to hide the bee on her backside.
Mossy appeared from the rear — and gasped, his eyes fixed on her bottom. ‘Look at the size of your bumble,’ he said. ‘It’s huge.’
Daisy’s face flushed like a raspberry.
The wasp had laughed too, she was sure of it.
Thistle–Bee shook his head in dismay. ‘Whatever were you thinking?’
‘I had a plan,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d set a trap for the black heart.’ She showed them her pockets filled with sticky doughnut chunks. ‘Black hearts are always hungry so I thought I’d lure him with half of these. The other half were for the . . . eh, Straggly Spider.’
‘He dislikes you intensely,’ said Mossy. ‘The two of you are always squabbling.’
Daisy fidgeted. ‘Yes, but his webs are the best in the wood and I thought I could persuade him to help with our dilemma.’
‘Bribe him with the sticky doughnut?’ said Thistle–Bee.
‘Exactly,’ said Daisy.
Straggly had got his name due to the unruly hairs on his spindly legs. He’d been washed down the plughole of a mortal’s kitchen sink years ago and the hairs on his legs had never been the same since.
‘Why did you need the bumblebee?’ said Mossy.
‘As backup,’ said Daisy, ‘in case Straggly decided to, you know, be spiteful, nothing horrendous you understand, but just get his own back on me for daring to constantly disagree with him. I thought there was a possibility he’d spin a web on my wings as a nasty joke. I needed the bumblebee to fly me safely out of here. Only pollen sticks to bees in this wood and his web would've been useless against the bumble.’ She paused, and then added, ‘I’d need very little magic faerie dust to do all this. I’ve got some left over from last New Year and it’ll crumble to nothing if I don’t use it up soon.’
‘Quite a well thought out plan, Daisy,’ Thistle–Bee said, sounding impressed with her strategy.
‘I’ve already given Straggly a couple of chunks of doughnut and he says he’ll think about helping with the plan,’ said Daisy.
‘Mossy and I took care of the black heart earlier,’ Thistle–Bee told her.
Daisy’s face lit up with delight. ‘You caught him?’
Mossy looked sheepish. ‘No, one of the wasps chased him into the Creepy Willow.’
‘He dared to wake the wasp up when he was sound asleep,’ said Thistle–Bee.
Daisy shuddered and smiled. ‘He’s either very brave or very stupid.’
‘I doubt we’ll have any trouble from the black heart again tonight,’ said Thistle–Bee, ‘so I suggest we all head back home and —’
‘AAARRGH. HELP.’
‘The black heart?’ Mossy said, his voice edged with suspicion.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Thistle–Bee.
Without further hesitation they hurried together towards the screams with the wasp leading the way. The rain had eased to a misty drizzle as they ran through the foliage towards the ghastly sounds.
Near the Creepy Willow they saw a figure struggling to escape from a sticky spider’s web hanging from one of the lower branches.
Straggly had decided to help with the trap, Daisy realised. She’d recognise that strong, stringy web weave anywhere. Whoever it was had walked straight into the web and been hauled up in the trap off the ground.
‘Who is he?’ Mossy said, trying to get a look at him.
‘Stand back,’ Thistle–Bee commanded. ‘When I cut him down, dazzle him with the dandelion dust,’ he told Mossy. ‘We’re taking no chances with this fellow.’
Grasping hold of a bluebell blade Thistle–Bee sliced through the main part of the web. The web and its contents came crashing to the ground.
Mossy dashed forward and threw the dandelion dust, but the wasp caught a whiff of it and buzzed to a dazzled halt before dropping like a stone.