“I thought you looked like a thief!” squealed the fairy. “And now we’ve caught you red-handed!” More fairies emerged from the leaves, giggling and pointing.
“What a dummy!” they cried. “What a dunce!” They pinned down Lime’s arms and legs, and sat on her wings. Lime cursed and hissed and bared her fangs, but the other fairies only laughed.
“You don’t get it,” said a violet fairy in a handsome cape. “You stole from us and we caught you, so that means we get to punish you.”
“The Law says she has to be our prisoner for sixty months,” said a fairy with coiled antennae, “and do whatever we say.”
“Who wants a prisoner, though?” said a blue fairy with wings like rumpled silk. “Let’s just toss her in the mud, or make her eat a bug.”
“You won’t make me do anything,” said Lime, “because I haven’t stolen anything! Am I supposed to believe these are your flowers?”
“They are,” said the violet fairy. “This is our community garden.”
“Fairies,” said Lime, “don’t garden.”
“We do,” said the blue fairy. “It was Old-Timer’s idea. She has all kinds of wild ideas.”
“That’s because I’m the only one around here with any brains in my head,” snarled a voice from the trees. The crowd stilled their laughter as an apple-red fairy swooped into the clearing. The fairy’s crooked fangs protruded over her lips, and the horns of beetles crowned her cap.
“Let the loner go,” said Old-Timer. “A prisoner’s just another fairy for me to keep in line and I don’t need it.”
With groans of disappointment, the other fairies unhanded Lime. “You’ve come from far away, haven’t you?” said Old-Timer, eyeing Lime’s shriveled hat and ragged dress. “Wearing that worn-out tropical flower, looking like you haven’t sewn new clothes in a decade. You have a clan?”
Lime glared and shook her head.
“Well, you can’t join ours,” said Old-Timer. “And you can’t take from the community garden unless you’re part of the clan. But I’ll let you have a cup of nectar, if you want it, out of hospitality.”
“I don’t want your hospitality,” said Lime, “or anything else to do with this terrible forest.”
Old-Timer snorted. “Suit yourself. But if you won’t take my hospitality, maybe you’ll at least take my advice. This place here is called the Woeful Woods, bordered on one side by the meadows and the other by a human town. If it’s flowers you want, feel free to look in the woods or the meadows or even the lands beyond, but steer clear of human territory. They keep plenty of gardens, but just as many dogs and cats and children. A lout like you would be caught in a second.”
“I’m not stupid or slow enough to be caught by any human,” said Lime. “And I’m not afraid of pets, either. Is that all your advice?”
“It is,” said Old-Timer. “Whether or not you choose to listen to it. Now get out of here, lone traveler, and leave our clan to its business. Unless you’ve changed your mind about the nectar?”
Lime buzzed into the air and darted away from the fairies’ garden. “I’d rather drink frog-spawn!” she yelled over her shoulder. “I hope a whole crowd of humans comes through and tramples your awful flowers!” She fled, already thoroughly sick of the Woeful Woods and its denizens.
As she sped through the trees, an amber-yellow fairy descended from the branches and fell into pace her side. “Don’t you dare follow me!” Lime cried.
“Calm down, Loner,” said the amber fairy. “I’m not here to start trouble.”
“I’m serious!” said Lime. “Leave me alone or I’ll fight you! I’ll pull out your antennae!”
The amber fairy giggled. “You’re a bad liar,” he said. “Just stop a minute and talk. Where’d you even come from, anyway?”
Lime tried to outrace the other fairy, but he easily matched her speed. She stopped, lest he follow her all the way back to the hole at the roots of the tulip poplar.
“Where I’m from,” she said, “is none of your business. Did you chase me down just so you could interrogate me?”
“I was only trying to be sociable,” said the amber fairy. “You’re a real cagey one, you know that, Loner?”
“Stop calling me ‘Loner’,” said Lime, “and get out of my sight.”
“What’s wrong with ‘Loner’?” said the amber fairy. “It’s better than my nickname, at least.” He paused expectantly. Lime merely glowered at him.
“It’s Pipsqueak,” he said. “It’s one of those ironic nicknames, right? ’Cos I’m so tall.”
“Good for you,” said Lime.
“Did you come here flower-hunting?” asked Pipsqueak. He glanced at her threadbare dress. “Hoping to make new clothes?”
“Maybe,” said Lime, “And maybe not.”
“No need to be shy about it,” said Pipsqueak. “Listen: if it’s flowers you’re after, I know a place you can go: a place nearly as good as our garden. Follow me and I’ll show you.”
“And if I don’t want to follow you?” said Lime.
“I won’t leave you alone until you do,” said Pipsqueak. “So just come with me.” He flew through the trees, and Lime, with a sigh of resignation, followed after.
He led Lime to the outskirts of the woods and a solitary building: a squat house built of brick and green-tinged vinyl. A fringe of weeds sprouted from sagging gutters. A messy but thriving garden teemed with hostas and begonias, with roses and crepe myrtles still clinging to flower, and scraggly mums just beginning to bud. A gravel path ran through the garden, and at the end of the path stood a mailbox with the name “A. E. Erskine” stenciled on it in paint.
Pipsqueak settled atop an oak leaf. “There’s one human who lives in the woods,” he said, “apart from all the others. And this is the one human’s house. They’ve got plenty of flowers here, but no pets and no kids like in town. You can steal from them, easy.”
“If there’s one human,” said Lime, “what ‘them’ are you talking about? Who else is there?”
“No one,” said Pipsqueak. “The one human is one human, they’re just one of those humans who isn’t a girl, or a boy either.”
“Huh,” said Lime. “Then what’s the catch? If this place is so great, why aren’t there any other fairies here?”
“We’ve got our community garden now,” said Pipsqueak with a shrug. “You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t,” said Lime. “I bet there’s a whole troop of children in that house, with nets and plastic jars. Or maybe this one human of yours is a witch, the kind who likes to trap fairies and cook them into potions. I bet you’re waiting for me to go flying over unawares, and when I’m caught, you’ll laugh and laugh. Am I wrong?”
“Now you’re just being silly,” said Pipsqueak. “Witches live in towers. Who’s ever heard of a witch in a house? If there were kids around, there’d be toys all in the garden, and as for cats and dogs: if there were any nearby, you’d smell ’em.
“Stake the place out for yourself and you’ll see,” he said. “The place is totally safe. Or don’t I guess. I can’t force you.” He dropped from his leafy perch and spiraled lazily to the ground. “All I wanted was to point a wandering loner in the right direction.”
With a wave goodbye, and an offer to “Look around the woods if you need me!” he slipped into the shadows of the undergrowth, leaving Lime alone.
Lime cast a wary eye at the house and its abundant, quiet garden. She still didn’t quite trust Pipsqueak, but the place seemed safe enough from a distance, and at the very least there were no more giggling fairies to harass her. Tucking herself into a fork between two branches, she watched and waited for any sign of danger.