Happily Ever Awkward (The H.E.A. Files, #1)(38)

Just across the beach stood what they had initially thought to be a thicket of giant mushrooms, but now that they were closer, they could see it was actually a town. Each of the mushrooms had been hollowed out and served as a shop or restaurant or salon of some sort, and glowing winged creatures darted everywhere.

“Are Flitterlings dangerous?” Laura asked.

The Flitterlings in view ranged in height from two to three feet, but their translucent wings stretched to nearly twice that when fully extended. With each flap, streaks of luminous green and blue flickered down their length. Though the wings looked as fragile as tissue paper, they easily supported the creatures’ weight and allowed them to zip and giggle merrily about the streets. They each had long fluttering eyelashes and beautiful flowing hair that swirled about their heads as if they were underwater. Shimmering tunics draped their slender figures like a magical breeze, light painted their lips and nails, and their eyes changed color to reflect their mood — at the moment, every eye in sight was the most fabulous shade of pink.

All in all, Flitterlings looked slightly less threatening than a damp washcloth.

“Dangerous,” Jack repeated. “What do you think?”

Paul began to trudge along the red carpet. The Flitterlings may not have looked dangerous, but his stomach was churning nonetheless.

“Wait here,” he said, though he wanted nothing more than for Jack and Laura to come with him.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, though he fully expected to fail as miserably as he always did.

“Everything’s under control,” he said, though he felt his life had spun completely out of it.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Laura asked. “This was my idea, after all.”

Of course he wanted her help! But that’s not what he said. “This is my H.E.A. It’s time I did something on my own to prove I deserve it.” He suspected it would not take very long at all for him to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he did not, in fact, deserve it, but what else could he do?

Laura threw up her hands. “Fine. I guess even you ought to be able to handle some Flitterlings.”

She turned back to the ship and ran into Jack, who was standing slightly too close behind her.

“Well, all right,” he drawled. “Looks like we have the ship to ourselves.” He gave a suggestive wink.

“You’d better have something in your eye,” Laura warned.

Jack took a step back. “Um… glitter?”

Laura nodded. “Good answer.”

Jack rubbed his eye weakly as she plowed past him.

“Yeah, she’s comin’ around,” he whispered to himself with a cocky smile.





In other places and other times, Flitterlings have often been mistaken for the Fey folk, also known as Fairies. Such confusion is understandable, considering the similarities — the wings, the magic, the giggling.

It is also a mistake.

As previously pointed out, there is one major difference between Flitterlings and Fairies that makes it easy to tell them apart.

Fairies are not real.

Flitterlings, on the other hand, are absolutely real.

If you doubt the reality of Flitterlings, stand in the forest beneath a full moon, drink a glass of soured milk while spinning in circles until you fall over, and then chant:



Flitterling, flutterling,



flooterly-floo,



Flifferty, flufferty,



foo-poo-foo-poo!





Nothing will happen, of course, but the Flitterlings will thoroughly enjoy watching you make a fool of yourself.





Across the beach, Paul walked uncertainly toward the mushroom town. Flitterlings greeted him with singsong voices before flittering away as soon as he tried to ask any questions.

A deer bounded beside him and nuzzled his hand.

Poxies danced upon fountains of water that arced in graceful streams over the path. As Paul watched, one golden Poxie broke away from the others and buzzed around his face. The streamers of flitter dust trailing in its wake fluttered into clouds of golden butterflies.

“What is the deal with Poxies and butterflies?” Paul mumbled as he swatted the insects away.

“She likes you,” said a lilting voice behind him.

Paul turned to find a giant inchworm rippling toward him. Its great, green segments squished and stretched as it made its way along the street and its puppy-dog face sniffed the air in Paul’s direction. At first glance Paul thought the inchworm had been the one who spoke to him, but then he noticed its rider perched upon a tiny leather saddle.

A willowy Flitterling with radiant yellow hair sat astride the apex of the inchworm’s forward hump. His wings were folded behind his back to keep them out of the way, and a silver Poxie orbited him like a tiny moon.

“What?” Paul found himself saying.

“I said she likes you,” the Flitterling repeated.

“Story of my life,” Paul said quietly. “Always the wrong species.”

“Whoa!” said the Flitterling, reining his worm to a stop beside the prince. “You should be flattered, Man-Child of the Human-Spawning. Poxies don’t always take kindly to Men.”

“You… you’re right,” Paul said. “I am flattered.”